(this one is short. It's already part of a 17 page fic. I'm on chapter 5. Because I'm going to be offline for a while, I figured I might as well share this with you guys. Get some more reviews for more ideas. I'm already incorporating some ideas shared into my story already. Requests, I guess. So I don't have too much POV changing. But I like to get into the character's heads. Chapter Two is gonna kill you guys, lots of tears. Um...other than that, thanks for reading!)
Chapter One: At a Crossroads
"Sam?" Bobby asked quietly. "You alright there, son?"
"Yeah, I'm okay Bobby," he grinned weakly. "It's just hard, it's been a year. Dean'd be pissed, finally got a hunt taking us to Hollywood," he smiled for real, that time. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw Angelina Jolie," he chuckles. "Although, we were in Hollywood once. Did I ever tell you? Dean thought he saw Matt Damon," Sam rolled his eyes, then continued to stare at the crossroads. "I miss him," Sam said thickly.
"I know Sam. Just about everyone who knew him, or his father did. Even the ones John managed to have a falling out with." Hell, who hadn't John had a falling out with? "Your dad and your brother, they earned a lot of respect to the Winchester name, Sam, you too. You done good, and you done your daddy proud, and I see the Impala's well, so Dean's been done proud, too." The words sound awkward and forced coming from Bobby, almost like someone's forcing them into his mouth, except for the occasional phrase that just feels right. Sam's lips attempt to twitch up into a smile, but he fails. There's nothing happy about this moment. Dean was taken at 1:30 am. Glancing at his watch, it's only one right then.
"Shouldn't, shouldn't we do something for him? I know it's not like he'd want a headstone." Considering his reaction to their mother's, he'd be sure pissed if he had one of his own. "I feel like we should light candles, but could you imagine his face?" Tears run unabashed down Sam's cheeks. Dean's not there to make fun of him for crying.
"Something's wrong." Sam glanced up at Bobby's voice, and stares intently into the darkness, trying to find what was setting of Bobby's 'spider sense' where was Dean when you needed him? Right.
It hurts, standing here. Where Dean died. Thinking about him, it still feels like he was taken just yesterday. I still wake up expecting to hear him breathing softly, or to some obnoxious prank he's pulled that's unpleasant. For me at least. Or to him calling out in his sleep, or sometimes to him just slipping in as the sun's coming up, smelling of sex and beer. Or even him rolling out of bed and hitting the floor with that solid thud of flesh on carpet. It's wrong waking up without him. Standing here, I can understand how Dean felt. And I can't blame him…not anymore. If I had flowers… "I dunno Bobby. It seems quiet to me," I admit sheepishly. Like I'm missing something. It hurts waking up, hoping that this past year has been a dream. I don't know why I wanted to come. Dean. Dean I miss you. I know…I know where you are, but, I hope, I hope you can hear me. I do. Be strong Dean. I may not be able to bring you back, but I can still save you. I'm going to find a way to save your soul Dean. I won't let you become a demon, and I won't leave you in hell. I won't let your soul stay there. You don't belong there, okay Dean? I'm gonna save you. I promise. I walk over to the spot, pulling something from around my neck. It's a cross necklace. Something I've had for a long time, I don't even know how long anymore. I think it was mom's or something. Either way, I take it off, staring at the silver in the palm of my hand. Pulling gravel away from the ground, I dig a little deeper, and press the cross into the cold earth. This, this can mark my brother. Pushing the dirt and gravel back over it, I stand up, sniffing.
Sam rubbed at his jaw the same way Dean does, and Bobby finds a bitter smile twisting the corners of his mouth. It's not like he doesn't see anything. Settling his body against the hood of the Impala, he just watches, his heart aching. He has a bad feeling about the whole thing. The air seems charged. Glancing at his watch, Bobby sighed, two more minutes. Then they can just leave already.
"Sam, Sam, c'mere, com over here," Bobby suggests.
"Bobby, I'm sure it's fine," Sam's voice sounds tight, almost like he's choking on his words. Or trying not to cry. It's the same as when dad died, the tightness in his voice when he asked Dean if dad had said anything, his voice begging for comfort, and Dean gave him none. "No, nothing." Sometimes Sam felt like that was his legacy, to be constantly left behind by those he loved. People around me die. I only have to kill you if I can't save you, and I'm going to save you. The younger Winchester wondered bitterly if Dean realized this existence was worse than death. Bobby glanced at his watch again, another minute to go. Softly counting the seconds, he doesn't even know he's doing it, and Sam finds himself gritting his teeth against the steady "50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60…" of Bobby's voice. The air goes silent, and Sam looked around, confused. It wasn't as though the night had been loud before, but there had been some crickets. Nighttime noises. Nothing. Then a shockwave that blew him back, ramming his back into the Impala, seeing Bobby tossed over the hood and out of view.
The clearing is silenced, except the soft sounds of fingernails scraping against dirt and rock, pushing gravel aside.