Status: Completed one-shot
Holding on to Threads Better Left to Fray
No One Ever Said It Would Be This Hard
Riley didn’t know how long she’d been sitting, but she knew that she didn’t have the strength to stand anymore. Her eyes sported a dull shade of red, bloodshot with swollen lids and pain accompanying every blink. She could barely distinguish the deciduous forest that surrounded her for miles from the roaring flames blazing ten feet away.
The scent of charred flesh and hair set her mind reeling, her stomach churning. She’d had a year to prepare herself for this day, but not even a million years would have been enough. Riley shifted her empty stare from the fire to her lap where her frail hands rested, bloodstained. The very sight made her sick, the distinct odor of iron clouding her senses as she remembered hovering over him.
Riley sighed deeply, closing her eyes. She hugged Dean’s worn leather jacket tighter around her body, his aftershave and whiskey exuding from the material. She tried. She really had. For a year, she waged war with the feelings she’d developed for Dean because she knew that nothing would ever become of them. Nothing ever could.
She hated herself for loving him as much as she did. He kept her at a distance, shut her out and pretended like everything was going to be okay when he knew that it was only a matter of time before he shattered her entire world, and she let him. There is no future for me, he’d said. My time is up, Riley, so quit wasting yours on me.
How easy it would’ve been to do just that, to walk away and pretend as if Dean had never existed, but that wasn’t what Riley wanted. She wanted Dean. All of him: the good, the bad - everything. She didn’t want perfection; she never had. Her future was with Dean, and if he wasn’t meant to have one, then neither was she.
Heavy footsteps rustled in the grass behind her, halting at her side. She gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, blotting her streaked mascara and eyeliner as Sam plopped onto the ground beside her.
In the dim lighting, she could see the bags beneath Sam’s puffy eyes. He glanced at his brother’s body disintegrating to ash for a fleeting second then focused on the grass beneath him, aimlessly pulling several blades from the soil.
“Listen,” Sam began, “I know you hate me right now, and I’m probably the last person that you wanna see.” He paused, swallowing hard as he gathered his composure and the strength to make eye contact with her. “But I just want you to know that I am so, so sorry. I know how you felt about him, and when I lost Jess, I –“
“Sam,” Riley interrupted, reaching out to take his hand in hers. He watched her warily, waiting for her reply as she stared down at her hand in his. It was so much larger than hers, her fingertips barely surpassing his knuckles; it reminded her of Dean’s. “I could never hate you. Never.” She smiled meekly up at him as tears cascaded down her cheeks again. “You’re all I have left,” she whispered.
Though it was evident in his tired eyes and broken expression, Riley didn’t have to look at Sam to see his pain. She could feel it. He blamed himself for what happened to Dean. He bore the guilt from Dean selling his soul for him, but he didn’t have to. His entire life, Dean’s only job was to protect Sam, and that’s exactly what he did.
Sam sighed in relief, intertwining his fingers with hers. He gently rested the back of her hand against his lips as he stared at the flickering flame. He couldn’t bear the thought of Riley ever hating him, because she was all he had left, too. Riley shifted closer and rested her head on Sam’s shoulder, softly stroking his arm with her opposite hand.
They could both feel Bobby’s heavy gaze on them as they sat together, drowning in each other’s sorrow, but in that moment, all they really had was each other. They knew that they’d be clinging to each other for support for the rest of their lives because that was the only way they’d make it through, mourning together.
But the real pain wasn’t knowing that Dean was gone. It was knowing that he was alone, suffering in the pits of Hell, that he’d traded one kind of pain for another. They say days are like years in Hell. When Dean had told Riley that, pleading with utter fear in his eyes, all she wanted to do was take on his pain and suffering for him so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. All she’d ever wanted to do was make him happy, but she failed at that, too.
Hours passed. Dean’s body had been completely reduced to ash, the flame extinguishing along with him. “Sammy,” Riley spoke into the darkness, “I know it might seem a bit… soon, I guess, but I think Dean would’ve wanted us to keep an eye on each other. To stay with each other no matter what.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “No, no. I think you’re right. I think Dean would’ve wanted us to stay with each other, too.” That was all Riley needed to hear. So long as Sam was with her, the pain of losing Dean wouldn’t cut quite as deep, and she found a strange sort of solace in that.
