Part One

[mickeym]

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When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.
- Helen Keller

What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
- T. S. Eliot

Prologue

It's pretty chilly for early October, and there's too much of that chill hitting him, so Sam rolls his window back up, then zips up his hoodie for good measure. At this rate, they're gonna have snow by Halloween, and wouldn't that suck? Not that Sam trick-or-treats anymore, but it's the principle. Any time before December is way too soon to have snow.

Outside the closed window, streetlamps whiz by at dizzying speeds, the by-product of Dad's foot resting heavy on the gas pedal. Mom's fiddling with the radio, and over his mp3 player come the sounds of Dad singing along with—Sam frowns. Johnny Cash?

For the moment it takes the thought to form, Sam aches with missing his brother; misses being able to jostle Dean with his shoulder and make a face, and know that Dean knew exactly what he was making faces about – or vice versa. This isn't even Dean's first year away, but it still sucks almost as much as last year did, and Sam's pretty sure he's never not going to miss having Dean around.

Whatever. Dwelling on it only makes him cranky, and since they're on their way to Buffalo Bob's for BBQ, Sam doesn't want to be cranky. He's reaching for his mp3 player to turn up the volume, when his phone vibrates in his pocket (Dad's rule: no cell phone ring tones during family time). He flips it open and grins, because it's kind of like the universe read his mind and compelled Dean to text him.

yo, bro. 'sup?

dinner w/ rents what r u doing?

date 2nite w/ a hottie im gonna get some ;)

Sam smirks at the text. He can picture Dean's accompanying leer so clearly his brother might as well be sitting beside him.

does ur bf know? *eg*

im telling u now! don’t b jelus sammy

it's sam and u wish i was ur bf, you shld b so lucky

bite me & you'll alwys b sammy 2 me

Sam rolls his eyes and decides he's lucky Dean doesn't have the patience to type out something about changing Sam's diapers or something equally embarrassing.

we're almst @ the restaurant, have fun 2nite and b good

im alwys good ;) tell m&d i said hi.

"Dean says to tell you hi," Sam says, after tucking his phone back into his pocket. He turns his mp3 player off and coils the earbuds around it before tucking them into his other pocket. "Said he has a date tonight."

"With Evelyn?" Mom turns slightly to glance at Sam.

"He didn't say. Just said he had a date." Sam shrugs. He's not sure how he feels about Evelyn. She seemed nice enough when they met her while visiting at KSU a few weeks back, but there was something about her that raised his hackles, too. Maybe the way she hung on his brother, like she couldn't stand on her own.

"Are we gonna get the family special? Because I want brisket and ribs, if we don't." It seems like it's been hours since he ate anything, and Sam's ready to devour the whole menu at Buffalo Bob's.

"You growin' again, Sammy?"

Dad sounds amused, and Sam shrugs and shakes his head. "Maybe?"

It would be kind of cool to be taller than Dean. Be the younger brother, rather than the little brother.

Mom sighs and murmurs something about just buying boxes for Sam's feet, instead of shoes, and Sam misses the chance to snark back when his phone vibrates again. He digs it out to check the message. "Eric wants to know if I can spend the night tomorrow night."

"Don't you have band practice tomorrow?" Dad changes lanes in a quick zip, and Sam wonders how it's fair that he can criticize Sam's driving, when he's like a maniac behind the wheel. He's not even really looking at the road now, just frowning at Sam in the rear-view.

"Yeah, we do. So I could just go home with Eric afterward." Which reminds Sam he still needs to give his folks the permission slip for the away-game in three weeks. "They'll bring me home Sunday, on their way to church." Like always. After four years, this really is old hat, and asking permission is pretty much a formality, since he and Eric stay at each other's house at least a couple times a month, if not more.

Dad looks at Mom, gets her nod, then back at Sam in the rear-view, and nods himself. "As long as you plan to help me with the yard work Sunday afternoon."

"And change your sheets before you leave tomorrow morning," Mom adds, before Sam can say anything.

He nods – this is also routine, the 'as long as you do' varying slightly depending on the season, but always something before he goes – and sends a message back to Eric. they said yes, see u 2moro @10.

