Work Text:
Never Wanna Lose You
"Carry on my wayward son
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."
Sam never thought anything could compare to the pain of losing Jessica, the love of his life.
That was, until he lost Dean.
Dean slumped against the wall, the three bullet holes in his chest leaking blood.
Sam paid no attention to Becky as she untied the ropes that restrained him or the man in the doorway that had fired the gun. All he could focus on was his brother.
As soon as the ropes fell away from his hands, he crawled towards his brother, gripping the collar of Dean's shirt.
"Dean," Sam gasped, 'cause oh god, he can't breathe, Dean's dying and he can't breathe!
The light was slowly fading from Dean's eyes as he raised his blood-covered hand and stroked Sam's cheek. Sam shivered at the warm substance that was now covering his cheek.
"Sammy," Dean wheezed and his blood-covered Sam's cheek, "Sa..."
Dean's eyes glazed over and his hand fell to the ground with a thud.
And Sam broke.
Deep, ugly sobs tore loose from his chest and despair wrapped itself around his throat and began to squeeze. He clutched his brother's body closer to him and Dean's blood (Oh god, Dean bled out in Sam's arms) began to stain his shirt. Painful agony filled his body, making his bones ache and his heart bleed.
The tears that cause his eyes to burn were insignificant to the pain of losing his big brother. He could already see the years ahead of him. The lack of sleep, the self-loathing, the trauma that would follow him for the rest of his life. The time he would be forced to spend without his big brother, his anchor, by his side.
That is, if he even made it past tonight.
He wasn’t aware of Becky rubbing his back or how the man in the doorway (the man who shot Dean) tried to get his attention, tried to pull him off of Dean's body. With a cry that sounded like a wounded animal, he threw himself over his brother, wailing, “Don’t make me leave him!”
Whoever was trying to make him leave his brother stopped and Sam continued sobbing, “I’m so sorry, De’. I love you, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me alone, not you too.” He hated the fact that he was alone again, after learning that his brother didn’t hate him for leaving to go study at Stanford, he was thrilled. He was excited to rebuild his relationship with his brother, to be the way they were before.
And now it could never happen.
He didn’t hear someone’s gutted gasp behind him as someone else silently cried with him. Police sirens wailed outside the building and armed officers stormed into the room, taking the scene in front of them in with a stride.
No one noticed the mystery man from earlier was now gone.
The Police are strong, even though they tried to be gentle, as they pulled Sam away from Dean’s corpse. Sam pulled himself out of the Officers grip and tore Dean’s jacket and necklace off of his body (not his corpse not his corpse because Dean can’t be dead he can’t be he wouldn’t leave Sam alone he wouldn’t.)
Sam faintly hears someone say something about evidence and lets loose a feral snarl when an officer comes to take the items away. He doesn’t remember what happened much afterward, one minute he’s sobbing in the apartment the next he’s sobbing in a Police Station.
Becky was being led away from him and she did her best to smile reassuringly. In that moment, she looked like the Mona Lisa, her eyes holding a knowing spark and her lips turned in the smallest smile. “Don’t worry, Sam,” she said and he couldn’t help but feel like her words held more than one meaning, “Everythings gonna be okay.”
But her words meant nothing to Sam because Dean was dead and he wasn’t coming back. There would be no more listening to Led Zeppelin in the car, no more prank wars that would either end in them laughing at each other until their stomach hurt or glaring at each other, no more. No more comforting hands when the nightmares of Jessica became too much. No more mid-night conversations, no more playful insult that would result in chick-flick moments if it weren’t for Dean’s rule.
He could still hear Dean’s voice as clear as day.
“No chick-flick moments”
Sam’s pain came back ten-fold and he was sobbing again.
“Sweetheart, can I get you anything?” A female officer placed a hand on his shoulder and it only made his sobs worse. Dean had always placed a hand on his shoulder when he was younger, or in the most recent event, he pushed him back by the shoulders when he forced him to leave his burning apartment back in California, his girlfriend burning on the ceiling.
“I just want my bother,” he sobbed.
No one bothered him for a while after that.
After thirty minutes (in which he spent trying to calm down before remembering the feeling of Dean's soon-to-be rotting corpse in his arms and he would start sobbing again) when the same officer from earlier walked over to him, taking a seat behind the desk in front of him.
