Scarring Darker Still
Disclaimer: The boys are Kripke's but the story's mine.
Takes place after NRFTW.
Wounds are supposed to grow smaller and heal over time. Doesn't seem to be happening in my case. As a matter of fact, I'm proof that the exact opposite is true.
You see, three months, 3 weeks, six days, and…21 hours ago, my heart was ripped from my chest. Torn out, trampled on, carved into bits and incinerated for good measure. My heart exists no longer.
I can't seem to figure out how this occurred. There is no evidence of a physical trauma, but how else can I explain this god-awful pain, this heavy ache? It takes all I have just to function most days.
My new motto is: What would he want me to do? So, that's my life now. Living just moment to moment by his example. I still save people, hunt things, carry on the family business.
Bobby tries to help, he really does. I do my best to let him. But, he's not enough, not now, nor ever will he be.
My days are filled with research or hunting. My nights…well here's where my big brother's my biggest influence.
You ever wonder why nights are the hardest? I figure it's because, there are less distractions. Nothing but you and whatever thoughts are bouncing around in your head. But, sometimes, just sometimes I am able to drink enough or find just the right girl to be able to lessen my ever conscious despair.
Unfortunately, tonight is not one of my lucky nights. Here I am alone and sober in a butt-ugly hotel room in a Podunk Midwestern town. The TV has three channels, none of them coming in clear. And now some idiot is knocking on my door.
I know it's not Bobby, he's in Utah dealing with a poltergeist. And as for anyone else - it's not worth the effort to open the door, maybe they'll just find someone else to bother. But again, I'm not that lucky and the knocking - actually it's the pounding now - testifies to the fact.
When next I hear what I think I hear, my breath catches in my throat. It's one word, a word I have prayed to hear in that voice.
"Sam!"
I can't move or think, hell I'm still trying to breathe. But, there's that pounding again, then,
"Sammy! You in there?"
And just like that I'm flying towards the door, no thoughts of my own safety. Just the overwhelming need to open the door - open the damn door now. I know I should stop and just think. The voice I'm hearing can't be real, or it may very well be something that I need to ventilate.
But then, there he is. In the doorway, not more than a foot of space between us. And I know it's him, really him. I can't say how I know, but I would bet my life that I am right. Looking like hell and barely able to remain upright, Dean grins tiredly,
"Damn, Sammy. Why'd it take you so long to open the door?"