I'm Sorry - SN fic -- PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: I'm Sorry
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Lyrics are "I'm Sorry" by John Denver. Just for fun. 
Warnings: character death; spoilers for pilot; total AU; 
Pairings: Mary/John
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 975
Point of View: third

 

It's cold here in the city
It always seems that way
And I've been thinking about you almost everyday
Thinking about the good times
Thinking about the rain
Thinking about how bad it feels alone again

----

I’m sorry, he screams with everything in him without a sound. I’m so, so sorry. 

Since it’s never mattered before, it sure as hell doesn’t now.

----

He can see her sometimes, out the edge of his eye. See her in that white nightgown, see her golden hair blowing in the breeze, see her hazel eyes full of fear and pain and love. 

And he sees the blood pouring out the gash in her stomach and he sees the fire licking her form, and he feels—despair. And rage.

And every time he sees her, his quest settles a little more firmly on his shoulders.

------

I’m sorry, he whispers, pulling the boy close. I’m so, so sorry. 

Since it never matter before, anything he had to say, any apology he could force out, it sure as hell doesn’t now.

Especially since they both know he doesn’t mean it.

----

He can hear her voice sometimes, just a murmur in the wind. I love you, she says. I forgive you. I’m waiting for you.

And once, when their oldest turned eighteen, a hunter and killer and unable to ever escape, I think I hate you, John. Look what you’ve done to him.

Look at him, John. Look at what you’ve done to Dean.

-----

I’m sorry, he whispers at the grave. I’m so, so sorry, Mary. Forgive me. 

He did, Dad, Dean says, stepping up beside him, a gun in one hand and a sword in the other. Sam forgave you, with his last breath. Dean’s voice is ragged and John doesn’t look over, but he knows Dean’s just about worn out.

He can feel Mary looking at him through Dean’s eyes, and guilt encroaches on his edges.

But I can’t. Dean’s voice is low, dangerous, and pride nearly swells at the thing he’s turned his son into.

-----

Mary rolls over to face John and kisses the tip of his nose. I love you, her eyes tell him and he smiles in response. I love you, too.

It is their wedding night. Neither has any inkling of what is to come.

Neither would believe it, even if they knew.

----

I’m sorry, she told him. 

For what? he asked.

She didn’t answer, but as she turned to face the poltergeist, she glanced at her oldest and tried to communicate to him exactly what she apologized for. It’d be nearly five years before she knew she’d failed. And by then—it was too late and her Sammy was home with her.

----

He stands in moonlight, dagger in one hand and Sammy’s curved knife in the other. The forest around him is still, silent; not even crickets disturb the peace. 

John should feel scared, but all he feels is emptiness. The quest is finished; Mary is avenged. It cost him both sons and his soul and any chance of seeing Mary again, but—it’s done. The ropes are tight on his wrists and ankles; they cut into his skin, but he almost relishes the pain.

He knows he deserves it, but he still doesn’t feel regret.

Dean raises his head, eyes dark in the shadows cast by the trees and clouds, and the weapons glint silver. John can just barely see the smile.

And now, he feels fear.

----

There is only one grave for the Winchester’s of Lawrence, Kansas. And it doesn’t even have a body in it.

Only one grave site, only one tombstone, only one funeral. Two of the family were worthy, however. And only those two made it to Heaven and met the Power’s who had fucked them over face-to-face.

----

I’m sorry, he whispers, cutting open his baby boy. I’m so sorry, Sammy. 

Shut up, Sammy manages, holding back the screams. Shut up.

----

Dean does not say I’m sorry. Dean does not say I hate you. Dean does not demand How could you? He was your son! Dean does not speak at all.

John doesn’t answer any of the questions Dean doesn’t ask. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. It wouldn’t change the final paragraphs of the novel that is his life.

And it wouldn’t change where he’s going after he’s breathed his last.

----

I’m sorry, Dean whispers, cradling Sammy’s body. Whatever did this—it’ll pay. It never crosses his mind the monster that mutilated his baby brother is their father. It never crosses his mind that their dad avenged their mother by killing the youngest son.

It never crosses his mind that their father thinks Sammy is the root cause, because he’s always known Sammy wasn’t. Always known Sammy was the innocent, the only true innocent left.

And then he notices Dad on the edge of the clearing, highlighted in the cold moonlight, blood still dripping down him. And he watches Dad turn and walk away, striding like a man who’s accomplished something.

His arms tighten around Sammy. For the first time, he feels hate. It wells up from deep inside, and if he doesn’t control it, he knows it’ll consume him. Like it did his father.

So he kisses Sammy’s brow and releases the detestation, he lets it flow into the night around him, and he feels—calm. There are no more emotions.

Dean has become the perfect hunter.

----

I’m sorry is something he never said again. 

----

It's cold here in the city
It always seems that way
And I've been thinking about you almost everyday

Comments

[ejayye.livejournal.com]

Very, very powerful and haunting. Beautiful economy of word-use throughout.

John can just barely see the smile.
And now, he feels fear.

*shivers* This is going to stay with me a while - Dean going of the deep end has always seemed quite a real possibility.
And of course: Oh, John.

[tigriswolf]

Thank you! I really like this one.