I'm back, yet again, with another angsty short fic. If you're in the mood for some Post Swan Song/Pre Season 6 worry, guilt, and overall sadness (but not suicidal), then this is probably right up your alley. :)
Disclaimer- I do not own the boys, Supernatural, The CW, or anything else that I'm forgetting. All I own are the typos. ;) Have fun reading!
Ever heard the phrase "If you love something, set it free; if it comes back, it's meant to be?" Yeah? Well so has Dean, whoop-de-fuckin'-do. He had never thought about it, or any phrase really, that was more Sa- his little brother's department. That was a close one, Dean thinks, though thankfully he caught himself in time.
Remember all the lovesick poems, order the frou-frou coffee, bitch because he lost his chap stick again, that kinda thing. It's not his job to know those things, but he figured somewhere along the lines S- his little brother had spilled the phrase at him, and it's stuck in his brain now like a piece of gum to the bottom of a shoe.
He doesn't even like the phrase, no, despises it actually, because it's total bullshit. Dean doesn't agree with this phrase at all, and he isn't too sure what train of thought someone's mind had to be on in order to come up with the damn thing to begin with.
If you love something, why would you ever want to let it go? If you love something, you should hold on tight for dear life and don't look back or down or whatever the hell the saying is, because real love is hard to come by in this world and you can't go off, throwing that love around because you've got "insecurities." If you got 'em, and that love don't, then when you go and throw their love all willy-nilly, that's most likely gonna fuck them over and give them "insecurities" too. And what's with this "if it comes back" crap? It's not a freakin' boomerang, something you can just toy around with.
Dean's mind is a constant circuit for these questions, some he answers in his own head, and others never get any. They've got him riled up, like an animal in a cage, because that saying doesn't do him jack squat right about now.
He loved something; he set it free, and guess what? It can't come back. Not ever, and that's the root to this whole continuous breakdown Dean's been having. He'll never see his something again, but that sure as Hell doesn't mean they're not meant to be. An angel practically told them that they were soul mates, so what's the hold up?
In that phrase the first half is what is already known, the last half is what will be discovered. His dilemma is that he knows all the answers. He loved something, he set it free, it can't come back, and it is meant to be. Which can't add up to equal a stable Dean Winchester in any way, shape, or form.
He huffs out a half-laugh that dies in his throat before it gets anywhere fast, taking another swig of his "refreshment" for the day. Today it's Jack Daniels; apparently, as he reads the label, gives an uninterested grunt, and swallows another mouthful of the stuff. He sits on the tail end of his Baby, garage doors closed with the exception of the entry door, and the only thing he can hear besides his breathing is the faint sound of a lawnmower in one of the neighboring yards outside.
He hasn't touched any of it since.
Just pulled her right in and knocked on the front door exactly one month ago today. Not that he's getting shitfaced because of some sentimental anniversary, no, it just worked out that way to be exactly one month since it happened. Since his entire life, his whole reason for being, for hoping, got sucked into the core of the Earth and left him to fend on his own. In fact, he's been doing this practically the entire time he's been here, one way or another.
Sure, he did some small stuff like make breakfast for the kid and his mom in the morning, but nothing to pin a badge on him for.
He's been so whacked out lately, so flaky, so out of his mind with grief this past month, he doesn't even remember what it feels like to not be anymore. All the time, no matter if he's concentrating his damnedest, there's a small chant in the back of his mind on repeat and it won't go away. But then again, he doesn't really want it to go away.
If it stops, he's so bone-weary and scared shitless that he's gonna forget about him, about his everything, that Dean honestly would never be able to forgive himself. Even if it was for just a second, that's a second he spent living in a world little brother-less and not realizing it. That would be one moment he spent carelessly, selfishly, taking for granted everything his all sacrificed for everyone to have anything.
Dean thinks he's making sense, but he can't be too sure these days. He goes with it, because he understands, somewhat. Hey, don't you remember that one person who always understood you, even when you didn't; his brain decides to chirp in. Another burning flood invades his taste buds, though he hasn't tasted a damn thing since Stull.
And isn't that crazy? To think that all this; the bird chirping on the maple tree next door, the flowers in Mrs. Brook's garden producing pollen, the lawnmower running, the breeze shifting so it creates a draft into the garage and floods all his senses for a brief moment and makes him wish it would take him along with it, anywhere if it meant closer to him; all of this is possible, is only happening, because of his baby brother.
And isn't that a kick in the teeth? Over seven billion people have gone on with their lives since one month ago, except him. Seven billion people have been walking around for a month now, without any idea as to how close this world and this species came to being overrun. And it's so damn hard, he thinks he remembers something Sa- he said to him once, something about a Silent Knight and the good deeds being done only counted if nobody knew.
Is that what he wanted? Did he want seven billion people to be selfish, ungrateful bastards every day, who don't have any clue and seriously need to get the wool pulled over their eyes as he just sits by idly, all-knowing? So that they can they all walk around, and smile, and laugh, and not thank their lucky stars every time they do so for a guy like his brother to step up to the plate and sacrifice everything in order for them to continue?
He takes a last swig, draining the bottle of its contents…
Because they don't.
He lowers his stiff legs off the bumper and onto the concrete, settling his weight slowly as gravity pulls him down, down, down…
He knows they don't.
He puts one foot in front of the other slowly, as if he has to re-learn everything without him…
None of them do.
I hope you all enjoyed this! Make sure and leave a Review, Favorite, and Follow as I will be posting the last few chapter(s) soon. I love reviews! :)
If you liked this, you may also enjoy some of my other fics! Feel free to check them out, you never know, you could like them. ;D
Have a great day!