Sammy

6. Salt Water Confessions

"What the hell are you talking about?!  That isn't possible; he's dead Dean!"  Bobby sputtered out after a long few seconds of silence.  Dean let him go on about how no one had found anything on Sam after he disappeared and all they had as evidence were traces of sulfur.  According to Bobby, there was no way that Sam could still be out there.

"Could you hear me out for a second?  That girl, Melody, said she saw Sam about a year ago and even though he wasn't in too great of condition, he was alive.  After all this time, all these years believing he was dead with no evidence other than a missing person and some sulfur, don't you want to believe that he's still out there?"

"I do, Dean, and it's a nice idea, but there's so little to go on.  One story from one girl who's most likely-"

"Don't you dare say anything against her," Dean whispered through gritted teeth.  "Yeah, she's had it rough and I don't even want to know what's running around in her head, but she's the best lead I've got and that we've ever got on this case."

"You never stopped looking, did you?  Even after you believed he was dead some part of you kept right on lookin'."

"He's my brother Bobby and I had to protect him.  I screwed up and my conscience's been looking for a reconciliation ever since.  Sure I thought he was dead, but my damn guilt needed for him to be alive so I wouldn't have to feel like I had failed every single day of my life."  Tears were starting to gather in Dean's eyes and he tried to wipe them away, but it was too late.  Thick rivers of tears ran down his face with uncontrollable force.  Bobby pulled Dean into a hug and he continued to cry all over Bobby's flannel.  Years of stockpiled grief, worry, guilt, tension, fear, and a thousand other emotions poured out of him in a torrent of salty water.  

Once Dean's breathing evened out and he had wormed his way out of Bobby's arms, he tried to continue the conversation, but Bobby wouldn't let him.

"You need rest Dean and believe me, all of this can wait just a little longer.  You should go check on Melody too.  This is all new to her and she'll need all the comfort she can get."

"She barely knows me Bobby," Dean whimpered, "how am I comfort to her?"

"You're someone she knows in a new situation, that's a good start."  Dean nodded, tears still welling in his eyes, and went up the stairs.

When he entered his room, he found Melody reading one of the more thick volumes of a half-set of  World Book encyclopedias.  She didn't even look up until he closed the door.  Immediately she closed the book and sat very still on Dean's bed, like a young fawn caught in the headlights of a speeding semi-truck.  Her helpless expression and the slight sinking of her shoulders set Dean over the edge once more.  How was supposed to be comfort to a girl who feared him for no logical reason?  How was he supposed to function knowing Sam was alive, but may not be still?  These thoughts too poured out of him in liquid form.  Through the haze of his tears, he could see Melody freeze up before lifting her hands in small movements, obviously unsure about what to do.  

"I'm sorry Melody," Dean said thickly, voice just teetering on the edge of cracking.  She looked at him oddly before moving off the bed.  Dean laid down as soon as he could, allowing himself to be young again and let the warm tears roll down his cheeks unobstructed by his calloused hands.  He felt terrible for breaking down in front of Melody when she needed him, but even more so when he noticed her soft whimpers piercing his silent meltdown.  He lifted his head up and saw Melody shaking and curled up in the corner by the door.  On instinct, Dean wiped his own tears and went over to her.  

Melody was covered in salty tears and, per usual, shied away from Dean's efforts to console her.  Dean sighed and sat down beside her.  

"I know that you're scared, but I can't say I know how you feel.  You've gone through so much, too much, for a girl your age.  I'm sorry that I can't help you, but I really want to.  I will never try to hurt you and you need to know that.  I'm not going to use you for anything, I swear.  I just need you to let me in.  Tell me how I can help you."

Melody's POV

"Tell me how I can help you."  With those words I looked up at Dean.  Tears were shining in his eyes, but there was something else there too.  Something good and right; something I hadn't seen in a long time.  Why should I trust him though?  What makes him different from the others?  Just because he's Dean Winchester doesn't mean he's going to this perfect savior I envisioned and was told to hope for.  They all made promises and I can count on one hand the number of times they were kept.  One promised to save me, he didn't.  One promised to heal me after the hunts, she didn't.  A group once promised to protect me, they didn't.  Some played angel, but they always turned out to be the devil.  The only promises kept were ones of pain, suffering, and the occasional near-death experience.  But there was still something in those green eyes, something that said 'I know pain' or maybe 'I will protect you'.  Whatever it was, I chose to believe it and allowed myself to fall against him.

He didn't know what to do at first, but soon enough he pulled me into his arms.  He had a very strong and protective hold, despite years of never having a small child to comfort.  I suppose that's what I was at the moment, a young girl less than half my age curled up and crying into the arms of a strange man.  I had little to care about it though, mostly because he was also crying onto me.  There's something about mutual crying that opens a gateway of trust I guess.

Dean's POV

We sat on the floor for what felt like hours, even after the tears subsided.  I looked down at Melody, who was now asleep and leaning her head against my chest.  I let a small smile cross my face before lifting her up.  She was still as light as yesterday, which was worrying in and of itself, but now for some reason I could feel how small she was.  Maybe I was too tired or lost in thought last night to notice how sharp her ribcage was, or how her legs felt no thicker than a porcelain doll's.

I set her down on my bed and draped an old comforter over her.  She looked so peaceful in her sleep, even if her thin face still showed the residue of tears.  I brushed the hair out of her face before going downstairs.  I made up a bed on Bobby's couch and quickly fell into a deep sleep, all the while wondering what could be waiting around the corner of tomorrow.

So, how was that?  Too much crying?  I'd really like to know what y'all think of this, since it is my first fanfiction.  Chill 'til the next episode-Stella