Summary: Making sacrifices is synonymous with being a Winchester. So is saying goodbye.
Warnings: angst, a bit more angst, mild smut, sad Sam, sad Dean.
W/C: 1.9k
Rating: M (mature 16+)
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Crowley mentioned.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader (she/her - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity.)
A/N: I found this half-finished WIP in my docs, and I got inspired to finish it while listening to Sam Smith - Lay Me Down. I broke my own heart a little.
Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @slytherkins // all mistakes are mine.
Graphics: @talesmaniac89 made the dividers.
Master Lists: Main // Sam Winchester
All I Ever Do Is Say Goodbye
She drives toward the bunker, barreling toward heartbreak, all functions on autopilot. Not even the roar of the old engine penetrates her thoughts.
Should she even be going back? Should she just hit the road, not say goodbye? What will hurt him less, having to say goodbye or never seeing her again?
She blames herself for all of it. He will blame himself, but it’s on her. He won’t understand it. He’ll tell her she made a mistake. He’ll plead with her to let him fix it. He'll admonish her for what she did, for him.
Given a chance, she wouldn’t change her mind. She regrets nothing. What she did was for him; everything has been for him. Since the day she met him, the moment she realized she loved him, she’s been living her life for him. It didn’t take her long to understand, sacrifice is the payment required to have the honor of the Winchester name.
Dean’s at the map table nursing a shot of whiskey when she enters. His eyes find hers as she slowly descends the stairs, anger radiating off him. She feels small and meek under his scrutiny. When Dean Winchester is mad and disapproves of a decision, it’s as if his usually pretty eyes can pierce her skull like a bullet, bore a hole through her to make her acutely aware of his mood.
She disobeyed an order he gave her, an order he gave on behalf of Sam because, at the time, his brother was unable to give it. It doesn’t mean her actions hurt Dean any less. A bullet to the brain would be less painful than seeing the disappointment and sorrow cloud his eyes.
“You knocked me out,” he says, mouth set in a sneer.
She reaches the bottom step and cracks a joke, unable to stop herself, “Normal Tuesday for you, then?”
He shakes his head, unimpressed, and says her name like there’s gravel stuck in his throat, “Y/N.”
“Dean,” she counters. “Leave it alone, please.”
He glares at her for a moment, the decision of whether to argue or not warring on his features. She’s tired, mentally and emotionally drained. It’s written in the pull of her brow, tattooed into the once vibrant light behind her eyes. Fighting will not change anything; arguing will not undo the decision she made. Besides, he needs information, not a fight.
“How long did he give you?”
“Not long enough,” she sighs, stealing his drink and knocking it back.
“How long?” Sam demands, striding in, wet hair dripping onto the shoulders of his plaid.
Her breath catches, and tears fall immediately. He’s alive. All traces of the blood that covered him hours earlier are gone; no evidence remains that he ever had a gaping hole in his chest. He’s alive, breathing, but the light behind his eyes is out; the smile he normally has for her is absent. That’s her fault; it’s because of her. He knows what she has done, as does Dean. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out; she’s a Winchester. She did what any Winchester would have done. She pours another shot into Dean’s glass and takes the hit.
Impatient at being ignored, tight-lipped, Sam asks, “How long?”
“It’s Crowley,” she shrugs, “you know how he feels about us Winchesters.”
Us Winchesters. The words constrict her throat. Sam gave her his last name, and they made all the promises that come with it. Till death do us part.
“Damn it, Y/N!” Sam bellows, slamming his fist into the table. “Answer the question!”
“A week.”
His legs buckle. He crashes into the nearest chair, inhales sharply, chokes on a sob, and emits a pitiful groan, a gasp of “No”, and she now knows the sound of a breaking heart.
Sam curls his naked body around hers in their bed, the warmth of her body only reminding him she won’t be warm for long. Memories of their life together play like a movie montage in his mind. There are a thousand things he could say, but none of them would ever be enough, and he’s not sure he remembers how to form words. It’s all too much, too many emotions he can’t convey.
She kisses his lips softly, sweetly, unhurriedly, as if they have all the time in the world, and they do. They have all the time left in her world. Her world is here, wrapped in his arms. Her world is ending, but his will continue without her, which is why he agreed to go to bed and not immediately dive into researching a way out of the deal she made with Crowley. As she snuggles closer to him, he realizes he’s the one who needs this memory, not her.
“Promise me you’ll let me go,” she entreats, lips brushing his. His silence promises the opposite. “Sam, I’m serious,” she pulls away to look into his eyes. “We’ve had our time,” she reminds him firmly. “We had a lifetime together. My lifetime, at least. It’s unfair that you have to be without me, but you can do this. I believe in you. The world needs you, Sam. It’s harsh, and it’s unfair that you have to be the one to lose in order for the world to win. It’s selfish of me that I’m glad I’m going before you, but you have to know that this is what I want. I don’t want to be in a world without you in it. So no deals or spells, no Cas, no trying to fix this.”
