A/N: Hey, yeah, I kinda sorta wrote angst. Maybe? Not really. It's still set in S1 so it can't be that bad if we're going by Supernatural standards.
This was written for a friend who lost both their dog & and their grandfather recently, not only on the same day- but within the same 3 hour period. I may go on to add a chapter per each week/month period that goes more in depth with what I describe- but I can't be sure.
Enjoy,
~Salted
PS: The indentation on this went a little wack, I'm not sure why, but I'll figure it out.
Writing Exercise
Grief- A character study
Life was never meant to make sense. Then again, neither was death.
How the two overlapped was something that no one dared touch upon, grief in it of itself was far too daunting.
Because as far as Dean was concerned everything he dared associate with his younger brother burned with Jess. And though he refused to admit it, he feared for his brother's well-being in such a way that it endangered his own.
The first week was the worst.
Sam refused to eat anything, sleeping only when he couldn't hold out any longer, and withdrawing in himself past the point of answering yes & no questions.
After a while he would accept protein shakes- but nothing else, despite his brother's best efforts- still sleeping rarely, and three fourths of that time was spent nuzzled against Dean's side after yet another technicolor re-play of his girlfriend's death. Another two weeks both brother's would deny existence of at gunpoint.
Helping Sam through the grieving process was painfully reminiscent of coaxing a terrified puppy out from underneath the sofa during a thunderstorm. Agonizingly slow and in need of a gentle hand.
Dean was only short with his younger brother once in the earlier weeks- the second to be exact.
He'd snapped at Sam about waking him up around 3AM, spewing a load about being an adult and being able to handle a nightmare on his own.
Sam wouldn't eat or sleep for almost 3 days. He didn't speak for 5.
Message received.
By the one month mark, Sam was eating more than protein shakes, but only the minimal required amount for bare survival. Sleeping still didn't seem to appeal to him, having reverted to his 6 year old self when he did -barely able to get by a night without a night terror- and becoming more accustomed to sleeping in his brother's bed than his own.
He readapted to speaking in full sentences, but only when prompted and given no opportunity for a nod or a shake of his head.
At two months he was nudging his way into the realm of eating normally- albeit mostly to console his older brother- sleeping was still a problem, nightmares were damn resistant.
But at least he was back to talking 90 miles a minute, even whining & bitching about things when he wanted to.
Of course assuming that he was fine was a mistake for the ages- half of what he ate wouldn't stay down, his stomach refusing to accept anything other than the bare minimum it was used to. Some things sent them both back to square one.
A startlingly familiar diner waitress brought on 12 days of 1st week conditions. A long-forgotten voicemail, 14 days. Jess' favorite book at the library, 10 days. Her favorite song playing at a gas station, 7 days. A Smurfs re-run, 5 days. A batch of homemade cookies cooling on a window sill, 3 days. So on and so forth.
By 4 months food stayed down and sleep was decent- certain things prompted a pout and a longer than normal trip to the restrooms, but everything else was slowly returning to normal.
At 6 months, food and sleep were that of a normal 22 year old man, reminders got little more than a glance to the floor and a slight dip in atmosphere.
And finally- at a year from Jess' death, Sam was fine. Far from perfect- sure, but conditions were bearable. The occasional nightmare, certain foods and songs off limits, but nonetheless- far better than before.