She seemed unsure about how to proceed, seemingly wondering if she should even be the one to ask him these questions. Instead of talking, she wordlessly hands him a tissue box, a bottle of germ-x, and the trash can that was next to the desk. Sam wanted to shout at her to go away and leave him alone but Dean raised him with manners and he wasn’t going to spit on Dean’s teachings.
Not now, not ever.
So he took the items offered to him, nodded his thanks, and wordlessly tried to clear his nose. After he was sure he used half of the tissue box and one-third of the germ-x, he finally spoke. “Thanks,” his voice was awful, sounding like he had been swallowing shards of glass. The female officer smile sympathetically (not empathetically ‘cause no one can understand what he’s going through no one no one noone)
“Was…” the officer asked hesitantly, “Was he your brother…? The other guys they brought in…?”
The question made the memory of Dean’s body (he can’t be dead he can’t be dead nononoplease) and all of the remaining contents in his stomach churn until he was vomiting in the trash can. The officer winced again (this time in empathy, ‘cause almost everyone in the world has thrown up before) and pulled his bangs away from his face.
As soon as he finished, he cleaned his mouth with a tissue before throwing it away. “Thank you again...and yes. My… my brother. My big brother Dean.”
“I’m… I’m really sorry,” she said softly, “Can you… can you tell me what happened? If not, I can come ba-”
Sam, even with his clouded, grief-filled mind, knew how to handle the situation. It wasn’t like he could tell them exactly what happened (yes, officer. My brother was killed by a shape-shifter, who had taken on his appearance and beaten me up earlier. That very shapeshifter is responsible for the other two murders that have happened during the past two days)
Yeah, Sam didn't want to be placed in a psych ward.
So, when in doubt, Sam Winchester did what he did best.
Turned on the puppy dog eyes and bullshit his way out of the situation.
“I was in trouble,” Sam said simply, because those were the easiest lies, the lies that had some truth to them. It made them easy to remember and made his made-up story similar to what actually happened. The Officer listened with rapid attention, as did the other officers near enough to hear Sam speak.
Everyone wanted to know the story behind why this man was so upset that he was crying for nearly an hour.
“I was in trouble,” Sam repeated again, “And he came to save me. Dean always came to save me.”
A single tear slid down his cheek.
And, somehow, that was more heartbreaking than him sobbing for nearly an hour.
The female officer rubbed her hands together anxiously, “You’re… aware that your brother is a wanted man, right? I’m sorry, that sounds awful, but-”
“Mistake,” Sam said, like he hadn’t even heard her, “It was a mistake. The guy… the murderer, he… he dresses up as someone close to the victim. Makes it easier to get close and hurt them. He… he dressed up as Dean and… he beat me up. He was gonna kill me… and… Dean broke down the door…”
Sam’s eyes lost focus as he stared blankly in front of him, seeing something no one else could, “The guy had a gun… they started wrestling for it and… Dean was beside me… I could almost touch him… when the guy shot him… three times in the chest and…”
Sam started sobbing again, “He was s-so close. So fu-fucking close. And I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t get to him in time. He bled out… in my ar-arms and… I couldn’t do a damn thing! I-”
His absolute wreck of a mind stopped him from saying anything else as the agony started to choke the life out of him.
The officer walked away, pretending she was going to the bathroom as she went to bawl her eyes out.
Sam was vaguely aware of another officer (who he could have sworn was teary-eyed) tell him that he could go home and they would be in contact later.
“But Dean was my home,” Sam sobbed and the whole police force tensed, “He was my home and now I have nowhere to go.”
The officer from earlier turned back to the bathroom to go cry again.
With shaky legs, Sam stumbled out of the Police Department, still clutching the jacket and necklace.
None of the officers had the heart to try to take them as he left.
Sam continued to stumble back to the motel room he and dean had rented when he came to the sickening realization.
“It’s all my fault,” he wheezed, because it was. If Sam hadn’t convinced Dean to take this case, he wouldn’t have been killed by the shapeshifter. Hell, if he hadn’t gone to college, he wouldn’t have known Zach, Becky, or even Jessica . If he had just stayed with Dean and John, then no one would have gotten hurt.
“It’s all my fault,” Sam sobbed as he sunk to the floor of the alleyway he had unknowingly stumbled into. Sobs wracked his body again and it took everything in him not to scream at the top of his lungs. His brain wouldn’t let him rest continuing the mantra of it’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault over and over and over again.
It was a miracle that he somehow made it back to his (their) motel room.
