TITLE: Wanted To Be
AUTHOR: Me
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER:
The show belongs to Eric Kripke. I don't own anything here. I'm just
playing in his sandbox and fully intend on returning his toys when
done.
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Sam and Dean, gen
SUMMARY:
Post-Heart. Dean just wishes there was something he could
do.
WORD COUNT: 619
A/N: Obviously spoilers for 2x17. This
isn't really a drabble, is it? Or Sam/Dean. Oops? This song is kind
of perfect. Excellent pick, salsa_babe! I made withyour
look over this for me, even though she's not in the fandom. Thanks,
withyour!
And I wanted to be
I wanted to be
Wanted
to be your good friend
- "It's All In Your Mind," Beck
Wanted To Be
It was Dean's idea to honor Madison the way they'd honored Dad, but Sam was the one who took charge. Sam constructed the pyre out of discarded wooden planks and beams they'd found on an abandoned construction site not far from her apartment. Sam was the one who snagged the matches from Dean, never once questioning why Dean had a pack of matches on hand when he didn't even smoke. Sam was the one who took the red plastic jug and spread the gasoline over her body. Sam was the one who dragged the pads of his thumbs over her eyes and planted a dry kiss on her forehead.
Dean watched, arms crossed tightly over his chest, as Sam lit a match. It flared in the night, a dancing sliver of light pinched between Sam's fingers. Dean could see the wetness already streaking his brother's cheeks, as he approached the pyre.
If a guy didn't know what to look for, he might have just assumed Madison was sleeping. If he Idid/I know what to look for, though, he'd see the small black circle at her temple, the burnt edges, the blood ribboning in her hair. He'd see Sam, hand shaking so badly, Dean thought he might drop the match and set the whole block on fire.
Dean strode forward, reaching for Sam's shaking hand and the flickering flame. "Sammy, I canó"
Sam paused and turned, reaching up to swipe the sleeve of his sweater over his face. "No. I have to do it." He turned back to Madison and reached out, resting his fingertips lightly over her pale cheek. "She looks so peaceful."
Dean swallowed, an audible click. "I know, Sammy." He paused, delicately, waiting for Sam's next move.
Sam pulled his hand away and touched the flame to the skirt of her nightgown. The flames caught hold quickly, and Sam stepped back. Dean moved forward and gripped Sam by the shoulder, tightly, unable to tear his eyes away.
Sam wrapped his arms tightly over his chest as the flames crept up, devouring Madison's nightgown, her flesh, almost greedy. "She'só" Sam hesitated. "She's going to a better place. Right, Dean? I did the right thing. Right?" He turned to Dean; the hope in Sam's eyes tightened around Dean's heart like a fist.
Dean swallowed at the thickness in his throat before speaking. "Yeah, Sammy. I think she is." He kept his hand tight on Sam's shoulder to keep him from buckling under the weight. "It's what she wanted."
Sam glanced back at the pyre, cheeks reddening. Dean couldn't tell if it was from the heat or the grief. "I want to stay here until it'sóuntil it's done. You can go. If you want."
Dean kept hold of Sam's shoulder, digging his fingers in the coarse material of Sam's sweater. When he finally let go, he'd probably have an imprint of the shoulder seams in his palm. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Sammy." Dean let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief when Sam leaned back into him, and he carefully slid his arm over Sam's chest. Dean finally allowed the tension to slowly ebb out of his body.
Sam spoke over the low, quiet hum of the flames. "Thanks. You know, for not leaving."
Dean turned his head slightly and gave Sam a squeeze. "Can't get rid of me that easily, Sammy."
Sam snorted without much humor behind it. But it was still something.
Dean looked back. The figure in the flames wasn't Madison anymore, it was Dad. Mom. Jessica. Everyone they'd loved and lost, everyone they couldn't save. He tightened his arm around Sam, as they watched the spitting flames down to tiny specks of light.
*
END