hope.
title: Hope
rating: PG; for language
word count: 2707
disclaimer: if they were mine, i'd keep them happy and hopped up on sugar and forever in prank war mode.
a/n: gen, in general. wincest if you really squint. sam-centric (which is weirding me out because i'm a total dean girl but i kept on writing on behalf of sam. *shrug*) and also sort-of angsty. a continuation of Unsaid. comments and crits would be wonderful. :)
warning: i'm horrendous with time line. finished at past midnight my time.
accompanying song: Bring On the Wonder by Susan Enan
summary: sam is dealing with dean's death. and a whole new future ahead.
Hope
Sam buried his brother at dusk, most possibly Dean’s favourite time of the day - Sam was only certain Dean hated the mornings. He had wrapped the body in linen before lowering it down the six foot shaft. Everything appeared so surreal. Sam could still hear Dean’s deep laugh echoing next to his ear, saying things. Things Sam would imagine Dean couldn’t resist saying.
“Nice hole, Sammy. You ever thought of making this a career? You know, burying people rather than unearthing them?”
“No,” Sam would answer. “I just want to hunt. With you.”
Sam didn’t realize that he had said it out loud until a long moment had lapsed. He stared at the bare ground, signs that it had just been dug not evident. Perhaps they had became too good at covering their tracks. He considered planting something on the plot to mark it, like Dean wanted but later decided against it. There was no way Sam would forget where he buried Dean. Ever. He had dug the ground himself, wrapped his brother’s body, placed it on the damp dirt and buried him. He had flung dirt on Dean and watched him disappear into the ground, each scoop killing a fiber of his being. This is where his brother lay, the other half of him. His past - Sam noted with regret.
As if waiting for Dean’s hand to burst out from the ground, Sam stayed there until it was so dark, until the cold night air stabbed at his bones. Nothing happened. Sam didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.
His daily routine had been the exact same the next seven days. He woke up at dawn, showered, ate something just because, watched over Dean’s grave for hours. He would enter the house at noon only to occupy himself with Dean’s guns, cleaning them, disassembling and reassembling them mechanically, almost pathetically believing that Dean would always be alive if his routines are kept alive. He wanted, needed to feel as if Dean is still here. When the sun is slanting against the afternoon sky Sam went out back again and stared at Dean’s grave, daring his brother to rise from the dead and haunt him - to be a pain in the neck once again.
Seven days since. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. And Sam died a little bit more.
*
Six months ago, Dean received a voice mail. His expression as he listened to the message was unreadable. He went on from oblivious to pleasantly surprised to utterly shocked to openmouthed speechless.
“Dean? What’s the matter?” Sam had asked.
Dean gulped visibly, snapping his phone shut and shook his head. “Nothing,” he smiled edgily.
“Are you sure?” Sam pressed on.
It was Dean’s nature to snap for being asked over and over but he nodded and slid his phone silently into his jacket pocket instead. Dean only regained his talkative demeanor after nearly a week but they never talked about it again.
Now, six months later, Sam stared down at Dean’s cell phone. He was too preoccupied with mourning Dean’s death that he forgot to go through Dean’s personal possessions. Dean’s cell phone was on the dresser in his room, next to this leather-sheathed knife. Sam remembered the look on Dean’s face, figured it could be significant and decided to break the voicemail code.
Dean, a woman’s voice crackled. It was soft. It’s Melody. From Texas. I don’t know if you remember me. We met at a local coffee shop a few months ago. A little hesitation. You said…you said you could drown in the blue of my eyes. Anyway, after we…went out a few times and you left, I thought I’d never see you again but it’s okay. But then…A pause. Then I found out…that I’m pregnant. I’m now a couple of weeks away from my due date. Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not asking you for anything. I just…I just thought you should know. You have the right to know.
*
The drive to Houston felt like ages. Sam stared ahead, Dean’s Impala purring underneath. He was on his way to see Dean’s last, real bequest. Dean’s child. His flesh and blood. Sam wouldn’t be alone anymore. The notion rushed alongside his blood in his veins and he felt himself stepping a little harder on the accelerator.
