Fic: Please Speak Well of Me (1/4)
Author: therellbepeace
Fandom: Supernatural, Grey's Anatomy (crossover)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Alex
Summary: AU from In My Time of Dying; John kills the demon, but at a horrible cost--Dean's gone too. It's not until his father leaves that Sam realizes that maybe Dean isn't as gone as he thought he was. But dealing with a restless spirit of his brother isn't easy, especially when Sam's relationship with a young doctor named Alex Karev is started to flower.
Warnings: Character death, suicidal ideation, angst
Notes: Beta'd by the lovely writewanderlust. Title from The Weepies song of the same name.
When Dean flat-lines a second time, John is there to watch, standing opposite Sam at the edge of his oldest son’s hospital bed. He can’t think anything, can’t move, paralyzed by the knowledge that he’s failed as a father, failed as a hero. You really can’t fuck up your kid’s life any more than by letting him die.
A few nurses and a doctor rush into the room amidst the beeping of the different monitors, and Sam is yelling, his voice hoarse and breaking. John thinks Sam might punch out the orderly trying to move him away from Dean so the doctor can get to him, so he goes over and puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” is the response John gets, and he blinks at Sam for a few seconds, completely numb, before he reaches his arm around Sam’s shoulders and forcibly pulls him away, his son fighting him the entire time.
John stands a few feet away from Sam at the side of the room, wanting to push all the doctors away from Dean, wanting to save him all on his own. But he’d had his chance, and he’d fucked it up. Sure, he’d gotten the bullet in its target, had felt a simmering sense of vengeance for Mary while he watched the Yellow Eyed Demon’s eyes light up, the body of his vessel disintegrate. Still, he hadn’t gotten the deal he’d gone in for, hadn’t been able to keep his son safe, his son who reminded him so much of Mary sometimes that it physically hurt.
His attention snaps to the present when the commotion around Dean’s bed starts to settle, the noise of the machines turned off by a nurse. He takes a step forward and hears, “Time of death: 3:42,” and then he’s on his knees, barely aware of the pain that jolts through his bones. He watches Sam stumble to the bed, hands all over his brothers body, soundless sobs shaking his youngest until one of the nurses pushes him gently down into a chair she dragged over.
Then the room is empty, just him and Sam and Dean-Dean’s body-and when John hears a low keening noise come from where Sam’s folded over across the bed, he throws up. He heaves long after there’s anything left to empty from his stomach. When he’s done, stomach aching, John pushes himself up from the floor and walks over to where Sam is still staring at his brother’s body, both of his sons completely still and pale.
“Sam,” John says, and it surprises him how composed and down-to-business he’s able to make his voice. “Come on. There’s no use staying here, it’s done. We’ll get Dean’s body so we can burn it, but we might as well head to a motel for the night.” He feels sick as he says the words, but what the hell else are they supposed to do? They can’t just set up camp in this room for the rest of their lives.
When Sam turns to look at his father, John actually feels a small spark of fear at the ice-cold anger and pain he sees in his son’s eyes. “I don’t think you have any choice in this anymore, John.”
And that’s when John knows he lost both of his sons, his last two ties to Mary, and he just doesn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. “Sam, I tried.”
“Well you obviously didn’t fucking try hard enough. He trusted you. You were his hero and you fucking let him die.” Sam stands up, one hand still on Dean’s, and takes a step towards John. “I trusted you, too. I just lost Jess, and now-you said you would figure something out!”
“I thought it would work, I didn’t know…but the demon is dead, Sam. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Sam’s stare cuts like barbed wire. “No, it doesn’t; because Dean’s dead too.” When Sam’s voice breaks, John aches to reach out and comfort him, something he’s never really done before, but he stays planted where he is. Sam sits down again and doesn’t look away from Dean’s face while he speaks. “I think you should go now. And I don’t think you should come back.”
John isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He could hear his own words from four years echoed back at him, and he knows he deserves them. He’s done nothing right to have earned Sam’s love or forgiveness. But he had tried. He’d bargained his own life, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.
John nods and walks to the other side of the bed, leaning down and pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, and wishes he'd done it more when Dean was alive, showed how much he loved him. He straightens up and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry, Sam. You take care of yourself, okay? Be careful.”
John turns and walks to the door, the knowledge that Sam can't be bothered to even glance after him weighing heavy on his shoulders. He pauses before he gets to the threshold. “Dean’s things are in the closet. Everything he had on him.”
When he gets outside, he doesn’t know what to do. His entire life, it feels, was wrapped up in two things: avenge Mary and keep his boys safe.
