Summary: Dean ponders the prospect of life without the possibility of his Sammy.

Here With Me by frostygossamer

Dean sighed and rolled out of bed. Downstairs in the kitchen Lisa was merrily bustling about getting Ben ready for the school day.

He wandered down the stairs in his T-shirt and boxers. Lisa looked up and smiled kindly. Ben was practicing for today's history test while stuffing his face with cereal.

Dean unfolded the local paper on the kitchen counter. Taxes, crime, housing prices, some ninety-year-olds' wedding anniversary, nothing special.

Lisa hurried Ben and his sports bag out to the car for the school run.

"Back soon, babe", she trilled over her shoulder, as she disappeared out the door.

The house fell silent.

Dean wandered into the living room and sprawled on the couch. He grabbed the remote and flicked through thirty channels on the TV.

OK, he thought. So life wasn't exactly a laugh a minute right now. Well, this is what it was supposed to be like, right? Stable. Steady. Safe. Normal.

This was the kind of life Sam had wanted. This was the life Sam had wanted for him.

He was gonna get a job, settle in, maybe he and Lisa could get hitched, maybe have a few more kids, get old, have grandkids, comfortable retirement, die very old and happy. Yeah sure, that's what Sam had wanted for him.

And what then? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Paradise? Eternity?

Dean turned over and buried his face in a pillow. Eternity without the possibility of Sam.

There was an emptiness and an ache in that thought that would never go away.

Sam was his baby brother. His baby. His!

And any parent will tell you. You're not supposed to outlive your child.

(AD BREAK)

There's only so long you can hover on the edge of crying without taking the plunge, and Dean was dry-eyed now.

He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands for a moment, then pushed his right hand through his hair and stood up.

He wandered over to the cabinet and picked up the bottle of whiskey, twisting the cap, but stopped before filling a glass.

Old habits die hard, he thought, putting the bottle down and going back into the kitchen to make himself a strong black coffee.

As the coffee-maker burped the brown stimulant inside its glass jug, Dean let his eyes close, leaning against the dishwasher.

He was so tiny, when he carried him out of their burning home. So tiny and precious. Dad had trusted him with the baby and there wasn't a moment thereafter when he didn't worry about him.

"Sam", he breathed.

"Jerk", he swore he heard someone say, close to his ear, and laugh, that big hearty guffaw he had. Ha ha ha.

Outside in the street two guys walked past, probably sharing a dirty joke. They disappeared sniggering into the distance as Dean watched them go.

"You should be here with me", he whispered.

He loved that kid. He would always love that kid.

(AD BREAK)

Dean woke suddenly. It must be after midnight. He slipped out of bed carefully, so as not to disturb Lisa.

Through the window he could see the full moon. He stared at it for a long time. Nothing flew across its face.

The scene outside was touched by moonlight. The yard they overlooked at the back was littered with kids toys. There was a kid's bicycle. Sam had one like that. He was always twisting the front wheel. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd straightened it for him.

Once he had fallen off and skinned his knee. It had taken weeks to heal.

Something wet splashed on Dean's hand. He looked at it dumbly for a moment.

This is no time to cry, he thought. It's too late.

Life goes on day by day, he mused. And that's the Hell of it.

"It's gonna be OK", Sam whispered, in his head.

It's never gonna be OK, Sammy.

(NO MUSIC, AD BREAK)

The End