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samisadeangirl · 5 days ago

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No, but imagine after Dean's death, Sam goes to Dean from another universe just to see his brother's face again.

After Dean’s death, Sam stays in the bunker for a week. He puts all the books back in their places, mops the floors in the library and the kitchen, packs his things into bags and throws out the trash.

He enters Dean’s room on the last day before he leaves. The soft pillow still smells like Dean — a mixture of aftershave, acrid gunpowder, and the faintest hint of something Sam has no name for. To himself, he always identified it as Dean's scent.

He spends four long hours in the room. First, he forces himself to release the pillow from his grasping fingers, and then begins to slowly and carefully collect Dean's things. The old, worn records become one pile, the magazines and newspaper clippings another. Dean's clothes are scattered all over the room, from the closet to the desk, and Sam puts on one of Dean's shirts, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the last of his scent. Sam carefully packs the photographs that Dean has kept all this time into a tin box and puts them in the bag with the important things. He still doesn't dare to touch his brother's unmade bed or remove the bedding. When Sam leaves the bunker, Dean's room is the only evidence that someone lived there.

Surprisingly, he has a lot of options of where he can go. A couple of days ago, Jody had carefully hinted that she and the girls had made room for him in their house, while Garth had openly told him that he was afraid to leave him alone and would be very happy to have Sam over to his house soon. Sam had even received an invitation from Cesar and Jesse, who had promised him a warm welcome, which Sam had carefully declined. Right now, he had only one place he wanted to go.

Finding them wasn't as hard as Sam had feared. They hadn't gone to Brazil, as Dean had advised, but had just settled in California, and Sam thought with a chuckle that Dean would have something to say about that.

The drive takes more than a day, and when Sam closes his eyes from exhaustion, he doesn't check into a motel, but instead curls up in the front seat of the Impala, leaning against the window and trying to get a few hours of sleep. Miracle is snoring loudly behind Sam, and it's the only thing that gives Sam some semblance of comfort.

When he pulls up to their house, there's only one figure at the door, and Sam tries to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of grief he's been hiding all this time. He knows the person he's here for is probably waiting for him inside.

Sam gets out of the car a little slowly, as if delaying this moment, although he understands that it’s stupid. He needed it himself, there was no point in being afraid now.

Miracle jumps out of the back seat much more actively and cheerfully than Sam, and then happily runs towards the figure, resting his front paws on the man's stomach and happily wagging his tail. Sam takes a deep breath, following the dog.

"Hey," Sam says first, looking closely at his reflection in front of him.

Sam from another universe looks much better than he does, he is sure of it. The man bun still sits firmly on his head, a light silk scarf is tied around his tanned neck, but the most important thing is his gaze, which is not burdened by loss and loneliness. The only thing Sam can accurately detect in another's eyes is sympathy, but Sam tries to pretend that he doesn't notice it.

"We thought..." the other Sam begins, but then trails off, distracted by Miracle, who is still happily curled around his legs, not at all confused by the fact that his owner has an exact copy of himself. "We thought that it might be best if I met you alone," the other Sam finally breathes out, shrugging.

Sam is grateful for that. He'll probably need at least a few minutes to gather his strength to step foot inside their house.

"He's waiting for you inside," the other Sam continues, nodding slightly towards the room. "I'll hang out here. Keep company to..? "

"Miracle," Sam says immediately, stroking the dog's ear. "His name is Miracle."

"Miracle," the other Sam repeats, smiling and shaking his head understandingly. "I hope he likes our frisbee," and then the other Sam steps away from the front door, patting Sam on the shoulder encouragingly and calling the dog to him.

Sam takes a few deep breaths before finally stepping inside.

The house they had acquired was clearly different from the bunker, but most likely not so different from the house in their world. The bright entryway flows smoothly into a spacious living room with sophisticated design and decorations, but Sam walks past it, not concentrating on the obviously expensive furniture and fancy plants in pots hanging on the wall.

Sam finds him in the kitchen. Two mugs of steaming coffee are on the table, the baby blue curtains are fluttering in the light breeze from the open window, and he’s standing with his back to Sam, but even so, Sam feels his breath catch and his eyes begin to sting unpleasantly.

