SPN: "Last Will" by lizzypaul
Title: Last Will
Author: lizzypaul
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 945
Spoilers: Big for Mystery Spot and No Rest for the Wicked
John doesn’t leave a will, of course, too many years on the wrong side of the law for that. But a few days after he dies, Bobby hands a yellowed, crumpled envelope to Dean. Dean barely glances at it before shoving it off on Sam and taking out the back door.
Bobby gets Sam a beer and then leaves him alone, and it takes Sam a few minutes to open the envelope. There are three lined, handwritten pages inside, and for a moment, Sam just stares at them. The writing is familiar, dark and sharp, the same writing that fills their notebook, and he holds the pages up to his face and inhales, hoping to find his father’s scent. He can’t smell anything put paper.
It’s addressed to Dean, entirely. Sam skims through the instructions about the truck and bank accounts and safe deposit boxes, half-theories about what might have killed him, useless warnings. He's looking for something personal, something real. But there’s nothing, until he gets to the bottom of the last page.
Take care of your brother.
That’s it. Three pages. Sam doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. Some sort of acknowledgment? I love you, I’m proud of you? Words used so sparingly in life, that maybe in death, could have finally been expressed? That’s how it goes in the movies, at least, and once again, Sam realizes that basing his idea of family life off of motel room television is no more realistic than basing it on his own family.
He’s angry, an intense, hot anger. He wants to light it up, watch it burn, wants Dean to never see the letter. But he folds the pages back up and puts them inside. It’s not his to destroy. Dean has the right to it, as well, if he ever wants it, this last, tenuous connection with their father.
Bobby wanders back into the kitchen. “You okay, son?” he asks.
“Yeah, Bobby,” Sam croaks out.
Bobby stares at him for a moment. “Your father was a good man. He always tried to do right by you boys.”
“He was a son of a bitch,” Sam says, voice harsh.
Bobby takes a long swig of his beer. “That too.”
*~*~*
Stopping at their P.O. Box is habit, and Sam doesn’t realize he’s pulled into the Post Office until he stops the car and looks around. The Winchesters have boxes scattered across the country, necessary for credit card scams and, for one year, college applications. But the one in Bedford is private. Only a handful of their contacts and friends no about it, and, subsequently, it’s usually empty. But stopping at the P.O. Box whenever they get within a hundred miles is a longstanding tradition, a rule that can’t be broken just because everyone is gone, and so Sam walks inside.
There’s a letter, lying inside. Just one. It’s pink, with Hello Kitty stickers stuck all over it, and Sam doesn’t have to look at the name to know it’s from Dean. He tucks the letter in his pocket and leaves.
Sam gets good and drunk in the motel room before opening it. And it’s stupid, because Sam refuses to believe that Dean is really gone. All he has to do is find the Trickster and put an end to this...this...farce. He’s going to get his brother back. But his brother's absence is a gaping wound, and even though he knows, intellectually, that the best way of getting him back is staying sharp, he needs the dullness the bottle of Jack brings to get through the night.
He opens up the letter. There’s a card, inside, Hello Kitty again, with a giant ‘5’ on the front. “Happy Birthday!” the card proclaims, and in the margins, Dean wrote, “Only the best for my little girl.”
Sam chuckles, despite himself, because that is so Dean, mocking him, now, when he can’t even fight back.
Inside the card is a folded, handwritten letter, written on motel stationary. Sam pulls it out, and takes a deep, shuddering breath before he starts to read.
Dean starts out with instructions for the Impala, of course, and it’s almost funny that he expects Sam to take better care of his girl than he ever did, because that car hasn’t been waxed regularly, well, ever. There’s information about their bank accounts--because Sam is stupid apparently, and would forget all that, even though he’s been playing accountant practically since Jericho--and the location of several places that Dean’s hidden money and weapons, which, okay, is something new, but not exactly surprising.
Tucked at the end of the letter, looking almost like an afterthought, in Dean’s messy scrawl, is:
Take care of yourself. Don’t do anything stupid, or I swear I will beat your ass. You're the only thing I ever did right. Don't throw that away. And then, written so sloppily and scrunched that Sam can barely make it out, he sees, I love you.
Sam crumples up the page in his hand. “Damnit, Dean,” he whispers.
*~*~*
Bobby looks awkward, standing beside the Impala. “Come home with me,” he tells Sam.
Sam shrugs. It’s as good a place as any to start working out how to save Dean. Again. And he thinks, maybe, it’s best not to be alone, right now. It still scares him, what he turned into after Dean’s deaths, after the Trickster.
Bobby reaches into his coat pocket. “Dean wanted you to have this,” he said, holding it out.”
“No,” Sam said.
“Sam...”
“No,” he repeats. “I don’t need to read it. He’s...I’m going to save him, Bobby. I’m going to bring him back.”
Bobby’s face crumples, and it’s scary to see, but Sam stands his ground. “You are gonna have to start accepting reality,” Bobby insists, urgently. “Or you’re gonna end up just like your brother.”
“I won’t accept this,” Sam says. He climbs into the car, and, after a second, Bobby does as well.
