Carry On

“Dean… you heard what Jenna said. There’s nothing different we could’ve done,” Sam sighed, but Dean shook his head. Mrs. Munn had offered for them to stay in the living room for as long as they needed to – after having explained that they were also friends of Jenna’s and had been staying with her since arriving in town. Jenna’s parents and the police believed that they’d done all they could to save the girl’s life, but in Dean’s opinion they hadn’t done nearly enough.

“I could’ve shot her when I had the chance Sam! I had the opportunity to end it with Jenna in one piece and I didn’t take it!” he roared, turning on the taller man. Sam could see the pain in his eyes then, that same edge that had been there when their father had died. Dean really cared about Jenna, and now Sam knew just how out-of-shape Dean really was. He could cover it up with being gruff and acting pissed off all that he wanted, but Dean was hurting, a lot. He was upset and he sure as hell wasn’t okay with Jenna’s death, especially not when he considered her blood to be on his hands, even though he did everything in his power to protect her.

“Dean…”

“Just don’t,” he replied, leaving the house and slamming the door behind him. Sam heard the Impala roar to life and quickly head down the street. He sat down on the couch, knowing Dean would return in a few hours reeking of alcohol, and then he’d promptly pass out on the couch, just like he had last night. They were staying until Friday, when Jenna’s funeral would be held at the church on Willow Street, and while Sam knew it would be hard he knew Dean wanted to stay for it. They’d never really stuck around for a funeral before, but Dean needed to say goodbye somehow. He’d been so determined that they would save Jenna that he hadn’t let the possibility of her dying truly sink in, which Sam was sure hurt him more than anything else.

Castiel had all but disappeared since the altercation with Jasmine, and Sam was sure it was because Jenna had ended up dying. So there goes the whole ‘key to righting the world’ thing, and Castiel left. That was the only thing that could explain his disappearance being even quicker than his appearance, and that had to be weighing down on Dean too. Sam just wished that he could help lighten some of the burden from his brother’s shoulders, because it was too much for him to endure.

So now Dean was back to being drunk as long as he could handle it, and Sam couldn’t seem to say a single word that didn’t set him off. He didn’t even dare mention any of the possible jobs that had popped up, or the fact that he thought he might know where Kevin had got to, so he sat quietly while Dean sulked and mourned.

When Dean returned that night Sam could smell him before he saw him. He was a mess, and when he turned to Sam there were tears on his cheeks.

“I should’ve saved her Sammy… she didn’t need to die… hell, she was so young. She had her whole life ahead of her you know?” he asked, and completely broke down. Sam had never seen his brother like this before; Dean could get mad and lash out, but never once had he seen him totally lose control. It was so out of character for him Sam almost worried that it maybe wasn’t Dean. But the anguish in his eyes got rid of any doubts he had as he moved to comfort his older brother.

“She needed to do things her way Dean,” he quietly insisted, but Dean shook his head.

“No, I couldn’t save her here, and now I bet Castiel’s drug her into the goddamn mess of a war going on up there…” he hiccupped then, a reminder for Sam of just how drunk he was as he staggered slightly, his world taking a dip to the right momentarily.

“Easy there Dean; you heard what she said, right?” Sam asked, helping to ease his brother down to a chair at the kitchen table. Dean just rolled his eyes up to look at his brother, not bothering to lift his head to look up.

“Doesn’t change it,” he slurred.

“Dean, she told you that she didn’t blame you; that it wasn’t your fault. She knew you did everything you could,” he insisted, but Dean shook his head, chewing on his lip as his eyes watered.

“No I didn’t Sam. I could’ve taken the damn shot and ended it. Jenna would have never gotten hurt if I’d just taken that shot,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “She’d still be alive if I’d taken that shot.”

“That might be true, Dean,” Sam allowed, sitting down beside him. “But that doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t change what she told you; she doesn’t hold you responsible, and you know she’d be mad if she knew you were doing this to yourself. If anything, try and pull yourself together, even if it’s just for her.”