Dean turns to him slowly and carefully, as if he's afraid to scare him, and then his lips stretch into a slightly sad smile and he awkwardly pushes one of the mugs towards Sam, as if making the first move.

Sam doesn’t try to fool himself with hopes and deceptions. He knows this isn't his Dean, he always knew it, even when he first dialed their number to arrange a meeting.

This Dean was softer and gentler, his brows not furrowing at random moments, and his green eyes not lined with bruises and tired lines from lack of sleep. His hair seemed lighter than his Dean's, and even his quirky clothes (seriously, who wears a cardigan in the California heat?) softened the angles of his body. The final piece of the puzzle is his voice — calm, melodic, and as soft as he is.

"Hey, Sammy," sounds too loud in the quiet kitchen, and Sam involuntarily flinches, but immediately tries to control himself, although it’s not easy.

It's not his brother, he knows that, he's been telling himself that the whole long drive here, but it's still Dean. It's still his big, green eyes framed by long, fluffy lashes, it's still his sharp nose and soft, full lips. It's still his big hands, which always looked smaller next to Sam's. It's still Dean, just not the one Sam can pull into a hug and stay there forever, never letting go.

"Hi," Sam finally breathes out, and then clears his throat to get rid of the tremor in his voice. He steps forward tentatively, not taking his eyes off Dean, to which Dean only nods approvingly, pulling out one of the high chairs and offering it to Sam, sitting down on the chair next to him and clutching his mug in one of his hands.

Sam tries to come up with some kind of coherent sentence in his head to start a conversation, but he can't. His eyes dart hungrily over Dean's face, and all he wants at the moment is to bury himself in his arms and hear his big brother's voice tell him that everything will be okay, but Sam knows that would be a lie. There will never be such a thing as "okay" in his life again, without Dean it's just impossible.

"How are you holding up?" Dean finally asks quietly, breaking the silence first, and Sam curls his lips into a half-smile, half-grimace, shrugging uncertainly. It's kind of ironic that Dean asks him how Sam is coping with his death.

"I'm holding up," Sam answers simply, and that's almost true.

He hadn't counted how many times he'd cried out loud this week, and grasped at his hair painfully, trying to pull himself together. He hadn't counted how many times a day he'd eaten, or how many hours he'd slept, none of it made any sense. Deep down, Sam supposed he hadn't slept a wink in seven hellish days.

"That's good," Dean breathes, looking down for a second, his long lashes casting faint shadows across his face. Sam automatically reaches out to touch him, but quickly pulls himself back, gripping his knee tightly instead, trying to compose himself. And Dean notices it, of course he does.

This Dean may be less traumatized and less guarded, but Sam is sure that even in another world, another Dean cared about another Sam the same way his Dean cared about him.

"You can touch me if you want. It's okay, kiddo," and as if to prove his point, Dean holds out his hand first, palm up, offering it to Sam. It's a few slow seconds before Sam dares to touch it. He carefully places his hand in Dean's, biting back a sob when Dean squeezes his hand in his own, then laces their fingers together, covering Sam's hand with his other hand on top, giving him the warmth and comfort Sam needs.

"Okay?" Dean asks, and when Sam nods, Dean hums approvingly, squeezing Sam's hand again. "You want to talk?" Dean asks again, his older brother instincts clearly kicking in. And Sam wanted to. He wanted to talk the whole way here, wanted to say everything he hadn't had time to say back in the barn, but when Dean asks, he shakes his head no, sniffling and pressing his lips together. It's getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. "Then can I talk?" Dean asks carefully, as if he were approaching a frightened, wounded animal, trying to convince it that he wants to help. This time Sam nods in agreement.

