And angels fly thee to thy rest
Author Note: Not mine, as ever. Ug, I love this one's name but I have to save I rather loathe it. Ah well, one must suffer for ones art (?!) etc. Enjoy... hmm.
"Of course it's not your fault."
"But they died because of me!"
"Look man, stop it, it's not your fault, okay, just some screwed up demon messing with you, forget about it."
But Dean couldn't help but think that maybe he was right. What if it was Sam's fault? If it weren't for Sam then Mum would be alive, and Dad too, and he'd never have to have started hunting. Dean could have gone his whole life never knowing evil existed. Before that had used to scare him; the idea that he could be oblivious to evil occurring around him but now, after twenty-three years of pain and worry and losing the people he loved it was almost comforting.
He'd told Sam many times before that he often wished he had the innocence not to know what was out there, now he was starting to wish he had it too.
Sam, who had never really known Mum, who hadn't had to stand in a hallway, four years old, and watch as his mother burst into flames. Some days he could still feel the heat on his face, smell the burning, hear the screams over the roar of flames. And all because of Sam.
He dreamt sometimes of being back then. Of the way Mary's hands felt gentle and comforting but still strong and protective when she picked him up. The way her hair shone when she ran around with him out on the front lawn. The way she smelled, like flowers, but nothing Dean could put a name to. He'd catch the scent sometimes, just walking down a corridor of when he was casing a joint, it'd be gone before he knew it but it always made him think of her. They say smell is the memory sense, better than any others; ever time Dean smells sulphur or torches a corpse now he remembers that night.
"Angels are watching over you." He'd never really thought about it before but now every time he steps inside a church or someone makes an off-hand comment he can't help himself. He used to cry when he was younger, but he had to look after Sammy, always looking after Sammy, he couldn't cry in front of his little brother. So now he just got angry, angry with the idea, angry with anyone who brought it up. If angels couldn't save his mum, why should they save anyone else? You hear about miracles everyday, why didn't Mary get one?
When Sam was really young he used to cry out in his sleep, begging for his mummy. Dean used to lie awake listening, hearing himself calling out for her and wondering why she never came. Then he'd get up and play the big brother, be the big boy.
So when Sam asked Dean if he really understood how he felt when Jess died part of him wanted to lay into him. How could he not know? Time doesn't heal wounds, it just creates scars. Mary may have died over two decades ago but Dean remembers every single detail like it was yesterday. He used to think it must be worse for Sam who never knew her, could never understand, and when Jess died Sammy need him more than ever.
Every day Dean thinks about how his mum would have wanted him to be brave but every night he feels her breath on his cheek as she whispers goodnight and tells him he's safe; the angel's are here. Every day he tries very hard to be brave, and when he can't be brave enough for his mum, he's brave for Sam, because even if he's the reason Mary died, he's still his little brother and there are still no angels.
