*I'm apologizing in advance. That's all I'm saying. Enjoy!*
Swing, swing, swing. The pick axe connects with every person that died, even the walkers as an extra precaution. The air is somber as the group makes piles of the dead. The Georgia sun beats down on us without a care in the world. Why should it? It's not like the end of the world has affected its life. In movies when someone dies they always portray the funerals on a dark and gloomy day with rain pouring from the skies, but from my experiences, the sun is always out, smiling like it is happy that person you're burying died. I love Mother Nature but she's got a sick sense of humor.
Andrea has been hunched over Amy since the last walker went down. She won't eat, drink, or move. She just sits, caressing Amy's bloodied face. Her tears have dried up long ago leaving behind an empty expression. "Amy! Amy!" A shiver runs down my spine, memories clawing at the door they're trapped behind. Why did it have to be her? Why did any of them have to die?
"How are you holding up?" I look away from Andrea into Dean's worried eyes. I pick up my pick axe and, with more force than necessary, slam it into a dead man's head. When I look back up from the mutilated corpse, Dean's watching me closely. "Good talk," his words dripping with sarcasm.
"Well I think Dale has some tea and you know I love to talk about my feelings so why don't we get our pjs on and have a nice sit down," I retort, driving the pick axe through another skull. The pointed tip slides out effortlessly and I move to the next corpse. I glance up at the older brother, forcing a smile, "I'm fine." Neither of us is good at talking about the shit we have bottled up. I know he's trying to help, but I'm not talking about it.
"Okay," he comments, his eyes calling bullshit on my words. "Let me take over for a while," he offers, holding his hand out for the pick axe. I hand it over and head to where T-Dog, Daryl, and Sam are piling up the dead bodies for burning. Sam's dragging one of the walkers by the arms and I jump in, grabbing the legs and helping him carry it to one of the two piles.
I don't want Dean to worry about me, but what I want doesn't mean anything. That guy is going to worry either way. Truth is I'm not okay and haven't been for a year now, not after the Leviathans or Crowley or Oriax. Really, I'm not sure I've ever been okay. I try pushing it down, burying all the hatred and memories down deep, but instead of staying buried they flood up into the open. Memories that I've kept locked up for years are surfacing. Accept it. He broke you. He won. No, no I will not accept that. Oriax will never win, not after everything he did.
Sam's violent coughs break me from my thoughts. His skin is transparent and he glistens in sweat. "Sam, are you alright?" I question worriedly as I let go of the legs of the body we're dragging. I bring my hand to his head and his skin feels as hot as a frying pan. I pull my hand away, my heart stopping mid beat. No, no, no. He was fine last night. Without a word, I run my hands over his body, searching for any mark and hoping at the same time I won't find one. I pull up his shirt sleeve finding what I hoped wasn't real.
The air in my lungs freeze as I stare at his forearm. An angry red bite mark stands out on his skin, the veins surrounding the bite black with infection. My grip on his arm is iron tight as I meet those puppy dog, hazel eyes, finding unshed tears and pain brimming them. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. Sam's knees give out, taking me down with him as we crumple to the gravel covered ground.
Automatically I clutch him to me, holding on tightly as I run my hand through his long brown hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles into my shoulder as the sobs he tries to hold back rack his body. "Sam?" Dean calls out in panic. I don't look to see his worried body run to us. My arms pull Sam closer, hoping that the tighter my hold then Death can't take him. Please don't do this. Cas, please don't let him die. We need you. I pray and pray until Dean crouches beside us, trying to pry us apart to figure out what is wrong. If not for me then do it for Dean. He needs Sam. He's your friend, I'm your friend, damn it Sam's your friend! Help us! "Aria, what's wrong?" Dean's voice hysteric as he listens to his little brother's sobs.
Reluctantly, I pull away from Sam looking into his green eyes, my heart shattering as I watch him take in my expression. He looks to Sam then, searching before they come to a stop at his lap where Sam's hands lay limply. Clear as a white cloud in a blue sky is the bite on Sam's forearm. Dean falls back on his ass, his eyes wide, mouth open in horror. I see the same prayer to our friend run through his desperate eyes.
Sam finally glances up at his brother, his floppy hair hanging over his bloodshot eyes. My chest rips in two watching them meet eye to eye. I'm going to lose him again. "Dean..." Sam chokes. A sob runs through him and he doesn't get any further than his brother's name. Dean wakes from his state of shock and wraps Sam in his arms, clinging to him desperately, "Shh, it's okay Sammy. You're going to be fine. We can fix this. We always do." But it's all lies. Nothing can fix this. We've tried it all. The only person that can fix this is MIA. The others have gathered around us, looks of disbelief and sorrow adorning their tired faces. The children cry as the adults watch, lost. Everybody loves Sam. He's hard not to. He's sincere, caring, honest, trustworthy, and friendly.