The house looked cozy. White all over with a well-kept front yard. There’s a swing hanging from a branch of a tree, swaying lazily by itself in the late afternoon breeze. It seemed like a nice home for a kid to grow up in and be happy. A place where Sam knew Dean wanted his child to grow up in. Other people might wave Dean off as irresponsible for not acknowledging the baby but to Sam, Dean was a Winchester and knew what that was all about. A life as a Winchester is never meant for a child. Dean had always acknowledged Dad’s mistake for dragging Sam in. He wouldn’t want his child to go through the same, for sure.
Sam took a deep, lungful of breath and pushed the doorbell. It took a moment but Sam heard the distant “I’m coming!” from deep inside the house. It wasn’t until the door was answered by an attractive woman did Sam notice he was holding his breath the whole time.
“Hi,” he smiled. “I’m looking for Melody.”
Something flickered across the woman’s eyes. They were no longer warm.
“I’m Sam Winchester.”
“Winchester?” the woman echoed, her tone heavy with something that sounded like grief.
Sam nodded slowly and watched the woman thought it over. After what seemed like forever, she opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. He was led to the living room, all the while in silence. She motioned for him to take a seat and proceeded to take the seat across him.
“I’m Melissa,” she started, her eyes wistful. “Melody’s sister.”
“Do you know my brother?”
She smiled weakly, nodding. “Mel talked about him,” she paused, her voice breaking. “She passed away. In childbirth.”
“She…” Sam choked. “I’m sorry…” A deep sense of sorrow gashed at his heart once again. He might’ve never met Melody but the girl had his brother’s child. Losing her meant losing a part of the family, much to Sam’s opinion.
Melissa passed him a frail smile before reaching out to a picture frame next to her and handed it over to Sam. “That’s Mel,” she said.
Melody looked a lot like Melissa, only younger and prettier. Her deep creek-water blue eyes were brimming with warmth, her smooth, naturally red lips enticing and her long, wavy dark brown hair shining healthily. She was blatantly beautiful. Blatantly befitting Dean.
“Mel never said it,” Melissa sighed. “But I know she wished your brother was with her on her last few days of the pregnancy. It was hard on her.”
Sam swallowed his tears. “My brother…Dean…died a couple of weeks ago.”
The sympathy in her eyes was genuine. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Sam nodded, tears already springing his eyes. “She…Melody left a voice mail for him six months ago. That’s what brought me here. I just want you to know that Dean…he wasn’t dodging the responsibility. Believe me, he’s the most responsible person I’ve ever known. It’s just that…our job takes us all over the country. And it’s…it isn’t an optimal condition for raising a child, to say the least.”
“I understand,” she smiled softly. “Mel made it clear not to give your brother a tough time. She really liked him, I guess.”
The statement clawed at Sam’s inside. Dean never knew love. “Did Melody talk about Dean a lot?”
She grinned. “Only wonderful things. Told me he was sweet and caring and all. I’ve never even seen a picture but from the way my sister fawned over him and how you and that kid of theirs look like, I know he was an attractive one.”
Sam brightened up at the mention of the child. “The baby…”
Melissa laughed. “Would you like to see her? She’s sleeping but I was just about to wake her for a bottle anyway.”
Sam’s smile widened. “She?”
Melissa laughed again, nodding. “You and I…We have a niece,” she said before disappearing around the corner.
“A niece…” Sam echoed, the tears misting his eyes now of pure joy.
A few minutes lapsed and he could hear a soft, whimpering cry from the back of the house. Melissa appeared with a pink bundle in her arms, pudgy flailing hands the only visible parts. Sam found himself springing up from the couch as Melissa approached him with the baby.
“Say hello to Hope,” she beamed, depositing the bundle gently into Sam’s arms.
A pair of jade green eyes blinked at him. Sam sniffed. “Hope. That’s a gorgeous name.”
