For EllaOne and her muse, from Harry and Clara.
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She is dead.
She is dead and he is broken. He stumbles back, hits the wall and crumples into himself. He can't stop the tears from spilling over.
He can't understand. The safe house was supposed to keep them safe.
Seamus comes back down the stairs at that moment. Dean looks at him, but Seamus just shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Dean curls tighter into himself, sobs shaking his shoulders.
it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault
Seamus stands for a moment, unsure, before he slides down the wall right next to Dean and curls his arms around him. He doesn't try to say anything, which Dean is grateful for.
it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault
Because it is. Because his mother, his stepfather, his half sisters, they are all Muggles, and they are only targets because of him.
I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry
A sob tears through him as he pulls out of Seamus's arms and crawls forward, toward where is mother is crumpled in a heap on the floor. He touches her cheek. She is ice cold and he shivers and he can't quite understand because she can't be dead, she just can't. He cradles her head gently in his arms and pulls her hair, tacky with blood, away from her face. He doesn't notice, but he's rocking back and forth as he cleans the blood from her face, his own tears spilling onto her cheeks.
please no god no merlin no anyone anywhere please please please
She can't be dead because he doesn't know what to do without her; she's his mum and she's always been there to wipe away the tears and tuck him in her arms and tell him that he's strong enough. She's always been there to tell him that bigots are idiots, that prejudice is the fault of those who hate, not those who are hated, to tell him that he was smarter and braver and stronger for it and that was what mattered. She's always been there with a kind hand and a wise word and he doesn't know how to comprehend a world where she isn't.
"Mum." The broken whisper is the first thing he has uttered since stepping into the house. His voice is hoarse, scraping its way up through his throat. He swallows thickly, his hand resting on her cold cheek.
it's all my fault it's all my fault it's all my fault
He doesn't realize that he says it aloud this time until Seamus speaks from across the room.
"It's not your fault, Dean. It isn't."
But it is. Seamus might not want him to feel bad but he knows better than that, Dean knows better than to believe him when Seamus tries to soothe him because it is Dean's fault.
He sucks in a deep breath and stands carefully, his hands cradling her skull as he lays her limp body on the cold floor. Another deep breath, and he makes his way up the stairs. His legs are lead and he is wading uphill through iron.
His father — the only father he has ever known — is lying limp at the top of the head, protective of the rest of the house. Dean knows from this that he heard Dean's mother die. Dean's tears are still spilling over as he straightens his father from the pile he'd fallen in. Dean is blinking back tears as he notices the blood across his torso. He didn't die from a simple spell. He suffered. Dean pinches his lips tightly together and keeps walking.
His sisters, the twins, are curled up together in the corner of the bedroom. Lena is curled in front and around Marissa.
Dean swallows tightly as he realises that he can't tell what colour Marissa's shirt used to be.
They hurt her.
He is viciously furious, all at once. They hurt her, they hurt his sister, and that is so incredibly not all right.
But he doesn't know who, and so they will all pay. Whoever is left. Whoever he can get your hands on. Every single one of them will pay for what they have done.
And so he does not allow himself to crumble, because grief is useless. Anger is fuel. And he lets it, because he cannot stand being paralyzed.