My gaze travels over every face taking in their reactions until finally I meet his stony face and blazing blue eyes. There's no sympathy or sorrow, just nothing. But as our eyes meet, they soften enough to let me know he is there. I don't need Daryl to say the bullshit people say when someone you love dies. I don't need their hugs or their apologies. I just need someone to understand. But all I want now is for Sam to live and I won't get that. I tear my gaze away from Daryl and move next to Dean. I lay an arm around Dean's shoulders, slipping my empty hand into Sam's hair. I run my fingers up and down through the brown thickness trying to comfort him. His sobs stop, replaced with heavy breaths. My head rests against Sam's shoulder listening to Dean mumble, "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have been here. I should have been here to watch out for you, but I'm here now. I'm gonna fix this." I nuzzle my face into Sam's neck as I listen to Dean. I so badly want to believe we can save him, but we can't. You are going to lose another person you love. Your best friend, your brother, and there's nothing you can do to change that.
Sam's hoarse voice speaks with silent tears, "Dean, I'm sick. I'm going to die and there's no way I'm coming back." Gingerly, he pulls away from Dean and me, looking us in the eye, "Just promise me you will do what you have to do," his voice hitching as he continues with tears streaming down his ghost white face, "I love you guys."
There's wetness on my chest and I realize I'm crying. Sam and I lock eyes and I see the life in his hazel orbs fading. I reach out, holding his face in my hands, "I love you, Sam. You're my best friend and the best big brother I could ever ask for." My lips tremble as I press a soft kiss to his forehead. Dean's floodgates crumble.
Sam falls forward into Dean, his body surrendering. "It's gonna be okay big brother." Sam's chest rises with one last breath and then stills. His massive body goes limp, those tender hazel eyes closing forever.
"Sam? Sammy?" Dean's broken voice calls. "No, no, come on," he shakes Sam's dead body, "Sam! Sammy! Please!" Dean completely breaks down, his screams echoing in the silence, the tears pouring down his face in waves. He grips Sam tighter to his body and looks into the bright blue sky, "Cas, please! Bring him back! God dammit I need you!" There's no way to bring him back. There was always something, some way whether it was good or bad to bring one another back. But now there is nothing. Sam is gone, forever.
I shift next to Dean, wrapping him in a tight embrace as he continues to hold Sam's body. My tears stain my shirt and Dean's sweat-soaked one. He buries his face in Sam's neck, sobbing until nothing is left. I just hold him waiting for the inevitable. I never once look up into the faces of the other survivors. I stare at the gravelled earth listening to the gunshot that ends Amy. I don't know how long it takes, but sooner or later either Dean or I are going to have to put a bullet through Sam's head.
"Dean?" my voice coming out in a shy whisper, "Do you want me to do it?" John once told Dean he might have to kill his brother, but Dean was alone then. I'm not going to make him end his brother's life. He couldn't do it. No matter what Sam turns into, it will always be little Sammy.
It's quiet for a while, my offer hanging in the air. His voice is void of emotion, "No, I'll do it."
"Okay," I say because I don't know what else to say. I rub circles into his back soothingly, waiting until it's time.
I'm not sure how much time passes. It feels like days, but is probably only an hour or so. His body twitches before I hear the gentle moan. I pull away from Dean, watching Sam lazily pull his arms up and grab his brother's shoulders. Dean is still buried in his Sam's neck. "Dean?" He leans back from him, holding his reanimated brother at arm's length. It's not Sam. It may be his large body and long brown hair, but those wise, tender, and ever-understanding eyes are clouded and empty.
My silent tears start again as I hear Dean's soft call, "Sammy." He's more active, moaning loudly and struggling against Dean's hold. Anxiety pulses through my veins as I rest my hand on my gun at the back of my jeans. "I'm here, Sammy. I'm not going to leave you. Not this time." With those words Dean's grip falls.
They say moments like this slow down. They're wrong. Sam lunges forward, his teeth sinking through the thin cotton of Dean's shirt, ripping into the flesh of his shoulder. "NO!" I scream, aiming my gun and firing a bullet through Sam's head. His body falls to the ground lifeless. Dean sits on his knees holding his bleeding shoulder and I collapse next to him, shaking him, "Why! Why did you do this to me?" I scream, tears falling violently down my face. "You were the only family I had left! The only one! And you just let go! You fuck!" This isn't happening. What did I do to deserve this? Why does everything I love die? I pound my hands into his chest, my fists balling up in his shirt while my lungs struggle for air.
