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[personal profile] painting_walls

Title: Gone
Author: [personal profile] painting_walls
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Character death
Summary: Some hunting trips don't end like they are supposed to.
Disclaimer: Fiction. I do not make money out of this...

Note: This was supposed to be Pulp Fiction type of a story that starts from the end, continues from the beginning and ends in the middle. Didn't really come out as I wanted...


Just as sun was rising Sam had pulled the car to a rusty little gas station. With shaky hands and unsteady legs he dragged himself out of the car and walked to the payphone. Twelve familiar numbers and he heard a voice he knew well. "He's gone, dad."

"How?"

"Wounded. Bloodloss." Sam forced the words out like each one ripped his heart in two. He breathed out and leaned his forehead against the battered wall waiting for the answer. The smell and taste of iron in Dean's blood didn't leave Sam's nose, his mouth. He listened Dad curse on the line. John Winchester never cried when someone saw or heard but Sam knew there were thousands of tears to shed.

"Was he alone?" John just had to know that. Sam knew that what John really wanted to ask was if there was a yellow-eyed-demon included.
"With me. I was there till the end. No one else." Sam wiped his tears with his sleeve.

"Did you..." John's voice trailed off but Sam knew what he meant.

"Yes. Just how I'm told to do." Damn, it hurt.

"The car too?"

"We were in the middle of fucking nowhere. How I was supposed to get away?" Sam's mouth tightened and he clenched his free hand into a fist. The anger building in him was about to burst out.

"Sam."John's voice was calm, commanding. Sam hated the military voice that their father used to give out the orders. "You know the routine. All parts of the body. All most prised possessions."

"I already burned out the amulet. Let me have the fucking car." He slammed the phone down and walked to the car.

John knew nothing. He hadn't been there to watch how his oldest son disappeared into the flames. Or how Sam finally broke down after those long hours of trying to show Dean a brave face. Sam had stayed beside his body for six hours. Six long hours he had howled and cried desperate tears of great loss. Dean had been everything for him. Brother, friend and lover. When Sam finally got himself together, he did what he had been taught to do after a violent death. He had dug a grave, six feet deep. Then he had dragged Dean away from the car, poured salt and gas and scratched a match.

Sam eased himself on driver's seat and caressed the steering wheel. "Fuck. Dean." The pain he felt was nothing compared to the pain after Jessica's death. He had always thought there could be no worse pain than losing a girlfriend he planned to marry. But that time Dean had been there to hold him together. Now when it was Dean whom he lost. Sam had no idea how to keep going on.


...................

"God." Sam breathed out as he saw Dean on the ground. Dean crawled up to his knees one hand pressed onto his stomach. Blood dribbled between his fingers and through his shredded shirt. Sam rushed to his side and pulled him closer. "Dean." Sam withdrew Dean's hand to see the wound.

"Looks worse than it is." Dean forced out as he fell back on the grass.

Sam took off his own shirt and tried to press the gash on Dean's abdomen. The blue of his shirt turned into dark red and Sam knew that there wasn't much to do. They were at least three or four hours from the closest hospital and Dean was losing blood so fast.

Dean moaned and dug his fingers in Sam's arm. "Just a scratch." Dean panted as he tried to drag himself up again.

Sam bit his lip and cursed quietly. He knew well that Dean had a good idea of how serious this was but this was Dean's way of coping. Dean would try to joke about it till the end. "Lay down." Sam pushed Dean down. Dean gave him a lopsided smile and Sam tried to smile back. His hands were smeared with Dean's blood and he knew that there was no way of making it into the hospital. He had no way of saving his brother. Only thing he could do was to pull Dean close, press his hands onto the wound and try to stop the bloodflow. Dean's breathing was fast and erratic, but it slowed down until it vas barely noticeable. Sam stroked Dean's hair and talked. He had no idea what to say but he couldn't shut up. He spoke of their life, of their love. He revealed his most valued secrets and thoughts and whispered how he would buy them a house when Dean got better. How they would finally settle in one place they could call a home.

Every word had a meaning and Sam tried to tell himself he believed all of them. But him and Dean alike, knew that there wouldn't be a day after. These were the last moments they had and Sam did his best now to cry. He didn't know how long it had been. Probably just minutes when Dean lost his consciousness. Sam held him and listened his breathing die down. He felt Dean's heartbeat fail under his hands and knew his brother was gone. Then he cried.
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