#550challenge

Song: 7 Years by Lukas Graham

Word count: 412

Characters: Sam, Dean, and Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, angst

Summary: You and Dean deal with Sam’s death and say goodbye for the last time.

Author’s note: This is for @percussiongirl2017’s challenge. I’m sorry that it’s short and late, but I haven’t been feeling well. Also tagging her other blog, @alwayskeepfightingmoose.

“Why did it have to be him?” Dean asked through gritted teeth. The two of you stood side by side, watching as flickering orange flames hungrily devoured Sam’s cloth-clad figure. While neither of you knew exactly how he’d died, it was clear that he wouldn’t be coming back this time.

“Sam died to protect us, Dean. At least give him that,” you mumbled quietly. In response, your older brother snorted.

“So, what, you think I should be glorifying Sam’s death? Is that what you think, Y/N? I’d never do that to him, or you for that matter.”

Silence swept over you both as the flames consumed Sam’s body completely. The fire finally died down, leaving no trace that a body had been on the burn pile at all. Dean motioned for you to follow him back to the Impala, and you climbed into the passenger seat, feeling the cold material beneath you.

The silence became unbearable as the car sat in its place, prompting your brother to turn on the radio. Memories came flooding back to you as you recognized the song that was playing. Dean was too caught up in the lyrics to turn the dial back to the classic rock station, listening to the gentle words as he allowed the tears to fall down his cheeks.

‘Once I was seven years old,

My mama told me,

Go make yourself some friends or you’ll be lonely,

Once I was seven years old’

“Sam,” the name fell from your lips as you cried, remembering when you had been seven. Now your twin brother was dead, and there was no way to get him back. You and Dean had both said your goodbyes for the final time.

As the song came to an end, you stole a glance at Dean to see that he was deep in thought. You  rested a warm, comforting hand on his arm. “What are you thinking about, Dean?” You dared to ask.

“Just that my baby brother never got to live his life the way he wanted to, and I’m so sorry, because I have to live the rest of mine knowing that it’s all because of me. It’s all my fault he never got to do what he wanted, go places, have a beautiful wife and children like he always dreamed…it’s all my fault,” Dean cried, but you couldn’t think of anything to say to comfort him.