“Mel have always wanted to name her that. And if it were a boy, she said she wanted the name Dean.”
Sam’s head jerked away from admiring the baby, in awe. This girl obviously held Dean in a high respect, if she wasn’t in love with him. Sam felt a compelling remorse washed over him as he realized that Dean never even got the chance to be with this girl. And not because he didn’t want to. It was because he couldn’t afford to. The thought of Dean passing on without the knowledge that a girl was feeling this much about him threw Sam into an emotion so wretched he almost wished he had never found out.
He was transported back to reality when tiny fingers clutched at his shirt pocket with a mini death grip, rosy lips puckered so perfectly it sent shards of lovely memories into his brain. There was no doubt the girl is Dean’s. “She’s beautiful. She looks exactly like him,” Sam whispered in awe.
Melissa reached out and fingered the soft tuft of dark blond hair. “She’s lucky, I guess.”
Sam wriggled a long finger into the tiny fist and laughed deeply when the baby squeezed, puzzled mammoth eyes still looking up in wonder at him. “You’re just the cutest baby ever,” he cooed.
A look of grief flashed upon Melissa’s eyes all of a sudden. “I really love her. It’s a shame I couldn’t keep her. I was planning to give her away for adoption next month. I know it’s not what Mel wanted…” she sobbed. “But I’ve no other choice. I’m a single mother and I’ve a diner to run. Mel used to help me but now…” she choked. Sam listened on, his eyes flashing comfort at her. “My youngest is barely three and my eldest is starting school. I can’t…I can’t afford to keep her. I might have to give up this house and the diner and…I just can’t let her…”
Sam touched her shoulder gently, telling her it was okay. Staring back down into the baby’s face, at the long, heavy eyelashes and pink cheeks, Sam wondered if him coming here was a sign that he was psychic after all.
*
Sam was reminded of the time when he and Dean was short on cash and had maxed out their cards. The night they had to spend in the Impala because the money Dean got out of pool hustling wasn’t enough for the night. Sam took the back seat because he clearly needed the space. Dean was contented with snuggling against her dashboard, almost stroking her like a lover. The night was surprisingly bright. A full moon was out and billions of stars dotted the sky and for once, Sam wished the car was a convertible but he didn’t spoke it out loud for two reasons.
One, Dean would chuckle and call him a sappy pussy.
Two, Dean would slug him for ever thinking that the Impala was anything other than perfect.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was heavy with a drowsy lilt.
Sam buried his face deeper into the leather, grumbling. “Yeah?”
A pause. Dean’s voice was a lot clearer, as if he was cured from his sleepy state. “You know what you should do?”
“Stab you to death for bringing this crap up at three in the morning?”
Dean snorted. “All right, Princess Cranky Pants. I’ll let you have your beauty sleep.”
Sam sighed and turned over so he was lying on his back. “What?” he asked resignedly.
Dean grunted and followed suit, staring at the top of the car. “You should find yourself a nice, pretty little girl and get married.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, clutching his tummy. “Where did that come from, mom?”
“I’m serious,” Dean gruffly said. “I mean, it’s not like I’m ever going to settle down. Come on. We’re totally counting on you to pass on the family name. Anybody would say you’re the one likely to get hitched.”
“And why is that?” Sam was now fully awake. Damn Dean.
Dean smirked. “Because you could flash that puppy dog expression of yours and a girl would kill to marry you in a split second.”
“And you can’t do that with those tilt of puckered lips of yours?”
“Jump me? Of course. Marry me? I don’t know…” Dean hummed.
“You know, you’re capable and deserve to be loved, Dean.”
Dean’s grin widened. “Dude. Was that a full-on compliment?”
Hope was fussing, prepping for a full blown bawl in her crib. Sam glanced up from Dad’s journal on his bed and hurried to her side, swiping the bottle ready in the warmer on his way. As soon as he picked her up, she gurgled and passed him that quizzical look again. Sam thought she was just unfamiliar with his face just yet. But he had all the intention to remedy that.
He was going to be there for Hope. Just as Dean had always been there for him.