He's just closed his phone when there's a cacophony of blaring horns and squealing tires. Dad shouts something, his voice rough and alarmed, and Sam looks up in time to see a semi-truck coming straight at them.

The last thing Sam hears over the sound of twisting, screeching metal is Mom screaming, and then everything goes dark and quiet around him.

~~~~~

Chapter One

Hospitals are supposed to be busy, full of activity and people bustling around, but it's dead quiet when the doors swish open, and Dean swallows down a wave of nausea at his choice of words. He's pretty sure he's never going to forget the phone call a few hours earlier.

Dean, it's Gunther. You need to get to Lawrence, son. There's been an accident.

Gunther wouldn't give him details over the phone, which by itself told Dean it's bad. Mike and Ellie wouldn't let him drive himself, Mike insisting that if things were that bad, he would need support. So they piled into Mike's beat-up Toyota, and now he and Ellie are parking the car, after dropping Dean off at the ER entrance.

Gunther is easy to spot, huge and forbidding, his lined face drawn into a frown. If Dean hadn't known the guy for literally all his life, he might be intimidated. He doesn't see Sally, Gunther's wife, but knows she's around somewhere. Gunther wouldn't be down here without her.

"Gunther. Where are they?" He can't see anything, or anyone, and the panic he's managed to mostly shove down is starting to creep back up Dean's throat.

"Easy, son. Hang on a minute." Gunther nods to the woman sitting behind the desk he was standing beside, and she's picking up the phone even as he leads Dean over to a group of chairs. "Sit down."

"I don't want to sit, I've been sitting—where are they?"

"Sam's still in surgery, I think. The nurse is gonna check for us." Dean's never seen this expression on Gunther's face before, and he tries to brace himself.

"Mom and Dad?"

Gunther shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Dean."

It feels kind of like the world falls out from under him, then. Everything slows down, going a little gray around the edges. Dean concentrates on trying to breathe in, out, in, out. He hears a wavery, breathless voice ask, "both of them?"

Hopes that by asking again, the answer will change.

"As I understand it, your daddy—passed—at the scene. Your ma, I'm not sure. Before I got here. That's all I know for certain."

"How?" That can't be his voice, can it? Actually, none of this is really happening, is it? It's just a really bad dream, and he's going to wake up any minute now. Any minute.

"Truck driver fell asleep, lost control of his rig." Gunther settles one hand gently on Dean's shoulder. "Sit down, boy, before you fall down." His voice is just this side of gruff, enough to anchor Dean from floating away. The chair is hard plastic beneath him, but it's solid, unlike his legs.

"How—why'd they call you?"

Gunther settles heavily into the chair beside Dean, familiar scents of tobacco and motor oil rising up. He smells like Dad smells -- smelled -- and Dean bites down on his tongue to keep the tears back.

"Reckon it's because your daddy had me listed as an emergency contact. Always has done, far as I know." Gunther draws a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "You drive over by yourself?"

Dean shakes his head. "My roommate and his girlfriend drove me. They're parking the car. Why'd they take Sam into surgery? What's going on with him? Is he gonna be okay? Do you know anything else?"

"Doctors wouldn't tell me much, Dean, since I'm not family. I just know he was busted up pretty good, because they didn't feel they could wait to get him into surgery. You'll have to fill out all the paperwork, once the doctor's come by and talked to you."

Gunther's still talking – Dean can hear the sound, if not the actual words – but nothing's really penetrating. All he can think is, Mom and Dad are dead? What if I lose Sam, too? God, please let him be all right, and feel the words echoing around inside his head.

He's peripherally aware of Sally joining them, a warm, comforting presence beside him, and of Mike and Ellie coming in at some point. Gunther introduces himself and Sally, and Dean lets the low, quiet murmur wash over him as Gunther tells them what's going on. What's happened. Maybe it's the echo, maybe it's hearing it again, but the tears come then, stinging his eyes. Sally pulls Dean into her arms and holds him while he cries on her shoulder.

~~~~~

By the time the sun rises the next morning, Dean feels as though he's aged a hundred years.

