"Dude, what is that?”
Dean glanced at his little brother before turning his eyes back to the snowy road. “What?”
"That weird… clinking sound. It’s been bugging me ever since you turned the heat on." Sam shifted in the bench seat, his long legs seeming awkward in the confined space. Dean found…
Tell him that I did it all for him.
Tell him that I’d kill and maim and torture and set fires again and again for him, that I’d do it all over again, Hell and all, Satan and fucking all, if I could spare him any of it.
Tell him I only saved the world ‘cause he was part of it.
If he asks why I had to die, give him any one of the thousand reasons why I had to live.
It’s easy; they all start and end with Dean.
Tell him it’s because every day since I was born, (every day since I was reborn, life’s been nothing but him falling open and me falling in.
Tell him it’s because he’s the love of my life; he’ll want to punch you. Let him.
But tell him it’s true, it’s my only truth, and that I held on to it like a lifeline till the very last precipice, till my last and final fall.
Don’t tell him that I’d screamed out his name till it got carved onto the ceiling.
If he happens to see it, tell him I needed something solid and unmistakable to hold onto. All I had was a name.
Tell him not to cry. He’ll punch you again, and I’m sorry.
Tell him to rip the inside of my duffel, he’ll find something he’d lost. Tell him to put it on and never take it off again, Sam’s orders.
Tell him that I really do love him—he’ll scoff, but keep talking over it anyway. Tell him that I loved him when he was making me a bottle, when he was breaking my bones, when he was saving me and driving me and trying his damnedest not to hunt me.
Tell him that I love him most of all when he’s alive.
And tell him that I’d never once stopped. Never once stopped, Dean.
It’s always been him. Not mom or dad, not Bobby, Cas, or Jess. I was made for him, plainly and solely. Not a shred of doubt or regret had crept into any of it.
But don’t tell him that. It was a drunken confession once and the thought that he would always eclipse Dad and the universe at large ungrounded him so thoroughly he forgot for a while which should go beneath him, ceiling or floor.
Do tell him that I know he’ll miss me, and that it’s okay. Tell him that I miss him all the time: whether dead or right next to him; and this time can’t be the worst.
Tell him that wherever I go now, it’s not Hell that will ruin me. It’s that I could end up in Heaven, waiting out the eternity, trying to find my brother, trying to go home.
I’d give up all the Heavens if it would bring me back to him; safe, shotgun, and sound.
But I’m never going to be sound again. So, no, maybe don’t tell him that.
Maybe don’t tell him any of it.
Please, just pass on one thing for me, just this one thing.
Tell him I said—tell him Sammy said: “later, bro.”
He’ll know what it means.
The Ink Chronicles.
A 6 page J2 comic drawn for Spn J2 Xmas Exchange on Live Journal (present for Tebtosca). If you want to see the rest of the comic, go to LIVE JOURNAL. Thank you!
Une version française est également disponible sur LJ. Oui, oui, oui ^^