AN: Wrote this ridiculously quickly, as a result I’ve screwed up the tenses in the first part. Hope it reads alright!
Life Goes On
The motel room smells of fire and charcoal. The curtains are drawn; every now and again a beam of light glances over the darkened window and a glow sweeps over the bed furthest from the door.
What sits there, illuminated briefly as a car passes by, with legs drawn tight against a strong chest and chin rested on shaking hands, is hurting.
Dean doesn’t do ‘chick flick’ moments. It isn’t in him to coddle and coo pain away. He can’t imagine himself in fits of tears, gathering all six foot something of his brother into his arms and weeping the night away. And so he doesn’t.
Tonight is on a whole different level. Tonight is new ground – and it frightens Dean. Tonight, a simple candy bar and “it’ll be better tomorrow, Sammy” won’t suffice. Tonight won’t be cured by tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the next. No, Dean doesn’t want to think of how long this kind of pain could last. Doesn’t want to think of how beaten and broken and sad Sam looks with his wide, startled eyes.
Tonight, Dean wants to wake up. Too bad he can’t sleep.
~ ~ ~
Dean has begun to re-label his days. Today is d+12. Three in the afternoon and 12 hours since That happened. He’s afraid to mention it, afraid to even breathe too loudly and break the silence. Sometime during the night (or was it morning?) Sam had slumped down onto the bed – his head resting beneath the pillow and legs drawn up tight to his torso. His arms were no longer wrapped around himself; instead they splayed across the musty covers, his left wrist clutched loosely between his right hand fingers. Unresponsive eyes stared past Dean, past the door, past the world outside and at someplace only Sam could see.
“Sam?” Dean finally ventured, deciding that d+13 could do with some movement.
Unsurprisingly, there was no response – just the ever vacant gaze from haunted hazel eyes. Dean soon realised what Sam was doing, finally read the seemingly blank expression on his face for what it was. It was the look Sam had on his face when he’s calculating something, when he’s reciting exorcisms in his head tocommit them to memory. Here, Sam was feeling his pulse in his wrist, measuring the time between That, not in hours or minutes or seconds, but in living beats.
Dean wonders what it is like –a broken heart. Regarding the still form of his brother and remembering the fleeting months after the death of his Mother he wonders if watching both of his remaining family suffer allows him to come marginally close. D+26. Won’t eat. Won’t sleep. Won’t move. Hell, Dean would bet that Sam wouldn’t even breathe if it wasn’t involuntary. Something nagged at his conscience, told him that really, something was wrong in the fact that Sam hadn’t properly grieved yet. There’d been no tears after d+1/6, while they had stood watching the blaze. No screams of injustice, no blaming his big brother for dragging him miles away on short notice and effectively leaving the love of his young life to the mercy of a vindictive son of a bitch demon. The silence was terrifying. Sam had always been vocal, had never shied around letting the world know what he was feeling.
Dean hoped the silence wouldn’t last – for the sake of both their souls.
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carisma_sensei
FILLED (:o) 1/3
Date: 2010-03-02 04:17 pm (UTC)Life Goes On
The motel room smells of fire and charcoal. The curtains are drawn; every now and again a beam of light glances over the darkened window and a glow sweeps over the bed furthest from the door.
What sits there, illuminated briefly as a car passes by, with legs drawn tight against a strong chest and chin rested on shaking hands, is hurting.
Dean doesn’t do ‘chick flick’ moments. It isn’t in him to coddle and coo pain away. He can’t imagine himself in fits of tears, gathering all six foot something of his brother into his arms and weeping the night away. And so he doesn’t.
Tonight is on a whole different level. Tonight is new ground – and it frightens Dean. Tonight, a simple candy bar and “it’ll be better tomorrow, Sammy” won’t suffice. Tonight won’t be cured by tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the next. No, Dean doesn’t want to think of how long this kind of pain could last. Doesn’t want to think of how beaten and broken and sad Sam looks with his wide, startled eyes.
Tonight, Dean wants to wake up. Too bad he can’t sleep.
~ ~ ~
Dean has begun to re-label his days. Today is d+12. Three in the afternoon and 12 hours since That happened. He’s afraid to mention it, afraid to even breathe too loudly and break the silence. Sometime during the night (or was it morning?) Sam had slumped down onto the bed – his head resting beneath the pillow and legs drawn up tight to his torso. His arms were no longer wrapped around himself; instead they splayed across the musty covers, his left wrist clutched loosely between his right hand fingers. Unresponsive eyes stared past Dean, past the door, past the world outside and at someplace only Sam could see.
“Sam?” Dean finally ventured, deciding that d+13 could do with some movement.
Unsurprisingly, there was no response – just the ever vacant gaze from haunted hazel eyes. Dean soon realised what Sam was doing, finally read the seemingly blank expression on his face for what it was. It was the look Sam had on his face when he’s calculating something, when he’s reciting exorcisms in his head tocommit them to memory. Here, Sam was feeling his pulse in his wrist, measuring the time between That, not in hours or minutes or seconds, but in living beats.
Dean wonders what it is like –a broken heart. Regarding the still form of his brother and remembering the fleeting months after the death of his Mother he wonders if watching both of his remaining family suffer allows him to come marginally close.
D+26. Won’t eat. Won’t sleep. Won’t move. Hell, Dean would bet that Sam wouldn’t even breathe if it wasn’t involuntary. Something nagged at his conscience, told him that really, something was wrong in the fact that Sam hadn’t properly grieved yet. There’d been no tears after d+1/6, while they had stood watching the blaze. No screams of injustice, no blaming his big brother for dragging him miles away on short notice and effectively leaving the love of his young life to the mercy of a vindictive son of a bitch demon. The silence was terrifying. Sam had always been vocal, had never shied around letting the world know what he was feeling.
Dean hoped the silence wouldn’t last – for the sake of both their souls.