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One Book Sam Never Read, 1/1
Title: One Book Sam Never Read
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: AU post AHBL. Dean finds an unexpected way to remember Sam. (Character death.) Spoiler-free.
Dean looks at the results of his shopping spree, spread out on the motel table, and wonders exactly what he was thinking. Because on second thoughts, this was all kinds of stupid. It was a waste of money, would be a waste of time, certainly wouldn’t achieve anything. He scrubbed his hand across tired stubble, then sat down abruptly, crossed his arms, and attempted to stare out his purchases. Hesitantly, he reached out, dragged a finger along the colourful card, memory stirring. He remembered those first ones, beaten and battered library books stuffed in Sam’s backpack. Remembered teasing Sam about them, remembered once stealing one off him and reading out sections, putting on stupid voices. Remembered Sammy’s flushed face, and defensive rebuttals. Then Sam had gotten older, gone off to Stanford, left.
Now he was gone altogether. Dean had failed. Sam Winchester’s ashes seasoned the soil of South Dakota, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the constant re-wind of that night, a rickety projector that ran 24/7 in the back of his head. His hand slid off the books, as waves of grief once again threatened to overwhelm him. There was work to be done. There were demons to kill. There was a freaking apocalypse coming.
And yet, right now, none of that was more important than this. The note on Sam’s Outlook calendar had been puzzling Dean, a frustrating indication that Dean did not know his brother as well as he had thought. But then he had been driving through Porterville, Nevada, and he had seen the signs, and suddenly it had clicked, and he had joined the queue outside the bookshop.
Opening his eyes again, Dean looked at the books, remembered how much Sam had loved them – had still loved them, if that note on his diary was anything to go by. The last book, hardback where the others were paperback, was new, brand new, and Sam would never read it. Sam would never know what had happened. And like everything else Sam would never do, it seemed unbearably unfair. So Dean would do what his brother could no longer do. He’d start from the beginning, because there was no point reading that one book and not knowing, not understanding what was happening, not properly. And he had to do this properly.
So Dean opened the first book, and began to read.
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Author:
chaletianCharacters/Pairing: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: AU post AHBL. Dean finds an unexpected way to remember Sam. (Character death.) Spoiler-free.
Dean looks at the results of his shopping spree, spread out on the motel table, and wonders exactly what he was thinking. Because on second thoughts, this was all kinds of stupid. It was a waste of money, would be a waste of time, certainly wouldn’t achieve anything. He scrubbed his hand across tired stubble, then sat down abruptly, crossed his arms, and attempted to stare out his purchases. Hesitantly, he reached out, dragged a finger along the colourful card, memory stirring. He remembered those first ones, beaten and battered library books stuffed in Sam’s backpack. Remembered teasing Sam about them, remembered once stealing one off him and reading out sections, putting on stupid voices. Remembered Sammy’s flushed face, and defensive rebuttals. Then Sam had gotten older, gone off to Stanford, left.
Now he was gone altogether. Dean had failed. Sam Winchester’s ashes seasoned the soil of South Dakota, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the constant re-wind of that night, a rickety projector that ran 24/7 in the back of his head. His hand slid off the books, as waves of grief once again threatened to overwhelm him. There was work to be done. There were demons to kill. There was a freaking apocalypse coming.
And yet, right now, none of that was more important than this. The note on Sam’s Outlook calendar had been puzzling Dean, a frustrating indication that Dean did not know his brother as well as he had thought. But then he had been driving through Porterville, Nevada, and he had seen the signs, and suddenly it had clicked, and he had joined the queue outside the bookshop.
Opening his eyes again, Dean looked at the books, remembered how much Sam had loved them – had still loved them, if that note on his diary was anything to go by. The last book, hardback where the others were paperback, was new, brand new, and Sam would never read it. Sam would never know what had happened. And like everything else Sam would never do, it seemed unbearably unfair. So Dean would do what his brother could no longer do. He’d start from the beginning, because there was no point reading that one book and not knowing, not understanding what was happening, not properly. And he had to do this properly.
So Dean opened the first book, and began to read.
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.