I found finished fic that I never posted. O.o

Title: Living Twice at Once
Rating: PG
Word Count: 990
Warnings: Episode spoilers
Summary: Coda for "Heart".

+++

For the first time in his life that he could remember, the gun rang out, echoing in the small, too quiet apartment, and Dean's eyes squeezed shut in response, like he was wincing from a kickback he couldn't feel. The darkness confused him almost as much as the tear running down the side of his face - neither of which were reactions he was used to, but the job hit too close to home for comfort, stabbing him in the chest, twisting the blade, and then kneeing him in the groin for good measure as he collapsed to the ground. Nothing hurt him more than something hurting his family, and Sam was all he had left.

Sam...

Opening his eyes, Dean saw his brother standing before him in between the two rooms where Dean stood breathing uneasily and Madison wasn't breathing at all. His hands were shaking violently, the gun still held loosely in his fingers, Sam's face paler than Dean had ever seen him - worse than when Jess was killed, worse than when Dad died. Sam stumbled forward, half falling into Dean, dropping the gun into his brother's hands as he walked passed Dean and out the door.

Dean wanted to follow his brother outside, knowing there was no way in hell Sam would be taking this calmly, but he had to make sure. Crossing the threshold into the other room, Dean only needed to look once to see that Sam had done it like he said he would. The shot was accurate; it would have been quick, Madison only registering the pain for the briefest of moments. She was sprawled in the middle of the room, lying in a pool of her own blood, yet she looked disturbingly peaceful, accepting, the tear streaks running down her face the only sign of a struggle.

A sick, twisting sensation in his stomach followed Dean out the door, images of Sam dead from his own hand flashing through his mind until finding him outside the apartment building, in the grass on his hands and knees, throwing up. He couldn't find the words; Sam had always been the one who knew what the right thing to say was, so Dean settled for standing quietly, looking in Sam's direction without looking at him. Dean wanted to attack the mini bar back in the room they were renting more than anything, but he doubted Sam would be up for it. He pulled the keys out of the pocket of his jacket, unloading the silver bullets that remained and storing them with the gun safely back into the trunk of the Impala. Dean noticed Sam watching him, like his brother was trying to gather the energy to stand and get into the car.

He managed to rise as Dean rounded the back to the driver's seat, keeping a wary gaze on Sam, which he caught. "I won't puke in the car."

"Okay," Dean replied, even though that really wasn't what was making him worried. It was the silence. Sam was usually an open griever - he talked, shared, cried, and often yelled at Dean to do the same. This time, though, Dean would have given his right arm to hear Sam talk about how he was feeling. He thought about telling Sam that there was no way they could've known she hadn't been cured; about how if he hadn't done it, another hunter would have, one who might not have been quick about it; or even just saying he was sorry, but the more time that passed in silence, the harder a time Dean had of forming the words.

Their room wasn't that far away, and Sam climbed out of the Impala so slowly that it was like he had aged forty years. He pulled out his own key, opening the door and toeing out of his shoes at the same time, not even shutting the door behind him before collapsing on one of the beds. Dean locked the car doors, knowing the gun needed to be cleaned, but also knowing that he needed to wait until Sam wasn't around. Standing in the doorway, Dean couldn't see his brother's face since he was lying on his side facing the wall. "Sammy?" he called out, but there was no response - he'd either fallen asleep or wanted Dean to think he had. Dean shut the door, leaving Sam alone in the dark room with the drawn shades, and figured now would be as good a time as any to clean the gun. He got it out of the trunk and slid into the backseat of the Impala - the space too cramped for the task at hand, but it would have to do. Dean easily disassembled the gun, trying to focus on it instead of the thoughts that kept running through his mind, but they wouldn't be quieted.

Sam leaving for Stanford felt like a lifetime ago. Not that much time had passed since Sam hated the hunt, wanted a normal life that had nothing to do with the supernatural. Mom hadn't been enough of a reason for Sam to want to stay involved. He had a point since he'd been too young to remember her when she was killed, but he'd loved Jess, wanted to marry her, so her death had been enough. Then there had been Dad, and now Madison, another reason for Sam to believe in what they did. If all the werewolves were gone, then that couldn't happen to anyone else.

As much as Dean thought they made a good team, as much as he liked backing each other up, not having to go it alone, Dean couldn't help but wonder if he was just being selfish. The way things were going, the job was going to end up destroying his brother, and Dean didn't know if he was strong enough to put the pieces back together when it finally succeeded.