Sam's still out, hooked up to more machines than Dean's ever seen in one place at one time. Dr. Peters, Sam's doctor, said they're going to keep him in a medically induced coma until the swelling from the concussion goes down some, and while they wait to make sure they got all the internal bleeding stopped.

"We have him stabilized, and I'm not expecting any complications," the doctor told him while Dean stared at his brother, trying to wrap his head around everything he'd just been told. Concussion. Contusions. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. But—alive.

After talking with Sam's doctor, Dean had to identify his parents' bodies. Even now, hours later, thinking about it makes his already unsettled stomach shift uneasily, and Dean swallows hard a couple of times. Sally and Gunther left around five to go ready the shop to open, but Mike and Ellie are still there, taking turns sitting with Dean, or fetching more coffee for all of them.

"Dean, is there anything you want me to do?" Ellie's soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Dean shrugs helplessly.

"I don't have a clue what needs to be done," he says, looking out the window at the clear sky and bright sun. As waiting areas go, it's not a bad one. The couches and chairs are soft, and one of Sam's nurses brought him a pillow and blanket at some point last night. There are several windows, and the walls are painted a soothing light green. It'd be a great room to just hang in, if it wasn't the waiting room for the freaking Intensive Care Unit.

It's almost time for visitation again; he's been watching the clock, chaffing at the 'no visitation between 6:30a and 9:00a for shift change' restriction. "I guess I need to go home and see if I can find Dad's—if I can find all the legal papers." Would they be at the house? Or is there someone else he needs to see, like, do his parents have an attorney? God, this is nuts. "This is the universe laughing at me." Dean twists his mouth into something like a smile when Ellie frowns at him. "This year, when the school year started, I remember telling Dad he didn't need to worry about me anymore, because I was all grown up and could take care of shit myself."

Ellie huffs out a breath. "I don't think there's a college student alive who hasn't said something like that to their parents. I told my mom something similar just last week, on the phone." She pats his back gently. "Why don't you try napping for a little while, and I'll make up a list of things I think you might need to do."

"You don't mind?" Dean's not sure he's going to be able to sleep – at least, not until Sam's up and around – but not having to focus on all the thousand-plus things that are gonna need to be done, that sounds kind of like heaven.

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded, you goof." Ellie points toward the doorway. "Go in and check on him, then come back here and take a nap. While you're doing that, I'll get to work with my magic powers of organization." She wiggles her fingers, and Dean smiles.

"Thanks, El. I don't know what I'd do without you and Mike here."

She's already digging in her shoulder bag for paper and a pen, but she gives Dean a smile. "Go. Shoo."

