By Tidia, March 2006

Words: 1.137

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 starry sky
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.

-Robert Lewis Stevenson

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 went ahead.

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 Jess.

“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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