Not How It Was Suppose to Be

OK, I'm on a one-shot kick! : ) This is a Sam-angst one where he has to deal with Dean's death at the end of Season 3. There's one aspect of death that people tend to not think about after someone dies, what do you do with your loved one's things? Inspired by the music video, Probably Wouldn't Be This Way by LeAnn Rimes, and no, this is not Wincest! Hope you enjoy!


Sam sat alone on the motel bed, taking another swig out of the bottle of whiskey while holding one of Dean's shirts. It was still dirty; they hadn't done laundry yet before Dean died. Dean had insisted it wouldn't matter. And Sam didn't argue. Because he had clung so dearly to the hope that something would happen. They would somehow figure out how to break the deal and save Dean. Dean wasn't going to die and then they'd be laughing about it next week while doing laundry at the laundromat in another unknown town.

But Dean wasn't here.

Dean was dead.

And Sam was alone. All he had left of Dean was his things.

Dean's silver knife that he had killed so many evil creatures with. His guns and weapons. Those damn Metallica tapes that Sam kept listening to over and over again in the car, blasting the music so loud that it was a miracle that he wasn't deaf yet. His clothes, both clean and dirty. His comb. His toothbrush. His deodorant. His damn razor. A fucking can of shaving cream. Stupid little shit. Crap that Sam knew he could just throw away.

But he couldn't.

He had tried. When had packed up their things from the motel they had last stayed at, Sam had tried. But he couldn't do it. He had held that damn can of shaving cream, expensive shit, probably the only thing Dean ever insisted spending good money on, and he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He had broken down; curling himself up into a little ball, sobbing and clutching that fucking can like it was the only thing left in the world.

Dean's things. That was all he had left of him. Odds and ends that had made up who Dean had been.

But Dean was gone. The only thing Sam wanted was Dean. He didn't want the shit Dean had left behind.

But that was all that was left.

Sam pressed Dean's shirt to his face, breathing in the familiar smell. It was ridiculous and probably the gayest thing he had ever done. But he couldn't help it. The smell brought a small measure of comfort. For a brief minute Sam could close his eyes and imagine Dean was still there. That he was pressed close to him while attending to whatever wounds he had gotten on their last hunt.

And then he would open his eyes.

And Dean would be gone.

And all he had was Dean's things.

Sam laid everything out exactly the way Dean would. He set up his toiletries in the bathroom the same way Dean always had. He scattered Dean's clothes around the room the same way Dean had last left them in the last motel they stayed at.

It was stupid.

It made no sense.

But Sam couldn't help himself.

He couldn't throw Dean's things away, Sam reasoned. Maybe… just maybe he'd come back. Maybe he could still get that miracle… find someone to bring Dean back to him… Dean would need all his things then…

The tears rolled down his face and Sam took another swig.

He had to keep Dean's things.

They were all he had left.