As It Was - Dean Winchester

Part 47

The gun in my hand felt heavier than usual when I took it apart and put it back together. Over and over. No one cared. Dean watched Sam's dead body, and Bobby had left some time ago. The only sound in the cabin was the clicking of my gun's mechanisms. Over and over. Apart and then back together. 

"Will? Dean? Brought you this back." I hadn't even heard when Bobby opened the door. I just continued what I was doing. Apart and together. 

"No, thanks. I'm fine," Dean's voice rasped from the doorway where he held his vigil. 

"You should eat something," Bobby pressed. "Both of you should." 

"I said I'm fine."

Footsteps and then the gulping. Dean was drinking again. 

"Dean..." Bobby began tentatively. "I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time... we bury Sam?" 

I stopped what I was doing.

"No." The answer was short but decisive. Calmly Dean sat down next to me. He looked horrible. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Like walking dead. His look was cold as ice.

"We could– maybe..." Bobby continued.

"What? Torch his corpse?" Dean cut him off with his deadly calm. "Not yet."

The older hunter bent down and looked Dean in the eye. "I want you to come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Dean, please."

"Would you cut me some slack?" Dean snapped, still with that lethal calm. Bobby's eyes shifted to me, eyes searching for an answer he didn't find.

"I just don't think you two should be alone, that's all. I gotta admit, I could use your help." The only response he got was a snort from the older Winchester. The only Winchester. "Something big is going down – end-of-the-world big."

"Well, then let it end!" Dean growled. 

"You don't mean that." 

Dean got to his feet, suddenly towering over Bobby. "You don't think so? Huh? You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here." The older man shook his head sadly. I could see the despair in his eyes. He hated seeing Dean like this. Hated that Sam was dead. Dean shoved him. "Go!" he yelled. Bobby continued to stare at him as if he'd never seen this side of Dean before. He probably hadn't. I certainly hadn't. "I'm sorry," Dean continued after a second, his eyes softening. "I'm sorry. Please, just go. You too, Will." 

The dismissal was so easy for him that I almost thought he must have forgotten I was grieving too. Sam and Ash. 

I glared at Dean. Then I saw Sam's body in the room behind him and felt my eyes glaze over. Let it happen. 

Rigor mortis had set in a few hours after his death, and judging by the way Sam's arms now slacked against the mattress, it had passed. His face was as white as sheets, but he looked like he could be sleeping. 

It was my fault. I should have helped him, should have protected him, found a way.

Tomorrow would have been Sam's birthday. 

Bobby sighed, giving up on trying got convince us, and turned to the door. "You know where I'll be."

I couldn't bring myself to get out of the chair to follow him. Didn't want to leave Dean or Sam. I deserved the pain in my chest, and I knew it.