Author: callmeadreamer @ october_thunder
Prompt: Earth (#53)
Fandoms: One Tree Hill/Supernatural
Claim/Pairing: Dean/Haley (Sam/Peyton make an appearance)
Disclaimer: Unless otherwise noted, I own nothing nor am I gaining any sort of profit from the use of these characters.
Progress: 4 of 100 (table)
ACK! So, I lied again. I kinda feel like the POV I’ve been using helps get the emotions across more, which for this chapter, is needed.
March 4, 1989 – October 31, 2006
Beloved daughter and friend.
May God envelope thee and welcome.
You don’t understand why cemeteries have to be so cold. Maybe it’s the rows of stone or the open space for the breeze, but it is the ultimate cliché that every movie or television show makes it out to be. The Earth is cold and hard beneath your knees as you stare unblinkingly at her headstone. She died on her favorite holiday. She died at the hands of something inhuman. It was supposed to be you. It was supposed to be you all along, but she came by to try and reconcile after she slept with your boyfriend in yours and his bed.You were the one that was supposed to be pinned to the ceiling, fire licking your body as you screamed for God to help you. Never her.
The grass crunches as someone approaches. You turn in hope that he’s came for you, but you’re disappointed slightly to see Sam and Peyton standing there, fingers twined together as they smile sadly down at you. Peyton bends forward and wraps her arms around your shoulders in an awkward hug given the position, she whispers soothing words in your ear as her hand runs across your hair. As she pulls away, she presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then you feel a strong hand grasp your shoulder in an attempt to be supportive and elicit some form of a response from you. You don’t grant it. It’s your fault she’s dead.
Peyton lays down the fire lilies she brought next to the white rose Lucas left, Rachel’s orchid, the pink carnations Bevin and Skills had shown up with, and the red roses Mouth dropped off. You didn’t bring flowers. And as everyone said hello to you and filed out after a few words, and goodbyes, you couldn’t help but notice that Nathan never even had an assistant drop something off. Guess he was too big time in the NBA to remember the anniversary of his past trysts death. You’re startled slightly from the bitter thoughts as Peyton’s hand enters your vision where you’d glued it to her name; she presses her shaky fingers against the cold marker over Brooke’s name. Despite everything that Brooke did that hurt you, and Peyton too, they were still best friends at one point. It’s hard to forget that history, especially when the shell of the person’s lying beneath you.
They’re speaking to you, but you don’t even look at them. They’re saying the same thing they say every time you feel guilty, same thing they said last year. It wasn’t your fault. But it was. It is. Dean’s tried to siphon the blame off on him, and Sam, and the whole Winchester family. But it wasn’t any of them. It was supposed to be you. Damien wanted to distract Dean and Sam from his trail long enough to get Taylor to finish his bidding. He thought by killing you the same way Mary and Jessica were killed, it’d focus Dean and Sam on the yellow eyed demon. He succeeded. Then killed Taylor in the end too.
You don’t know how long you sit there, the earth soiling your pants and the moisture seeping through the material to dampen your knees. The next thing you know, there’s a chill in the air as the clouds pass over the sun, and you can tell from growing up in the town that it’s evening already. You know without looking that Peyton and Sam are long gone. Probably on a plane already. So when you rear back on your feet into a standing position, dusting off your pants, you know it’s him.
He comes to stand next to you, and you don’t look at him as you continue to stare at her name. He doesn’t say anything or move an inch. You’re glad, ‘cause yelling at him in the middle of a cemetery might unhinge you and disturb those that ought not be disturbed.
The sun’s gone, and it’s cold. His hand became wrapped around yours not long after he showed up, his thumb brushing along your knuckles every now and then. That was the only movement either of you made, words left unspoken between the action. Because you know that if either of you speak, he’ll have to leave sooner then he would if you stayed like this. And you know he’ll leave again. So holding his hand makes you feel like for a moment, things can be okay. Even if you are standing over a grave, and he’ll be gone in an hour.
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