Disclaimer: All characters appearing in Supernatural are copyright Kripke/CW/WB etc. No infringement of these copyrights is intended. This fanfic is my original work of fiction based on those characters/that universe. No Beta's were harmed during the writing of this fic.
A/N: Set during the last episode (15/20 Carry On) after Dean dies and Sam is alone in the Bunker.
A Matter of Time
It was only a matter of time before something was going to catch him off guard, reminding him how utterly bereft he was. After Dean died, Sam knew that, knew there were any number of things that had the power to dismantle him.
He just hadn't thought it would be a watch.
His watch.
Of all the stupid things Sam had thought would stop him in his tracks, he'd never thought it would be Dean's watch.
He'd not been surprised at the other things that had stalked him like a reaper during his grief and pounced on him at his weakest. The single coffee cup in the sink, waiting to be rinsed. Or the sight of the Impala, sitting vacant in the garage. The toast popping up with no one there to catch it. The mound of fast food wrappers overpopulating the trash. All those things had, by their own unintentional design, caught him unawares, but he hadn't been surprised at that.
The coffee cup was cruel, but predictable when he later thought about it. Just sitting there so unobtrusively, brown stain drying like a muddied crescent moon, crusting at the edges the way old blood dries dark sometimes, and it had hit him hard one morning, how incredibly wrong that was; a single coffee cup, when there should have been two.
Because there had always been two.
Up until then.
And of course the Impala would hurt. Obviously, she would hurt. But it was a different kind of hurt. The Impala wasn't something he would just turn his head and suddenly see. It wasn't something he would just happen upon in the kitchen sink. He knew full well where she was parked, knew full well when he was headed to the garage. Just as he knew full well the days on which he avoided that part of the Bunker entirely, because he couldn't handle the sight of that empty, vacant driver seat.
The toast. There was no avoiding that the first time. That jarring, clanging snap of the timer, echoing through the Bunker in a way it never had done before, and he'd turned his head expecting Dean to grab at it even though it was still too hot to handle. But Dean being Dean, Dean would handle everything. Except, not any more. And the toast just sat in the toaster, getting cold.
And the trash, oh well, the trash. The trash could just sit there. It wasn't doing any harm. He just couldn't bear to look at it some days.
So there in the Bunker, after a while, he thought he had a handle on it, thought he had it covered. Thought he'd had it all un-covered. No more things to catch him unawares. No more things that could stop his heart. No more unknown, unexpected vestiges of sorrow, hiding in plain sight, waiting to be found and then serve as totems for his pain.
Until the watch.
His watch.
It wasn't like this was the first time he'd been in Dean's room since. It wasn't like he hadn't spent hours there at times, or avoided it at others. And there was nothing special about that day, no particular reason to be in there, no specific cause that had drawn him in. He was just there to be there, as he often was sometimes. And he was sat there on the bed, not really doing anything, and he didn't know why he'd turned his head, and there from the corner of his eye he suddenly caught a glimpse of it, lying there on the bedside table, and for a moment, he simply couldn't move. Didn't want to move. Knew, right then, if he turned his head just a fraction more, he'd bring it into focus, he'd see it clearly and unavoidably, and then there would be no turning back to a time when it didn't exist.
But he let out a breath eventually, and turned his head fully. And there it was, just sitting there, on the bedside table.
That stupid watch.
It was stupid because it shouldn't have been there. Everything else, he could explain away. The coffee cup? Well obviously, Dean'd had a late night, hadn't bothered to wash up after himself. The Impala? Was it empty? What difference did that make? Dean was obviously elsewhere in the Bunker. The fast food wrappers, well that was just Dean, the crap he ate, and wasn't it his turn to take out the trash? No wonder it was still sitting there. And toast. Who needed toast? He just wouldn't make it any more.
It wasn't denial. It wasn't delusion. It was those little white lies everyone told themselves, the ones deep down they knew had no basis to be true, but they helped take the edge off just a little bit, just enough so that you could get through days on which you'd collapse and never get up again otherwise. Lies like 'It's OK' 'I can do this' 'It'll get better.'
I'll be okay, without you.
It's just a matter of time.
But the watch, the stupid damned watch, just lying there, where it had no business to be, because it didn't belong there, and unlike all the other things, this one he couldn't pretend away. And staring at it, Sam's mind went blank, he couldn't think of a damned thing, except the unavoidable significance of that one, small, stupid watch, being where it shouldn't be. But it was, because it couldn't be where it should have been; on Dean's wrist.
Because Dean was dead.
No make-believe let's pretend white lie scenario to get around the truth this time.
The watch was there because Dean was dead. Burnt and scattered. So that watch had nowhere to be. It would never have anywhere to be. And it would exist forever as an anomaly, an irregularity. A reminder that couldn't be explained away.
It would never be on Dean's wrist again.
That wrist didn't even exist anymore.