“How you felt when Jessica died? I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m feeling right now Sam. Except I didn’t say anything to Jenna about it, and she’ll never know it either. Why do damn emotions have to do this? Huh? I start to actually give a damn and some frigging demon wastes ‘em,” Sam froze, watching the tears go down his brother’s cheeks. Dean had never just opened up like this before, especially not about his feelings. After a moment of Dean’s quiet sobs Sam wrapped an arm around his brother before pulling him in for a proper hug. There was just one more day to get through before the funeral, and he hoped that Dean could last that long.

It was a rough day of sobering up for Dean, who spent most of it with his head over the toilet puking, but Sam was glad to see him in a state other than hammered. Even though the stoic rock sitting beside him wasn’t much better, at least he didn’t reek of whiskey.

The funeral was short and sweet; some of Jenna’s favorite music was played, and Dean almost cracked a smile when Take The Long Way Home by Supertramp was played. Jenna had admitted having a soft spot for the band to him while sifting through Jill’s journals, and it found it fairly fitting that Mr. and Mrs. Munn had chosen it to be played at her funeral; he knew Jenna wouldn’t have wanted a typical, run of the mill, sad-sap funeral anyway. Then it became cruelly ironic when the verse about seeing what you might’ve been if you had more time. He knew Jenna would’ve been somebody – she would have made a difference somewhere.

Mrs. Munn had asked if they’d wanted to say something at her funeral, and without a thought Dean had declined, standing up and leaving the kitchen. He was touched that she wanted to include them but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand there in front of a casket holding the girl he hadn’t managed to save and say something like he could accept that she was gone. That she’d never see another day.

Once people began filing out Sam and Dean stood up, ready to leave. Dean was ready to hit the whiskey bottle, and Sam just wanted to get back to the hotel and get them the hell out of this town before Dean completely self-destructed.

“Sam? Dean?” they turned at the now-familiar voice of Mrs. Munn. She looked nervous, aside from the fact that she was obviously worn and tired from everything that had gone on. She looked to have aged thirty years since the death of her daughter, and neither man blamed her.

“Yeah?” Sam was taken by surprise when she gave him a hug, and Dean wasn’t much different. He was trying so damn hard to act like nothing was wrong, Sam knew that inside he must be like a hurricane of emotion.

“We… we want you to be at the burial. You two obviously meant a lot to Jenna, and… well, if the letter Claire found in her things is any indication she would have wanted you there,” she quietly explained, and Dean looked to Sam for clarification.

“What… what letter?” he asked, and Mrs. Munn let out a sniff, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“It was just a night or two after you’d arrived; Jenna obviously thought that the murderer was going to come after her, so she… she wrote Arthur and I a letter,” she began to cry, pulling the thick paper out of her purse. “She speaks very highly of the two of you, and she said she never felt safer than when you two were around. I know that the whole concept of an afterlife or whether there’s a Heaven or a Hell or anything always scared Jenna… I just thought it would be fitting for you two to be there to help her feel safe going.” Mrs. Munn was sobbing as she finished, and Dean wrapped his arms around the elderly woman.

“That would mean a lot to us,” was his hoarse response, and Sam followed along behind as he helped the elderly woman along. She seemed so much frailer now, and Dean knew it was the toll of losing Jenna so violently that had done it.

They accompanied the Munn’s to the graveyard, and Dean’s tears escaped as he watched them lower the heavy oak casket into the dirt. Jenna’ mother reached over and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze before she let it drop, sobbing openly with her husband. It wasn’t fair; no parent should ever have to bury their own child. Dean would have done anything to bring her back.

“Goodbye Jenna,” he whispered, fisting the tears off of his cheeks. “I just… I just wish I could have saved you.”

Mrs. Munn placed a single rose on top of the casket, and looked toward the two brothers to see if they had anything they wanted to say or do. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace that he’d given her; the one she’d pressed into his palm just moments before she died.

“I know you uh, think I’ll need this, but I gave it to you, and I want you to keep it,” Dean awkwardly said, swiping at tears as he let the necklace drop on top of the casket and the rose. With that they began to cover the casket, and soon the Munn’s walked away, unable to bear watching any longer. Sam went with them, knowing Dean needed some time. It wasn’t until the grave was completely covered that he sank to his knees and let the sobs come in earnest.