"Domain
of the Beloved" by Tidia
ABSENCE
Every night I
scan
the heavens
with my eyes
seeking the
star
that you are
contemplating.
I question
travelers
from the four
corners of the earth
hoping to meet
one
who has
breathed your fragrance
When the wind
blows
I make sure it
blows in my face:
The breeze
might bring me
news of you.
I wander over
roads
without aim,
without purpose.
Perhaps a song
will sound
your name.
Secretly I
study
every face I
see
hoping against
hope
to glimpse a
trace of your beauty
Abu Bake
al-Turtushi
(1029-1126)
Epilogue
5 months
later
Dean had
pulled over to allow his brother some privacy. The older
They were on a
highway in
It was a warm
fall day. Dean took off his flannel shirt. His t-shirt provided enough
comfort.
He laid on the hood of the Impala soaking up some sun. The warmth set
into his
exposed arms first, and then covered his jeans and shirt like a
blanket. He
allowed himself to drift and relax. He was still alert enough to hear
his
brother return to the car. "Was that Sarah?" Dean asked enunciating
her name in a sing-song. Not receiving a reply, he turned his head to
study his
brother. "I know it was. You have that goofy look on your face. On the
other hand you always have that goofy look on your face." Dean smiled.
He
enjoyed teasing his brother, if not then seriousness would embody their
lives.
"Bitch,"
Sam huffed. "You're just jealous."
"For
phone sex- not so much." Dean pulled himself up to a sitting position
and
swung his legs over the edge of the Chevy.
"How much
are those 900 numbers? Like $5 a minute?" The younger
Dean rolled
his eyes, giving him time to think of retort. "Rigghhtt, whatever you
need
to believe to make yourself feel like a man." The older hunter looked
off
into the distance. This was one of those perfect moments—a warm day, a
shiny
car and sharing the fun with his brother.
Sam laughed,
fed by the feeling of camaraderie. "When was the last time you heard from Cassie?"
Dean was
stunned. His hand went lightly to his chest as if he had received the
jolt of
electricity all over again. The wound seeped, reminding him there was
still a
heaviness of sadness in the recesses of his soul. He probed further,
and his
heart was sealed up, letting another in would not happen again. There
was
solace, since coming by love on a hunt would be difficult.
Up until two
months ago Dean listened to her voice mail on a daily basis, until the
cell
phone company shut it off. The photo was in his duffle bag in the
zippered side
pocket. He was defying death, listening to her voice mail message. Her
husky
voice helped him to endure the day. The photo was etched into his mind.
He
looked for reminders of her facial features in people, and found
nothing. He
bore it all in secret.
He swore he
would never tell his brother the truth: Dean had been inducted into the
"Cassie's
dead."
"Not
funny, Dean," Sam looked horrified, and raised his voice. "If you
guys are fighting or she's found someone else. . ." The younger
Winchester
took a step back from the car. "You're sick, Dean, sick." The words
were clipped and staccato, showing his brother's anger.
Sam was
disgusted with his brother. The younger Winchester had experienced the
death of
his Jessica. He assumed his brother's joke was beyond insensitive. It
was cruel
and showed a lack of integrity. Dean realized he had played the game
too well.
He had successfully hidden the truth. His motto was: Believe the worse
and be
surprised when anything else happens. So, he wasn't taken aback by
Sam's
revulsion.
The older
hunter closed his eyes, wishing it was all true. He wished that he and
Cassie
were fighting. Another man would be a blessing. But Cassie had been
cursed
because of her connection to Dean Winchester. He thought about letting
Sam
think the worse about him. Then Cassie would be alive. However,
something in
his composure revealed him.
"God,
Dean, I'm sorry. When did it happen?"
Sam faded
before him as he was caught in the lure of memories. He simplified his
answers,
distinguishing them from the swirling soliloquy in his mind. "Back in
Dumas."
Sam nodded.
"How?"
The older
Winchester kept silent. The Demon penetrated their entire existence,
flagrant
in its attacks on the Winchester family. By telling Sam the truth he
would be
empowering the evil. "Does it really matter?"
"No."
Sam shook his head. "I never wished this on you. . ." He grabbed his
brother's forearm, binding them together-in blood and ill fate.
The air
smelled clean and dry. Reports had indicated there was already snowfall
in the
mountains. The brown, acrid dirt stayed listless. Dean knew his brother
wasn't
malevolent. He had never considered that Sam wanted the brothers to
have a
stronger kinship and be tied by lost love. The younger Winchester's
guilt was
escaping and the trickle would be a waterfall soon enough unless Dean
stopped
it.
"Sam get
in the car." The dark haired hunter would apologize for the stupid
remarks
in Dumas, for his comments a minute ago and for not giving Dean more
time with
Cassie. Dean lifted a hand to halt his brother's internal litany before
he
could voice it.
"Sam get in the car." Dean hopped
off the
Impala, but Sam held his forearm grip firm. The older hunter returned
the grasp
with a watery smile.
"Sammy,
maybe when I am good and drunk we'll talk about it, but right now
you're going
to say how it's your fault." The younger man opened his mouth to
contradict his brother. Dean shook his head. "And I'm going to have to
hit
you." Dean tightened the grip, pulled his brother forward and off
balance.
He placed his other hand on Sam's shoulder, his head close to his
brother's
left ear. "I don't want to hurt you little brother." He said in a low
voice.
Sam patted his
brother's back and gave out a choked laugh. "Whatever you say, Dean."
The blond
hunter loosened his grip, and walked over to the driver's side of the
Impala.
He rested his hands on the hood of the car. "Get in the car, Sam."
His brother's burden was eased. Dean's guilt remained. Guilt was his
domain,
and he would endure it.
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