HIRAETH
Hiraeth: (n) A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was
John feels her presence everywhere. More importantly, though, he feels her absence everywhere. It is a palpable hole, a missing piece of his heart, of their hearts.
It is in the way he wakes up alone, on a cold bed that is aflame in his every dream; it is in the way he can never get his morning coffee to taste the same way she made it, the way he always burns the toast and doesn't hear her teasing voice behind him anymore, preparing to fix his mess again. It is in his eldest's every unspoken word, how, even though he has stopped asking for Mommy, John just knows he's still waiting for her to come back. It is in baby Sammy's wails, how the child never seems to sleep at night anymore, leaving John to fear just what plagues his son's dreams now.
He doesn't want this life for his kids, doesn't want this emptiness in their lives. He just wants to go home. But home doesn't exist anymore: not the place, and not the person who made it so.
But something else fills that hole now- A drive, a need. He is becoming better every day. He will find Mary's killer. He has to. And when he's done, he will give the boys the childhood that was taken from them. He just needs to do this first. Nothing else is more important, he convinces himself – nothing.
Dean remembers everything about his mommy. How her laughter made a funny feeling bubble in his tummy till he was laughing with her; how her hugs made him so warm and safe and happy; how she always smelled of sunshine and cookies.
He remembers how she put Sammy in his arms for the first time and said, "This is Sammy, Dean. He needs the best big brother in the world to take care of him. Can you do that?" And Dean has listened. He does everything the way mommy taught him, changing Sammy's diapers, making sure he eats and sleeps and plays. He's been the best big brother ever, he wants to tell mommy maybe that will bring her back. But nothing he does works.
Mommy can't come back, daddy says. Daddy knows everything. He must be right. But Dean still holds on to that hope. He doesn't feel warm and safe anymore. He doesn't want to laugh without his mommy. He doesn't like cookies anymore. But he has Sam, and Daddy. Sammy makes it better – almost.
Dean still wants to go home. He doesn't like some of the motels they stay at. He doesn't like when Daddy has to go away. He likes taking care of Sammy, but he wants Daddy to do it.
Daddy has important work, he says. He needs Dean to be there for Sammy. So Dean does that. Maybe then Daddy will take them back, to mommy and their big home with its backyard where they used to play catch; his room and his toys, and the staircase that was so fun to slide on. But it's all gone now, Dean knows – all burnt down. He doesn't need all that, though, if he can have just Mommy back. She can make everything better. She can make Daddy laugh again, she can make Dean's heart stop hurting all the time, and she can even stop Sammy from crying so much!
Dean wants to cry when he misses home, but Daddy needs him to be brave, like a soldier. He needs him to be a big boy and help with Sammy. So Dean tries. But at the back of his mind, he still craves home; still remembers sunshine and cookies and Mommy's big hugs. He remembers all that, but Sammy doesn't, so he hugs Sammy the way Mommy did, so he knows what Sunshine feels like too. It's not enough, it's never enough. But Sammy and Daddy and the 'pala are home now. That's all Dean needs.
Sammy's a big boy now – he's almost four. He can do everything himself – he can put on his shoes on his own, he can pour milk into a glass without spilling all of it, he even put on his shirt all on his own this morning!
But there's something Sammy still can't do. He can't make Dean and Daddy happy. Sure, they smile and laugh with him, but he sees it when they think he's not looking- that sadness, that pain. Sammy knows why – Daddy says that Mommy had to go far away and can't come back now. That's why Dean gets sad; at Christmas, on his birthday, because he misses Mommy.
Sammy misses Mommy too. He doesn't remember her, not really. But Dean tells him all about her. He showed him a photo of her once, and Sammy thought she looked like an angel. Dean looked like he was going to cry when Sammy told him this though, so Sam doesn't ask about the photo again.
Sammy doesn't remember home. To him, home has always been Dean and Daddy and the car – the 'pala, Dean calls it.
Sometimes, Sammy remembers some things, though. He doesn't tell Dean and Daddy about those; like his dreams of fire above him that make him wake up really scared. There are other things too; like when he can hear a gentle voice humming to the tune of Hey, Jude when he can't sleep at night, after Dean and Daddy have gone to bed; how the smell of cookies makes him sad, sometimes. He doesn't know why, though. He loves cookies.
Sometimes, when Daddy or Dean hugs him, he imagines a different hug, one that feels softer, gentler, and safer, all at the same time; like sunshine. He doesn't understand these things, though. He doesn't understand why Daddy or Dean look like they want to cry sometimes. He tries to make up for it, though. He tries to be a big boy and do everything all by himself, so that Daddy will be proud of him too, and maybe then, he and Dean will be happy.
Some day, when he's all grown up like Dean, he'll understand it all, he knows. But he wants to understand now. He wants to know about everything, so that he can find out what is broken in his heart and fix it. He just knows something is missing. He will find out, and make everything better. He will make Dean happy and Daddy laugh. If he's a good boy long enough, it will happen. He just knows it.
A/N: Hiraeth is a Welsh word, for homesickness. the beauty of that simple word, the melancholy of it, made me cook up this little one. Thanks for reading!