"Going already, geez." He bites down on the 'Mom' he almost added, and that trickle of pain winds its way through the numbness that's all he's felt since late last night.

~~~~~

"Dean? Dean, you should wake up."

He's only been asleep for a minute or two, he's sure of it, and the room wobbles and blurs until he rubs at his eyes. Even then everything still seems to have a bit of a softer focus than usual to it. Ellie's standing beside the chair he fell asleep in. "Ellie? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. At least nothing new." She hands Dean a steaming cup. "Good news is, Mike stopped by your dad's shop, and Gunther gave him some papers that were in the lock-box there. Copies of some of your dad's legal stuff, I guess."

He takes a cautious swallow. Not cafeteria coffee; probably from the Beanery up the street. Lots of sugar – always a good thing. Another swallow, and Dean looks around. "Sammy?"

Ellie shakes her head. "It's visiting time again in a few minutes; that's why I woke you up."

"Has the doctor been by yet?"

She shakes her head again. "I don't think so. I haven't seen him go by, at least. I stepped out for a little bit, went to get some coffee, and to call my mom and Mike's folks, but I wasn't gone very long." She fishes a piece of paper out of her purse and hands it over Dean. "You don't have to do these in the listed order; I just wrote things down as I thought of them."

"Oh—right." He's only glanced down at it, but he's pretty sure it's a list he doesn't want to have to read over. Looking at it more carefully confirms that.

Read over legal papers.
Make funeral/memorial arrangements.
Make arrangements for when Sam's released.
Find contact info for insurance company (life, auto).
Check about health insurance stuff.
Find contact info for attorney.
Follow up with police dept (Ellie has ph#)
Contact Sam's school.
Contact Dean's school.
Newspaper re: obits?
Check w/ bank re: funds to keep bills going, etc.

"Geez, that's a long list, El." He feels nauseous again, so Dean takes another long pull at his coffee, hoping that will help.

"I know it is, but it's all stuff that you'll need to do sooner or later – some of it sooner than others." She frowns. "I told my mom what happened, Dean. She wanted me to give you her condolences, and to tell you to let her know if there's anything she can do for you."

"Thanks, Ellie. Really. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have thought of all of this." He glances up at the clock and drapes the blanket over the back of the chair beside him. "I'm gonna go check on Sam. I really wish he'd wake up."

"You remember the doctor said he was keeping Sam in a medically-induced coma, right? He won't wake up until the doctor takes him off the medication."

"Oh—right." So many things to remember. Dean thinks his head might explode.

"Look, it's nearly one." Ellie tips her head toward the door. "Go on and check in on Sam, and then we'll head out. I told Mike we'd meet him for lunch at the sandwich shop across the street. We can go over your list, and make some phone calls while we eat."

"I can't leave Sam." Dean shakes his head. "If something happens—"

"We'll tell them at the nurses' desk on our way out, and give them both our numbers, okay? Nothing's going to happen in an hour or so, and you have the number to call if you feel like you need to."

Dean remembers when he used to think nothing would happen in the blink of an eye, but not anymore. Still, he follows Ellie slowly out of the room and down the quiet hall. While other parts of the hospital might be bustling with activity, the ICU is fairly quiet. It's a little unnerving, actually, so much silence here.

Sam looks just as he did a few hours ago, so pale and still in his bed, the bruises around his eyes and across his cheeks the only color around him. His chest rises and falls steadily, driven by the ventilator, soft hisses from the machine underscoring the beeps of other machines.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says softly, reaching to pick up Sam's hand. Sam's other hand has the IV tubing snaking down from it, and Dean's afraid to touch that hand. He doesn't want to jostle anything, and hurt his brother. "You need to get better and wake up, man. I can't deal with all this shit on my own. C'mon, Sam. Just—wake up, okay? Please."

There's no response, but Dean didn't expect one. He smoothes Sam's hair back off his forehead and brushes a gentle kiss across it. Ellie watches from the doorway, radiating concern.

He's only allowed in with Sam for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, so Dean gives Sam's hand a gentle squeeze, adjusts the blankets, then follows Ellie out of the room. They stop at the nurse's station to leave instructions to call Dean's cell if there's any change, then head down the hallway toward the elevator.

"What day is today?" He asks, as they exit the hospital, out into the bright, cool day. The sun's bright, and Dean squints, wondering where he left his sunglasses.

"It's Saturday. Why?"

"Crap." Dean stops and frowns. "Saturdays—shit, Sam has band practice on Saturdays." At least he's pretty sure he remembers Sam telling him they were doing Saturday practices this year, since there was a better-than-average chance of going to the state finals. "I'm gonna have to find Eric's number, and let him know what happened, too."

"Do you want to go—" Ellie frowns. "We could drive over to the school, if you want?"

"Nah. I don't know how long practice lasts. I know Eric's number is on the list on the fridge. I'll call his house later. He'll want to come up and see Sam, once Sam's—up. Awake."

Ellie nods, then points to where Mike's standing in front of the sandwich place – Barry's Burgers, the sign proudly proclaims – waving at them.

Inside the shop – Mike disappeared as soon as Dean and Ellie started across the street – it's warm, and the air is full of the scents of grilling meat, and the sounds of sizzling heard over the murmur of conversation. It's not super busy, since it's not lunch hour anymore, so they only wait a few minutes for burgers and plates piled high with fries. Dean manages half of his burger before his stomach rumbles unhappily and he pushes his plate away.

"Gimme the papers," he says to Mike, and then, "you want the rest of my fries?"

"Yeah." Mike hands over a manila folder with one hand, and pulls Dean's plate toward him with the other.

Inside is a sheaf of legal papers, and a couple of business cards, and what look like copies of insurance policies. One of them is for the policy on the shop; Dean sets that aside without looking at it. Anything to do with the shop he can defer for now, because Gunther will keep it going while Dean settles everything else. The health insurance policy gets passed over in favor of life insurance papers, and Dean's eyes pop open wide. Five hundred thousand dollars? Holy shit.

"Guess I don't have to worry about buying groceries," he mutters, then blinks the sting of tears away. He would so rather have his Mom and Dad, instead of an insurance policy payout.

"Are there copies of their wills in there?" Ellie pushes her plate away. "That will probably have information on, um. Burial stuff."

As it turns out, Ellie's right. He skims over the copy of their will that was obviously kept updated since it names him as guardian for Sam, as he's reached his legal majority. There's stuff in there too about division of estate if it's deemed necessary, and what particular pieces go to whom, along with a lot of legalese that makes his eyes glaze over. At the bottom of the stack of papers, though, is an envelope with a receipt, a pamphlet, and a print-out in it from Warren McElwain Mortuary and Crematory. Dean swallows heavily a few times before he's sure his burger is going to stay put, then he opens the envelope and reads over the details his folks set down years ago – nearly ten, going by the date on the print-out – for their funerals.

"They want to be cremated," he tells Mike and Ellie as he skims the papers. "But they also bought a small plot at Oak Lawn cemetery, for a headstone. That's where my dad's parents are buried, so I guess they wanted to be near them."

"Do you want to have a memorial service for them?" Mike's still picking at his fries, and Dean kind of envies him. He wishes he could eat, too, but even as good as his burger smelled, it tasted kind of like nothing in his mouth.

"I don't know. I'm gonna—wait for Sam. Talk to him about it." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "What time is it?"

"A little before two. You want to get back?"

"Yeah." He feels antsy, being this far away from Sam for as long as it's been.

Mikes nods. "Gunther said to call him later, and to let you know he and Sally could come down and sit with you, or spell you."

"Okay. Yeah." Dean's glad other people are thinking about these things – these things that all seem so logical – because he's not sure he's processing anything other than autopilot.

