Supernatural - Chapter 49: IF | BE Warning | May 3 Never Came (Patreon)

It was daylight by the time the doctor came out of surgery.

He went through the medical terms: catastrophic blood loss, circulatory failure, wounds too deep, the length of their attempts to revive her. They had done everything they could.

Dean didn't understand any of it. Or perhaps he understood perfectly and simply refused to let it sink in.

“So?”

The doctor hesitated.

“I'm sorry.”

There was no mistaking that.

Beside him, Sam went steadily paler.

Dean barely reacted. In an almost level voice, he asked whether he could go in and see her.

...

For the first few days after Murphy died, Dean seemed far more normal than anybody expected.

He dealt with the paperwork, gathered her things, and discussed the cremation arrangements with Bobby. Sam still had a wound in his lower back, and the headache left by that burst of power hadn't entirely faded. Somehow, Sam had become the one who visibly needed looking after.

So Dean looked after him. He made sure Sam took his medicine, reminded him to change his dressings, and shoved a plate in front of him when he realized Sam hadn't eaten all day.

As long as there were enough things to do, Dean could almost avoid thinking about Murphy being dead.

Sam, meanwhile, became quieter every day.

He couldn't stop going back over that night. What had it felt like to fling Lilith away? How had he pinned her against the wall the second time? Why had the black smoke obeyed him?

He had power. An incredible amount of it.

What if it had come sooner?

Thirty seconds sooner, perhaps even fifteen. Would the hellhound have reached Murphy at all?

At first the thought surfaced only now and then. Eventually, it was almost constant.

Then, one night, Dean found Sam laying things out in the basement.

“What are you doing?”

Sam froze.

Several of Bobby's books lay on the table, together with their old files on demons.

Dean took one look and his face hardened.

“Don't tell me you're planning to find a demon and try it out.”

“I just want to understand what happened with that power.”

“Figure it out later.”

“When?”

Dean's irritation flared. “I don't know. When you're healed, when we know what we're dealing with. Whenever. Just not now.”

Sam had barely slept in days. The frustration he'd been holding down came rushing up.

“And what if it happens again?”

“It won't.”

“How can you know that?”

“Sam.”

“If I'd known how to control it that night...”

“Stop.”

But Sam kept going. “If I'd been just a little faster...”

“I said stop!” Dean shouted.

The basement went dead quiet.

Sam stared at him, his chest rising and falling hard.

“Why can't I talk about it?”

Dean's temples were pounding. “Because she's dead!”

The words stopped them both.

Dean regretted them immediately. Every trace of color vanished from Sam's face.

But he couldn't take them back.

“I know,” Sam said, barely above a whisper. “I know she's dead.”

Dean opened his mouth.

Sam gave a sudden, ugly laugh. Even to his own ears, it didn't sound like laughter.

“I was holding her behind the car, Dean.”

Dean's expression changed.

“I kept my hands pressed against her wound. Her blood was all over them. I kept calling her name. At first she complained that I was making too much noise. Then she stopped answering.”

“Sam...”

“I know she's dead!”

At last Sam was shouting. Everything he'd forced down for days broke loose at once.

“That's why I need to understand! If it was my power, if I could have done that all along, why didn't I learn sooner? I was so close! If I'd only been a little quicker...”

“You think you're the only one who goes over it?!” Now Dean snapped. “I was driving! I...”

He bit back the curse that followed, his chest aching.

“I heard you calling her the whole way. I knew she was getting colder. I knew you couldn't stop the bleeding, and I still had to drive! You think I haven't wondered whether I could've driven faster? Taken a different road? Gotten us out earlier? Broken that damn contract sooner...”

“At least you had her!”

The moment it came out, Sam went still.

Dean fell silent too.

It was a horrible thing to say.

Sam regretted it at once, but the bitterness and grief he'd been trying to contain had spilled out. There was no putting them back.

He dropped his gaze, his voice terribly rough.

“At least she knew you loved her.”

Dean watched him for a long moment. Then he understood.

Not that the realization was new. He had known for a long time. But while Murphy was alive, there had always been a future in which they could untangle the mess, however complicated it was.

Now there was nothing.

“You think I didn't know?”

Sam's head jerked up.

Dean's eyes were red. “You think I couldn't see the way you looked at her?”

Sam tried to speak and couldn't.

“I never thought there was anything wrong with it,” Dean said quietly. “If she were still here, we'd have worked this damn thing out.”

If she were still here.

Neither of them could find another word after that.

Eventually Sam slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Dean didn't scold him any further about the reckless things he'd been considering.

He stood there for a long time before saying, “Don't experiment on yourself.”

