only time will tell if it was time well spent - SN fic - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: only time will tell if it was time well spent

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: none of them are mine; just for fun. Title from “Trip Around the Sun” performed by Martina McBride and Jimmy Buffet.

Warnings: spoilers for everything aired. Depressing.

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 1140

Point of view: third

Notes: tigris_lilsisread one version of this and said, “You’re gonna make me cry.” Take that as you will. (And that wasn’t even the final draft, with the ending.)

 

“I’ll save you,” Sam swears.

 

“’course you will,” Dean lies.

 

--

 

Sam wants to spend all his time researching, digging deep into hidden texts and forgotten lore. 

 

Dean just wants to spend his time with his brother.

 

--

 

One month gone, then two, and they’ve been from one ocean to the other. Hendrickson is still on their trail, almost caught up to them in Orlando—three days spent in Disneyworld, and Sam hadn’t seen Dean smile like that since they were kids—but they made it out just in time, leaving a false trail all the way to Maine.

 

They don’t hunt the first few months, just keep moving, northwesteastsouth, following Dean’s inclinations and the stars. Sam wants to shake Dean, wants to demand why, how dare you, you think I can live alone? But he doesn’t, doesn’t dare. Dean’s always given everything. 

 

Sam just won’t let him go this time. Won’t take off, won’t back away. He’ll stand with Dean until the end and show that bitch exactly who the Winchesters are.

 

--

 

Three months gone, four, five—Dean wants to hunt, wants to leave his mark on the world. He talks more, now, tells Sam stories about Mama and Daddy, about the early years. Sam knows he wants to make sure their history isn’t forgotten.

 

Sam doesn’t give up, but he doesn’t search as blatantly. Dean watches him, tells him not to hope in vain, to not expect too much. “I’m not gettin’ out of the deal,” Dean says the first time Sam brings it up. “It’ll cost too much.”

 

Dean hasn’t told him what the cost will be, no matter how much he asks.

 

--

 

Six, seven, eight, nine… Sam’s hopes are fading fast, and Dean never says I told you so. He watches the sun rise, every morning like clockwork, and then the sun set. Sam’s asked him not to do that to himself, but Dean answered, “It’s not a countdown, Sammy.” 

 

Sam didn’t know what to make of that, and Dean couldn’t explain.

 

They go see Haley and her brothers, Andrea and Lucas, Sarah and Lori, Cassie. They check on Charlie, Matt and his family, Rebecca and Zach, Sam’s Stanford friends. They visit with Ellen and Deacon and Bobby, track down Jo and Kat and Emily, sneak in to see Officers Kathleen and Ballard.

 

They spend month ten with Michael, Asher, and Joanna. Sam expects Dean to sleep with Joanna, then realizes that’s a belief about Dean from Before. Dean imparts a wealth of Big Brother knowledge to Michael, helps Asher with his schoolwork, makes Joanna smile and laugh.

 

It’s the most alive Sam’s seen him since they were boys, and it hurts that it’s now.

 

--

 

By month eleven, Sam’s frantic. Dean’s as ready as he’s ever been, and that pisses Sam off. “You happy to leave me?” he demands one night, halfway through, slamming Dean against a shoddy hotel wall. “You just rarin’ to go?”

 

“Sammy…” Dean says softly, eyes sad. At peace.  He lets his head fall gently forward, resting on Sam. “It’s alright, Sammy.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Sam replies, so brokenly it makes Dean’s heart clench.

 

And there is nothing else to say.

 

--

 

The twelfth month, they just stop. Hole up right in the middle of the country, away from everything and everybody, and just… are.

 

Dean spends a lot of time outside, just walking in the sunlight. He sits on the hood of his Impala and speaks, to himself, to her, to the air. Sam listens, soaking in everything about his brother. Committing it to a memory that most likely won’t matter—he’ll die with Dean.

 

With fourteen days left, Dean makes Sam swear that he’ll live. “Sammy,” he says(Sam’s always Sammy anymore, and finds he doesn’t mind at all), “don’t you kill yourself, after.” He’s solemn as oak, unbended steel, and Sam looks away. “I need to know that you won’t,” Dean asks, closest to begging since Sam died in his arms. “Please, Sammy.”

 

“You made me a promise once, Dean,” Sam tells him, running his hand along the Impala’s smooth edge.  “That you’d never, ever leave.”

 

Dean almost smiles. “I was seven, dude.”

 

Sam meets his eyes. “I know.”

 

--

 

It rains the final day. They leave the cabin and drive east, towards the dawning sun. Sam says everything that pops into his head, determined to drown the silence. 

 

They listen to Dean’s favorite music at full volume, and Dean sings along. Sam just watches.

 

He hasn’t decided yet what he’ll do.

 

--

 

Dean wants to go alone.

 

Sam says, “Fuck that.”

 

--

 

She arrives with a pack of snarling dogs, clothed in a petite and dark-haired woman. “Dean,” she coos, “I see you brought company.”

 

Her crimson eyes look him over and Sam straightens to his full height. “Sammy,” she murmurs, circling around him. “Such a delectable treat.”

 

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. “I won’t let you take him,” he tells her. 

 

She laughs. “You don’t get a choice, darlin’. He gave me his soul for your life. I kept up my end of the deal.” She cocks her stolen head. “Of course, Sam, you have a choice here.” 

 

Dean cuts in, “He’s not makin’ a deal with you.”

 

“But I’m sure he feels left out,” she purrs, reaching up to touch Sam’s face. “The only Winchester who hasn’t sold hisself yet.” Her smile is cold and vicious. “What d’ya say, Sammy? Wanna make a deal?”

 

He has considered it, over the last months, thought about it, written out every twist and turn of phrase he could think of. He could get years, years of him and Dean and the road.

 

“Don’t,” Dean says, that same tone from the cabin, that kept Sam from shooting their father and keeping all this from coming to pass.

 

Dean never asks for things for himself. And he always gives.

 

“I’ll let you live,” Sam tells the crossroad’s bitch. “If you let him go.”

 

She laughs.

 

--

 

The sun rises. Sam stares at the horizon, sitting on the hood of Dean’s Impala. Dean’s charm is around his neck and he’s got Dean’s favorite gun in his grip.

 

Sammy, don’t you kill yourself, after. 

 

“You swore to never, ever leave me,” Sam whispers, reaching up to grasp the charm, desperately. “You swore.”  He closes his eyes, the cool metal of the gun biting into his skin. 

 

Dean’s gone.  

 

Sam pushes off the hood and slips into the driver’s seat. He rests his head on the steering for a long, aching moment before starting Dean’s Impala. 

 

Dean’s gone. 

 

Sammy, don’t you kill yourself, after. 

 

Dean never asked anything for himself. But he used up some of his last breath to ask Sam for this—so Sam will give it to him. 

 

“See you, Dean,” he whispers, laying down the gun.

 

 

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[tigriswolf]

Thank you so much!