~~~~~

The nurse at the desk tells Dean that Sam's doctor will be coming by about six, and depending on how he's doing, there's a good chance he'll take Sam off the meds that are keeping him asleep. Dean calls Gunther to let him know, then waves Mike and Ellie off to his house to get some sleep. He settles into the chair beside Sam's bed with Ellie's list and the legal papers, and a notepad to make some notes of his own. As long as he's quiet, maybe the nurses will let him stay longer than fifteen minutes at a time.

The blinds on the window are closed against the late-afternoon sun, so it's fairly dim in the room, and cool enough that Dean's grateful for the sweatshirt he has on. He shifts around to get comfortable, then looks at his brother. Dean's pretty sure he hasn't seen Sam this quiet and still ever. It's eerie, actually. He stretches forward and brushes Sam's hair back off his forehead, careful not to touch any of the bruises, or the small bandage on his temple, probably covering up yet more stitches.

"You look like you went a couple rounds with a prize-fighter, Sammy," he murmurs. "But don't worry, kiddo. I'll take care of you. You got nothin' to worry about, okay? I promise. You just work on getting better, and leave the rest to me."

He feels a little silly talking to someone who can't answer him back, but it makes him feel better. He squeezes Sam's unresponsive fingers, then leans back in the chair to contemplate his list. So many phone calls to make, and decisions to come to. How's he supposed to decide some of this stuff? What if he makes the wrong choices?

There's a business card attached to Dad's will, so Dean writes the number down on his list; he'll have to call them Monday. He'll have to call the registrar's office Monday, too, and withdraw for the semester, because there's no way he's going to be able to do everything he needs to do, and help Sam, and stay in school. He's going to have to see about transferring his classes to a local school, too. Unless Sam wants to move—and then they'd have to decide about selling the house—

"Jesus. I take it all back."

