Fic - When the world stops turning and there is no sense in existence - Sam and Dean
Title: When the world stops turning and there is no sense in existence
Author: benitle
Rating: R for strong hints of character death and angst
Fandom: Supernatural - Gen
Characters: Sam and Dean
Warnings: This talks about a character that has died and others who don't know how to deal with it. Does this already qualify as death!fic?, Angst
Spoilers: None, it's post-series and all my imagination
Disclaimer: It's only fiction, no money is made
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to deal with someone passing away that you love.
Notes: This is for legoline because it's her birthday today. Happy birthday, sweetheart. I've never written anything that comes close to deathfic, this is my first try because she requested it some time ago. I have no clue how I did and I nearly didn't finish it for today. It is unbeta'd so any mistakes-spotting and feedback are loved.
"Come on, let's go, Dean."
It's been nearly two hours, two hours of just standing around, looking and waiting. Two torturous hours of not being able to tear themselves away; away from an inconspicuous, unadorned flagstone.
Dean doesn't say a word, doesn't even look up and for a moment Sam feels helpless. He doesn't know what to do or what to say to make finally come with him. It started raining - maybe twenty minutes ago - a few random drops at first, here and there, but shortly after they turned into pouring rain. Sam's clothes are totally soaked as the water went through the hoodie and all the shirts he's wearing to keep him warm. The water went right onto his skin, leaving him cold and freezing. It reflects his insides, the way he's feeling: cold, alone, helpless. His life going down the drain. The only person left to turn to, the only person Sam can rely on is standing a few steps away from him.
Quiet, shivering, broken.
"No, no, no, Dean!" Sam closes the distance to his brother with quick steps, "Come on, Dean, you can't sit down here."
But Dean doesn't listen, kneeling down anyway, just to sit Indian-style the next moment. Apathetically, Dean strokes his calloused fingers over the iron letters on the marble plate. As if it made all undone or brought him closer to them. Sam doesn't know, doesn't understand what Dean is thinking anymore. It's as if he has lost his brother somewhere, no longer being able to get the way Dean works.
Carefully, Dean's fingers hover over the M, the A, the R, the I and the A, just to move over the W, I, N, C, H, E, S, T, E, R. Sam gulps nervously as Dean reaches for the J, the O, the H and when he reaches the N, Sam looks at his brother.
There's water running down his face and Sam can't tell for sure that it's only from the rain. Sam doesn't know what to say anymore; he ran out of words that might make Dean feel less miserable about an hour ago, none of them helping in any way. He's tried the usual "he's reunited with Mom now, that's what he wanted, Dean." He also went for "Dean, he died killing the thing he wanted to kill most in his life."
But Dean? Dean hasn't said a word, barely even turned his head to look, instead he just continued to stare straight on, like a blind man who can't see the world around him moving while his eyes just stare into the open space.
It's been more than a week now, a week ever since they lost their father in the big showdown that finally put an end to this bloody crusade that demanded so many victims. It's also been more than a week that Dean hasn't said a word to no one and has become so apathetic.
Apathetic and numb. Dean's no longer paying attention to what's happening around him. Sam tried. Sam tried so hard to make him talk, even if it would have meant having a go at Sam for not grieving enough - which couldn't be farther from the truth - anything would have been better than the cold eldritch silence between the brothers. But Dean just wouldn't speak and stare ahead instead.
He didn't even want to drive his car, so that it was Sam who drove them back to Missouri's for a few days to attend their father's funeral.
They've been at their parents' grave each day to bring flowers - white roses, because John once told them how much Mary loved white roses - and each day it has been hard to convince Dean to finally come back home. To Sam it doesn't just feel like having lost the only parent he had left, the only parent he knew, but also like having lost the only brother, the only person he always could turn to when he needed help with anything. Sam isn't quite sure how to cope with this.
"Let's go, Dean," he tries again, his voice a bit louder and more determined, while his hand grasps Dean's biceps.
To his surprise, Dean lets himself be pulled up, nodding slightly.
On their way back to the Impala, Sam softly rubs Dean's back. He doesn't realize why he does it, but maybe it's to show Dean, "Hey, you still got me."
"I...I know it's hard," Sam stutters and just like Sam expected, Dean doesn't even turn around to look at him. "But you know, Dean, at least we still got each other. I mean, you and me. We could take some time off. Is there a place you always wanted to see? Vegas? Didn't you say you wanted to see Vegas?"
Sam knows he's rambling now, the words spilling from his lips easily, anything is better than the tiring, straining silence - even if it's silly, rambly nonsense. It scares him, it scares him so much, this situation, this whole undefinable state. He fears that Dean won't ever say a word again or that he'll shut Sam out and hide in a secret place of mind where no one will be able reach him.
"Dean, you're all I've got," Sam whispers as they reach the car. He can't bring himself to speak up, scared that his voice might tremble and give away how weak and vulnerable he feels.
The car is coated with rain that washes off some of the dirt that Dean didn't bother clean off. They enter the Impala, the now familiar silence like a thick, foggy wall between them. Only when Sam starts the engine, Dean places a hand on Sam's thigh. He can feel how Dean shivers, just how icy the hand is.
When Sam turns to look at Dean, he sees that Dean's eyes are filled with water. There's no smile on his face but the corners of his mouth are slightly wry. Dean struggles - mainly with himself - and barely audible he whispers, "You're all I've got, too."