Dean's hands cup my face tenderly, his light green eyes filled with sorrow, "I couldn't leave him."
"What about me, Dean? There is no one left here for me," my words spoken with heaviness.
Dean's hands already begin to burn with the fever, his green eyes pain filled, "You're stronger than Sam and me. Remember when I went to stop Lucifer and Michael? I went there to die with Sam. I can't live without him. The year he was in Hell…I can't go through that again."
"What makes you think I can? I can't allow myself to get close to people because they die! My family, Bobby, Sam, and now you! Everyone that gets close me dies, Dean!"
All those memories I keep buried break through their locked boxes, rushing to the surface. It's like being sucked under the ocean's surface with waves pulling you under and under again until your lungs explode. It's too much. Turn it off, Aria. Let it all go. Be numb. "Please, Dean. I don't want to go back. I don't want to be that person again." I'm scared of the thing I became during those years. I was emotionless, no care whatsoever. I did things that a normal human being would never do. I became the perfect soldier, give an order and I obeyed. All my morals went out the door. They mean nothing when you can't feel. I don't want to be that again. Sam and Dean pulled me from that dark pit, helping me to flip that switch back on. But the gruesome memories, the pain and fear and torture are too much. My body aches in emotion and I can't stop it.
My whole body trembles with grief, the sobs tearing through me relentlessly. Dean slides his hands from my face to my shoulders, pulling me as close as physically possible. "You won't, A. You're not alone."
"Yes, I am Dean," I admit helplessly.
"No, you're not. You have Daryl. Let him in, Aria. Don't give up on yourself."
"No I don't. Nobody wants to be with someone this broken. Oriax is right, he won. I...I'm...I'm broken," I never wanted to admit it out loud, but I couldn't control myself.
Dean leans back gripping my arms tightly, his voice harsh as he snaps, "No! Don't believe anything that demon said, Aria. He doesn't know you. I do. You're not even close to being broken. You're a fighter, so fight and survive." All I can do is nod my head as I look into his fading green eyes. His grip loosens and his hands fall to his sides in defeat. His face twists in agony.
"Holy shit is this how Sam felt?" he mumbles to himself.
"What's it like?" I whisper, needing a distraction from the overwhelming memories drowning me.
Dean heaves a loud sigh, "I feel like my veins are on fire. My insides burn and I feel like everything is about to explode inside of me. My bones feel like glass and I'm pretty sure that I'm starting to hallucinate," he huffs with a tired laugh.
"Why do you say that?"
He sighs sadly, looking into my dark green eyes, "Because my mom and dad are standing behind you with Sam."
I smile sadly, "You'll be home soon." Dean nods slightly, his gaze focused in the distance.
I look around camp, seeing all the survivors surrounded around the fire pit. Some of them whisper lightly, but for the most part they keep their focus on us. I meet some of their gazes, not long enough to see them try to send a message my way. Where's Daryl? My gaze travels around camp until I spot him standing off to the side of the RV watching me. His body is tense, his crossbow hanging in both of his hands ready for an attack. I want to look into those ocean eyes, but I can't. I don't deserve anybody's love. Everyone I care for dies. Why am I so fucked up? His stare bores into me, but I keep my gaze focused on the ground at his feet. They shift back and forth as if he wants to come closer but is unsure. I look away from him, too tired to think of his actions.
Dean's breaths are shallow and his eyelids droop in exhaustion. "Do you want me to stop it?"
Dean glances up quickly, wincing at the action, "What are you talking about?" he asks confused.
I grab my sleek black gun from where I dropped it, "I can end it for you, make the pain go away," my voice holding no conviction. I don't want to do it, but I don't want him to suffer.
His eyes grow wide as he shakes his head, "I can't ask you to do that, A."
I close my eyes. "I'll do it," my voice finding strength. Tears pool in his eyes, not quite ready to fall,
"Please?" his voice cracking slightly. I nod, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat.
"Okay," I whisper. I hug Dean greedily, knowing this is my last chance to hold him, "I will always love you, Dean. I'll see you and Sam again one day."
He tries to hug me back as tightly, but his body is too weak, "I always loved you, Aria. We always loved you." My heart breaks with those words. He pulls away, planting a desperate kiss on my forehead.
My lips tremble and I shut my eyes tightly as I stand, the gun weighing like a brick in my hand. I open my eyes, looking to Daryl. His bright blue eyes meet mine and slowly he makes his way over. Daryl squats down next to Dean and the two exchanged quiet words. When he stands, he looks at me once more, his expression blank. He gives a gentle nod, walking back to his spot by the RV. I force a smile on my lips, looking at my friend, "Say hi to everyone for me."
