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Sam dies.
Every single day, without fail. Sam Winchester dies. His heart stops. He stops breathing, blood stops moving.
Every single day. He wakes up. Wounds healed, scars vanished. And the trace of something evil buried deep inside his soul.
He’s gotten used to waking up alone. He had no clue where dean was— hasn’t known since all of this started at least. It’s cold where he is. Dark and so very isolating.
Every day was the exact same. The only thing that changed whenever he revived was he felt a little bit more alone. And a little less like himself.
He knew how long it had been only by passing of seasons. It had been at least two years since he last survived more than 48 hours consecutively.
He knew dean was still looking. Well, he couldn’t be completely certain but he figured it was a good guess to wager. Despite everything that had happened before. With the demons and their fights. Sam knew dean still cared for him.
No matter how old sam had gotten. And despite towering over dean, he was still and would always be dean’s little brother.
—-
Dean was losing his mind. No, not quite. Because for that to be true, he’d have neeeded to have his mind. Which he hasn’t had in two years. Not since sammy went missing. Was taken. Vanished without a trace. Whatever you want to call it.
He remembers three months ago. When bobby had sat him down and tried to discuss sam. Told him that it had been years. If they were going to find sam they would’ve found him by now.
Bobby tried to broach the topic that maybe sam was already gone.
But if Sam was dead, dean would know. And dean would have saved him.
Sammy wasn’t dead. But he was in danger. And bobby should’ve known dean would never give up on sam.
It’s the one thing dean has been certain of his entire life.
He is not letting sam go.
—
Sam’s day today starts with him staring up at the moon.
That was new. What would usually bring him hope only brought him dread.
He was outside. It had been two years and now he was outside. The sky was so bright. The moon felt like its light was burning him. He silently thanked God it wasn’t day. The chances of him being able to handle the sun was absolutely zero.
He took a deep, gasping breath. The taste of fresh air felt so nice after so long in that damp, dusty, and eroded basement.
This was nice. He had to admit. He wouldn’t mind this death. At least this time around he would get to die in peace. In some way— when he was little at least— this was exactly how he thought he would die. The only sounds around him was crickets.
A humane way to go. When he got a little older he realized he wouldn’t get the chance to die like this. But it reminded him of before. Back when he was truly meant to die.
A piece of fence piercing his back— being so close to safety and losing it at the snap of fingers. It didn’t really hurt back then. Not like it did now. Although it was blurry for sam, he remembered the pain of being stabbed. But then nothing, no more pain. Just dean catching him and vague whispers as he faded away.
If only Sam had stayed dead. It was how his story should’ve ended. Everything only got worse when he came back, and he blamed himself. Albeit he wasn’t the only one.
Someone’s face leaned above his. Looking down at him. No, not someone.
“Sammy?”
—-
Dean had found him. In a bunker like room, in the middle of nowhere, nebraska.
He dragged him out, sam hadn’t been breathing. But dean didn’t have the time to care for that right then. Because that basement-bunker thing was on fire. The ceiling alight with flames that danced across it.
So dean dragged him out. Just like he had when sammy was small and only four months old. Like he had the night jessica died too.
It wasn’t the first time he carried his brother out. Nor was it the first time he felt his brother cool in his arms as death claimed another victim.
This time, however. Before dean could do anything, sam was pulled from his state and brought back to life. Coughing up a lung and his eyes dazed.
Dean grabbed sam’s arm, leaning over till his face was in sam’s view. “Sammy?” He asked hesitantly.
—-
Two hours later, and they’re sat in a motel room. Sam’s got his hands wrapped around a glass of water dean had handed him. He’s not managed to take a drink of it. Dean is by his side, a small cloth cleaning off soot and blood from sam’s face.
Two years. It had been two years. Dean hadn’t found sam for two years— sam had been alone for that long.
“Dean” sam’s voice, rough and quiet spoke. Dean looked up. His eyes meeting Sam’s. “Is…” he started, then stopped. Then began again. “Is this real?”
Dean felt his heart shattering. “Yeah” he said quietly. “Yeah it’s real Sammy. You’re here, we both are.”
Despite how dean felt about chick flick moments. When sam’s arm twitched dean didn’t hesitate to reach out. Abandoning the cloth in favour of comforting his brother.
“What happened?” Sam asked. “How long?”
“Too long.” Dean cuts him off. “I thought i lost you sammy. For two whole years sammy— longer than that, honestly. You were gone. Everyone thought you were dead.”
Sam nods solemnly “i think i might’ve been.” He offers. It doesn’t make dean feel any better. “I tried to get back. But i couldn’t do it without you.”
“So i had to?” Dean argues. Sam shakes his head. “Thats not what i meant.” He tries. Dean pulls away.
“It doesn’t matter now. I found you. You’re safe now, and nothing bad is ever going to happen again. Okay? I swear it.”