**END**
Author: lizzypaul
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 945
Spoilers: Big for Mystery Spot and No Rest for the Wicked
John doesn’t leave a will, of course, too many years on the wrong side of the law for that. But a few days after he dies, Bobby hands a yellowed, crumpled envelope to Dean. Dean barely glances at it before shoving it off on Sam and taking out the back door.
Bobby gets Sam a beer and then leaves him alone, and it takes Sam a few minutes to open the envelope. There are three lined, handwritten pages inside, and for a moment, Sam just stares at them. The writing is familiar, dark and sharp, the same writing that fills their notebook, and he holds the pages up to his face and inhales, hoping to find his father’s scent. He can’t smell anything put paper.
It’s addressed to Dean, entirely. Sam skims through the instructions about the truck and bank accounts and safe deposit boxes, half-theories about what might have killed him, useless warnings. He's looking for something personal, something real. But there’s nothing, until he gets to the bottom of the last page.
Take care of your brother.
That’s it. Three pages. Sam doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. Some sort of acknowledgment? I love you, I’m proud of you? Words used so sparingly in life, that maybe in death, could have finally been expressed? That’s how it goes in the movies, at least, and once again, Sam realizes that basing his idea of family life off of motel room television is no more realistic than basing it on his own family.
He’s angry, an intense, hot anger. He wants to light it up, watch it burn, wants Dean to never see the letter. But he folds the pages back up and puts them inside. It’s not his to destroy. Dean has the right to it, as well, if he ever wants it, this last, tenuous connection with their father.
Bobby wanders back into the kitchen. “You okay, son?” he asks.
“Yeah, Bobby,” Sam croaks out.
Bobby stares at him for a moment. “Your father was a good man. He always tried to do right by you boys.”
“He was a son of a bitch,” Sam says, voice harsh.
Bobby takes a long swig of his beer. “That too.”
*~*~*
Stopping at their P.O. Box is habit, and Sam doesn’t realize he’s pulled into the Post Office until he stops the car and looks around. The Winchesters have boxes scattered across the country, necessary for credit card scams and, for one year, college applications. But the one in Bedford is private. Only a handful of their contacts and friends no about it, and, subsequently, it’s usually empty. But stopping at the P.O. Box whenever they get within a hundred miles is a longstanding tradition, a rule that can’t be broken just because everyone is gone, and so Sam walks inside.
There’s a letter, lying inside. Just one. It’s pink, with Hello Kitty stickers stuck all over it, and Sam doesn’t have to look at the name to know it’s from Dean. He tucks the letter in his pocket and leaves.
Sam gets good and drunk in the motel room before opening it. And it’s stupid, because Sam refuses to believe that Dean is really gone. All he has to do is find the Trickster and put an end to this...this...farce. He’s going to get his brother back. But his brother's absence is a gaping wound, and even though he knows, intellectually, that the best way of getting him back is staying sharp, he needs the dullness the bottle of Jack brings to get through the night.
He opens up the letter. There’s a card, inside, Hello Kitty again, with a giant ‘5’ on the front. “Happy Birthday!” the card proclaims, and in the margins, Dean wrote, “Only the best for my little girl.”
Sam chuckles, despite himself, because that is so Dean, mocking him, now, when he can’t even fight back.
Inside the card is a folded, handwritten letter, written on motel stationary. Sam pulls it out, and takes a deep, shuddering breath before he starts to read.
Dean starts out with instructions for the Impala, of course, and it’s almost funny that he expects Sam to take better care of his girl than he ever did, because that car hasn’t been waxed regularly, well, ever. There’s information about their bank accounts--because Sam is stupid apparently, and would forget all that, even though he’s been playing accountant practically since Jericho--and the location of several places that Dean’s hidden money and weapons, which, okay, is something new, but not exactly surprising.
Tucked at the end of the letter, looking almost like an afterthought, in Dean’s messy scrawl, is:
Take care of yourself. Don’t do anything stupid, or I swear I will beat your ass. You're the only thing I ever did right. Don't throw that away. And then, written so sloppily and scrunched that Sam can barely make it out, he sees, I love you.
Sam crumples up the page in his hand. “Damnit, Dean,” he whispers.
*~*~*
Bobby looks awkward, standing beside the Impala. “Come home with me,” he tells Sam.
Sam shrugs. It’s as good a place as any to start working out how to save Dean. Again. And he thinks, maybe, it’s best not to be alone, right now. It still scares him, what he turned into after Dean’s deaths, after the Trickster.
Bobby reaches into his coat pocket. “Dean wanted you to have this,” he said, holding it out.”
“No,” Sam said.
“Sam...”
“No,” he repeats. “I don’t need to read it. He’s...I’m going to save him, Bobby. I’m going to bring him back.”
Bobby’s face crumples, and it’s scary to see, but Sam stands his ground. “You are gonna have to start accepting reality,” Bobby insists, urgently. “Or you’re gonna end up just like your brother.”
“I won’t accept this,” Sam says. He climbs into the car, and, after a second, Bobby does as well.
**END**