Sam was busy making funny faces at the child when he felt the warm, growing dampness on his favourite hoodie. He couldn’t help but grinned. He wondered if it was bound to Dean’s DNA strand, now passed down to his kid, to annoy Sam to no end.
And then the girl gave out a tiny, adorable little-person chortle and Sam had no doubt.
“Hey, Hope Winchester…” he whispered.
*
It was five years after Stanford. Five fucking years. Sam couldn’t believe it. Five years since Jessica’s death. Five years since Dean transformed him into a Winchester again. Five years since they started becoming brothers again. Aside from also being everything else. Partners, family, best of friends.
It was the dusk six months after Dean’s death. Sam was staring down at his brother’s grave, reminiscing. Just…reminiscing. He had stopped talking to Dean out loud because he had seen no point in it. He could whisper the softest tone from the deepest corner of his core and Dean would still hear him. Sam knew that.
Sam had quit hunting. Because he figured he should do at least one thing that Dean wanted. Dean’s last wish. He checked things out - the most awful things; because old habits die hard, especially when Dean was the one planting the habits in him - and left Hope with Melissa once in a while. But never long enough that the girl would start missing him. Never long enough. Because Dean wouldn’t want that.
He opened a bookstore in the town, blended in well. He had enough time to do research and still keep Hope by his side. He was hoping the girl would start reading by the age of two. She was already showing interest in books on Greek mythology. If the way she drooled on and ripped at their pages was any indication. That made him thought about the nature-nurture debate. Because if Dean was alive, he would kick Sam in the shin for influencing his daughter into being a mini geek. And also, secretly proud. Because that’s how Dean was. Even with his Sammy.
It seemed like ages since Sam had anybody call him Sammy. Freaking ages. He yearned to be called that; but only in Dean’s voice.
Then, he felt his heart swelled so hard that his ribcage hurt when Hope first looked up at his face with Dean’s eyes and eyelashes and puckered lips underneath Dean’s shade of hair and called him Daddy.
The End
start
rating: PG; for language
word count: 2707
disclaimer: if they were mine, i'd keep them happy and hopped up on sugar and forever in prank war mode.
a/n: gen, in general. wincest if you really squint. sam-centric (which is weirding me out because i'm a total dean girl but i kept on writing on behalf of sam. *shrug*) and also sort-of angsty. a continuation of Unsaid. comments and crits would be wonderful. :)
warning: i'm horrendous with time line. finished at past midnight my time.
accompanying song: Bring On the Wonder by Susan Enan
summary: sam is dealing with dean's death. and a whole new future ahead.
Hope
Sam buried his brother at dusk, most possibly Dean’s favourite time of the day - Sam was only certain Dean hated the mornings. He had wrapped the body in linen before lowering it down the six foot shaft. Everything appeared so surreal. Sam could still hear Dean’s deep laugh echoing next to his ear, saying things. Things Sam would imagine Dean couldn’t resist saying.
“Nice hole, Sammy. You ever thought of making this a career? You know, burying people rather than unearthing them?”
“No,” Sam would answer. “I just want to hunt. With you.”
Sam didn’t realize that he had said it out loud until a long moment had lapsed. He stared at the bare ground, signs that it had just been dug not evident. Perhaps they had became too good at covering their tracks. He considered planting something on the plot to mark it, like Dean wanted but later decided against it. There was no way Sam would forget where he buried Dean. Ever. He had dug the ground himself, wrapped his brother’s body, placed it on the damp dirt and buried him. He had flung dirt on Dean and watched him disappear into the ground, each scoop killing a fiber of his being. This is where his brother lay, the other half of him. His past - Sam noted with regret.
As if waiting for Dean’s hand to burst out from the ground, Sam stayed there until it was so dark, until the cold night air stabbed at his bones. Nothing happened. Sam didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.