"Take what back?" Gunther's voice is pitched low, but still makes Dean jerk in surprise. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay." Dean looks at his watch. It's a few minutes before six. "And I take back everything I ever said about wanting to be an adult."

Gunther gives him a small smile. "It's usually something you get to grow into. You kind of got it all dumped on you."

"Yeah."

Dr. Peters comes in then, a nurse following behind him. She has another IV bag she hangs on the pole beside Sam's bed. Dr. Peters gives Dean and Gunther both a nod, then opens the chart he's holding. He makes a couple of notes, checks Sam's bandages, looks in his eyes. Dean watches as he palpates Sam's abdomen gently, then lifts the catheter bag to check it. It's tinged dark pink. The doctor frowns and palpates Sam's belly again, his frown deepening.

"What's wrong?" Dean doesn't like that frown.

"He's started running a fever, and it looks as though there's still some bleeding."

"Internally?" Dean swallows roughly. "He's—is he okay? Does he need more surgery?"

Dr. Peters shakes his head. "Not right this minute, but we're going to monitor him closely for the next little while." He sighs. "Your brother suffered major trauma, Dean. We repaired the internal injuries we could see, but it's not impossible that we missed something. Also, some things his body just needs to heal itself—"

"He looks like he's peeing blood!"

"Kidneys are pretty fragile things; it doesn't take much to bruise them, or make them bleed a bit. Right now it's just something we need to keep an eye on. He's in serious condition, but he's also healthy and young. We'll do all we can for him, to help him do the rest. I'm going to keep him sedated for now, and we'll see how he's doing tomorrow. If the bleeding has stopped, and his fever is down, we'll wake him up."

"So he's—he's not gonna—"

Dr. Peters gives Dean a gentle smile, and Dean feels Gunther's hand come down on his shoulder. "He's not going to die, no. Like I said, he's in serious condition, but he's stable, and I'm not anticipating that changing."

"Okay. Good."

"You should go home and get some sleep. Sam's not going to notice if you're here or not." There's more than a hint of suggestion in that, and Dean sighs.

"I don't want to leave him. I—he's all I have left, doc. I can't—if anything happens to him—" His throat closes up and Dean can't force any more words past it.

"I understand that, but you're not going to be any help to him if you make yourself sick from lack of sleep."

Dean's all ready to argue, and then Gunther says, "What if I stay here for a while, so you can go home, have a shower and catch a nap? I can call you if there's any change, and the doctor's right, Dean, you ain't gonna be any use to anybody if you don't get some shut-eye."

"You don't mind?"

Gunther scowls. "You boys are family. 'Course I don't mind."

Dean's not convinced he'll be able to sleep once he gets home, but a shower would feel good, and he's been in the same clothes for two days, now. He nods. "I guess I'll call Mike, tell him to come get me."

Dr. Peters nods. "Good. I'll see you later, then, Dean. Mr. Andrews."

They answer, or at least Dean thinks he does. He's still staring down at Sam, wishing his brother would just wake up, eyes shining and dimples showing, wide mouth smiling up at Dean.

"C'mon, Dean. Off you go." Gunther jingles some keys in his direction. "Don't bother Mike. Take the Charger, and we'll juggle cars tomorrow." He frowns when Dean just looks at him. "You need a shower, and you need some sleep in a real bed. I'll call you if anything comes up. Charger's out in the visitor's lot, not in the parking garage."

"Right. Okay. But call me—"

