IT'S A LONG JOURNEY HOME
Sam carried his brother's body to the car, Dean's last caress still lingering on his cheek, his final words "I'm proud of us" still resonating in his head, like a chant, like a mantra. He'd probably keep repeating it each night to get to sleep, if he ever could sleep again. Sam sat Dean on the passenger seat, by his side, he fastened the belt around his bloody chest. What a sight if a cop stopped him for any reason, he chuckled thinking of all the excuses he'd have to invent. The silence inside the Chevy Impala was deafening, not even the sound of the engine running could drown it. The nerdy side of him was describing how it was a metaphor of his life from that moment on: nothing could ever break the silence except for his brother's voice. And he was going to do anything, ANYTHING, to hear Dean's voice again.
Sam drove slowly towards the Men Of Letters bunker, towards home. He laughed at that thought: his only home had just died. He parked the car in the garage, took Dean's body in his arms and walked to the bathroom. The same silence that had inundated the car was now flowing across the corridors, following him everywhere. He left his brother on the tiled floor, wetted a sponge and proceeded to clean the blood off Dean's face. It was already blackening his features, tainting his skin with a dark red brush. While cleaning Dean's mouth, Sam noticed his own hands were painted with the same blood, same ugly tone, same bad smell. He hesitated before washing his hands, a part of him wanted to keep Dean's blood all over him, his fingers, his clothes. He watched himself in the mirror, the crimson liquid that ran through his veins could cure, he almost cured Crowley, he wished he could inject one drop in Dean and revive him but that was impossible. He sneered at his reflection, the irony was that he once had demon blood in him, that he used it to avenge the death of his brother; now he could cure demons but he couldn't bring his brother back with it. He closed his eyes, holding back tears, and finally washed his hands.
When Sam finished cleaning Dean off, he carried him in his arms again and walked to his brother's room. He opened the door, the silence entered and made itself comfortable around Dean's belongings. He lay his brother's body carefully on the bed, as to not hurt him, as to not wake him. He put his brother's head gently on the pillow, as if he was merely sleeping and he didn't want to disturb him. Sam stood by the bed for a long time, watching Dean. He looked so peaceful, so untroubled. Sam felt like crying again but his swollen eyes couldn't shed any more tears. Sadness was being replaced in his heart, a black fire was starting to burn in it, threatening to destroy him and everything surrounding him, anger was taking over him like before, like always.
Sam left the room, the pain was so intense he felt he was going to crumble under its weight. In the spacious living room of the bunker, accompained by the silence, he drank a glass of the expensive and delicious whisky Dean used to drink, he didn't savour it, he just gulped it down to feel its flame in his throat. Anger was alredy possessing him, making him strong.
- Can you hear me, Dean? Can you listen to the roaring voice of revenge? Nothing will stand in my way, no one will dare to stop me. I don't care how but I'll have you here with me. Your place is by my side.
THE END