"Okay," Dean says, exhaling and shrugging. "When you called... I'm not going to lie, at first I thought it was an invitation to a party or something," Dean tells him with a small chuckle, and Sam can't help but chuckle back. "But then when we arranged to meet up and Sam, my Sam, hung up. We kind of cried together," Dean admits, and somehow Sam understands him perfectly. They might be the same people from different worlds, but they weren't close, and yet Sam doesn't feel like Dean's confession is weird or out of place. It's comforting, it lets him know that Sam is not alone. "I'm not going to tell you that you're strong and that you can handle anything, I'm sure people you know have told you that and you know that yourself. But Sam... Sammy," one of Dean's hands falls on his cheek, and Sam feels a few traitorous tears escape his eyes, rolling down his cheek and hiding under Dean's palm. "If you ever need anything, we're here, okay? I'm here."

And when Sam finally lets his guard down, shaking with sobs, Dean doesn't hesitate a second, pulling him into his arms and, just like his Dean, running his hand through his hair, stroking and soothing.

This Dean doesn't smell like his Dean. Instead of aftershave, Sam feels a light trail of cologne, the sharp smell of gunpowder is replaced by the smell of freshly baked goods, which is completely unusual for his Dean, but deep down Sam feels something similar to his brother, and he presses himself closer to the other Dean, trying to inhale as deeply as possible, to fill his lungs with this smell so that it stays there forever.

"Let it all out, Sammy, like this," Dean whispers in his ear, and Sam obediently follows his words, habitually trusting his older brother's voice, listening to his instructions. "It will be okay, kiddo, you'll see."

"It can't be okay because he's not here," Sam sobs, and it feels like he's finally admitting it to himself. "It feels like I can't breathe properly without him. It physically hurts not to have him around." Sam's voice is shaky and muffled from the way he's still burying his face in Dean's shoulder, but Dean keeps holding him tight and gentle, running his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of his head.

"I know, Sammy. Trust me, I understand."

"And all I want to do is give up and just be with him again. It doesn't matter if it's heaven or hell, I just need to be with him and tell him all the things I never got to tell him in the time we had. But I know that's not what Dean wanted, and that's the only thing keeping me here. But it's getting harder and harder to hold on, and I can't."

Sam notices too late that Dean has shifted their position slightly, so that their foreheads are touching and they are sharing the same breath. It should feel strange and wrong, this Dean is not his Dean. This is a stranger with his brother’s face and voice, but Sam is too broken and desperate to care. He meets Dean’s eyes across from him, and at this close he notices that they are not as green as his brother’s. The other Dean has little blue flecks and his eyelashes seem more brown than black, but when the other Dean gently tucks Sam’s long hair behind his ear, Sam cries louder and harder, no longer thinking about how the other Dean and his Dean are different. Instead, he tries to focus on the ways they are alike.

"Tell me what you didn't get to tell him," Dean says, and it doesn't sound like an order or advice, it sounds like an offer, like a chance to fix everything, and at this moment Sam is ready to grab at any opportunity to somehow calm the raging pain inside. "It's okay, Sammy, I'm here, tell me."

"I think about you every night and I can't stand the thought that I can't come into your room and fall asleep in your arms anymore. I've been in love with you since I was sixteen and every year I've loved you more and more and I know that I'll never stop loving you because it's impossible. I missed you even when you were around because I always didn’t have enough of you, but now that you're gone I miss you every second, every damn moment and I just want it all to stop and make it easier for me, but at the same time I know that you were the only one who could make it better. You were always the only one, Dean, and I don't know how to be without you because I can't. I can't and don't want to learn to be without you and it's not fair, it's just not fair."

Sam isn’t ashamed of his tears or his words. The line between the other Dean and his Dean has been erased, and now all he can see in front of him is his brother's familiar face, looking at him with tenderness and love. And if this was a fantasy that would last only a few seconds, Sam is ready to believe even that.

When Dean's warm lips touch his forehead, Sam feels his breathing even out slightly. Dean kisses his closed, wet eyelids, and Sam feels his heart squeeze less painfully than before. Dean kisses the red tip of his nose, and Sam squeezes it out of habit, the way he always did when Dean kissed him there. Finally, Dean's lips touch his cheek, and Sam slowly comes to his senses, remembering where he is. The other Dean looks at him uncertainly, and they both understand. His Dean would have left one last kiss on his lips, but his Dean is gone.

