A/N:Post No Rest for the Wicked. Thanks to bruised-tears for reading over my story. I do take all mistakes as my own though.
Another day went by in slow motion, like all the others, since that night. Each felt like it lasted longer than the last. Neither used words, their voices a foreign tool. They did not need to open their mouths to let the other know how lost they felt; a hole within themselves so large, that comforting the other did not register. She was not sure when she stopped looking at Sam; his eyes a constant reminder of Dean's, they were dark from lack of sleep and red from tears, but they still looked like his. They also had a similar smell; they shared the same blood after all. She knew that Sam meant more to Dean than anyone else could, they were family and family meant everything to Dean. She understood that, because in her mind, they were her family.
A week had past, a fucked up sort of anniversary. Considering how difficult it was to stay in bed, they both wanted to skip that day entirely, by sleeping until nightfall. The darkness was more comforting than the light. It was odd, not that they were ever normal, but they realized that morning, that they did not understand the brightness, especially how it could continue with Dean no longer there. Melissa was sick of crying, even sicker of waking up, but the light streamed into the room and a drink was always worth getting out of bed for, that is what the voices told her anyway. They both counted on the burn that came after, the only thing that let them know that they were still alive, that they had not disappeared yet. Of course though, that meant things would some how have gotten better, to not be here, to not feel their souls ache.
Maybe they could shoot themselves, but that took energy, energy they both did not have. It probably needed words to explain the plan, they both shared. Not that there was much to it, Sam knew he would have to be brave enough to blow her brains out, and then his own. He would not be able to aim though, he too quit looking at her a few hours before they left Bobby's that fateful night, because he had already felt the guilt of not saving him for her. Sam knew she meant more to Dean than anyone; he saw him all over her, he had been all over her; she smelt like him, because at some point, their scent mixed, and Sam forgot where hers started and Dean's ended. He wondered if she ever spent enough time smelling herself, to come to the same conclusion.
Something was different that night, other than that bitter fact, that an exact week had passed; something inside them both screamed that they deserved the pain that came from seeing all that was left, all that was left of Dean, in the other. They did not weep as they thought they would; they saw something new that night. It was wrong, but they no longer gave a shit. They came together, their lips smashing together, lips and tongue, and taste. It did not feel like enough, they needed more. Her leg wrapped up toward him to find some friction there, him pressing into her. He dropped to a sitting position, pulling her onto himself. Shirts dropped, hands roaming to every inch that had appeared since the last bit of cloth fell. Sam fell back, their fingers fumbling with buttons, mouths never parting.
He fully understood now why it was so hard for Dean to keep his hands to himself; she was warm, and soft, curved in all the right places. Memories of Dean entered their minds at once. Picking up their pace, Sam pushed her over to the side, him getting on top of her, her legs spreading on cue. He trailed kisses down her neck, as he aligned himself, and penetrated her moist cunt. His face above hers, mimicking each other, with mouths wide open, moans arising with each new thrust. They become lost in pleasure; they did not know they would feel again. He pulled out, and slammed back into her, as they both road it out.
Their high-pitched breathing died down a bit, Sam sliding out, getting onto his side, head hitting pillow, her head resting upon his shoulder, his arm wrapping underneath. "We're all that's left of him." Melissa's voice broke. He looked down at her, an agreement between them. They slept, limbs tangled. Maybe Dean had not all been ripped to shreds, as they had thought; with what was left, they could fight to get him back. His last words alive in their hearts; They would remember everything he taught them, roam every inch of land it took to get him back, and as long as they had each other, they had hope that Dean would be back with them, and all would be as it should be.
R&R: Be nice!