Title – Down, Down, Down

Rating – Teen

Author – Lorilie

UnBeta'd

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave;

Fighting they go, the warrior, the soldier, the loved.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

She never noticed how big Sam was until she stood next to him at his brother's grave.

There could have been something poetic about the way he loomed over her, crushing her hand in his rigid grip. Her dead lover's brother, almost beautiful in the way he stood too close to her, hair hanging in his eyes – he reminded her of willow trees swaying limply in the cold, wet wind of a bracingly somber afternoon.

Sam had cried enough for the both of them, even as they stood next a coffin in dirt he cried, trembling begrudgingly next to her. When her own tears fell she didn't notice.

Dean was dead.

Sorrow didn't come close to describing the feelings. Sorrow was too neat a word. She felt such a culmination of nastiness and pain, grief throbbing in her chest, rising up her throat…

There was nothing clean-cut about the way this woe was suffered. No comfort for her or Sam, when the priest read Dean his rights the world filled with death, demons, eternal suffering. The opposite of what anguished mourners are encouraged to think about, he was not okay, there was no everlasting peace for his soul.

She wilted into Sam, not that he was a steadfast confidant. Not for all his attempts to placate her. He became inevitably aggravated there was nothing he could say to comfort either of them.

Therefore, they stood reduced to what they were at that moment. She let him wrap sturdy, long arms around her, he held her to tight but she didn't mind. Sam distracted for a fleeting moment in knowing at least she was there, he wasn't alone…not yet.

She closed her eyes tighter and tighter. Hoping that maybe she could pretend Sam was his brother if she imagined it hard enough. Unfortunately she had never been good at make believe. Sam held her with too much care, paid cautious attention to the wretched details of her anguish, to be mistaken for his former half.

Dean would have never known to hold her hand or stroke her hair. Dean hardly had the patience to wash laundry, opting instead to buy new shirts at the closest secondhand store. Sam didn't have to ask her what parts were too much, he just knew. He caught her digging through Dean's duffel bad, sobbing the bathroom floor, laying on freezing tile. I don't have anything to wear to his fucking funeral She'd lost her only dress and thought perhaps it had been thrown among his things. Didn't think it would bother her until she realized she could still smell him on the cold, soft flannel shirts. She hadn't used his name in days, referring him as him or you brother, never Dean

Sam picked her up, dabbed at swollen eyes with a warm cloth and made sure she was sleeping before he left. He'd walked back into their motel room hours later holding a gray bag, and presented her with the black dress. The most wonderfully heartbreaking piece of clothing she'd ever seen. Sam sighed gravely, laying it out on her bed, and forcing a smile when she thanked him.

They stared with rainy eyes at the fresh mound of earth covering his not-so-final resting place and she wondered if she would stay. Dean had been her only reason for living such a sinister life, and now that he was gone there was nothing holding her there…nothing other than the lanky man standing next to her.

If she stayed, it would always be there. Sam was there and Dean wasn't. Sam had a cloudy guilt in his eyes when she looked at him and she didn't know if she could endure it with every awkward glance. Every interaction a variation on a theme – a theme built on grief and culpability.

When she couldn't take it anymore he knew, and guided her back to the car with a hand on her back. She paused, looking back at a headstone that was nothing more than a pointless marker to a lifeless body. It wasn't his body they dreamt about at night, the soul that once resided there was the nightmare was what played again and again.

Sam offered to drop her off somewhere, suggested timidly that he'd take her to her father's if she'd ask. She didn't ask, instead thinking, he'd want me to stay with you…