15.20 Coda: There will be no miracles here
A single-sentence coda for 15.20, “Carry On.”
(For once, my fic title comes not from a song, but from an art installation at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art.)
Sam stands there holding Dean until his tears run out, until he's numb and drained, and he doesn't cry when he pulls Dean off the vicious steel spike that started at his lower back (just like Sam's stabbing, his own death so many years ago) and angled up and painfully ripped through him, piercing Dean's heart and Sam's at the same time, he doesn't cry when he settles Dean onto the floor of the barn and begs Jack to do something, to bring him back (he yells, he screams, he curses, he does not cry), because Jack said he'd be hands off but surely this doesn't count, surely this is important enough, and Dean said not to try to bring him back but fuck Dean, he doesn't get to make that decision, he doesn't get to leave Sam behind without a fight, and Sam doesn't cry when he heaves Dean over his shoulder and gently lays him in the back seat of the Impala and covers him with a blanket, he doesn't cry when he finds the little boys and tells them everything is going to be okay (it's a lie, they're not going to be okay, they've witnessed their father's murder and they'll never hear their mother's voice again and they've lived through trauma that they will never, ever recover from, but at least they'll have each other) and that they need to look after each other from now on, he doesn't cry when he leaves them at the police station and disappears before anyone can ask him any questions, he doesn't cry when he stops after driving for seven hours and sends an email to the few people they have (he has) left saying I'm sorry to tell you this way but I can't talk, Dean is gone, it happened on a hunt, and someday we'll get drunk together and tell stories but not for a while, he doesn't cry when he sees Jody's response with the subject line SAM WINCHESTER YOU READ THIS RIGHT NOW or when he reads the rest of her message, which says I know what it's like to lose everything, I know what you're probably thinking about right now, and I need you to swear to me that you will call me if you think you're going to hurt yourself, and he doesn't respond because being alive feels like a betrayal, his grief and loss are barbed wire wrapped around his heart and his soul and how can he make any promises, but he doesn't cry and he keeps going because Dean's dog is still in the bunker, and the automatic feeder and water bowl won't last forever, so he drives the rest of the way and he doesn't cry but he also doesn't feel his lungs expanding or his heart beating, because Sam didn't get to die this time but he's not really living any more either, and finally he pulls up in front of the bunker and opens the creaky door and sits down on the steps just before he is engulfed by Miracle (such a stupid name for a dog, Sam told him) and Miracle licks his face and then looks expectantly at the door, tail wagging, and Sam says he's not coming back, buddy, he's never coming back, and then he buries his face in the dog's soft fur and sobs.
(For once, my fic title comes not from a song, but from an art installation at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art.)
Sam stands there holding Dean until his tears run out, until he's numb and drained, and he doesn't cry when he pulls Dean off the vicious steel spike that started at his lower back (just like Sam's stabbing, his own death so many years ago) and angled up and painfully ripped through him, piercing Dean's heart and Sam's at the same time, he doesn't cry when he settles Dean onto the floor of the barn and begs Jack to do something, to bring him back (he yells, he screams, he curses, he does not cry), because Jack said he'd be hands off but surely this doesn't count, surely this is important enough, and Dean said not to try to bring him back but fuck Dean, he doesn't get to make that decision, he doesn't get to leave Sam behind without a fight, and Sam doesn't cry when he heaves Dean over his shoulder and gently lays him in the back seat of the Impala and covers him with a blanket, he doesn't cry when he finds the little boys and tells them everything is going to be okay (it's a lie, they're not going to be okay, they've witnessed their father's murder and they'll never hear their mother's voice again and they've lived through trauma that they will never, ever recover from, but at least they'll have each other) and that they need to look after each other from now on, he doesn't cry when he leaves them at the police station and disappears before anyone can ask him any questions, he doesn't cry when he stops after driving for seven hours and sends an email to the few people they have (he has) left saying I'm sorry to tell you this way but I can't talk, Dean is gone, it happened on a hunt, and someday we'll get drunk together and tell stories but not for a while, he doesn't cry when he sees Jody's response with the subject line SAM WINCHESTER YOU READ THIS RIGHT NOW or when he reads the rest of her message, which says I know what it's like to lose everything, I know what you're probably thinking about right now, and I need you to swear to me that you will call me if you think you're going to hurt yourself, and he doesn't respond because being alive feels like a betrayal, his grief and loss are barbed wire wrapped around his heart and his soul and how can he make any promises, but he doesn't cry and he keeps going because Dean's dog is still in the bunker, and the automatic feeder and water bowl won't last forever, so he drives the rest of the way and he doesn't cry but he also doesn't feel his lungs expanding or his heart beating, because Sam didn't get to die this time but he's not really living any more either, and finally he pulls up in front of the bunker and opens the creaky door and sits down on the steps just before he is engulfed by Miracle (such a stupid name for a dog, Sam told him) and Miracle licks his face and then looks expectantly at the door, tail wagging, and Sam says he's not coming back, buddy, he's never coming back, and then he buries his face in the dog's soft fur and sobs.