She closed her eyes and smiled as she felt Sam’s shoulders rise and fall with his every breath, hearing his faint heartbeat beneath his skin. Sam and Dean were brothers. Their blood was one in the same, and as long as Riley was with Sam, she could keep a part of Dean alive in her, too.
The scent of charred flesh and hair set her mind reeling, her stomach churning. She’d had a year to prepare herself for this day, but not even a million years would have been enough. Riley shifted her empty stare from the fire to her lap where her frail hands rested, bloodstained. The very sight made her sick, the distinct odor of iron clouding her senses as she remembered hovering over him.
Riley sighed deeply, closing her eyes. She hugged Dean’s worn leather jacket tighter around her body, his aftershave and whiskey exuding from the material. She tried. She really had. For a year, she waged war with the feelings she’d developed for Dean because she knew that nothing would ever become of them. Nothing ever could.
She hated herself for loving him as much as she did. He kept her at a distance, shut her out and pretended like everything was going to be okay when he knew that it was only a matter of time before he shattered her entire world, and she let him. There is no future for me, he’d said. My time is up, Riley, so quit wasting yours on me.
How easy it would’ve been to do just that, to walk away and pretend as if Dean had never existed, but that wasn’t what Riley wanted. She wanted Dean. All of him: the good, the bad - everything. She didn’t want perfection; she never had. Her future was with Dean, and if he wasn’t meant to have one, then neither was she.
Heavy footsteps rustled in the grass behind her, halting at her side. She gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, blotting her streaked mascara and eyeliner as Sam plopped onto the ground beside her.
In the dim lighting, she could see the bags beneath Sam’s puffy eyes. He glanced at his brother’s body disintegrating to ash for a fleeting second then focused on the grass beneath him, aimlessly pulling several blades from the soil.
“Listen,” Sam began, “I know you hate me right now, and I’m probably the last person that you wanna see.” He paused, swallowing hard as he gathered his composure and the strength to make eye contact with her. “But I just want you to know that I am so, so sorry. I know how you felt about him, and when I lost Jess, I –“
“Sam,” Riley interrupted, reaching out to take his hand in hers. He watched her warily, waiting for her reply as she stared down at her hand in his. It was so much larger than hers, her fingertips barely surpassing his knuckles; it reminded her of Dean’s. “I could never hate you. Never.” She smiled meekly up at him as tears cascaded down her cheeks again. “You’re all I have left,” she whispered.
Though it was evident in his tired eyes and broken expression, Riley didn’t have to look at Sam to see his pain. She could feel it. He blamed himself for what happened to Dean. He bore the guilt from Dean selling his soul for him, but he didn’t have to. His entire life, Dean’s only job was to protect Sam, and that’s exactly what he did.
Sam sighed in relief, intertwining his fingers with hers. He gently rested the back of her hand against his lips as he stared at the flickering flame. He couldn’t bear the thought of Riley ever hating him, because she was all he had left, too. Riley shifted closer and rested her head on Sam’s shoulder, softly stroking his arm with her opposite hand.
They could both feel Bobby’s heavy gaze on them as they sat together, drowning in each other’s sorrow, but in that moment, all they really had was each other. They knew that they’d be clinging to each other for support for the rest of their lives because that was the only way they’d make it through, mourning together.
But the real pain wasn’t knowing that Dean was gone. It was knowing that he was alone, suffering in the pits of Hell, that he’d traded one kind of pain for another. They say days are like years in Hell. When Dean had told Riley that, pleading with utter fear in his eyes, all she wanted to do was take on his pain and suffering for him so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. All she’d ever wanted to do was make him happy, but she failed at that, too.
Hours passed. Dean’s body had been completely reduced to ash, the flame extinguishing along with him. “Sammy,” Riley spoke into the darkness, “I know it might seem a bit… soon, I guess, but I think Dean would’ve wanted us to keep an eye on each other. To stay with each other no matter what.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “No, no. I think you’re right. I think Dean would’ve wanted us to stay with each other, too.” That was all Riley needed to hear. So long as Sam was with her, the pain of losing Dean wouldn’t cut quite as deep, and she found a strange sort of solace in that.
She closed her eyes and smiled as she felt Sam’s shoulders rise and fall with his every breath, hearing his faint heartbeat beneath his skin. Sam and Dean were brothers. Their blood was one in the same, and as long as Riley was with Sam, she could keep a part of Dean alive in her, too.