Author: Kat Lee
Fandoms: Supernatural/Happy Days
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words Rare Pair challenge
Warning(s): Character Death, Spoilers for Supernatural Season 4
Word Count: 1,521
Date Written: 24 January, 2016
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She can feel the world around her slipping away. The spirit world and the plane that most people consider to be reality are merging together. She can feel a hand reaching for hers, and it's not the boy who thought she was pulling him in for a hug. Idjit.
She likes Sam and especially Dean, but she can't make her passing easy for the boys. She knows they're playing with the most dangerous fire there is, and if they're not careful, they're going to lose their very souls. She has to make sure her death leaves an impact, but even so --
Even so, she kind of feels sorry for them, and she kind of envies them, too. They've got their whole, young lives ahead of them, if they play their cards right, and they share a love the likes of which most people can only ever dream. She had such a love once, a long, long time ago, far longer ago than either of these two boys can ever guess.
Dean's still confused over the Chachi remark. She can't blame him, but she also can't explain. She doesn't have enough breath left to her even if she wanted to tell him that he reminds her of a man she knew decades before he was even born, a man who she thought of as her younger brother. If she could stop coughing, she'd smile, because she knows she's going to be with him soon.
She wishes she could tell the boys it's okay. She wishes she could believe Dean's statement that she's going to a better place, but the simple truth is that, as much as she's dealt with the spirit world, she's nowhere near convinced that it's a good place to be. In fact, she knows it's not if you're caught waiting in between.
There's good and evil in everything. Love is an universal truth, but so, too, are pain and suffering. She's caught glimpses of the pain that spirits sustain. She doesn't want to be one of them. But there's that hand that's reaching for her again.
She knows that hand or, at least, she thinks she does. She knows every inch of its skin, every trace of every line, as well as she knows her own. But she knows, too, that appearances are not always what they seem in any realm, and the secret truth that she clings to even now is that she's not at all certain that that hand belongs to the one she wants it to.
She's done some bad things in her time. They all have. She's tried to make up for her mistakes, but she's never been certain she even can. How much good does it take to outweigh the wicked she's done? She's suffered so much in life. Is she to suffer in death, as well?
She's made certain that the boys haven't forgotten that she lost her eyes in helping them before. They have to be careful who they involve in their little battle with the Angels and Demons. They have to be careful they don't cross too many lines, that they don't sacrifice the wrong ones in the way of what they think is right. She knows they mean well, and she does like them.
She cares for them deeply, despite the message she told them to give Bobby. She should have told them to give him her thanks for finding her in her depression, pulling her out of the darkness, giving her another chance. She should have told him what he meant to her when she had the chance. He, like Chachi, was like a long lost brother, but she never gets to keep any one she loves for long. Perhaps that's the real curse here. Perhaps it's her fault for still existing that she must suffer like this instead of the boys pulling her into yet another fight that is not her own.
But Pamela knows more than most how many perhaps there are in this world. Every step every person takes can lead them to a different decision, and every decision, even the slightest ones, have the possibility to change so much. She knows. She tried to change what couldn't be changed, and that's exactly why she knows it would be useless to call the Reaper. The Reapers answer their own calls, and once they're called to a person, almost nothing in Heaven or Hell can stop them.
She knows. That was one of the many, many losing battles she's fought in her lifetime, but she's through fighting. She's not fighting any more as her body grows still before Sam's and Dean's widened, caring eyes. She's not fighting --
But she's also not at all certain she's ready. She once believed she was. She once sought Death like crazy. She looked for suicide in every possible way, but he kept pulling her back from the brink until, at last, the spirits got through to her. She couldn't go up if she took her life. She couldn't be with him. She could only continue to suffer.
So she found new meaning. She progressed on her own spiritual pathway. She found new ways to commune with the spirits, but he wouldn't talk to her except in her dreams. She was never too certain if it was really him or not when she was sleeping. She'd wake to the feel of leatherclad arms wrapped around her, and she'd yearn to go back to those dreams, regardless of rather it was truly him, another trap by another Demon, or some other trick.
Her words made the boys hurt for her eyes being taken, and so they should have, but the truth is she's lost an awful lot more than just her eyes. She almost lost herself in her chaotic grief, especially when she started shooting up to keep herself in that dreamlike state where she could feel him. The truth is she might have helped Bobby, but he helped her first. If it hadn't been for him, she would have been gone a long time ago, and she would have gone in another direction, the one she didn't want to travel, the one that would not take her to her lover.
She's had other lovers, but Arthur Fonzarelli was the only man who reached every part of her soul. He's the only one who filled her, who truly completed her, but they never got to fill their dreams together.
It's not too late.
She's not at all certain she hears the voice, but the words come to her clearly. Her eyes are still open, but her spirit's slipping from her body. It's neither Sam or Dean who's talking to her now, but Pamela stills herself, afraid of the identity of the owner of that voice whiose words caress her ears with a promise for which she's been longing for decades.
She sees his smile first. Big, white teeth shine at her from the shadows of her mind that's going. The hand touches hers at last, and in that touch, she feels the warmth of familiary and of coming home. In that touch, she knows it's the right person, the right soul, as he always has been for her.
She feels herself grin, but she no longer has lips to move. Still, she feels it. She knows she's beaming up at him as she whispers joyously, "Fonzie."
"Welcome home, Pammy." He takes her in his arms, and she knows everything's going to be all right. Dean was right, after all: She is in a far better place now. She's back with the man she never once stopped loving.
He sways her through the shadows. No Demon can touch her now. They are bathed in a white light, and she knows they're going up. She's going home -- no, she's already home, because she's with him. She's whole at last, reunited with the greatest love of her life and swept in his arms where she's going to gladly spend eternity.
And she can see again, too. She can see his handsome face, his charming smile, those sweet, sweet eyes of his that sparkle with the happiness they both feel. One touch from his skilled fingers has always been able to do unimaginable things to her soul. They set her on fire, and they make her sing.
And she's singing now, or else it's the Angels singing as they come home. She's not sure, but she does remember not to trust the Angels. She trusts him, though. She trusts the love they share, and she knows eternity with him is going to be a wonderful place indeed.
She already neither feels or misses her body as Sam reaches over and closes her eyes. Dean looks up, then shakes his head.
"What?" Sam asks.
"Nothing. I just . . . thought I heard something."
They don't speak of it again for they're pretty certain it was just a bike going down the road. It means nothing to them, and they dismiss it quickly. They'll never know it was a motorcycle carrying two up to Heaven.