His daily routine had been the exact same the next seven days. He woke up at dawn, showered, ate something just because, watched over Dean’s grave for hours. He would enter the house at noon only to occupy himself with Dean’s guns, cleaning them, disassembling and reassembling them mechanically, almost pathetically believing that Dean would always be alive if his routines are kept alive. He wanted, needed to feel as if Dean is still here. When the sun is slanting against the afternoon sky Sam went out back again and stared at Dean’s grave, daring his brother to rise from the dead and haunt him - to be a pain in the neck once again.
Seven days since. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. And Sam died a little bit more.
*
Six months ago, Dean received a voice mail. His expression as he listened to the message was unreadable. He went on from oblivious to pleasantly surprised to utterly shocked to openmouthed speechless.
“Dean? What’s the matter?” Sam had asked.
Dean gulped visibly, snapping his phone shut and shook his head. “Nothing,” he smiled edgily.
“Are you sure?” Sam pressed on.
It was Dean’s nature to snap for being asked over and over but he nodded and slid his phone silently into his jacket pocket instead. Dean only regained his talkative demeanor after nearly a week but they never talked about it again.
Now, six months later, Sam stared down at Dean’s cell phone. He was too preoccupied with mourning Dean’s death that he forgot to go through Dean’s personal possessions. Dean’s cell phone was on the dresser in his room, next to this leather-sheathed knife. Sam remembered the look on Dean’s face, figured it could be significant and decided to break the voicemail code.
Dean, a woman’s voice crackled. It was soft. It’s Melody. From Texas. I don’t know if you remember me. We met at a local coffee shop a few months ago. A little hesitation. You said…you said you could drown in the blue of my eyes. Anyway, after we…went out a few times and you left, I thought I’d never see you again but it’s okay. But then…A pause. Then I found out…that I’m pregnant. I’m now a couple of weeks away from my due date. Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not asking you for anything. I just…I just thought you should know. You have the right to know.
*
The drive to Houston felt like ages. Sam stared ahead, Dean’s Impala purring underneath. He was on his way to see Dean’s last, real bequest. Dean’s child. His flesh and blood. Sam wouldn’t be alone anymore. The notion rushed alongside his blood in his veins and he felt himself stepping a little harder on the accelerator.
The house looked cozy. White all over with a well-kept front yard. There’s a swing hanging from a branch of a tree, swaying lazily by itself in the late afternoon breeze. It seemed like a nice home for a kid to grow up in and be happy. A place where Sam knew Dean wanted his child to grow up in. Other people might wave Dean off as irresponsible for not acknowledging the baby but to Sam, Dean was a Winchester and knew what that was all about. A life as a Winchester is never meant for a child. Dean had always acknowledged Dad’s mistake for dragging Sam in. He wouldn’t want his child to go through the same, for sure.
Sam took a deep, lungful of breath and pushed the doorbell. It took a moment but Sam heard the distant “I’m coming!” from deep inside the house. It wasn’t until the door was answered by an attractive woman did Sam notice he was holding his breath the whole time.
“Hi,” he smiled. “I’m looking for Melody.”
Something flickered across the woman’s eyes. They were no longer warm.
“I’m Sam Winchester.”
“Winchester?” the woman echoed, her tone heavy with something that sounded like grief.
Sam nodded slowly and watched the woman thought it over. After what seemed like forever, she opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. He was led to the living room, all the while in silence. She motioned for him to take a seat and proceeded to take the seat across him.
“I’m Melissa,” she started, her eyes wistful. “Melody’s sister.”
“Do you know my brother?”
She smiled weakly, nodding. “Mel talked about him,” she paused, her voice breaking. “She passed away. In childbirth.”
“She…” Sam choked. “I’m sorry…” A deep sense of sorrow gashed at his heart once again. He might’ve never met Melody but the girl had his brother’s child. Losing her meant losing a part of the family, much to Sam’s opinion.
Melissa passed him a frail smile before reaching out to a picture frame next to her and handed it over to Sam. “That’s Mel,” she said.
Melody looked a lot like Melissa, only younger and prettier. Her deep creek-water blue eyes were brimming with warmth, her smooth, naturally red lips enticing and her long, wavy dark brown hair shining healthily. She was blatantly beautiful. Blatantly befitting Dean.