Sam didn't answer.

Dean's voice grew even rougher. “I've already lost one of you, Sammy.”

This time, Sam nodded.

...

For five full days, they left Murphy's belongings untouched in the room before they finally managed to sort through them.

There wasn't much. Her phone, wallet, a few clothes, and the personal effects the hospital had returned in a bag.

Dean couldn't bring himself to touch it, and neither could Sam. As long as the bag stayed sealed where it was, they could almost pretend its owner simply hadn't come back yet.

In the end, Sam was the one who opened it.

He took the items out slowly, one by one. When he reached Murphy's jacket and slipped a hand into the pocket, his fingers met cold metal.

Several keys clinked softly together.

Sam pulled them out. The numbness on his face disappeared in an instant.

Three identical house keys.

Dean noticed quickly enough. He came over and examined them. His first thought was Bobby's house, but after living there so long, they both knew what those keys looked like.

“These aren't Bobby's.”

Sam turned them over in his hands. There were no labels or anything else to say what they opened. Yet someone had carefully prepared three matching copies.

For no reason he could name, his heart sank.

Murphy wasn't in the habit of carrying three identical keys without a reason.

They both thought of Bobby at nearly the same moment.

Bobby was in the living room when they came downstairs with the keys. He was about to ask what was wrong, but stopped as soon as he saw what Sam was holding.

Whatever unease Dean had been feeling suddenly turned into certainty.

“You know what these are.”

Bobby didn't deny it.

He stared at the three keys, his face drawn. A long moment passed before he spoke. “She was going to tell you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Sam's fingers closed hard around the keys.

May 3.

Silence settled over the room. Dean kept his eyes on Bobby. His voice had begun to strain. “Tell us what?”

Bobby let out a breath.

“She bought a house.”

For a moment, Dean couldn't make sense of it.

A house?

It was strange enough to associate that word with Murphy. Hearing it now made it even harder to grasp.

Bobby explained that she'd bought the place after Christmas and put the paperwork in his name for the time being. She'd spent months getting it fixed up, and the work had only recently been more or less finished. She was planning to take them there on May 3.

Dean lost track of the explanation. He was looking at the keys in Sam's hand again.

Three of them.

He already knew the answer, but still asked.

“Who were they for?”

Bobby looked at the keys too, his eyes visibly wet.

“Who do you think?”

...

Neither brother said much on the drive to the house.

Bobby had given them the address but hadn't come along. Before they left, he told them Murphy had been visiting the place every so often for months. The last time had been quite recently.

Sam held all three keys in his fist as Baby turned onto the gravel road.

Only when the house finally appeared ahead did the whole thing begin to feel absurd.

Murphy was supposed to have brought them here by now.

She would have sat in the car without telling them a thing, watching them try to guess. Once Dean discovered the garage, she probably would have studied his reaction when she thought he wasn't looking. She'd even been carrying the keys. She'd missed it by one day.

But there were only two people in the car now.

After Dean parked, he left the engine running for a long time.

Sam didn't push him. Eventually Dean opened his door and got out.

They didn't discuss it. They simply carried the keys to the front door. Sam tried the first one, and the lock turned with a soft click. Inside, the silence made every footstep sound too loud.

The place hardly needed explaining. They could see which parts had been renovated and which spaces hadn't been completely furnished.

Murphy had plainly left a good deal of room on purpose, as though the final choices could wait until they were all living there.

Dean could barely stand the thought.

This wasn't a finished guesthouse where she meant to invite them for an occasional visit. She'd intended for them to make it their own.

He didn't linger downstairs. Before long, he found the garage.

Dean stopped dead when he pushed open the door.

There was nothing extravagant inside. But after a moment of looking around, he recognized what she'd done.

Months ago, they'd idly talked about what kind of place they might live in someday. Dean had said the garage ought to be wide enough that Baby wouldn't be crammed into a corner. He'd want space to work, decent lighting, and he'd take care of the tools and workbench himself.

Dean had forgotten the conversation as soon as it was over. Murphy hadn't forgotten a word.

Standing in the doorway, he could almost see where she would have been.

She'd probably have leaned against the wall and watched him look around, then asked, pretending she didn't already know, whether he liked it.

He certainly wouldn't have admitted it immediately. He'd have found something to criticize first: the workbench needed replacing, the lights needed adjusting, and she shouldn't go buying tools without him.

Murphy would probably have told him he was impossible.

Dean found himself smiling.

An instant later, tears spilled down his face.

He wiped at them, but more kept coming until all he could do was brace a hand against the doorframe.

“You even remembered that.”

