So it’s like this: I was bored.
smilla02 was bored, and both of us were desperately craving some ficspiration of the Dean Winchester variety. Earlier, on a random comment thread ages ago, that’s who-knows where, I was ranting about how awesome it would be if I could just prompt AU’s for other people to write (mostly because I love inventing them, but am
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Mirror: He's calling her from the terminal ward of the hospital. Sam didn't make it.
I know for a fact I didn’t do this right, LOL. Because I’m stupid that way and don’t understand things unless they’re explained to me over and over. I think I combined the two above prompts and filled them both or maybe I didn’t fill either. Apologies if this isn’t done/mirrored correctly -- you are free to laugh amongst yourselves at my ineptitude, but this is what came out. Delete if it‘s waaay wrong.It’s stupid, really -- they need to see Dean’s ID so they can release Sam’s stuff to him. That’s not the stupid part -- even though, when Dean gets right down to it, that’s kind of fucked up in itself, needing to see something to prove he’s Sam’s brother when they all know Sam’s his brother, have known it from the second they stepped into the place. Both he and Sam have shown ID’s, signed forms, answered questions until they’re blue in the face, yet they still won’ ( ... )
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Bobby is good -- Dean will give him that.
Says all the right things.
He’s at peace, Dean. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Don’t beat yourself up, this was something you couldn’t control. Do you need me to come there, I can catch the next flight out --
It doesn’t matter.
No.
And no.
Dean gets off the phone as soon as he can. Hearing Bobby’s voice isn’t the panacea Dean had been banking on -- in fact, he comes away from the conversation feeling more ill at ease than when he’d started it.
Like he’s had to do the comforting instead of the other way around. Or something. Whatever the call had turned into, it was less than satisfactory, but what the fuck, Dean thinks, once he and Bobby click off, how else was it going to end, given that he’s just told Bobby that Sam is dead -- not gone, not in the Pit, not fucked up on demon blood or anything else -- but gone. Gone for good.
Dead.
Not fucking coming back.He doesn’t call ( ... )
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He’s not even sure why he’s bothering, what he’s expecting to come from calling and talking to her --
Happy Birthday.
Sam died on my birthday.
-- Other than he needs something, needs to fucking get a hold of himself or -- maybe let himself go, he doesn’t know which it is, can’t fucking think straight when Sam’s a few hours dead ( ... )
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And thank you : )
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