Tag: i’m CRYING

babybrotherdean:

Sam doesn’t move for a long time after the hellhounds take Dean. He stays there in that room, Ruby’s empty meatsuit on the floor somewhere behind him while his brother’s blood soaks into his clothes.

It’s impossible to pretend that things are okay. There’s no ignoring the way that Dean’s been torn open; deep gashes left in his chest and stomach where the phantom claws had sliced through his body. Sam can’t say for sure how his brother died (screaming, says a voice in his head, he died screaming), if they’d pierced right through to his heart and lungs, or if it was maybe the blood loss. Not that any of it matters, but his brain’s searching for any illusion of distraction, and maybe wondering about the medical details of what happened will do something to make it all stop hurting so much.

Eventually, he works up the energy to wipe Dean’s face clean. The drops of blood make it too hard to see his freckles, and this seems extremely important to Sam in this moment. He closes Dean’s eyes and doesn’t look at anything below his brother’s neck and tries to tell himself that Dean is asleep.

Sam’s not very good at lying to himself, and this one stands on thinner ice than most.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, voice whisper-soft like Dean is still around to hear him. Like maybe his spirit is hanging around, or watching him from heaven. As if either of those things are possible realities after the deal Dean had made. “What, Dean? What do I-”

His voice breaks, and he can’t speak anymore, and somewhere distant, he knows they need to leave. Knows that somebody will eventually call the police and he’ll be the only one nearby to blame for the pair of corpses in this room. None of it is enough to make him move, to work up the ambition to stand up and gather his brother’s body in his arms so he can-

So he can…

God, Dad would be pissed. Even Dean would be angry, but right then and there- god. Sam knows he can’t burn Dean’s body. He can’t do the one fucking job he’s got left, the last thing he can do for his brother, and he just.

He just. Can’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean can’t hear him, and it doesn’t feel any better to say the words to an empty room. His eyes are stinging, and Sam breaks all over again.

He can’t.

72/365

babybrotherdean:

Sam doesn’t know what leads him to the bathroom while he picks through the ruins of his apartment. There’s almost nothing salvageable left after a demon burned his life to the ground, but something tugs him in that direction and he’s too shell-shocked in its aftermath to try to stop it.

Black ash smeared on white porcelain, a charred hairbrush. It has him feeling ill, and he nearly walks away before a tiny white stick catches his eye and his stomach drops.

He crouches down slowly to pick it out from the debris. It tapers thin at one end and Sam feels like he can’t breathe, wipes soot off its display with numb, shaking fingers.

The tiny plus sign breaks him, and the pregnancy test clatters to the floor, a choked, inhuman noise clawing its way up out of Sam’s throat.

He thinks about the bloodstains on Jessica’s nightgown that could’ve been his child, and he presses his forehead against the floor and screams himself hoarse.

It should’ve been me.

His life has never been fair.

31/365