MARY WINCHESTER IS COMPLETE
tag for season 14x18, Absence. Natural: something Sam and Dean don't often get the privilege of.
Her head was a comfortable weight against his shoulder. Natural. In the impala driving across America's vast highways, with her sighing sleepily into the material of his jacket Dean only feels some natural sense of correction and belonging. A piece of something he deserved for simply being a son. Having her, holding her, being with her...being someone she could lean on. God, Dean loved her, he loved having her, and loved having her to be there for. It made his heart sink into its most comfortable spot to take care of her, to fight alongside her...to share her love and presence with Sam.
Something they deserved for simply being sons.
He smiles fondly still remembering that night they had tipsily giggled and pulled her to the table where they had carved their names. And, admittedly, ill-advisedly given her a hunting knife and rested their elbows on the table top watching as she carved her initials into the wood with high concentration. The happiness and sense of 'right' settled within their chests with the weight of all the mountains in the world.
And even as they kneel beside her corpse the boys hold something they've never had before. As kids they never even had a body to say goodbye too, Sam barely had memories to miss. They had no sense of closure, no treasured memory or last sorrowing moment of their eyes meeting. Simply a harrowing chasm inside them where they know they didn't have a parent, didn't have her love, never even got to say goodbye to her, never got to stand by her dead body and whisper a last 'I love you'.
Something they deserved for simply being sons.
Her head was a comfortable weight against his shoulder. Natural. And he cries. He weeps. Sam's head falling to his other shoulder with shared crushing sorrow. This is what they had always been denied, this was something they deserved; even in death they deserved to hold her, treasure her, whisper apologies and promises against her cooling skin, in the hair softly billowing in the breeze.
"Dean." Sam whispers against his coat, and the older Winchester turns away from her and towards his little brother. Immediately responding to him, his lips brushing against Sam's brown strands. "Please," Sam says softly. And Dean knows what he's saying. Please not this again, please don't lose it, please don't lose me. Hold me, hold tight to me, don't let me go, because I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.
One arm holds his mother to his chest and the other comes around to gather Sam close to him, as close as they can get. And Dean's heat breaks, just breaks apart finally in his chest. And he feels Sam holding onto his coat, pulling him closer, his warm breaths against his neck, his tears wetting his skin. Needing him, keeping him close...already stitching it back together again.
He sighs. The feeling of broken completeness making his head spin. And Sam echoes him, relaxing into his arms while silent, broken sobs hitch in his chest. Their tears mix, their breaths, their souls, their love. There's the sweetest sense of comfort in this agony, in this moment where they hold her and each other, finally at the end of her life...they have her, they whisper goodbyes to her, they mourn and grieve together like they deserve. Like it should have been all along.
Her head is a comfortable weight against his shoulder. Natural.
. . .
It was a horrific experience. One they were all too familiar with. Tears blurring their vision as they cut wood, fingers shaking as they wrap white sheets around a body as tenderly as they can. Carrying the familiar form between the two of them as an unfamiliar dead weight. Feeling the crushing guilt within as they gently lower it into the rough word, pouring gasoline and abandoning the container as soon as it was empty as if it was white hot.
Wind blows, softly through Sam's hair, softly through the dangling white material, softly through the air disturbing the serenity of a funeral. The younger Winchester softly presses against his older sibling's side, without meeting gazes he slips the lighter into his brother's relaxed palm...it tightens into a fist around the metal object.
Sam doesn't know if he's being a coward or giving up a privilege but his brother doesn't question it, he accepts the responsibly and steps up to the pyre, his rough hand gentle as it tenderly cups the curve of her head one last time. A heavy sigh and then the lighter clicks and Dean throws the whole thing into the wooden formation.
Sam realizes he's not moving, not going to move and steps up quickly, his fingers latching on the hem of the back of his older brother's jacket and pulling him backwards. Dean goes with him, no fight, no reluctance. His eyes fixed on the flames. And Sam knows he will refuse to look away one time until the fire is burnt out. He will honor his dead until the end, stay with them, comfort them, protect them until their souls and bodies have made their last journey.
Even breaths go up and down, tears pool and gather in eyes not spilling over...the sweetest sadness fills them up to the brim...this is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning. Sons standing by her side, her gallant heart burning in her chest...honorable death bringing both pride and grief to her loved ones.
After a hard and long road, searching for peace decade after decade, reconciled to her desicions, her life and love, and proud of her sons and their fight for what is right. Her body here on earth and her soul finally safe in heaven, happy and content living her reward for a life lived to its best, doing its best. Fighting its best fight. And leaving behind a legacy strong and true, leaving behind her better men then even she.
"Sammy." Dean mumbles softly, eyes not leaving the leaping flames.
Sam steps up to his side, "Yeah?" He returns softly.
"This is the last time."
"I know." Sam says, just as quietly. This is the last time we see her, this was the last time we try to bring her back. This is it. Her story is over, her book is closed...
"I love you."
Dean hums under his breath, Sam watches his lips quirk up the smallest bit.
"I love you too." Flames leap towards the darkening grey sky, the wind makes it snap and crackle. The North star makes its first appearance for the night. The two brothers standing underneath it far from directionless as their souls find their place without error, side by side, proven time and time again.
Mary Winchester is complete.
...the end.
I think my writing has changed a little, hopefully for the better. Lemme know what you think?