It was irrational to hate the thing, but for a moment, Sam truly hated it. Of all the blaring reminders, somehow this one was the worst. An innocuous little relic filled with so much deadly woe. And he realised belatedly, that obviously he'd been the one who'd removed it from Dean's cold dead body. And he remembered why he'd done it too, why he hadn't left it there to burn. The thought of the plastic melting into Dean's flesh, of it bubbling and blistering and fusing with his brother's skin, something about that had felt unbearable to Sam, and he'd removed the watch without thinking.
He must have put it there on the table, not paying any attention to it at the time. And he must have simply forgot about it because seriously, he had more pressing emotional issues to deal with. But now, there it was, staring back at him, and he hated it for being there. Hated what it meant.
He left the room after that. Got himself a whole new bottle of whiskey and got completely bat faced drunk till he passed out in a chair and then woke up god knows when with a stiff neck and a hangover the size of Minnesota.
All because of a watch.
He avoided the room for a few days after that, but eventually he went back in, because the room still smelt of Dean.
He tried to avoid looking at the thing, tried to pretend it wasn't there, but it was glaringly obvious, blatantly inevitable. A stark reminder of reality. There was no time when Dean wouldn't have worn his watch, other than if he was dead.
Sam was resigned to that, had acknowledged that he'd have to touch it, he had to simply pick it up and put it away, out of sight out of mind, and his hand was poised just mere inches from it, when it suddenly occurred to him.
Dean would have taken it off before taking a shower.
He thought about that. Did that feel right? Yeah, yes, he could work with that. The hand retreated. Dean was simply in the shower. That was all. It made it easier to be in the room after that. Made it easier to glance in through the open door as he walked past. Oh, his watch is there? He must be in the shower, then. And if Sam tried real hard, he could almost hear the water running.
It was such a stupid thing. Such a childish need. But in those first few days, those first few weeks, Sam needed to cocoon himself within those lies. Needed not to be faced with such harsh, jagged reminders of his brother's ever-present absence. Needed to concoct a narrative that dulled the truth, just a little, for those hours of the day when the alcohol had worn off.
Eventually though, enough time passed and he put away those childish lies.
Eventually, sat on the edge of the bed, he picked up the watch and held it.
It was the one he remembered Dean always wearing, and honest to God, he'd never spared it much thought. Why would he? And actually, that was a lie, Dean hadn't always had it, but he'd had since he and Sam had started hunting together again, he'd had it when he'd come to get him from college all those years ago. Sam didn't think he'd had it before then.
It was a solid, heavy, black affair, sturdier than he'd assumed at first glance. The black strap had naturally curled by years of wear, anticipating the curve of Dean's wrist. Absurdly the strap looked like two longing arms, reaching out. They would never reach Dean again, never wrap around him and hold on tight.
Yeah, he thought. You and me both.
He ran his fingers gently over the inside of the strap, knowing the last thing those molecules had ever touched had been Dean. Along the edge there was a splatter of blood which he hadn't noticed before, and he stared at it ambivalently for a time, before scratching at it with his thumbnail, watching the remnants haphazardly flake and crumble to the floor.
He turned the watch over to look at the dial. Analogue. Well maintained. And expensive. Very expensive. That was what struck him most. It was a good watch. Understated practicality worth easily a small fortune. Shock resistant, waterproof, built in stopwatch and a tiny compass. Scratch resistant and shatter proof. Well, it would have had to have been, given how often Dean used to get thrown around. It was a damned good watch. And it was a damned sight better than anything else Dean had ever bought for himself.
And it hit him so hard then that if he hadn't already been perched on that bed, it would have floored him completely.
He knew exactly where this watch had come from.
Jess.
It was those budding years of their relationship, the part where they knew they were serious about each other, but were still feeling each other out. She used to ask about his family back then, had learnt pretty damned quickly that he never wanted to talk about it. But still, she'd gotten him to open up after a while. Shyly, hesitantly, she'd ask him about his childhood, in an off-handed way, she would fish for details about his past. And slowly he'd opened up just a little. His father, John, that was too big a can of worms. But Dean? Dean he could handle.
He never said much, but it was more than anyone else had ever gotten, and Jess had absorbed every word, every detail. One evening when Sam'd had just that one shot too many, the one that took him from in control to slightly loose lipped, she managed to get him talking more than he normally ever did. It was maudlin of him because Dean's birthday was coming up, and, well, the truth of it was he was missing Dean. But he'd never intended to talk about it, knew it was just a fleeting feeling because he'd had those before and they always passed, so this one would pass. Just a matter of time. But then Jess poured that one extra drink and before he knew it he'd just blurted it out. My brother's 25th birthday's coming up.
She'd eyed him cautiously, then after a moment asked him, trying to seem uninterested; Oh? That's a big one. How will he celebrate?
Sam had scoffed at that, and it turned into a laugh, slightly hysterical, slightly bitter. Probably go hunting, same as always. He's a hunter, I ever tell you that? He's really good. Taught me to shoot. Can be a dick though.