"Yeah," he tries to stay strong and make this easier on me, but his words quiver with emotion. I check the barrel of the gun and click the safety off.
"Ready?" I whisper, forcing myself to look into his dying eyes.
He reaches up, intertwining my free hand with his, "Ready." I squeeze his hand as I bring the barrel to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," I breathe out as my finger pulls the trigger.
The echo of the bullet rings in my ears. His hand slips through mine as he falls next to Sam. This is how they wanted it, to die together. Every part of me wants to collapse to the ground and curl up between the two, screaming for them to come back, but I don't. It hurts so bad. I've already had part of my soul ripped out once and I can feel it happening again. I feel utterly empty. Rick and some of the others come over, expressing their condolences, but it falls on deaf ears. I stare at the two bodies that a few days ago were laughing and living life to its fullest. Now they're dead. "T-Dog and I will wrap them and take them with the others to have them buried..."
"No," I say cutting Rick off.
"What do you mean? We bury our own."
I finally look up from the brothers into Rick's confused blue eyes, "I said no! What don't you fucking understand about that?!" I yell vehemently.
The entire group, including Rick, take a step back. "Okay," Rick agrees calmly, "What would you like us to do?"
"Nothing, I'll deal with it," my voice cold and dark.
"Aria, I think you should..."
"They are my family. I will give them the funeral they deserve," I say, walking off into the forest to gather wood for their pyre.
People call my name, but I ignore them. Nobody bothers to follow, not after the attack last night. No one knows what's in the woods, but I don't care. It would be nice to run into one those damn things. Rage radiates off me. I need to kill something, but every step sends animals scurrying away so instead the low branches fall victim to my wrath as I rip them down. Hours pass before I have all the wood for the funeral.
My eyes wander over the camp as I step over the broken fence line Sam worked on. The back of Daryl's truck is empty of the dead. Guess they had the funeral while I was gone. A few people stand up immediately when I step back into camp, coming over to help. "No," I snap forcefully and they back off. How many times in my life have I built a pyre for a hunter's funeral? Too many to count that's for sure.
Another hour or so passes before the structure is completed. I go to our donated tent, grabbing their two sleeping bags. The belongings aren't ours. Anything memorable of the brothers had been in those bags in the Impala. I remove their weapons, gathering it all in a small pile. I wrap them in their sleeping bags, dragging each body by myself to the pyre. Every moment is a struggle. The boys aren't exactly small and nimble, but I refuse to ask for help. I need to do this alone.
After I get them on the pyre I make my way over to the group. "I know this is going to sound weird, but I need salt." Everyone looks at me confused, and a long silence sits between us until Dale speaks up, "There's some in the cupboard closest to the sink in the RV." I nod my thanks, leaving without an explanation. I grab the salt, dousing both bodies in it. I want them to be at peace. They deserve it after everything. I grab the gallon of gasoline, pouring it over the wood. My hands slip into my back pocket, pulling out the Zippo lighter the brother's bought me three years ago.
"Come on, suck it up." I glower at the old man as he ties a string of garland over the fireplace.
"You know I hate this stuff, Bobby."
He glances at me, shrugging his shoulders, "Boo hoo, we all hate the holidays. But the world's ending and this may be our last chance." A weak sigh flies from my lips. Lucifer is going to win. We haven't found out how to stop Pestilence and finding Death is a pipe dream. There is no way to stop the end of the world.
"Wipe the glum look from your face, shorty," Dean comments, coming up behind me with a glass of eggnog and a wide grin. I roll my eyes and take the spiked drink, the harsh burn of the brandy warms my chest.
"Alright, let's do this." Sam walks into the room with two glasses handing one to Bobby. The boys sit one either end of the couch leaving the middle open for me. Little gifts adorn the table wrapped in newspaper.
"Okay, who's going first?" I question, looking over everyone's little piles.
"You, since you were bitching." I bump Dean's shoulder roughly.
"Here, it's from Dean and me," Sam says, handing me a square shaped present. I glance between the two and tear the paper. I flip open the black box, a wide grin breaking over my lips. I pull the Zippo from its felt safety and run my finger over the engraving. The anti-possession symbol shines against the black nicely.
"Your old one was crap. We thought you deserved a new one."
My eyes flicker between the two, "Thanks, guys."
I run my finger over the circular flint, watching the orange flame dance. The lighter falls from my hands, and the gasoline soaked wood erupts in flames, engulfing the boys in a ring of fire. A single tear slips down my cheeks as the sleeping bags catch.
Always.