Losing You

The Bedset

You stood before rows and rows of plush comforters and bed sets, stacked so high the shelves seemed to touch the ceiling. Sam's hand was in yours, gently caressing the back of your palm as you both scanned the choices, up and down, left and right. The fluorescent light was harsh on your eyes and unforgiving to your skin, you imagined, but Sam still gazed at you like you were perfection. He always did that, even before, but this gaze was more intense, tainted with a shade of desperation and clinging.

"There's too many choices. I can't..." he said.

"I know. Maybe we should just go someplace....smaller," you sighed.

"No, no. This is Bed, Bath, and Beyond, the civilian's official home store," he said, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, "If we're going to get a bedset, we might as well do it right."

"Yeah, it's not like we get the chance to do this much, or at all."

You looked at each other, sharing warm smiles and a silent thought: Shopping was tougher than you expected.

You released Sam's hand suddenly, spotting something that might work in the bedroom. The comforter was warm brown and the sheets cream-colored. Paired with matching brown pillow cases and a two reddish-brown accent pillows, it was perfect for your bedroom. It would match the bunker's colors; it was simple, yet beautiful; and it would be all yours.

"This one," you said, pointing and then picking up the clear plastic package. "Yeah?"

You looked to see Sam's reaction. He would probably be fine with any set, he wasn't picky, but for whatever reason your choice had him beaming.

He put an arm around your shoulder. "It's great."

Sam couldn't be absent from contact with you for more than a few moments. He would intertwine your fingers, place a hand on your shoulder, or sit so close to you that your arms and knees were bumping. You didn't mind. You appreciated the closeness, especially after all you'd been through. This was Sam's way of making sure you were still there, solid and real, permanent. Dean was better about it now. At first, he'd been the same way, always watching where you went, barely letting you shower or pee without standing watch outside the door, both of them always right there when you turned a corner. But Dean had settled down by now, two weeks later. Sam was still on edge and in awe. You couldn't blame him for being this way, though.

You had died.

You don't remember much of the experience, only the moments before; the overwhelming sense of weakness flowing down from your head to your toes; your head resting on Sam's lap. Later, after you had returned from beyond the veil, Sam and Dean asked if you went to heaven, but you didn't know. There was falling asleep on the church floor and waking up in an empty bedroom. Everything in between was nothingness. But this is what you did know.

Sam and Dean did not get to the church in time. Even if they had arrived sooner, it wouldn't have mattered. Once you hit the halfway mark on the vials, your chances of survival, even if you had quit, were slim. Crowley was nowhere to be seen. He popped out of the bunker as soon as the Winchesters unlocked his shackles, quickly spouting off some explanation as to why he needed to get back to Hell. Sam thought he was attempting to amass a small demon army, gathering and leading them to where ever you were, but he never found you. His decision to not help the Winchesters ended up proving fatal to him, not that it bothered you much. You had planned on him not finding you. You were careful to set up wardings.

Sam and Dean were instantly crushed with the weight of your death, the sorrow burrowing quickly into their bones and debilitating them. They almost couldn't carry you out. Dean said he had taken the cured woman to the car, came back in, and Sam was still sitting in the same position, holding you. Silent. Dean wasn't sure how he was up and moving, keeping things going. Inside he felt like Sam, but something, maybe denial, was pushing him to take action. It took Dean a long time to convince Sam to carry you out. He wouldn't let Dean lift you, wanting to be the only one touching you. He cradled you to his chest, tucking your limp arms into the space between you and him, walking stiffly as single tears slipped out of his eyes. He sat with you in the back seat while Dean drove to the hospital where they dropped the woman off, trusting she could take care of herself. Then they drove back to the bunker.