Dean Winchester (godsfave) wrote in aumadisonvalley, @ 2021-07-07 17:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete gdoc, [plot] mirrorverse, dean winchester (godsfave), sam winchester (fireinthesoul) |
Who: Dark Dean & Dark Sam Winchester
Where: The mansion/Sara's place.
When: Sometime in April.
What: Sam tells Dean that Sara is dead.
Warnings: Death.
Dripping with sweat and a bit of blood on his hands, Sam fumbled with the doorknob. He growled with frustration before it gave way and allowed him entry to the mansion. He pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe his face before throwing it toward the sink to wash later. "Dean. You here?" Sam called out. Getting no answer, Sam rummaged through the stores of food to find something to eat. He didn't care one way or the other if Dean was home. He figured his brother was out causing trouble of his own. Sam was pleased with himself; he'd had a productive morning. He didn't have much to show for it but he had another notch on his kill list. He wished he'd kept track of how many he'd killed. Not that it mattered. He figured the numbers were well over 100. This morning's kill was necessary. Needed to be done. She was getting in the way. He sat in what was once a grand sitting room. The furniture now stained with blood and whatever else, it felt comfortable to him. He liked the high backed chair and had more or less claimed it for himself. Not too long ago, Dean had sent Dan out on an errand, tasking him to pick up some beer at the brewery and check on production. He was sitting at the dining room table which was large enough to fit most of his weapons. Dean wanted to make sure his guns were polished and cleaned precisely, while his knives were sharp and shiny. It was easily something he could have asked Dan to do, but he preferred to handle it himself. It would be embarrassing if he were out brandishing a machete that looked dull and blunt. Plus, he actually enjoyed it, thinking about all the kills from each weapon was therapeutic. He heard the door open, followed by his brother’s voice, and he looked up at the clock to check the time. Sam had been out for a few hours now, and he was curious as to what his brother had been doing all morning. He finished sharpening the knife he had in hand, smoothed it with a cloth, and then set it back down on the table. Dean walked out of the dining room and into the sitting room, where he heard Sam call out for him. “Yeah, I’m home,” he looked at Sam with a raised brow, wondering where the fuck his shirt had gone. “If you’re looking for clean laundry, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Where the hell have you been all morning?” “I’ve got shirts upstairs.” In various states ranging from clean to dirty and blood stained. He wasn’t overly concerned with his appearance. He’d let his hair go, though he occasionally took a pair of scissors to it, he kept it long and shaggy. From time to time he pulled it back into a manbun. Today was not one of those days. It hung down in his face giving him all together wild and predatory look. Not that he was inclined to hunt his brother. No. He hunted prey to protect his brother, even when Dean didn’t know there was a danger. That would be Sam’s little secret. “Glad you’re here, though. I went by to see Sara. Looks like someone broke in and caught her by surprise. She didn’t have a chance.” The one who broke in was Sam. He’d done what he had to do and had no regrets. That didn’t mean he was going to admit to Dean that he’d killed her. He’d killed her because Dean was getting too close. She was a liability. He’d be better now, without her to distract him. "What do you mean, she never had a chance? Why were you there in the first place?" His heart was pounding against his chest, and he felt a little faint. "You- her- she- no. She can't be. I don't-" he fell down in the closest chair to him. Sara was everything to him. The one thing in his life that truly made him happy. She was his only weakness, but he hadn't been too worried about anything happening to her in retaliation. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. "What were you doing at her house, Sam?" He repeated his question, his voice having become considerably louder. He reached over and grabbed a lamp from the table, flinging it directly into a wall. "Do you know who did it? Is she still there? What did you do with her body?" He meant that Sara trusted the one who attacked her, because it was him. He meant that she never saw it coming, because of course she thought she was safe from Sam. Sam was Dean’s brother, and he wouldn’t destroy something, or someone that Dean loved. Except he had, and he had done it for that reason. Because Dean loved her. “I wanted to talk to her about some shit. It doesn’t even matter now. I got there, and well. We didn’t have a chance to talk. She was already going cold. I left her there, Dean. I thought you’d want to take care of it.” Which, he knew, was kind of sick and twisted. He supposedly found his brother’s girlfriend dead, and just left her there. But he felt like that would only help Dean believe that Sam hadn’t been the one to end her. There were plenty of other murderous assholes out there. The town was full of them, actually. Sam was just one more sick bastard in a long line of sick bastards. "You just-" his voice cracked, looking at Sam in awe and disbelief. He was so calm about the entire conversation, like it was just another day for him. "Are you fucking serious right now?!?" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs, rising from the chair. He kept switching between emotions, unable to keep it together. He started to throw whatever was nearby. Vases, picture frames, decorative statues, if he could lift it, it went flying across the room and into the wall. In just a short amount of time he had built up so much rage that it was probably unhealthy, but he didn't care. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and let out a loud sob, his face buried in his hands. Dean felt so lost in the moment, and he hated how vulnerable he was. His heart ached for the loss of Sara, but at the same time, he understood. She had been a liability, the first and only he had ever loved. He didn't know what to do now. Did he tell Laurel and then bury her body? Or did they just bury her right then and there? "Will you go with me? To her house?" Sam sat where he was, passively watching Dean fall apart. He’d expected a show of emotion. He hadn’t expected it to be so intense. Sam shrugged it off. He didn’t get attached. He knew better, in this world. The only person he felt any attachment to was Dean. His brother. Somewhere in the back of his twisted mind, he remembered how Dean had taken care of him when they were young. Before they came to this fucked up world where it was more or less every man for himself. Now it was Sam’s turn to take care of Dean, even if Dean didn’t realise he needed it. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll go with you. Just prepare yourself. It’s a bloody mess.” Sam finally got to his feet and put a hand out to help Dean up. When Sam informed him that her body was a bloody mess he just shook his head and took his hand to get up from the floor. What had Sam done to her? Why had he needed to kill her so violently. Dean knew from the second that Sam announced that he had just casually stopped at her place to ask a question. Of course, there was no way in hell he would admit or acknowledge what had happened. It was best just to tuck that bit of information far, far away. He hoped that he would be able to keep himself composed when he saw Sara. Dean grabbed the keys to his car and they headed off to her place. There was silence the entire way to her house. His fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. They would have to take care of the body, Dean had decided. That way, nobody could really ask too many questions. He didn't care if it looked suspicious, anyone who questioned it would be dealt with. Laurel would likely be the only one to ask questions, but he would just tell her to fuck off. They arrived at her place and made their way up to the door. "Where is she?" “Kitchen,” Sam said. He’d been more or less relaxed on the drive over. Any tension he felt came from Dean’s silence, not guilt. He felt no remorse for what he’d done. It was a necessity, as far as he was concerned. With Sara out of the way, Dean wouldn’t get distracted by her. He’d be back on plan. Sam and Dean against the world. There was Dan too, but Dean’s attachment to him wasn’t nearly as much of a liability as his attachment to Sara had been. If that changed, well. Sam wouldn’t hesitate to take Dan out too. He had no feelings one way or the other, he’d do it and be done with it if need be. “What do you want to do with the body?” It wasn’t like they could have a proper funeral and burial. If anything, it would be just the two of them. Sam might even be able to remember some churchy jargon from his days before coming to Madison, when he’d prayed often and whatnot. Damn, that seemed like a different life to him now, like some half forgotten movie he’d seen when he was a kid. He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath before pushing the door to her house open. There were clear signs of a struggle, multiple things knocked over in the living room, and a trail of blood on the carpet that led to the kitchen. Dean was reluctant to follow the trail, but he had no choice, he had to do it. He made his way further inside and to the kitchen, which was a bloody mess and Sara’s body was spread out in the center, her body covered in blood. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes and he dropped to his knees in front of her body. “What we always do,” he replied to Sam’s question, lifting her cold and dead body into his arms. His fingers traced over her face, tucking the loose strands of hair out of her eyes, as if it made any difference. He brushed his hand through her hair, and ducked his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll-” he choked back some tears and pulled her even closer to him, knowing that it would be the last time he’d ever hold her again. “There should be some gasoline in the trunk of the car. I’ll wrap her up in a sheet or something and we’ll do it in the backyard. We don’t have time to build a full pyre, so we’ll just have to find some branches and shit.” “Yeah, sure,” Sam said. “I’ll check the trunk, and get the branches. I’ll meet you out back.” He’d give Dean some time alone with the body. It was the least he could do. Maybe help foster the idea that he had nothing to do with the murder. He wouldn’t have been surprised to know Dean figured it out. He also knew Dean wasn’t likely to confront him. If he did, Sam would deny it. He had the passive, lack of emotion response down to a science. He could lie to his brother’s face without batting an eye, when he needed to. He’d done it often enough. “I’ll be back,” Sam gave a curt nod, then headed out to gather the things to make a quick little pyre for Sara’s body. It was the least he could do, given that he was the reason Sara was now gone. Shortly after Sam left the kitchen, he stood from the floor, lifting her up in his arms. Dean carried her to the living room and laid her down on the couch so he could grab a blanket to wrap her in. He pulled the one off her bed and returned to spread it out on the kitchen table. He carried her back to the kitchen and set her down on the table, fixing her body so that he could neatly roll her up. There was a part of him that wanted to clean the blood from her body, but it was pointless, and he didn’t want to acknowledge the stab wounds covering her. He watched Sam in the backyard from the kitchen, and waited until he appeared ready. Dean carried her out the back door and to the pyre that Sam had made, reluctant to put her down. He continued to hold her in his arms for maybe a minute longer before setting her down on top of the pyre. He took a few steps back and motioned for Sam to go ahead and light it. Sam lit the pyre on Dean’s signal, standing silently, stoically. Once the fire took, he stepped back to watch the flames engulf the body. Well, that was one issue taken care of. He knew the next few days would be rough for Dean, but once he got over the initial grief, he’d be much better off for it, without Sara to distract him. After a few minutes of just watching the flames dancing, Sam moved a step closer to Dean. Without a word, he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He felt like things were finally right with the world. The brothers were together, with no one threatening to wedge a divide between them. |