I know there are other posts out there but they were so long ago, I figured I’d make a fresh post and all the vets out there can add other commentary. I saw Sam’s use of Gabs again today
Which reminded me of the ONLY time Cait ever used Gabs
And while I was not here at the time, it was obviously suggested that a certain someone took hold of Cait’s phone. I don’t know the circumstances of the day, but again, vets can add more info. Searching Sam’s twitter you see the use of Gabs in multiple. I screen shot some but not all
So anyway, thought I’d bring around the case of the Gabs since Sam continually uses that nickname and Cait used it the once.
Summary: Living without Dean is an unbearable endeavor.
Pairing: Dean x Female Reader
Warnings: ANGST, character death-no graphic detail
Word Count: 1,000😮 (Probably will never do that again.)
Title Card Credits: @tumbler-tidbits
Beta(s): Un-betaed, (😬first time for everything), but tear tested.😭😭😭
Author’s Notes: Based on the song evermore and the SPN finale. I am not a Taylor Swift fan, but the first time I heard the song, there was a visceral need to write a Dean-related fic. Listen while you read. I wrote this in one afternoon after listening to the song on repeat for about four hours the night before and literally crying when I woke up visualizing the story.
November
Months pass. Devastating sorrow lingers. The scene too vivid in her mind. The torment in her heart too painful. The hole in her soul too big to fill. A gut-punch in unsuspecting moments. A colorless world void of vibrant peridot eyes.
Roaming the bunker’s hallways like a ghost, she looks for him around every corner, listens for his voice echoing through the building, smells the cologne of motor oil, leather, and spice everywhere.
Sam had left with Miracle and the Impala days ago. She missed the lovable mutt but knew he was better off with Sam. She couldn’t take care of the dog. Hell, she can barely take care of herself.
They’d argued about Baby, though. That car was everything to Dean; one couldn’t be mentioned without thinking about the other, synonymous. Sam had never appreciated the black beauty the way that she and Dean had—seeing it as just a car. That is until Dean d-. Then, then, he saw it as something more—a token, a connection to the larger-than-life man that no longer existed in this life.
She’d finally let it go, exhausted from dealing with him, but had put her foot down regarding Dean’s other belongings—clothes, weapons, albums, the old record player. Finding a spell in the MOL archives, she’d ensured that no one could enter Dean’s room but her. Was it unfair to Sam? Maybe, but by that point, she didn’t care anymore. Dean had been taken from her, and she wasn’t about to let anyone, not even his brother, take more. She knew it wouldn’t bring Dean back, nothing would, according to Jack, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let go.
The old scaffolding groans beneath her weight, threatening to give way as she climbs higher. The wooden planks sigh under her feet as she leans against the brick. She stares disconsolately through the broken window of the dilapidated factory hiding the bunker below. The wind howls, ripping leaves from the trees. Dull, ugly shades of goldenrod, ochre, and walnut whip through the air and over the ground—drops of rain lash at her skin, the cold, harsh sting goes unnoticed. The only thing she feels is a pain so deep in her bones that she knows it will be there evermore.
December
Tiny crystals crunch beneath her feet. The path to their place hidden beneath soft white flakes and icy shards tinted blue. He’d brought her here the first time he told her he loved her. She’d found him here, heartbroken and crying after the loss of his mother. It’s where they came to escape everything the universe threw at them, even if for a brief moment. It’s where he proposed—painted a picture of a life without monsters, angels, or demons, free of the burden of saving the world and the almighty’s manipulation. A colorful, shining life full of freedom, happiness, and love.
Sitting on the fallen tree, she runs a hand over the space next to her. Face turning to the dull sky painted in greyscale, hot tears sear a trail over her cheeks. She’s lost, adrift in a vast ocean without him, tossed about on waves of misery threatening to drown her. She tries to recapture those fleeting moments of happiness, to break through the eternal sadness. Yet, every time she tries, the images distort and evanesce, like a reel of film disintegrating in a fire. The only scene to play out entirely is the one where she lost it all.
He doesn’t want her to live like this. He’s told her as much. Told her to move on and be happy. She’d tried… for him. It lasted a week. She contacted old friends, took an easy salt and burn a few towns over, and even went to dinner with Donna and Jody. It was all too much—too bright, too loud, too full of… life.
That’s why she comes here most days now. It’s peaceful, safe. She feels closest to him here. Can see him in the sun’s rays shining through the tangled tree limbs, hear his voice on the breeze, feel his presence in the thrum of the earth. Sometimes she’ll fall asleep for an hour or two. That’s when the dreams come. It’s the only place she can dream anymore. No nightmares reach her here. The feel of his touch lingers when she wakes, a thumb brushing over the back of her hand, a rough-skinned palm against her cheek, supple lips pressed to hers. The deep rasp of his voice an echo in her ear. Ethereal, but enough to get her through to the next day.
It’s snowing now. Inhaling the cool, crisp air deep into her lungs, she closes her eyes. The pain still there, always, evermore. A single tear slips beneath her lashes, and he gently thumbs it away, whispering into her ear, “Rest.”
It’s warm when she wakes. A soft gust of wind tousles the hair falling on her face. A shiver flutters through her as she pushes up to sit in the shade of the flowering Mountain Ash above her. It’s just like the one she pictured outside the cabin he had promised to build for her. Standing, she spins in place, the skirt of her sundress lifting in the breeze. When her eyes land on the wooden structure, her heart skips. It’s exactly as he described it. The grass is cool beneath her feet, tickling her soles. Skipping up the stairs and across the porch, she throws the door open. Floorboards creak beneath her steps as she races from room to room, ending up where she started. Chest tightening when she doesn’t find him.
A shadow blocks the sun streaming through the open door, and her breath catches. For a split second, she’s frozen in place, terrified that the slightest movement, the tiniest breath, will send it all up in a haze of smoke. The air shifts around her, and warm, rough-skinned hands rest on her shoulders.
Turning with a small cry, she breathes, “Dean.”
“Welcome home, baby.”
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