He opened the door and the sight before him made him reach for his gun, aiming it at the figure who was frantically pacing the room. Sam stepped in and kicked the door close behind him, causing a loud bang.
The figure jumped, clearly startled and held their hands up in defense, “S-”
"I can’t believe you’d fucking come here,” Sam seethed. The complete and utter despair that he had felt earlier was gone (momentarily) and was now replaced by anger. Anger at the shapeshifter, who had the balls to come to his (their) motel room, and try to kill him.
The figure, whose face was concealed by shadows, tried again, “Sam-”
“I mean,” Sam continued like he hadn’t spoke, “It wasn’t enough to kill my brother, now you have to come and kill me too? Well, go ahead! Do it! Cause you killed him and now-!” His loud and angry tone stopped, becoming quieter and broken, “Now I’ve got nothing to lose…”
The figure swallowed thickly and tried again, “Sammy, please-”
“Don’t call me that! ” Sam roared, his anger coming back full force, “You don’t get to call me that! Only he does!”
The figure either didn’t hear him or didn’t care (because Sam was pretty sure a deaf person could hear him scream) as he tried again, “Sammy please, it’s me. It’s Dean-”
“No,” Sam sobbed the image of his brother hitting him full force, “No your not. He’s dead, stop being him.”
The figure stepped out of the shadows and Sam could now see that he was crying. “C’mon, Sammy. It’s me, don’t you know me?” Dean’s voice was so soft as he pleaded for Sam to believe him, to believe that he was real and not the shapeshifter he killed over an hour ago.
Sam hesitated, those green eyes he grew up adoring and respecting were filled to the brim with tears and some were leaking over. His eyes were so full of hope, love, and pain. Pain that couldn’t be acted out, love that couldn’t be faked, hope that could only be real.
A look that only Dean could give him.
Sam hesitantly raised his hand to touch the man’s (because it couldn’t be Dean. Dean died almost an hour ago, Dead couldn’t be alive) cheek. His cheek was warm, wet with fresh tears and Sam could smell the salt from them. Sam glanced up hesitantly at the man (at Dean) as he tried (and failed) to squash down the hope he was feeling.
“Dean?”
Dean nodded with teary eyes and was left breathless as Sam nearly crushed him with a hug.
“De’,” Sam whimpered, the events of the past hour making his head spin as he clutched his brother tightly, “De’.”
Dean, forever bless his soul , nodded along with Sam’s babbling, just like he did when Sam was a baby.
“It’s alright now, Sammy,” Dean said as he pressed a gentle kiss to Sam’s temple (though he would deny it till his dying days) “It’s alright, Sammy. Big Brother’s here an I’m gonna make it all better. I promise. ”
Dean rubbed comforting circles on his back and as Sam finally passes out, the events of the day catching up to him, Dean is there to catch him.
💻🔪🍔
When Sam wakes the next morning, a fresh cup of coffee is sitting on the bedside table.
He winces at the pain in his face before sitting up. “Damn shifter,” Sam swore, his pounding temples screaming at him to close the blinds and go back to sleep. An arm wrapped around his waist and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Dean laying in his bed.
“ ‘s okay, lil brother,” Dean slurred in his sleep, “ ‘m right ‘ere. ‘M not leavin’ y’. Promise.”
Sam glances at his brother, noticing other small things he had missed before. Dean jacket had been draped over him like a blanket, along with the sheets. Dean’s necklace was still hanging around his neck and it felt wrong to wear it, like he just stole something from Dean.
He can distantly remember having a nightmare in the middle of the night (it’s not hard to guess what it was about) but he can clearly remember Dean holding him, running his fingers through his rocking him back and forth, mumbling softly, “It’s okay Sammy, it’s okay. I’m right here and I’m not gonna leave you. Not now, not ever .”
“Hey,” Dean said softly and Sam jumped, nearly falling out of the bed had it not been for Dean’s hold on him. “Easy, Sammy. Don’t want to aggravate your injuries.” As soon as he said it, Sam felt aches in pains in places he forgot he had.
“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean said, “Shirt off, let me get a look at you.”
“Dean, I’m fine .”
“Yeah, not listening. Shirt off. Now. ”
Sam began to say something else, but one look from Dean and he wordlessly took his shirt off, wincing as he did.