Maybe, after all there is hope for a fresh start.
Author: benitle
Rating: R for strong hints of character death and angst
Fandom: Supernatural - Gen
Characters: Sam and Dean
Warnings: This talks about a character that has died and others who don't know how to deal with it. Does this already qualify as death!fic?, Angst
Spoilers: None, it's post-series and all my imagination
Disclaimer: It's only fiction, no money is made
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to deal with someone passing away that you love.
Notes: This is for legoline because it's her birthday today. Happy birthday, sweetheart. I've never written anything that comes close to deathfic, this is my first try because she requested it some time ago. I have no clue how I did and I nearly didn't finish it for today. It is unbeta'd so any mistakes-spotting and feedback are loved.
"Come on, let's go, Dean."
It's been nearly two hours, two hours of just standing around, looking and waiting. Two torturous hours of not being able to tear themselves away; away from an inconspicuous, unadorned flagstone.
Dean doesn't say a word, doesn't even look up and for a moment Sam feels helpless. He doesn't know what to do or what to say to make finally come with him. It started raining - maybe twenty minutes ago - a few random drops at first, here and there, but shortly after they turned into pouring rain. Sam's clothes are totally soaked as the water went through the hoodie and all the shirts he's wearing to keep him warm. The water went right onto his skin, leaving him cold and freezing. It reflects his insides, the way he's feeling: cold, alone, helpless. His life going down the drain. The only person left to turn to, the only person Sam can rely on is standing a few steps away from him.
Quiet, shivering, broken.
"No, no, no, Dean!" Sam closes the distance to his brother with quick steps, "Come on, Dean, you can't sit down here."
But Dean doesn't listen, kneeling down anyway, just to sit Indian-style the next moment. Apathetically, Dean strokes his calloused fingers over the iron letters on the marble plate. As if it made all undone or brought him closer to them. Sam doesn't know, doesn't understand what Dean is thinking anymore. It's as if he has lost his brother somewhere, no longer being able to get the way Dean works.
Carefully, Dean's fingers hover over the M, the A, the R, the I and the A, just to move over the W, I, N, C, H, E, S, T, E, R. Sam gulps nervously as Dean reaches for the J, the O, the H and when he reaches the N, Sam looks at his brother.
There's water running down his face and Sam can't tell for sure that it's only from the rain. Sam doesn't know what to say anymore; he ran out of words that might make Dean feel less miserable about an hour ago, none of them helping in any way. He's tried the usual "he's reunited with Mom now, that's what he wanted, Dean." He also went for "Dean, he died killing the thing he wanted to kill most in his life."
But Dean? Dean hasn't said a word, barely even turned his head to look, instead he just continued to stare straight on, like a blind man who can't see the world around him moving while his eyes just stare into the open space.
It's been more than a week now, a week ever since they lost their father in the big showdown that finally put an end to this bloody crusade that demanded so many victims. It's also been more than a week that Dean hasn't said a word to no one and has become so apathetic.
Apathetic and numb. Dean's no longer paying attention to what's happening around him. Sam tried. Sam tried so hard to make him talk, even if it would have meant having a go at Sam for not grieving enough - which couldn't be farther from the truth - anything would have been better than the cold eldritch silence between the brothers. But Dean just wouldn't speak and stare ahead instead.
He didn't even want to drive his car, so that it was Sam who drove them back to Missouri's for a few days to attend their father's funeral.
They've been at their parents' grave each day to bring flowers - white roses, because John once told them how much Mary loved white roses - and each day it has been hard to convince Dean to finally come back home. To Sam it doesn't just feel like having lost the only parent he had left, the only parent he knew, but also like having lost the only brother, the only person he always could turn to when he needed help with anything. Sam isn't quite sure how to cope with this.
"Let's go, Dean," he tries again, his voice a bit louder and more determined, while his hand grasps Dean's biceps.
To his surprise, Dean lets himself be pulled up, nodding slightly.
On their way back to the Impala, Sam softly rubs Dean's back. He doesn't realize why he does it, but maybe it's to show Dean, "Hey, you still got me."
"I...I know it's hard," Sam stutters and just like Sam expected, Dean doesn't even turn around to look at him. "But you know, Dean, at least we still got each other. I mean, you and me. We could take some time off. Is there a place you always wanted to see? Vegas? Didn't you say you wanted to see Vegas?"
Sam knows he's rambling now, the words spilling from his lips easily, anything is better than the tiring, straining silence - even if it's silly, rambly nonsense. It scares him, it scares him so much, this situation, this whole undefinable state. He fears that Dean won't ever say a word again or that he'll shut Sam out and hide in a secret place of mind where no one will be able reach him.
"Dean, you're all I've got," Sam whispers as they reach the car. He can't bring himself to speak up, scared that his voice might tremble and give away how weak and vulnerable he feels.
The car is coated with rain that washes off some of the dirt that Dean didn't bother clean off. They enter the Impala, the now familiar silence like a thick, foggy wall between them. Only when Sam starts the engine, Dean places a hand on Sam's thigh. He can feel how Dean shivers, just how icy the hand is.
When Sam turns to look at Dean, he sees that Dean's eyes are filled with water. There's no smile on his face but the corners of his mouth are slightly wry. Dean struggles - mainly with himself - and barely audible he whispers, "You're all I've got, too."
Maybe, after all there is hope for a fresh start.