Hey guys! I loved 'No Rest For the Wicked'. It was the greatest finale ever. But where was Bobby at the end of the episode? Here's my take on it. This story is nothing special (not even I think so) it's just a short piece that I had to get out. Also, I blame alena2b who broke my heart with her video about the finale and whose song choice inspired me to write this. Writer's block, are you finally gone? To watch alena's video go here: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?vdJ7-b9k-6yc. If the link doesn't work simply search her user name on youtube: alena2b or search by the name of the video: Supernatural - No Rest For The Wicked (S3 Finale).
It wasn't hard to understand what Sam was going through, not when he himself felt such an intense pain of loss. Not when his own heart hurt like a bitch in his chest. He'd lost so many and many he stilled missed. But this loss was worse than anything because the man that had been taken from them, from this world, was special and irreplaceable in a way that not many people were. He had not deserved to die and especially not in such a horrible way. Ripped to pieces. Internal organs shredded. Bleeding to death. It wasn't a pretty sight. And what had been waiting for him beyond…that - he didn't even want to think about.
The blood. Blood was everywhere, soaking his clothes, pooling on the floor, small droplets of crimson sprayed onto the walls. And Sam…Sam held his brother close, crying so hard he was shaking – his clothes also soaked in blood. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not when they'd been so close to a solution.
He'd known as soon as the demons dispersed. He knew right away because why would they stay if there was nothing to keep in or nothing to catch and kill. He'd stayed in the house across the street according to plan, partly to keep a lookout, party because there was no way he could get past the demons that surrounded the other house. But as soon as the demons scattered he was on his feet, heading downstairs and across the lawn. He ran as fast as he could and when screaming erupted from inside the other house he felt a chill down his spine. He kicked open the door, rushed inside and almost tripped over the body of an old lady. Eyes scanned his surroundings in panic as he made his way through the house. There was more than one person screaming. Sam and Dean - and right then he knew exactly what was happening simply by the sounds of their screams. One – hoarse and helpless, screaming for mercy, his words punctuated by a fear he felt for someone other than himself. The other – just in pain, God-awful pain, heart wrenching screams of a dying man and his screams soon died down - to weak gurgles at first, then silence.
He made it to the door just as a bright light flashed. It was a light so bright he had to cover his eyes and then suddenly everything went black. When he came to again it was gone. He was still blinded though and he paused for a second before he got up and reached to open the door. Whatever was behind it, it couldn't be good. And it wasn't.
The sight of the boys took his breath away. Dean Winchester. Dead. Mauled. Held in his brother's arms. And Sam. Inconsolable. Crying like the world had ended. For him it had. The debt was paid and there was no chance of redemption. No redemption. A poor soul was now burning and left was nothing but an empty shell - the broken body of a man that had sacrificed everything he had and more.
"Oh God…Sam…" His voice was rough and he couldn't hide his own pain and sorrow. He wasn't aware of the tears that ran down his dirty cheeks and gathered in his beard. The only acknowledgement the boy could offer was a loud sob, grief finally giving way now that the demon was gone.
There was nothing he could say that could make it alright. There was nothing he could do to right this wrong. There was nothing. Just pain. Just loss. And eternal torture for some.
- KelBub, 2008
In memory of Dean Winchester – A good man and an awesome brother