And It Be Not In Vain - SN fic - R - wincest

[tigriswolf]

Title: And It Be Not In Vain
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: Not my characters.  Just for fun.
Warnings: character death(are we shocked?); implied(okay, more than implied) incestuous slash of the gorgeous, gorgeous boys(both of whom are older than me); AU(a given, dears)
Pairings: see above
Rating: R(purely for safety)
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 800

 

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Steal us away, Father, steal us away, because we just can’t take it come light of day.

- 

“You know what?”

“What?”

“It’s tomorrow in Australia.”

“Cool. Can I go to sleep now?”

“We’re living in yesterday.”

-

The first was an accident. The last wasn’t.

By that time, it didn’t really matter, though. Too much had been done for his soul to enter the Gates.

-

Darkness comes in shades and leaves in shadows. It lingers in the heart, on the soul. Some wounds don’t ever heal, just gape open, bleeding for as long as there’s blood to flow. Some wounds scar horribly, so that the wound is never forgotten. Some wounds fade away, into skin and tissue, quickly left behind in only half-remembered nightmares—if that—and so their lessons fade, as well.

And some wounds—well.

-

It’s sweat and it’s fire and it’s I love you written on skin with fingertips. It’s hope and it’s faith and it’s light shining even at midnight in a moonless world. It’s life and bright and glorious—surely, the dark has no place here. No foothold. No way to enter, even as their wounds still bleed.

Because they are healing each other. With every glance, every breath, every touch—the wounds close. Scab over. And fade. Not even a scar.

Maybe that’s the problem.

-

The first was an accident. Driven by anger, jealously, over-protective jackassery, and beer. Driven by words never spoken and fears never addressed, driven by memories never laid bare for healing.

The first was a skull colliding with brick and cracking. The first was gaping eyes and a gaping mouth and “Holy shit, oh god, damn, fuck!” The first was “I’m sorry,” whispered as the killer was dragged away.

The first was an accident. Never intended. Regretted.

For a while.

-

Sleep comes rarely, in spurts spread out across months. And when he does dream, they are not kind.

Only in dreams does Guilt approach him with a smile. Only in dreams does Guilt speak to him, telling him of the lives he’s stolen, of the hopes never attained because of him.

He wouldn’t mind Guilt so much if it didn’t wear Sammy’s face.

-

The second came later, much later. Almost a year to the day. Also driven by alcohol. And rage, the deepest rage, strongest loathing. Fear.

And an overwhelming despair. A despair that he was drowning in, unable to overcome. A despair that he caused, because he failed.

Failed.

Wasn’t fast enough.

Wasn’t strong enough.

Wasn’t—something enough.

The second happened because he got in Dean’s space and dared to look like Sam.

How dare some guy, some fucking wanna-be have Sam’s floppy hair and Sam’s bright green eyes and Sam’s laughing grin and not be Sam?

It wasn’t Dean’s fault.

Sam would have fought back and not let his head collide with the bottle.

-

The third was two days later, another fucker who fucked with the wrong guy in the wrong mood on the wrong day.

The fourth was even quicker. And the fifth swiftly followed.

And Dean was gone. Faded, drowned, lost himself and Sam and everything he once was, everything he could have been, everything he’d ever wanted.

Everything that might have been and now wouldn’t be because—the first was an accident. Everything after—wasn’t.

-

Darkness comes in shades and leaves in shadows. It lingers in the heart, on the soul. Some wounds heal and some don’t. Some leave scars and some just fade, like they never were.

Some people can heal themselves and some aren’t that strong.

Some people can commit horrid acts and still get to Heaven because they know they’ve done wrong.

And some are so lost they can’t even remember how to ask for forgiveness. And even if they could, they wouldn’t accept it.

-

The first was an accident. The last wasn’t.

The last was cold metal pressed against a temple and bright green eyes begging, No. The last was loneliness and regret and Please, Sammy, I’m sorry. The last was knowledge of Hell and heat and flames forever.

An eternity without Sam was all he deserved and he pulled the trigger with a bittersweet smile.

-

“You know what?”

“What?”

“It’s tomorrow in Australia.”

“Cool. Can I go to sleep now?”

“We’re living in yesterday.”

-

In yesterday, Sam smiles at Dean and says, “You know, it won’t get better than this.”

Dean nods, reclining back on the bed and flipping the channel. Sam sighs and settles beside him to watch some horrible horror flick. Pretty soon the mocking’ll start; no movie can scare them and it’s fun to rip them apart.

After that—well, it’s not too hard to guess.

In yesterday, tomorrow is unfathomable.

-

But tomorrow always comes.

 

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Comments

[waka7.livejournal.com]

Thank you for clarifying! (I feel really bad making the author explaining as if anything other than what's already there needs to be said, but thank you anyway! I was afraid I was imagining that Dean sees Sam's face in everyone he kills due to his guilt--of "failing" as you were so kind as to tell me!) I cannot imagine worse "Hell" for Dean as you've put it...