Dean frowned, medkit in hand, “Looks like the pain killers are wearing off.” Sam looked at him in confusion and Dean proceeded to explain, “Came you some painkillers after you had a nightmare last night. Nearly forgot how much of a bitch you were when you’re in shock.”
Sam’s expression shifted into surprise, “I was in shock?”
“Yeah, you don’t remember?”
“Vast majority of last night is a blur,” Sam answered honestly before looking up cautiously, “But I still remember… a lot of things…”
Dean sigh and started stitching the cut on Sam’s temple, “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
They were both silent after that, Sam waiting for Dean to explain and Dean waiting for Sam to ask when Sam finally spoke.
“Why… why didn’t you tell me? ”
His tone of voice roke Dean’s heart as he scrambled to explain, “Sammy, I… we tried to tell you, me and Becky. We tried to tell you I was okay, that it was a shifter, but you wouldn’t look at me. I tried, I begged you to look at me Sam, but it was like you didn’t hear me. You… you were-”
“Broken,” Sam’s voice was small and sad, “Just so fucking broken.”
Dean cut the thread and gripped Sam’s shoulder tightly, an unreadable emotion-filled Dean’s gaze and it tore Sam’s heart apart. “Then we heard the sirens coming and I had to leave, ‘cause if I didn’t they would have separated us for real so we had to let you think… God, Sammy, I’m so sorry…”
“Not your fault,” Sam says so sincerely and passionate that Dean as to smile.
“Oh!” Sam suddenly cries and Dean nearly had a heart attack, thinking he hurt Sam. “This is yours,” Sam took of Dean’s necklace and put it back on his, feeling content now that his brother was wearing his necklace again. Dean smiled and ran his thumb over it, glad that he could finally wear it again, “Thanks, Sammy.”
“No problem, Dean.”
Dean grabs a roll of gauze and starters wrapping Sam’s chest, eyeing him carefully, “Does this bother you?”
“What, getting beat up?” Sam asked, amused and confused, “Well, yeah, I don’t really enjoy it or anything…”
Dean flicked his nose, “Me being close to you. I mean, some guy wearing my face beat you up. ”
“He-I-” Sam huffed, “Dean, he may have looked like you, but it wasn’t you.”
“Sure didn’t think that when you were sobbing over its corpse -”
“ Dean-” Sam said loudly, “He may have looked like you, but he didn’t look at me like you do.”
Dean was quiet, watching Sam’s expression as he talked.
“When he looked at me, there was only hatred and anger. When you look at me, there’s only this… Big-Brother-Dean™ look. I can’t... really describe it but, it’s a look you only use for me.”
“But what about what he said,” Dean asked again, clearly worked up about the situation, “Because Sammy, I don’t resent you, I’ve never resented you, ever and-”
“I know,” Sam said softly, “I know you don’t.”
They both stared at each other silently and although Dean would never admit it, he had hacked the street cameras and the ones at the police station to watch over Sammy. He had seen everything, seen how he cried for Dean, how he would be able to pull himself together for a moment before his face would go pale and he would start crying again.
It had taken everything in him to keep from running down to the station, scoop Sam up into his arms, and promise to never leave him again, anything to keep that look of utter despair off of his brother’s face.
The only thing that had stopped him were Becky’s words.
“You have to stay away, alright? Because if they find you, Sam will lose his big brother all over again. And I can’t watch my friend fall apart and be left to pick up the pieces.”
Dean knew what she meant.
When Sam left for Stanford, John and practically disowned him and Sam knew Dean would never speak out against his father so he lost the only family he had that night.
Apparently, instead of Becky picking up the pieces, last time it was Jessica.
And now she’s dead.
“They’re gonna come looking for me, you know,” Sam said softly, “The police, I never really answered much of their questions. They’ll come looking for me.”
Dean put the last of the medkit away and clapped Sam on the should, “Guess that means it’s time to get the hell outta dodge. Pack your stuff. We’ll be leaving in ten.”
Sam (surprise surprise) had finished packing in five.
After throwing away his to-go cup and glancing around the room, Sam realized there was one thing left to do.
“Dean?”
Dean’s head popped back into the doorframe, “Yeah?”
Sam swallowed thickly. This could either go well or blow up in his face.
Either way, Dean needed to know.
“Just wanted you to know I love you.”
Instead of Dean’s usual response of ‘no chick-flick moments’, he just smiled back, “I love you too, Sammy. Now move your ass! I wanna listen to Led Zeppelin!”
Sam smiled.
They would be alright.