Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, you'd be seeing this.
Spoilers: References to Bloody Mary, In My Time of Dying, and Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things. (What's with their super-long titles, lately?) Nothing too terribly revealing, I think.
Make It Right
"So, tell me, Sam . . . What can you say to make it right?"
It took Sam a minute to start thinking again. To remember how to breathe again. To pull himself back out of his brother's pain.
But he didn't dare to break eye contact. It would be a rejection he didn't know Dean could stand right now.
He did let his eyes drift a bit, though, as the cogs in his head began buzzing.
"How the hell do you know what I feel?"
The memory made him wince inside. He should've known better than to tempt Fate like that. It always bit them in the ass. Should've . . .
"Been there. Done that."
Dean sniffed a Yeah, whatever as he looked away, a lone tear escaping to skim down his cheek.
"I think it's . . . part of the grieving process. All the shoulda-coulda-wouldas." Dean surged up from the hood - I don't need a damn psychology lecture - then wavered and fell back, hands white knuckled on the grill.
Sam shifted a little, wishing he knew where this was going as his gaze drifted to a middle distance. "But in the end, it doesn't really matter. 'Cause it all boils down to a choice. His choice."
Her choice.
My choice.
The muscle in Dean's jaw jumped as he ground his teeth. A lump formed in Sam's throat, and something unknotted in his diaphragm. A strange, twisted irony settled within.
"Guess he loved you, after all."
That broke the dam.