“Mel never said it,” Melissa sighed. “But I know she wished your brother was with her on her last few days of the pregnancy. It was hard on her.”
Sam swallowed his tears. “My brother…Dean…died a couple of weeks ago.”
The sympathy in her eyes was genuine. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Sam nodded, tears already springing his eyes. “She…Melody left a voice mail for him six months ago. That’s what brought me here. I just want you to know that Dean…he wasn’t dodging the responsibility. Believe me, he’s the most responsible person I’ve ever known. It’s just that…our job takes us all over the country. And it’s…it isn’t an optimal condition for raising a child, to say the least.”
“I understand,” she smiled softly. “Mel made it clear not to give your brother a tough time. She really liked him, I guess.”
The statement clawed at Sam’s inside. Dean never knew love. “Did Melody talk about Dean a lot?”
She grinned. “Only wonderful things. Told me he was sweet and caring and all. I’ve never even seen a picture but from the way my sister fawned over him and how you and that kid of theirs look like, I know he was an attractive one.”
Sam brightened up at the mention of the child. “The baby…”
Melissa laughed. “Would you like to see her? She’s sleeping but I was just about to wake her for a bottle anyway.”
Sam’s smile widened. “She?”
Melissa laughed again, nodding. “You and I…We have a niece,” she said before disappearing around the corner.
“A niece…” Sam echoed, the tears misting his eyes now of pure joy.
A few minutes lapsed and he could hear a soft, whimpering cry from the back of the house. Melissa appeared with a pink bundle in her arms, pudgy flailing hands the only visible parts. Sam found himself springing up from the couch as Melissa approached him with the baby.
“Say hello to Hope,” she beamed, depositing the bundle gently into Sam’s arms.
A pair of jade green eyes blinked at him. Sam sniffed. “Hope. That’s a gorgeous name.”
“Mel have always wanted to name her that. And if it were a boy, she said she wanted the name Dean.”
Sam’s head jerked away from admiring the baby, in awe. This girl obviously held Dean in a high respect, if she wasn’t in love with him. Sam felt a compelling remorse washed over him as he realized that Dean never even got the chance to be with this girl. And not because he didn’t want to. It was because he couldn’t afford to. The thought of Dean passing on without the knowledge that a girl was feeling this much about him threw Sam into an emotion so wretched he almost wished he had never found out.
He was transported back to reality when tiny fingers clutched at his shirt pocket with a mini death grip, rosy lips puckered so perfectly it sent shards of lovely memories into his brain. There was no doubt the girl is Dean’s. “She’s beautiful. She looks exactly like him,” Sam whispered in awe.
Melissa reached out and fingered the soft tuft of dark blond hair. “She’s lucky, I guess.”
Sam wriggled a long finger into the tiny fist and laughed deeply when the baby squeezed, puzzled mammoth eyes still looking up in wonder at him. “You’re just the cutest baby ever,” he cooed.
A look of grief flashed upon Melissa’s eyes all of a sudden. “I really love her. It’s a shame I couldn’t keep her. I was planning to give her away for adoption next month. I know it’s not what Mel wanted…” she sobbed. “But I’ve no other choice. I’m a single mother and I’ve a diner to run. Mel used to help me but now…” she choked. Sam listened on, his eyes flashing comfort at her. “My youngest is barely three and my eldest is starting school. I can’t…I can’t afford to keep her. I might have to give up this house and the diner and…I just can’t let her…”
Sam touched her shoulder gently, telling her it was okay. Staring back down into the baby’s face, at the long, heavy eyelashes and pink cheeks, Sam wondered if him coming here was a sign that he was psychic after all.
*
Sam was reminded of the time when he and Dean was short on cash and had maxed out their cards. The night they had to spend in the Impala because the money Dean got out of pool hustling wasn’t enough for the night. Sam took the back seat because he clearly needed the space. Dean was contented with snuggling against her dashboard, almost stroking her like a lover. The night was surprisingly bright. A full moon was out and billions of stars dotted the sky and for once, Sam wished the car was a convertible but he didn’t spoke it out loud for two reasons.
