Don't Go Eating My Heart

Carry on My Wayward Son

Their footsteps had long since receded before Dean finally moved. He hobbled over to a nearby rock and took a seat facing the grave that was 5 feet away. He took a deep breath in, allowing his lungs to expand as they filled with the brisk mountain air that surrounded him. When he opened his green eyes, they were already focused on the grave.

"So..." He began, but immediately gaze moved to stare off into the woods, muttering under his breath. "This is so stupid."

He couldn't talk to her, not yet. He could still feel his body screaming her name as he saw her collapse to the ground. And now, now she was gone and he was sitting on a rock at her funeral.

He took the container out of the plastic bag, along with two plastic forks. He stared through the clear plastic to the pie that laid within, a sigh escaping him. The extra fork was tossed next to the flowers on her grave before he took his own and loaded it with a bit of pie.

He spoke quietly, with the conviction of giving a toast. "To the apple pie life."

The pie was eaten in silence, and once it was gone, Dean grabbed his crutches and made his way back to the cabin.

That was 4 weeks ago. The world kept spinning, monsters kept killing, and the pain kept being avoided. Every day, Dean went to Marley's grave, considering it was that or the Spanish soap opera that Bobby was concerningly invested in, it wasn't that odd. Spending all that time staring at a pile of dirt, it became apparent to Dean that perhaps he could talk to Marley just to give himself something to do. It surprised him how much he liked it— after he stopped telling himself it was stupid of course. As the days turned into weeks, he found himself talking to her more and more, and everything else... it was just exhausting.

As soon as his cast had come off, Sam was dragging him on a case, in what he supposed was an attempt to keep his mind busy. It felt like he was drowning, going through the motions in an attempt to tread water and keep himself afloat. Sam was hopping from one clue to the next, already having a foot out the door as soon as their research question was answered. Part way through the case, Dean took a detour to a bar just to give himself a moment to try a breath. His mind couldn't stop picturing Marley with them- what sarcastic quip she would say, the look she would share with him behind Sam's back, how she'd bump his shoulder in passing as she made fun of him for something idiotic that he'd done. And he kept forgetting she wasn't there. He'd ordered another bacon cheeseburger without thinking about it and it wasn't until it was placed on the table that he realized there wasn't a third person there to eat it.

Sam had tried talking to him about it, but he kept brushing him off, saying he was fine and just needed time. He knew his older brother better than that, but there wasn't anything he could do besides just being there for him. He could see the way Dean looked ready to give up at a moments notice, and how he was living for just the next second and would then reevaluate how he felt about continuing. He also saw how he kept looking for Marley, a joke on his tongue that would never enter the world once he realized she wasn't there.

This was a different kind of pain than Sam had ever seen his brother in before. When their dad had died, Dean had become angry and dangerous to the world, but it was because he blamed himself and needed somewhere else to direct his anger. He'd seen the weight that crushed Dean as they lost countless friends to the point where Dean was ready to give up or do a kamikaze suicide run depending on the day. But this was different. He was still Dean, but it was like he'd lost his love of life. He went through the motions, barely keeping up with the minimum, and no longer caring to indulge himself in anything extra— it was too much effort. He'd get up, maybe eat some food, do the job, and drink a lotta beer. Sam kept him on track the best he could, but it was like keeping someone unconscious afloat in the middle of the ocean.