Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #94: It Should Be You (Pt. 2)

Imagine: After the events of the first chapter, its time to perform Charlie's funeral.

Age: 18

Warnings: language, angst, maybe mental abuse depending on how sensitive to triggers you might be, brief suicidal thoughts, homosexuality

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     Why is it so hard to say the things you want to say?

     Why is it so hard to speak your mind?

     Why does it have to hurt so much?

_*_

     My face was stoic, staring ahead of me blankly as I raised an axe over my head and brought it down upon a log, severing it into smaller pieces smoothly, my anger and sadness fueling my strength as I hoisted the log over my shoulder and followed behind Dean toward the pyre. Sam passed me, looking at me with sympathetically pathetic eyes, but I refused to meet his gaze. I feared that if I did, I might break entirely.

     Dean propped his log against the pyre and I finished it out with my own, stepping back with a deep breath. No words had been said for hours, and the next time I spoke, rejecting Dean as he made for the bunker to retrieve her body, my voice was wildly hoarse and scratchy.

     "No," I almost snapped as he stepped toward the bunker, and without looking to me he stopped, his gaze hard, "I'm doing it."

     "You shouldn't get to--" He began angrily, but with a sharp shake of my head I silenced him.

     "I don't care," I interrupted, the crack of my voice nearly sending him to hysterics, "--I loved her."

     I walked away before giving him the chance to look surprised or ask me what I meant, and with a heavy sniff he turned and took his place next to Sam, pulling a bottle of lighter fluid from his pocket and dousing the pyre with stiff movements. Sam pursed his lips together, wanting nothing more than to clap his brother on the back and tell him he was sorry, but he held his tongue and the woods remained silent.

     I returned a few moments later, holding her sheet-wrapped body in my hands with quiet tears sneaking down both cheeks. However, despite the tears, my face remained stone and still, anger etched across it like a painting as I walked forward. She felt so light in my arms, and I wanted to do nothing except disappear away and bang my head against a wall until I couldn't feel anymore.

     I wordlessly lifted her onto the pyre, devastated by how easily the action came to me, stepping back to stand between my brothers. Sam nudged me, but didn't look at me. Lucky for him, I wouldn't have had it in me to make eye contact anyway.

     I pulled my lighter from my pocket and flicked it open, lighting it and watching the flame delicately burn the tip of my thumb, the pain barely touching me.

     "I'm sorry, Charlie." I whispered, tossing the lighter onto the pyre and watching it go up in flames, flames that danced so happily in the early morning sky, as if nothing bad had ever happened to them. And in that moment I wanted nothing more than to be able to say the same as tears dripped down my cheeks and I cleared my throat, "You deserved better than this. I know that now. And if I had the chance, I think you know I'd put myself in your place in an instant--"