By Tidia, March 2006
Warning: This is a deathfic. I really
feel that when all is said and done this may be how the show ends
(years from now of course!)
UNDER the wide and
Dig the grave and
let me lie:
Glad did I live
and gladly die,
And I laid me down
with a will.
This be the verse
you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where
he long'd to be;
Home is the
sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter
home from the hill.
They crept down the cave-switching on
who would take point. First Dean, then Sam and a rag tag march to the
finish line—a throne room for the demon that killed their mother,
killed Jess and others. John had told them to go ahead-arming each with
a weapon that would destroy the demon in the end. They all needed one.
Three chances were better than one.
John was fighting and winning the
battle with the demon’s henchmen-snake like creatures that emerged from
the cave walls. Satisfied that he would conquer and catch up, the boys
They were interrupted by the next set
of guardians. Another set of beasts, armed with crude weapons, magic.
They had been beaten and bruised, but somehow had gotten a step ahead.
Hopefully, there was enough time before they were overtaken again. Dean
zipped up his leather jacket.
“Go ahead, I’ll cover you,” he
whispered gesturing to Sam.
The younger brother hesitated,
pulling the sword from its sheath.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Dean
prompted, cocking his head as he heard the voices. “Go!”
Maybe the demon hadn’t expected them
to get to his domain, because he seemed calm in his throne, waiting.
“This is not the end.”
And Sam felt like he was burning. The
agony made him falter, and drop to one knee. “Oh, God, help me.” Sam
didn’t expect a reply, but a reply came in the form of his mother and
“Sammy, you need to listen. We only
have a few moments.” His mother said, placing a hand on his cheek.
Jessica placed a hand on his arm and
helped him to rise. “In the distraction just go for it.”
“Go for it?” Sam wanted a little more
direction, but knew as the flames around him recessed that was not
going to be possible.
They provided the distraction needed,
flames surrounded the demon in a grave annoyance. And at that point,
Sam threw the sword hoping his aim would be true.
With a crack, of sound that blew Sam
to the ground, the sword hit its mark, shattering the demon into sparks
and smoke. Sam lay on the ground-stunned and blinking.
That was how Dean found him when he
stumbled in. “Sammy? You all right?” Dean crouched down, placing a hand
on the ground, and one on his brother’s chest.
“Help me up,” Sam replied, giving his
hand to his brother to pull him up.
They studied each other for a moment
until the rumbling sounded.
“We need to find Dad,” Dean stumbled
forward, as the earth shook under their feet.
Zigzagging through the cave
recklessly, they did not come upon the henchman. With the power of the
demon destroyed so were the henchmen. As they turned another corner
their father charged at them.
“Come on boys, this place is falling
down around us!” He yelled, as he turned and kept in time with their
pace. Finally, the exited into the sunlight, the cave collapsing behind
them with a cloud of smoke.
They stared at the cave, and allowed
themselves to be covered in its grit. Sam laughed first, the laugh
passed to John and then finally to Dean. It was a laugh of relief and
utter astonishment. They had done it.
It was time to walk away. Sam turned
first, then John. Dean stayed in place.
“Dean, are you coming?” Sam asked,
smiling at his brother.
The older brother returned the grin
then dropped to his knees, then sideways to the ground.
“Dean!” Sam ran forward. “Dad?”
John raced to his son’s side,
checking Dean’s neck pulse. “Dean, where are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean looked at the two
most important people in his life.
Sam shook his head, and noticed the
blood stain at the end of the flannel shirt. Frantically, he unzipped
the leather jacket and saw the wound. “Dean, hang on” Sam placed his
hand over the chest wound to stop the bleeding. Red saturated the
undershirt and the flannel.
“Did I do good?” Dean shifted his
gaze to his father.
“You did good, Dean.” John said
placing one arm under Dean’s leg, and the other supporting his
shoulders. John lifted his son; Sam kept his hand on top of the wound.
John closed his eyes, and let Dean’s head rest against his shoulder. He
felt the warm breath, just like when his son had been a baby. “I’ve
always been proud of you.” John’s voice grew husky. “We need to get you
to a hospital.”
Dean nodded, though he knew he
wouldn’t make it to the hospital, but to be in the Impala-that was
fitting. They placed him in the back seat. Sam stayed with him, trying
to keep the chest wound from bleeding anymore.
The engines grumbled, and Dean almost
let himself go with the vibrations of the car. But, Sam’s grief
stricken face loomed over him.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m not going
to make it.”
“Yes, yes, you are. You are!” Sam
said vehemently, not willing to accept this death.
“I always knew this was how it would
end. Listen,” Dean tried to raise his head, failing; he gestured with
his chin for Sam to come in closer.
“Tell me later,” Sam said
obstinately, then leaned forward.
Dean licked his lips, knowing he was
faltering. “Go back to school, forget about all this, forget about me,”
Dean closed his eyes, and then opened them. “And take care of Dad.”
“No, no,” Sam removed his hand from
the wound and brought it his brother’s face. The other hand grabbed
onto Dean’s hand tightly. “Dean, I won’t forget you. You here me?”
Dean smiled. “I’m a past that was
never supposed to be . . . You have a future to go after. Promise me. .
.Promise me. . .” Dean gripped Sam’s hand.
“I promise, Dean, I promise.” Sam
tried to wipe the blood off of the side of Dean’s face. The blood he
had transferred there.
Dean blinked heavily. “Stop the car.”
John heard his son, and brought the
car to a stop on the side of the road. And on the side of the road they
watched a minute pass, and Dean shuddered and gave one last breath.
His eyes remained open. Sam called
out his brother’s name in hope of calling him back from death. It was
John who closed the eyes of his son, resting his hand on top, feeling
the warmth that remained.
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