Set after season 5 finale. Exploring how Dean deals with Sams death on a sleepless morning. Actually this is supposed to be longer. The initial idea was completely different and I hope that I will still get to it. But I feel that this little ficlet works Ok so far. I hope to be able to update soon to get the rest of my idea out of my head. It's tormenting and sad and I want to get rid of it ...
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the sadness.
Things.
Blanket.
It's been a week. A week since Sam jumped, fell, died, and saved the world.
Dean ran a hand across his tired face and let his gaze wander to the alarm clock. 4:56 am it blinked.
Dawn was creeping up behind closed curtains and birds were chirping outside the window. Those damn birds! Dean thought scowling. Couldn't they shut up, at least for once? It was all he was asking for, just one morning without them living on as if nothing bad had ever happened, without them praising all of creation as if it wasn't terribly, horribly flawed. He sighed. And Lisa shifted her weight next to him.
She fitfully turned in her sleep, her hands wandering across the crumpled linen as if she was searching for something. And then her hand fell on his shoulder and she instantly calmed. Unconsciously her warm body snuggled up to him and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Her face softened, her breath tickled the skin of his neck. He watched her. She was beautiful. Perfect white skin, high cheekbones, long dark lashes, sinful lips slightly parted, and long black curls luring his hand to play with those soft strands. She was perfect, everything he could have hoped for and much more.
He couldn't care less.
Instead of the habitual response his body had in store for a female touch – the pleasurable heat of sexual arousal – his chest ached with emptiness. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe and almost choked. The tender weight of Lisas' arm was too much to bear, threatening to pull him down into the darkness of his memories. He had to get out of here!
As careful and slow as he possibly could he slid away from her and silently tip-toed out of the dim room.
Out in the hallway he took a moment to catch his breath. Dean focused on the air streaming in his lungs, filling them for a while and then leaving them with a sigh. He repeated this a couple of times and felt the pain in his chest subside, at least a little. When he could be sure that he wasn't just going to collapse in front of his new girlfriends bedroom he made his way down to the small guest bathroom in the first floor. Without turning on the light he splashed cold water in his face. He didn't pay any attention to the dark shadow his reflection cast in the mirror as he turned to leave.
Dean stood indecisive in the downstairs hallway, wiping his hands dry on his T-shirt and his boxers. Where should he go? He didn't want to return to Lisa. If he woke her he'd have to endure the pitiful look in her eyes, and answer her worried questions. And he doubted that he could muster up the strength to lie right now. Maybe he should just wait it out in the living room. Ben would have to get up in two and a half hours. He could make coffee for Lisa in two, let the scent fill the house and then wake the boy. Sounded like a plan.
The couch looked comfortable enough, maybe he'd even manage to get back to sleep. And wasn't there a blanket somewhere? He rummaged through one of the big bottom drawers of the wooden shelf and found a white, cotton blanket. He looked at it in disbelieve. It was so… homey. Hesitantly his fingers caressed the soft fabric. It was nothing like the sorry excuses of blankets they used to find in their shabby Motel rooms. This wasn't just the stained remnant of a once new bedspread he used to wrap Sammy in when he was sick. This was purchased with the intention of keeping someone warm and making them feel safe, it was chosen with love and care. It wasn't something that was 'just there' if you were lucky.
He remembered how his brother had stolen a blanket of one of the nicer places they'd stayed in. Sam must have been about 9 years old. And he dragged that ugly brown polyester thing with him when they'd finally left the small town in their rear view mirror. He'd cherished that stupid rag like only a nine year old could. Dean used to make fun of him back then.
His hands started to shake. He let go of the cloth as if it had stung him. He slammed the drawer shut and stood again, a lifeless statue in the living room, not knowing where to turn to.
Family homes are a weird thing, he thought and walked to the big window that overlooked the street. It was the time of day when the world still seems fragile and it's slowly finding its way out of the land of dreams and back into reality.
There was a small hill behind the dark row of houses on the other side of the street. Trees grew there. Their ragged branches lined the silver horizon. The sun was creeping up behind them. And those damn birds increased their volume. It would be a perfect day, sunshine and blue skies, and somehow he would have to make it through it.
a/n: This is my first fic in English, so please be gentle. (I really do appreciate grammar corrections. So if anything is sounding odd or completely off and you are willing to write that down. It would be greatly appreciated.)