One, Dean would chuckle and call him a sappy pussy.
Two, Dean would slug him for ever thinking that the Impala was anything other than perfect.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was heavy with a drowsy lilt.
Sam buried his face deeper into the leather, grumbling. “Yeah?”
A pause. Dean’s voice was a lot clearer, as if he was cured from his sleepy state. “You know what you should do?”
“Stab you to death for bringing this crap up at three in the morning?”
Dean snorted. “All right, Princess Cranky Pants. I’ll let you have your beauty sleep.”
Sam sighed and turned over so he was lying on his back. “What?” he asked resignedly.
Dean grunted and followed suit, staring at the top of the car. “You should find yourself a nice, pretty little girl and get married.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, clutching his tummy. “Where did that come from, mom?”
“I’m serious,” Dean gruffly said. “I mean, it’s not like I’m ever going to settle down. Come on. We’re totally counting on you to pass on the family name. Anybody would say you’re the one likely to get hitched.”
“And why is that?” Sam was now fully awake. Damn Dean.
Dean smirked. “Because you could flash that puppy dog expression of yours and a girl would kill to marry you in a split second.”
“And you can’t do that with those tilt of puckered lips of yours?”
“Jump me? Of course. Marry me? I don’t know…” Dean hummed.
“You know, you’re capable and deserve to be loved, Dean.”
Dean’s grin widened. “Dude. Was that a full-on compliment?”
Hope was fussing, prepping for a full blown bawl in her crib. Sam glanced up from Dad’s journal on his bed and hurried to her side, swiping the bottle ready in the warmer on his way. As soon as he picked her up, she gurgled and passed him that quizzical look again. Sam thought she was just unfamiliar with his face just yet. But he had all the intention to remedy that.
He was going to be there for Hope. Just as Dean had always been there for him.
Sam was busy making funny faces at the child when he felt the warm, growing dampness on his favourite hoodie. He couldn’t help but grinned. He wondered if it was bound to Dean’s DNA strand, now passed down to his kid, to annoy Sam to no end.
And then the girl gave out a tiny, adorable little-person chortle and Sam had no doubt.
“Hey, Hope Winchester…” he whispered.
*
It was five years after Stanford. Five fucking years. Sam couldn’t believe it. Five years since Jessica’s death. Five years since Dean transformed him into a Winchester again. Five years since they started becoming brothers again. Aside from also being everything else. Partners, family, best of friends.
It was the dusk six months after Dean’s death. Sam was staring down at his brother’s grave, reminiscing. Just…reminiscing. He had stopped talking to Dean out loud because he had seen no point in it. He could whisper the softest tone from the deepest corner of his core and Dean would still hear him. Sam knew that.
Sam had quit hunting. Because he figured he should do at least one thing that Dean wanted. Dean’s last wish. He checked things out - the most awful things; because old habits die hard, especially when Dean was the one planting the habits in him - and left Hope with Melissa once in a while. But never long enough that the girl would start missing him. Never long enough. Because Dean wouldn’t want that.
He opened a bookstore in the town, blended in well. He had enough time to do research and still keep Hope by his side. He was hoping the girl would start reading by the age of two. She was already showing interest in books on Greek mythology. If the way she drooled on and ripped at their pages was any indication. That made him thought about the nature-nurture debate. Because if Dean was alive, he would kick Sam in the shin for influencing his daughter into being a mini geek. And also, secretly proud. Because that’s how Dean was. Even with his Sammy.
It seemed like ages since Sam had anybody call him Sammy. Freaking ages. He yearned to be called that; but only in Dean’s voice.
Then, he felt his heart swelled so hard that his ribcage hurt when Hope first looked up at his face with Dean’s eyes and eyelashes and puckered lips underneath Dean’s shade of hair and called him Daddy.
The End
start