And that was it. At least, that was all he could remember. And it would have been the end of it except that a day or so later, Jess had started gently suggesting that he get his brother a present. He'd tried explaining to her that he and Dean, that he and his family, they really didn't go in for that kind of normal family thing. What was it he'd said? We're not exactly the Brady Bunch. He'd tried to be gentle when he told her it would be a waste of time. But she had such a belief in the goodness of life, and she'd said I can hear it in your voice Sam Winchester. You miss your brother, no matter what you say. And if you miss him, you must love him. And if you love him, then just show him. Life's too short.
Life's too short.
No one else could have said something so saccharine to him back then. But coming from her, the way she said it, it had been simply an articulation of truth.
But he'd shook his head. It's not that simple Jess. It's too complicated.
She'd dropped it, or at least he thought she had. Then the box appeared, and she'd handed it to him with a flicker of trepidation.
Don't get mad. I thought you could send it to your brother. It's a hunter's watch. Designed for heavy outdoor wear. Least that what the guy in the store told me. We can change it if you want, I have the receipt.
And he'd stared at it. In fact, looking back, that was probably the longest he'd ever looked at that watch up until now, and even then, he'd just been staring at the box.
He'd handed it back to her of course, shaking his head. But she'd left it on their bedroom dresser, and every morning when he raised his head, there it was, staring back at him. The damned watch, reminding him of Dean. Even before it had ever been his, it had already begun to belong to him.
It made him feel guilty, sitting there, so one day he just gave in. He sent it to Dean, care of Bobby, because that was the only way he knew how to send anything to his family. He vaguely remembered writing a note, and he distinctly remembered he'd been a bit of a tool, saying something like 'not an invitation, just saying happy 25th'
What a dick.
A few weeks later he received a letter. Well, calling it a letter was a little rich. It was a page torn from a motel notebook, and all it said was four words.
Thanks Sammy. Stay Safe.
On closer inspection Sam could tell there had been several versions of the note, because the pressmarks from the ones before had embedded onto the page. He wondered how many pages Dean had written and ripped and thrown away before deciding that those four words were enough. He'd never tried to use a pencil to see what Dean may have originally written, because he agreed with Dean, for once. Those four words were enough.
He remembered he'd stared at the page for a while. No one called him Sammy, he hated it if they tried, but staring at that page then, for a second it made him smile.
And there had been a photo enclosed; Mary and John holding Sam and Dean. The perfect family.
He'd stared at that photo for a long time.
Dean had made a good choice, but he also knew, Dean had risked a lot to send it. Either their father would notice it was gone, or else it was Dean's property now and he'd decided to part with it for Sam. That couldn't have been easy for him, but was there anything Dean wouldn't do for Sam? Sam instantly loved it.
John and Mary. Happy, young, smiling. In love. It was the family, the life, he'd always wished he could have belonged to.
He'd stared at that photo for a long time.
Then he'd found a frame and put it above the fireplace, and when Jess had come home, he'd shown it to her and her smile had burst his heart and for the first time since he'd been out on his own he didn't feel completely adrift and untethered.
Because even if their family hadn't been the Brady Bunch, he knew there was more to his past than just hunting, knew they'd been happy once. He had proof. And looking at Jess as she held the photo, he thought perhaps that was when he'd decided he was going to marry her; because of that smile on her face.
It had all changed after that of course. But for a while, there had been a brief window of hope for a different life. Like holding a photo and seeing the possibility of something he had never known.
He couldn't believe the watch was so old. As he stared at it now, it was telling of the craftsmanship with which it had been put together. It had lasted well, and clearly Dean had taken care of it too. He supposed the strap may have changed over the years, there was no way to tell, but the watch itself was the same. He wondered how Dean must have felt when he got the package. Would he have wondered what made Sam send it? Would he have been surprised to know Sam had thought of him? He'd never known of course that it hadn't been Sam's idea at all, but looking back, that was probably a good thing. And looking back, it didn't detract from the truth of it; Sam had missed Dean, always. Always. Jess had simply forced him into doing something he was too stubborn to have done alone, no matter how much he would have wanted.
Suddenly, he didn't hate the watch.
Suddenly, it wasn't marking his loss.
Suddenly, it meant something more.
Because Dean had worn it with love. Dean had cherished it, for love. All those years, even when they'd been apart, he knew it had meant something more to Dean than Sam had ever realised. It had connected them, tied them together.
When he placed the watch on his own wrist, the straps curved round and settled with ease and resting there, it felt complete. Full circle, form beginning to end. Jess to Dean. People he'd thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. People he'd loved that much.
Nothing was ever what you thought it was. Nothing ever stayed the same. Even things that hurt you, could change over time. You just had to keep fighting (because you always keep fighting) till it happened. And all it was, was a matter of time. A matter of time before he made toast. A matter of time before he went on hunts. A matter of time before he left the Bunker for good.
A matter of time before saw Dean again.
As he left the room, he believed in that. For the first time in weeks, he believed in that.
The End
Thank you for reading.
This story is what happens when I'm meant to be working on a/the long story but end up procrastinating and avoiding writing the difficult chapters (because as someone once said, writing is hard!). The long story is almost there, but I just can't get my butt into gear to finish it. Well, hope this one was an acceptable waste of time. I miss the boys. Hope whoever is reading this is well and keeping safe.