The Joys of Being a Winchester

Chapter 19

It was worse than having him be missing, the knowledge of his cruel fate infinitely more painful than the unknown. Jayde still felt the last of his warm touch, it was as if his ghost was still latching onto her body, his final breath looping like a phantom wind. It was torture.

The outside world must've reflected Jayde's feelings, either that or the weather itself was mourning the death of Sam Winchester. Looking out the window of the small building the three hunters refuged in, Jayde noticed the dark sky, rain pouring from the clouds that blocked all possible sunlight. The building's interior reflected grief as well, broken furniture strewn across the room and piled in the dim corners. Any lightbulb must've died years ago, the room only lit by the dim sunlight desperately trying to shine through the grey clouds. Everything was dark, dim, depressing, a pretty accurate reflection of the stereotypical heartbreak one experiences after losing a loved one. It was quite the opposite in fact, as Jayde had sped through the five stages of grief to know feel nothing, her personality drained to feel nothing but emptiness. It was similar to when she left Dean behind after Sam left for Stanford, the only exception being that that was easier, escaping from torment being her drive. It was worse now.

Dean was leaning against the doorframe, eyes refusing to move away from his brother's corpse. Jayde was alone in the larger room, crouched in the corner and letting the occasional ear fall freely. She hadn't made a sound in a long time, nor did she cry voluntarily; her own body seemed to realise that crying was the only thing worth doing anymore. Her legs were numb from being held together for hours on end, pins and needles occasionally pricking her arms when she shook slightly. It felt like an anxiety attack that had already lasted 6 hours, promising a shell-shocked future.

The door creaked open, the sound of feet shuffling and creaking against the wooden floorboards interrupting the cold silence.

"I brought you this back." Bobby called, lifting up a bucket of fried chicken, probably picked up from the closest fast food joint. Jayde looked up, tried a weak smile and took a piece when offered, not that she was going to eat it. She only took the food to reassure the old hunter, the precious smile he gave her making it easier to pretend she was OK. "Dean?" he asked, leaning in the doorway and holding out the bucket.

"No thanks, I'm fine." He muttered, glancing back for a moment but once again looking back at Sam's body, lying cold on an old mattress.

"You should eat something." Bobby fought the losing battle for Dean's sake, something Jayde admired in him even when he was grieving as well.

"I said I'm fine." Dean replied, finality in his tone and - to Jayde's surprise - he tore his eyes from Sam to the main room, facing her for a moment to see how she was doing. His expression was stone cold, it looked as if there was nothing left inside, nothing worth living for. She was only able to study him for a few seconds, her older brother now turning to grab the bottle of whiskey on the table and drink a large amount, Bobby watching him do so with worry lines etched across his face. It seemed that he thought best to ignore this, looking away and admiring the floor.

"Dean." His voice was calm and steadied, Jayde preparing herself for the wrecking ball Bobby was about to drive in Dean's walls. "I hate to bring this up, I really do." He continued. "But don't you think it's maybe time... we bury Sam?" Dean, who had been looking at the table came face to face with the old hunter, his statue expression now mingled with anger and disgust.

"No." Jayde could tell he was trying to put a lot of confidence in his denial, but she could hear the choke in his voice. He sat down, and tried to initiate eye contact from his sister and gain support, but she looked away again, fresh tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She didn't want to admit it either, but Sam was gone, he wasn't coming back.