interlude
summary: some things happened, some things will happen
a/n: this is a very short blurb for redamancy, just as I step into writing for season two. suggestions and ideas are always welcome, loves.
Halloween
"Trust me, this is the last thing I want to do..."
You hate the little leather bound file thingy he has. This forces your eyes to meet his. His eyes are hazel. Mostly. They're almost green when he tilts his head to the right. Your gaze trails over his face. A slightly crooked nose, in a way that's natural, not like the ones that were so by being broken time and time again. Not like him. You wish your hair looked like—
"Are you not listening?"
"Yes." You blink twice, mulling his words over. "No. Crap— Sorry, Sam."
"No, it's alright." He waves his long fingers, dimissively. "This... This is too much for anyone."
You tug your cardigan closer. You've been pulling at it so much that you're sure you've ruined it. The tiny cats at the end of the sleeves look like they're staring upside down at you. "I.. I don't know what I'm doing here actually. I thought... The funeral was the last— Uhm."
It's not only you eyes that are blurry. "Yeah."
"I don't deserve to be here, Sam. We— I broke up with him. That day." You drag both your hands down your face, the edge of your ring scratching your skin. "I— I told him—"
"I know." Sam nods, the empath in him outshinig despite the hint of betrayal in his eyes. "He told me."
You shake your head, your resolve to meet him dissolving very fast. "Why am I here then? You know I shouldn't be here."
"I'm here—" He pauses, swallowing as if coals were searing in his mouth, "—as the executor of my brother's will."
"What's there to execute?" You shrug yor shoulders back. "Everything goes to Millie."
"That's true." He sighs, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. "But... There's one more thing."
You pick the skin on your wrist when he doesn't answer. "Please tell me he left me his car. I love that thing."
"Nope. You're not that lucky " He laughs, the sound grating through his heavy chest. "You know, he used to say that he'd haunt me if I changed anything. I think I should try."
"Sam." You reach out and take the hand resting in the black leather. "He's haunting us already."
There's this moment of terse silence where you think he might disagree on the 'us' part. But he doesn't. He just retracts his hand.
You do the same after a second's pause. "You said he left me something?"
"Something?!" Your name comes out as a soft scoff, but it's all the contempt Sam Winchester can spare for an old friend. "He left you everything."
Christmas Eve
Hey, this is Frank. I'm probably working, so, yeah, leave a message.
"Frank?"
"Uhm. You're probably celebrating Christmas. Tell the family my wishes... I think?"
"Okay. Guess I'm doing this. Okay."
"Look, I know that what we did? Was a mistake. Hard agree. You need to be with Abby and I'm... I'm well, me."
"And yeah, I'll say it. I'm not good. I'm nowhere near good. This is all so stupid. I'm stupid. You're stupid. Everything's just—"
"— shit..."
"You know, I— I care about you anyway, right?"
"Okay, uhm... I need you to call me, Frank. You need to know this. It's a decision I made but... You need to know this."
"Just call me back, Bluey."
New Year's Eve
It's stupid. It's so stupid.
He shouldn't have opened that fucking message. He should've deleted it the moment it came in. It was like another one of his hits, right? He wanted to see how much he could resist.
And Frank had lasted barely a week. Six days, twenty-one hours.
You sounded so... exhausted.
Were you okay? What was so important that after two months of avoiding him, you had finally left a message?
What was this thing you needed him for?
Because you surely weren't there when he needed it.
He gets up so sharply that the ache in his back spreads to his stomach, his chest... it's just... it's everywhere.
The vial still rested hidden in that navy sock with ducklings printed. It was the easiest thing in the world right now.
He wasn't going to answer you. You didn't need him. You had other people. You needed him to know something.
That he was the worst thing that happened to you?
The vial is within his reach but he recoils. His arms wrap around himself to suppress the sobs that come breaking through.
This is not about you. It can't be. It has to be about him. What he needs.
And what Frank Langdon needs is whatever help he could get.
the beautiful dividers by @uzmacchiato