Soomething I wrote at 1:00 in the morning with minimum sleep. Just try it. Time Spent Alone
The day that Dean died, dawn came early. A quiet sun washed over the neighborhood, bright rays caressing the soft sky. The quaint little street was highlighted so tenderly by the shy light. It called a sleepy calm over the pretty, picturesque landscape.
Sam had never witnessed a more hateful scene.
- - -
The reduced family of three was completely shaken. Naturally. Sam would have been more than a little suspicious otherwise. They crept timidly up the stairs, obviously worried over the sudden quiet of their house, and, a few moments of silent shuffling later, thumped back down, luggage in hand.
They couldn't stay here, the father stammered nervously. There was just too much in this house. They couldn't… They had their daughter to think of. His gaze drew down to the blood soaking through Sam's shirt – not mine not mine not mine – and he understood the man's distress. The wife and little girl – Lilith. Oh God it's Lilith – scooted up from behind. All their faces held the same expression of horrified gratitude and slight confusion.
The father stepped forward uncertainly, shooting an almost curious glance over Sam's shoulder to the now-closed door of the study. Sam shifted in front of it protectively. He wasn't about to share that with a family of strangers.
Damn straight. Right Sam?
The man was smart enough not to pry, despite his obvious awareness that this little goodbye group was lacking a few someones. Instead, he thrust a shaking hand at Sam, blubbering something about saving his family and… whatever. He was mumbling too fast to catch any recognizable phrases, and Sam had really no energy left to actually try and listen properly. He leaned forward to grasp the shaking limb in a firm handshake, because it was the proper thing to do, and waved away the weak thanks with a few weak assurances of his own, if only out of habit.
For the woman and her pretty little daughter – she killed him. It's Lilith. Oh God, he's dead – he tried on a smile, pretending not to notice when the already terrified child squeaked under his gaze and hid behind her mother's legs with a whimper. Sam supposed the whole standing-over-her-with-a-knife thing was to blame, but it didn't stop it from stinging a bit, or letting is cursedly vivid imagination from pulling free from his reins.
Dude. Next time I take the kid.
The family stepped slowly around the rotting corpse of what must have been Grandma with over exaggerated care. Sam would have rolled his eyes and snorted had he felt up to it. But then again, normal people didn't hang around dead bodies every day, so he guessed he could maybe cut them some slack.
As he shut the door behind them, Sam realized belatedly that the other demons might still be out on the street surrounding then house. From the lack of screaming and bashing-down of the door, though, they must have left just when their leader had. The thought was gone from his painfully numb mind before he could fully grasp it. There hadn't been much to dwell on, anyway.
Sam turned around to face the deathly quiet house and wondered, for the first time in what felt like eternity, where the hell Bobby was.
- - -
Sam was all alone.
The oppressive silence weighted down on him almost heavier than his guilt, a constant companion. It was just so quiet. Sam wished Dean was…
He felt something close to resentment for a moment at the family who owned this house for leaving him with the bodies of their loved ones. Had they no loyalty to their family? Did they have no respect for the dead? To just leave them there like that – rotting in their home with a stranger.
Sam could never do that to…
Where the hell was Bobby?
His feet tapped loudly across the wooden floor as he made his way back to the study. The noise punched painfully into his sensitive ears. He paused at the door, afraid of going in, afraid of what he would see once the barrier was no longer there to hide it.
Man, you're such a wuss, Sammy.
The hinges made less noise than Sam was hoping for. He stepped over the disturbed line of the dust that he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. Sam stopped at the edge of the growing puddle.
Everything was just as he had left it.
He snapped his eyes up to the blank gaze, flinching at the lifelessness.
"I'm sorry, De-" his breath hitched. "I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't… shouldn't have left you."
He ignored the blonde girl beside his brother and knelt to crawl next to him. "I shouldn't have left. Please forgive me. I shouldn't have left," he ended in a choked whisper.
Stop being such a girl.
He couldn't stop the tears before; now wasn't any different. If anything, the bleeding, gaping hole Dad had left in him dug deeper and wider to accommodate the new, fresher pain. The tears welled up inside of if, overflowing with much more gusto this time around. He was drowning in… in everything. The cold numbness was seeping away, being replaced with horrible, cutting despair that twisted his insides and pounded in his head.
Sam was drowning. But this time there was no one to save him. So he took the only comfort he could scavenge and curled against the stiff, empty vessel that used to be his brother.
Dean…
It's ok Sammy. Shhhh. It's ok. I got you. Everything's going to be just fine.
I promise.
Reviews would be nice. Be mean if you have to, but only as a last resort. I'm young and impressionable, so gimme your best shot.