"There you go, Sammy, it's okay," Dean soothes, cupping his wet face in his warm, soft hands, and Sam whimpers, wrapping his fingers around Dean's wrists, holding him close. "Come here," and the next thing Sam knows, he's back in Dean's arms, calming down.

They don’t know how long it’s been. Sam continues to quietly cry on the other Dean's stupid cardigan as Dean slowly strokes his hair and back, bringing him back to his senses. The other Sam doesn't bother them during this time, and deep down Sam is grateful for that. The other Sam probably understood him better than anyone else.

"You're not coming back, are you? Is this our last time?" Dean whispers, still not stopping his soft, overly gentle caresses. Sam manages to squeeze out a quiet "yes" only after a few minutes.

He doesn't want to think about how exactly Dean realized it. He doesn't want to think about what gave him away, his voice shaking too much or his touching too desperately, but he doesn't see the point in lying about it. Sam had originally intended this meeting as a farewell.

"And I can't change your mind?" Dean asks hopefully, but Sam just shakes his head, closing his eyes and trying to savor the last moments in his brother's arms. The only one who could make Sam change his mind was his Dean, and unfortunately, despite how similar they were, the other Dean wasn't his. "I understand," Dean assures him, but Sam can still hear the disappointment in the other man's voice. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," Sam asks, and he knows it sounds childish. It's the same tone he used to ask Dean to buy him a lollipop or remove a big bug from his bed when he was a kid, but he feels no shame in it now. He wants to be a little brother for at least a few minutes before reality hits him like a big wave and Sam becomes just Sam, an orphan without parents or a brother, a man who has lost the love of his life.

"Everything will be okay," Dean says immediately, pressing a light kiss to the top of Sam's head, and Sam exhales, relaxing. "And I'm with you, always. Wherever you are, I'm always with you, don't forget that. It'll be okay, I promise. It's always darkest before the dawn, right?"

Sam hugs Dean tighter. And when Dean whispers "I love you, Sammy" into his ear, Sam feels alive for the first time in a long time, breathing out "I love you too."

When it's time to say goodbye, Sam gently wipes the tears from the other Dean's face and gives him a genuine smile before quickly kissing his cheek and whispering "be happy." Sam doesn't give him another hug or turn around as he leaves the kitchen. He knows that if he does, he won't be able to leave.

The other Sam is waiting next to the Impala, taking the frisbee from Miracle and scratching the dog's head. When Sam steps into the driveway, the other Sam's head snaps up and he stares at him. Sam is certain that the other Sam knows absolutely everything that happened inside the house.

"Are you okay?" the other Sam asks him cautiously, which seems even more absurd than when the other Dean asked him about it. Sam wipes his wet face and clears his throat before nodding and saying yes. It's not the whole truth, but it's not a whole lie either, and they're both happy with it.

Miracle runs happily toward him, and Sam laughs lightly, crouching down and letting the dog lick his cheek.

"Dean was the one who named him, right?" the other Sam asks, and Sam can't help but look up in surprise at his copy from another world. "Dean... My Dean has been telling me for three months now that he wants a dog. I've been trying to talk him out of it and we've been arguing about what to name it if we ever decide to get one. Miracle was Dean's first suggestion and out of all the others... I liked that one the best."

The other Sam shrugs, as if to say "whatever," and instead of the painful stab in his chest that Sam was expecting, he gets comfort. He and Dean may not have gotten their "happily ever after," but just the thought that in this universe, even if it's another Dean and Sam Winchester, they can live a long, happy life together gives Sam strength and hope.

He gets to his feet and without realizing it, he's holding the other Sam tightly in his arms, patting him on the back in a friendly way.

"Take care of him," Sam asks, and when the other Sam firmly tells him "I promise," Sam steps back, smiling, and opens the back door for Miracle.

Driving away from their house is easier than Sam had feared, and when in the rearview mirror he sees the other Dean walking out to the other Dean and they embrace each other, Sam wipes the last tear from his face and reaches for his cell phone.

He knows that Jody and the girls will be happy to receive his call and visit.

#fan fiction #wincest #dean/sam #the epic love story of sam and dean #my otp #not all loves are the same #post-finale feels

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