He spoke so quietly that no one could have answered, even if there had been anyone there.

He stayed in the garage a long time. By the time he returned to the house, Sam had disappeared from the ground floor.

Dean followed the stairs up and found him in the study.

Sam sat at the desk without moving.

Dean leaned against the doorframe and watched him for a while.

“This yours?”

Several seconds passed before Sam nodded.

“Yeah.”

His voice was hoarse.

Dean was trying to think of something to say when Sam lowered his head and ran his fingers along the edge of the desk.

“It's been made to fit my height.”

Dean couldn't say a word after that.

Sam himself had only noticed when he sat down. The height was exactly right.

Whenever he researched cases in motel rooms, he had to make do with the same little tables.

There was never enough room for his legs, and his back hurt after he'd been sitting too long. He'd grown so used to shifting position every so often that it had never occurred to him to complain.

But Murphy had noticed. She noticed while typing on her computer beside him. She noticed when they spread out their research.

And she'd remembered that tiny detail for months, even though Sam had never considered it important.

A tear struck the desk before Sam realized he was crying.

He wiped it away quickly and bit his lip, fighting to keep quiet.

“How did she remember everything?”

Dean shut his eyes.

They'd had the thought a thousand times. Before, they'd only found her extraordinary memory useful. She never had to save phone numbers. She could find anything she'd read once. On a hunt, she never forgot a detail they'd already encountered.

Neither brother had considered that she was remembering things like these too.

The kind of garage Dean mentioned wanting in passing. The discomfort Sam put up with at motel desks.

She'd carried it all with her.

Sam covered his face. Before long, his shoulders were trembling.

“Dean, I didn't even tell her...”

Dean knew he wasn't talking about the desk. He came into the room and stood beside him.

For the first time in days, Sam didn't force himself to swallow the words.

“I love her.”

The words came muffled from behind his hands, his voice utterly raw.

“I know,” Dean said.

“But she didn't.”

Dean had no answer this time.

Sam began to cry harder. He'd always believed there would be time.

Once Dean's contract was dealt with, he could work through his feelings. He could wait until he no longer had to fear his brother's death, until things between Murphy and Dean had settled, before deciding whether to say any of it aloud.

He had waited until May 2 was over.

And then there was nothing.

Dean finally placed a hand on the back of his neck and stayed with him for a long while.

When Sam had calmed a little, he remembered the three keys in his pocket.

He took them out. One, the key he'd used at the door, still held a trace of warmth from his palm.

“Which one do you want?” Dean asked.

Sam studied them.

“They're all the same.”

Of course they were. Murphy hadn't marked them for different people.

Sam took one off the ring and gave it to Dean, kept another, and stared at the third one resting in his hand.

Both of them looked at it. They knew exactly whom it had been meant for.

Sam slowly closed his fingers.

“What do we do with this one?”

Dean's throat tightened. He thought for a long time, but couldn't bring himself to suggest throwing it away or putting it aside.

“Keep it for now.”

So Sam slipped the third key back into his pocket, where they had found it in the first place.

...

In the end, they moved in.

As they brought their things over little by little, the empty house began to feel lived in.

Dean's tools went into the garage, and Sam's books started filling the shelves. They left everything meant for Murphy untouched.

The first night was especially hard.

For the first time in their lives, the brothers had separate bedrooms they could call their own, but neither found any comfort in the quiet.

Unable to sleep, Sam stepped into the hallway and found Dean already standing there, facing Murphy's door.

Sam went over and stood beside him for a while.

“Can't sleep either?”

“Mm.”

They stood together without another word.

Finally Sam asked, “Do you think she'd have liked us living here?”

Dean turned to him.

Sam knew it was a stupid question.

Murphy had bought them the house. Of course she wanted them to move in.

What he really wanted to know was something else.

If she were still alive and saw his books on the shelves, would it make her happy?

Would she regret her decision if she saw the mess Dean had made of the garage?

Would she still be up late in the studio, typing away while Sam reminded her again and again to get some sleep?

Would they spend an evening bickering over dinner, only to order pizza in the end?

Dean understood. His eyes reddened again.

“She already had the keys in her pocket, Sammy.”

Sam lowered his head.

Yes. She'd even had the keys ready.

The next day would have been May 3.

One day.

They'd missed it by just one day.

The brothers stood in that hallway a long time. In the end, neither opened the door.

They would go on living.

They would still eat and hunt, argue and buy more books, hang tools on the wall, and slowly learn how to live in that house.

But from then on, there would always be an empty bedroom on the second floor.

And in the attic, there would always be a light that was supposed to have come on and never did.

Volume 2: S4

Volume 2: S4