Sam kisses her just as firmly as she had kissed him but still promises nothing. He has a week to fix it, a week to find a way, and he will. One thing Sam Winchester is rarely in short supply of is hope. For now, all he wants is to feel her skin against his own. He wants to feel at home, to remember everything about her, just in case his hope proves to be false. At the moment, all he needs is her.
The kiss leads to roaming hands, and Sam’s glad they crawled into bed naked. Like an infant, he needed the skin on skin contact.
There’s little foreplay, only enough to ensure he doesn’t hurt her, and it’s not long before he’s buried deep inside her. As she envelops him, her needy whine of his name makes the heartache fade to a dull throb.
He moves slowly, sliding in deeply and pausing, completing the circuit with their mouths attached at all times. They make love, and Sam basks in the sensations of being wrapped around each other in every possible way. It’s heaven. A heartless heaven because he knows he’ll remember her days are numbered, when it’s over.
He loses himself in her pretty noises. He breaks the connection of their lips to allow short respites to catch their breath, but they both ardently whisper terms of endearment on a loop.
The inevitable end happens as Sam’s entire body shudders, shivering through his orgasm, and he falls asleep weeping into her shoulder. She consoles him, but she never apologizes.
She kisses Sam’s forehead gently, and he groans sleepily, draping an arm over her and pulling her into him. “I’m just going to get a drink,” she chuckles.
Eyes still closed, voice still clogged with sleep, he pulls her face down to his lips. “Don’t be too long,” he requests, kissing her.
“I love you,” she murmurs against his mouth before slipping gently out of bed.
She makes it to the library before the tears fall. She says a silent goodbye to the bunker. It has been her physical home for the last few years, but her true home was always the cocoon and security of Sam’s arms. She wishes she could wake Dean and say a real goodbye to him, but there’s no time. Seeing Baby one last time will have to be enough.
Her step falters upon entering the garage and seeing Dean sitting with his back against the Impala’s passenger side. The heavy garage door closing jolts him awake, and he groggily looks around to ascertain where he is. “I knew it,” he says, finding her staring back at him. She remains still, waiting for him to get to his feet. “How long did you really get?”
She exhales deeply; she doesn’t want their last conversation to be a lie. “Until dawn.”
Dean checks his watch then his panicked eyes pin her to the spot. “Why’d you lie?”
“Because he’d have done something reckless,” she explains, matter of factly. If anyone knows about Sam’s reckless behavior, it’s his brother.
The anger and panic in his eyes dissolve into sympathy, and with a hint of acceptance, he asks, “What do I tell him when he wakes up?”
“You tell him I’ll remember everything, that even in death, he’ll be with me.” She knows it's true; she knows where she is headed. Her memories will remain, and amongst the fire, the unrelenting torture, the indescribable pain she will endure, she will bear it with him in her mind's eye. She will remember her sacrifice was for him, so he could continue to live, to fight. “Remind him every goddamn day that he’s strong, Dean, you hear me?” Her tears fall steadily, and Dean takes a step forward to embrace her, but she halts his advance with an outstretched hand. “I want him to be the last person that touched me. I’m sorry, Dean.”
It’s unfair of her. She’s being selfish, and she’s breaking her brother’s heart in the process because Dean is her brother, too. Family doesn’t end with blood. But she wants Sam’s hands to be the last that touched her. She needs it to be that way.
Dean nods his understanding, licking tears from his lips.
“I know I’m putting a lot on you, Dean, and I know I’m leaving you too. But I’m okay knowing I’m leaving Sam in your more than capable hands. You’ll take care of each other. It’s what you both do best.”
He nods, clearing his throat of his emotions, and holding her eyes, he says goodbye. “See you on the other side, Y/N.”
That’s just the way life goes. Sam thinks as he watches her body burn. At least that’s the road of Sam’s life, falling in love only to end up with another empty bed. He can’t eat, won’t sleep, because a part of him is missing like he’s been hollowed out.
Things are different now that she’s gone, quieter but loud at the same time. Nothing seems to matter. His love for her, like breathing underwater, chokes him. He prays, probably uselessly, that they’ll meet one day again, and he’ll get to say all the words he never said. He’d give anything for another moment by her side. It’s hard living without her in his life, but the times they shared live in perfect memory. Those were the glory days, and he celebrates them. That’s enough, for now at least. It has to be.
He tells himself he believes he’ll be next to her again one day, but sometimes it’s hard to hold onto the belief. The days seem so dark; the moon and stars are nothing without her. He needs something to cling to, and hope is all he has. No words can explain how he misses her. He tries to deny the emptiness, the hollowness inside, but the tears tell their own story, and as they drip from his chin, Dean claps a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m so tired of this,” Sam sighs. “All I ever do is say goodbye.”
