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"Sam!" the scream tore from Dean Winchester's throat as his sweat soaked body bolted up from the lumpy motel mattress. "Oh, Sammy," he choked out, biting back the sobs and tears begging to be set free. "I'm so sorry."
Slowly he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Burying his face in his hands for a moment, Dean forced his still tired body to move from the bed. Suppressing a pained groan- damn drunk college kids- he glanced at the clock next to the bed. Twelve noon. Time for breakfast, he thought moving along the well worn path to the darkened bathroom.
It'd been a year and a half since the day he'd lost, no failed Sam- his baby brother. It's taken Dean six weeks to stop asking for a room with two beds. Six months to stop thinking of Sam in present tense. And a month passed that year for his father to start talking to him again. But not once in all that time had he been able to force the nightmares away.
In away he didn't want them to stop. It wasn't because he wanted to keep blaming himself for what happened or remember Sam-Sammy- in that way. It was because he wanted, may be almost needed, the nightly reminder of why he left that life behind.
Though the small charm he wore on a leather cord around his neck filled with about an ounce of Sam's ashes could be, should be and at time was enough of a reminder.
With a small squeak of resistance the cold water handle turned and the refreshing liquid rushed into the sink. Scooping a cupped hand through the luke warm water, Dean spared a glance in the mirror. "You look like shit, Dean," he said wearily, splashing the water on his face. Splashing his face again, he reached out and turned the water off with another squeal.
He smiled lightly despite himself and the mood he was in. Sam would find the way he'd been living over the past few months pathetic and almost comical. He could afford a better place to live. He could afford an apartment. Yet here he was living in a cheap motel room on a week by week rate. Another reminder of the life he was trying to leave behind and hold onto.
Stepping back into the room, Dean's smile quickly dissolved as a tight chortle escaped him. It wasn't funny- really. But he wasn't quite sure if he should have a good cry or a good laugh- he hadn't done either in a long time. Correct or not he couldn't help but find it all a tiny bit funny and mostly ironic. Ironic how his father had reacted to his retirement as he had to Sam's going off to college. He'd screamed, yelled and attempted to reason with Dean; tried to demand and order Dean not to.
Dean'd yelled and reasoned back and refused to back down. Sam would've been impressed...and amused.
He understood why his dad was angry. The demon was still out there waiting to be found and here he was just walking away- in his father's mind anyway. But it wasn't a demon or even anything supernatural that took Sam from him...them.
The day that he'd scattered all but the ashes in his amulet, he realized that he'd lied to more than just Sam when he was dying. A sudden relief filled him that day. Relief that he hadn't had to find away to fix Sam the Sam'd fixed him. And at the same time he knew how Sam'd felt. If he could've traded someone else for his brother he would have.
He wanted to say that it was a fear of dying he'd lied about back then-it wasn't. He always knew that the hunt would get him one day. He didn't want long boring speeches or drawn out goodbyes or a parade of tears. No a simple: 'Dean Winchester was an awesome big brother, loved his car...and his family. He'll be mourned by all, missed by a select few.' would've been enough for him.
No what he'd lied about was his willingness to lay down and die. He was grateful and always will be for Sam's willingness to fight.
And when he saw the twisted son of a bitch, who'd been harassing a waitress in a bar they'd stopped at, grab Sam and pull him behind the building he wished that he'd had his gun- it was in the car. He didn't need it; broken necks are easier to play off as accidents than gunshot wounds.
Dean pushed harshly at the tears forming in his eyes at the memory.
He could still recall in vivid detail the small gurgling sounds Sam made as he held his baby brother close. The barely there whisper of "you're an awesome big brother......cremation.......I..." still filled his ears in the silence before sleep claimed him. He could still feel the hot tracks his tears made that night.
He hadn't wanted to quit- not at first anyway. He'd tried to keep going for a few months after Sam's death. Tried to pretend that the hunt mattered to him as it had before. But the first time he'd asked for a single instead of a double it hit him-hard: Sam was gone and he wasn't coming back. That night he allowed the tears to flow as he had the night his little brother was stolen from him.
The next night he finished the job he'd started and then retired. Sam'd been right there were things he'd wanted to do with his life that he'd decided he never would because of the hunt.
He'd tried settling down and in with Cassie....but they couldn't make it work. After that he'd gone to see Sarah. She deserved to hear it in person that Sam was gone. Taken away from the world and good he could've done because he was too nice and stopped an asshole from man handling a waitress. She didn't take the news well. But it was in large part thanks to her that he now had a job. A very crappy job as a bouncer at a local college dive bar...but it was mostly honest.
Sam would've loved that he quit hunting. Would be impressed that he was saving up for school...sure he was hustling pool and playing poker to do it, but money's money, right? Sam was right, there was more to life than just hunting.
But he couldn't help the twinges of guilt that pulled at him when he thought of the life he was leaving behind. Sam never got to finish his quest for revenge. And Dean walked away before that job was done. But more than the hunt, more than the guilt Sam wanted his big brother to have a life that wasn't marred by scars and fear. He wanted Dean to have a happy, safe life. And Dean was going to try do just that for him- even if he was gone.
Fin