"Go. Home." Gunther glowers at him, so Dean just nods and goes.

~~~~~

The house looks just the same as it ever has, though Dean isn't sure why he thought it might look different. He sits in Gunther's Charger, listening to the engine tick over as it cools, and just stares for long, long minutes. The garage door is closed, but behind it is Dad's Impala; they were driving Mom's Honda last night. Dean wonders if the outcome of the accident would've been different if they'd been in the Impala.

Doesn't really matter now, though.

Cool air buffets him when he steps out of the car, and it carries a hint of rain in it. Won't be too much longer before it's snow, which will mean holidays—

Dean shuts that train of thought down before it can go any further. He absolutely can't deal with that right now.

Inside the house looks just the same, too, and there are the obvious signs of a family that was expecting to be home after just a couple of hours: a laundry basket with folded clothes sitting beside the staircase, waiting to be carried upstairs. A pile of mail on the table beside the front door, clearly brought in but not sorted through. Sam's backpack, clarinet case, and grungy gym shoes dropped on the floor beside the hall tree, with Dad's work boots leaning against the pack.

Mike's crashed out on the couch, so Dean makes his way quietly through to the kitchen. There's a note on the table in his dad's handwriting, telling his mom he'd be home about six and how about dinner out? A newspaper is folded haphazardly, half finished cross-word puzzle facing up, and set to one side, with an empty coffee cup on top of it. There's also a notepad with the grocery list in his mom's handwriting, and a note at the top of the list that says, need more oj, mom.

Mom's coupon box is on the table as well, and Dean doesn't even need to close his eyes to picture her sitting there, box open while she clips out coupons from the ads in the paper and makes her notes for the grocery list.

He's never going to see his mom or dad again, and that thought is like ice water moving through him.

Ellie is asleep on the bed in what used to be Dean's room, and there's not a chance in hell he's going to be able to sleep in his parents' room, which leaves Sam's room.

It's almost meticulously neat – the giant freak – except for his desk, which has Sam's computer, a chem text, two notebooks, a sheaf of sheet music, and a bright pink post-it note that says, Call Chandler about tutoring, 785-2332 after 7p. Dean wonders who Chandler is, and if the tutoring is for him, or from him. He has trouble imagining his brainiac brother needing tutoring in anything.

Sam has a bulletin board on his wall, ribbons won from band competitions and soccer games stuck up there with push-pins. He has a Harry Potter poster on one wall, and one of the Dallas Cowboys on another, side-by-side with a poster that's a map of the solar system. When Dean closes the door behind him he sees the periodical elements chart that's hung there since Sam was in the fifth grade. He's willing to bet if he turns the lights off and lays on Sam's bed the constellations he and Sam made on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars will still be there.

The ache Dean feels, missing his brother and wanting him right here right now, is a physical thing that threatens to overwhelm him, and he's struck then by an almost desperate need to see those constellations; to prove to himself that some things haven't changed – or worse, ended. Dean toes his sneakers off and switches off the overhead light. With the curtains still drawn, he tosses himself down onto Sam's unmade bed. The sheets and pillows smell like the shampoo and bodywash Sam likes, and the fainter tease of aftershave and sweat, and Dean pulls in a deep breath, letting the scent settle him.

Tomorrow they'll wake Sam up. Hopefully. Definitely. Dean can't fathom having to deal with any of this any longer without Sam. He needs his brother. Yeah, he's the oldest – he's the fucking adult in the family now – but he and Sam have always been united, been a team. It's always been them together, and right now Dean feels like he's drowning. He needs his brother. Sooner, rather than later.

He stares up at glow-in-the-dark stars and thinks tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow until he falls asleep.





On to Part Two

Comments

[amalia21-6.livejournal.com]

This is breaking my heart. It is also making me think of the things I need to take care of like Wills and stuff to make it easier for my kids. :(

[mickeym.livejournal.com]

I know I had a lot of thoughts like that, when I was researching and writing. Weird how fiction can sometimes trigger stuff like that, isn't it?

Thanks for reading :) I'm sorry for breaking your heart! *hugs*

[big-heart-june.livejournal.com]

Oh man, you write so beautifully...I'm pretty much tearing up here.

[mickeym.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm sorry for the tears, though. *offers hugs and tissues*

[ysbail.livejournal.com]

For some reason I'm picturing Gunther as Bobby....

Okay. Stopped crying just about. On to part two.

[confuzed.livejournal.com]

Wowsers this is sad :( I want to hug them both through my laptop...

[xcravecatalysmx.livejournal.com]

This is a great story, and there are a few details that can't help making me relate to it so easily - like Gunther, who happens to be the name of my childhood doctor, and Sam playing the clarinet (like me!) You're a really powerful writer, I cant wait to read the rest :)