Title: "Blame, Guilt, and Forbearance"
Author: BlueIris
Characters: Sam, Dean. No slash.
Genre: General, Angst.
Wordcount: Triple Drabble (300 words)
Summary: This is a post-"Children Shouldn't
Play with Dead Things" fic for those of us who think that doing
Dean's Daddy!angst doesn't preclude doing Sam's too.
Feedback and concrit are always welcome.
"You broke a glass," Sam said, crouching next to him as he stared into the ravine. He didn't ask; when Sam started with a non sequitur, he always filled in the blanks on his own.
"In the hospital. Because Dad and I were fighting. Want to know why?"
He looked over in fatigue and resignation. Thirty straight hours in the car, driving until the length of the country lay between them and their mother's grave. He could feel his eyes sinking into their orbits and his skin tightening over bone like a death's-head.
"He blamed me." Sam picked up a dead stick from the ground. "He said he never should have let me in on the hunt, said if I'd shot it back in the cabin, you wouldn't be in a coma. I have to take that to my grave." He snapped the stick in two. "I hate him for it."
Maybe Sam meant it, maybe he was just trying to get a rise out of him. Either way, he was too numb to even shake his head.
"You know what? You're his son. If he made a trade for you, it's no more than a father should have done." Sam pitched the broken halves of the stick into the trees below them. "Think he would have done the same if it had been me?"
"For the love of God, Sam," he said tiredly, "you know he would have."
"No. No, I really don't." Rising, Sam turned back to the car. "So if it's anyone's fault," he threw over his shoulder, "it's mine. Dad was the demon expert, and he sure as hell thought so."
He lowered his head to his hands as the car door slammed, bowed down by the weight of the secrets and lies, and the truths.