Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: I know there have been a lack of updates from me recently - what can I say, techology can be a bitch. So I've actually been sitting on this story for a while while I waited for my computer to pull its head out of its nonexistant ass. Enjoy!
Warning: AU I guess, future fic
Sam and his brother walk side-by-side down a gravel road in the cemetery. A sharp left. Down five.
Sam kneels in front of the headstone, running his fingers over the letters. Dean moves and stands behind it so he has a clear view of his brother. He doesn't like looking at the headstone; he looks forward to looking at Sammy.
Sam laughs hollowly. "I figured I should come in, you know? I was driving through, and I hadn't visited in a while." He rubs his forehead, and tears are starting to sear in his eyes, his throat tightening a little bit. "Things have been…good." He looks away for a second and shakes his head, whispers, "God, this is so weird…"
He backs up off his knees and sits on the ground, cross-legged. He rubs his neck and glances away. He looks back but only for a second before he studies the ground and pulls out some grass. "Each day it gets a little easier and harder at the same time, you know?" He swallows hard.
Dean nods slowly, knowingly. He begins to study the ground as well.
"It kind of…it comes in waves, you know? The grieving part. Sometimes it isn't even entirely about you. I mean, the other day I was driving through this tiny little town, and I look over at the shoulder of the road and I see this little cross, this crude little manmade wooden cross. I pull over and get out and look at it, and there's this picture of this girl, couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen, a picture of this girl tacked to it. And there's all these flowers and cards and teddy bears around the grave, and it was so stupid but I couldn't stop crying. And I didn't even know her, you know, but I just started crying right there, couldn't help myself. Made me think of you, somehow."
He runs his fingers through his hair as Dean lifts up his arms over his head. A slight breeze sweeps through for but a moment before it stops. Sam sniffs hard, and then nods and closes his eyes, understanding.
"I just…I miss you so much, man."
He stands up, dusts off his jeans, and taps the headstone twice with his fingers before he turns around and walks away.
Dean watches his brother go, watches his brother open and close the black wrought iron gate, get into the car and drive away.
He steps around from the back of the headstone and reads it for the hundredth time –
DEAN WINCHESTER
JANUARY 24, 1979 – AUGUST 18, 2012
WE MISS YOU, MAN