Now, he doesn’t have anything.
Fandom: Supernatural, Grey's Anatomy (crossover)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Alex
Summary: AU from In My Time of Dying; John kills the demon, but at a horrible cost--Dean's gone too. It's not until his father leaves that Sam realizes that maybe Dean isn't as gone as he thought he was. But dealing with a restless spirit of his brother isn't easy, especially when Sam's relationship with a young doctor named Alex Karev is started to flower.
Warnings: Character death, suicidal ideation, angst
Notes: Beta'd by the lovely writewanderlust. Title from The Weepies song of the same name.
When Dean flat-lines a second time, John is there to watch, standing opposite Sam at the edge of his oldest son’s hospital bed. He can’t think anything, can’t move, paralyzed by the knowledge that he’s failed as a father, failed as a hero. You really can’t fuck up your kid’s life any more than by letting him die.
A few nurses and a doctor rush into the room amidst the beeping of the different monitors, and Sam is yelling, his voice hoarse and breaking. John thinks Sam might punch out the orderly trying to move him away from Dean so the doctor can get to him, so he goes over and puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” is the response John gets, and he blinks at Sam for a few seconds, completely numb, before he reaches his arm around Sam’s shoulders and forcibly pulls him away, his son fighting him the entire time.
John stands a few feet away from Sam at the side of the room, wanting to push all the doctors away from Dean, wanting to save him all on his own. But he’d had his chance, and he’d fucked it up. Sure, he’d gotten the bullet in its target, had felt a simmering sense of vengeance for Mary while he watched the Yellow Eyed Demon’s eyes light up, the body of his vessel disintegrate. Still, he hadn’t gotten the deal he’d gone in for, hadn’t been able to keep his son safe, his son who reminded him so much of Mary sometimes that it physically hurt.
His attention snaps to the present when the commotion around Dean’s bed starts to settle, the noise of the machines turned off by a nurse. He takes a step forward and hears, “Time of death: 3:42,” and then he’s on his knees, barely aware of the pain that jolts through his bones. He watches Sam stumble to the bed, hands all over his brothers body, soundless sobs shaking his youngest until one of the nurses pushes him gently down into a chair she dragged over.
Then the room is empty, just him and Sam and Dean-Dean’s body-and when John hears a low keening noise come from where Sam’s folded over across the bed, he throws up. He heaves long after there’s anything left to empty from his stomach. When he’s done, stomach aching, John pushes himself up from the floor and walks over to where Sam is still staring at his brother’s body, both of his sons completely still and pale.
“Sam,” John says, and it surprises him how composed and down-to-business he’s able to make his voice. “Come on. There’s no use staying here, it’s done. We’ll get Dean’s body so we can burn it, but we might as well head to a motel for the night.” He feels sick as he says the words, but what the hell else are they supposed to do? They can’t just set up camp in this room for the rest of their lives.
When Sam turns to look at his father, John actually feels a small spark of fear at the ice-cold anger and pain he sees in his son’s eyes. “I don’t think you have any choice in this anymore, John.”
And that’s when John knows he lost both of his sons, his last two ties to Mary, and he just doesn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. “Sam, I tried.”
“Well you obviously didn’t fucking try hard enough. He trusted you. You were his hero and you fucking let him die.” Sam stands up, one hand still on Dean’s, and takes a step towards John. “I trusted you, too. I just lost Jess, and now-you said you would figure something out!”
“I thought it would work, I didn’t know…but the demon is dead, Sam. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Sam’s stare cuts like barbed wire. “No, it doesn’t; because Dean’s dead too.” When Sam’s voice breaks, John aches to reach out and comfort him, something he’s never really done before, but he stays planted where he is. Sam sits down again and doesn’t look away from Dean’s face while he speaks. “I think you should go now. And I don’t think you should come back.”
John isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He could hear his own words from four years echoed back at him, and he knows he deserves them. He’s done nothing right to have earned Sam’s love or forgiveness. But he had tried. He’d bargained his own life, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.
John nods and walks to the other side of the bed, leaning down and pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, and wishes he'd done it more when Dean was alive, showed how much he loved him. He straightens up and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry, Sam. You take care of yourself, okay? Be careful.”
John turns and walks to the door, the knowledge that Sam can't be bothered to even glance after him weighing heavy on his shoulders. He pauses before he gets to the threshold. “Dean’s things are in the closet. Everything he had on him.”
When he gets outside, he doesn’t know what to do. His entire life, it feels, was wrapped up in two things: avenge Mary and keep his boys safe.
Now, he doesn’t have anything.