𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗥 , supernatural

[39] a little too late

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: A LITTLE TOO LATE
*TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide*
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NOTHING ELSE FELT REAL, after arriving home from the chaos of hell being unleashed. They all walked back into Bobby's without uttering a word, a deadly silence laid over them like a ticking time bomb. No one dared to touch it.

They knew that night all hell broke loose, hundreds of demons got out and are god knows where. Who knows how many people they'll kill, and who will be to blame? Them. Those reckless hunters who thought they were saving the world, and sure they can tell themselves they did save it—because inside of a hundred thousands they were only left with a couple hundred. Still—too many.

Yet, that wasn't even what clouded their minds. It wasn't the demons roaming free, or the blood shed they'd bring—it was a girl. A stubborn, reckless, funny...amazing...beautiful witch. Selene was gone, dead, walked into the pits of hell willingly.

That's what they all thought as they walked through the house that now suddenly felt empty, like a shell of a place that it used to be. A place that was so silent they could still hear her laughter, they could still feel her presence as if she was waiting around a corner.

That night—the night she died, the four of them walked into the house with their shoulders hung low. None of them looked at each other, especially Sam and Dean. Dean couldn't see the face of his younger brother, couldn't see the pain that was riddled across his face. Even in the Impala on the way over, when he heard Sam's silent cries—he didn't say a word.

For Dean, it wasn't like when he lost Sam. After he lost his brother, Dean was sad and angry all at once, he wanted revenge, he wanted to burn down everyone and everything in order to heal the pain that filled him. Yet with Selene, it was like he was just numb to it all.

There wasn't a thought in his mind, there wasn't a single emotion in his body. Maybe he'd feel better if he was angry, maybe he'd at least no what to do with himself yet he didn't. All he could do was ignore everyone, avoid Ellen and Bobby's attempts to touch him, ignore the glances.

All he could do was go inside and go straight towards the fridge, where he grabbed himself a pack of beers and went to his bedroom. Which was a mistake, because when he walked in—he found a bag on his bed. A bag that wasn't his, one that wasn't fully packed and seemed to be unfinished.

Placing the pack of beers on the dresser, Dean approached the bag as if it was a bomb—because he knew what it was. As he got closer, he reached for the clothes that were hanging out of it, grabbing the first thing he could as he felt the soft fabric of the shirt. When it pulled it out, he saw the scooby-doo logo on the front, a shirt he knew was Selene's favourite.

She really was going to leave him—them. Selene was in the middle of packing up her things, she almost got out, almost got away from all of this mess. Yet, she just had to save them, she just had to go and save them all.

Dean balled up the shirt in his fists, gripping it so tight his knuckles went white. He had a flash of images in his head, moments with Selene. Their arguments, their love, every time they hurt each other, every promise. It all came flooding back to him, as if he had been suppressing it this whole time, not allowing himself to truly feel it all until now.

That's when Dean threw the shirt to the other side of the room, grabbing the bag of everything she had and throwing it against the wall and hearing all sorts of things break on impact. There it was—the anger. The red hot anger.

He was so mad, so mad at her. Why did she have to do it? Why did she have to go and make him love her? Why did she have to go and fucking die?  Dean clenched his jaw tightly, to the point where it hurt in his head.