Chapter Text
Second Chance
By Waywardgirl222
My eyes are open wide
By the way
I made it through the day
I watch the world outside
By the way
I'm leaving out today
Second Chance by Shinedown
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“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
— The six most dreaded words in the English language and Dean Winchester has heard them all day long. He tries to smile. It comes out lopsided. He can’t seem to find the words to respond to that, so he smiles politely and nods his head as he ushers yet another family member or family friend into his modest house for his wife’s wake. His beloved wife Lisa had lost her battle with leukemia. Now Dean is left to raise their eleven year old son Ben all by his lonesome. Ben’s taking it very hard. Ben loved his mom so very much. Dean’s not totally alone. John and Mary Winchester, his parents, are there to help out in any way they can. John’s handing out beverages of the alcoholic kind while Mary busies herself serving her famous ‘Winchester Surprise’ casserole on pristine white plates to all the guests.
Everyone’s wearing black. It used to be Dean’s favorite color. Now he can’t stand it. There are flowers, sympathy cards, and prayer plants strewn throughout the living room. Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at another flower or plant in quite the same way again. The floral smell alone is overwhelming. Everyone’s shoving sympathy cards into his hands. He politely excuses himself, takes them, goes into his garage and dumps them into the laundry basket. He’s got a bottle of Jack hidden under a pile of clothes. He opens it and takes a long swig just to numb the pain. He can’t get away for too long.
He’s quickly startled when the door that leads to the kitchen opens.
“Honey, are you ok? Father Jim is here. He’s asking for you.”
Dean turns in the direction of his mother’s voice.
“Uh, yeah, mom. I’ll be right there. Just, just had to get away for a bit. Sorry.”
Mary smiles at him. Dean doesn’t want her pity, although right now he could literally burst into tears. His lower lip trembles as a lone tear dribbles down his cheek.
“Oh, honey, I know…”
Mary walks over to him and hugs him. No, no, she doesn’t know. She still has her spouse. How can she say something like that? He doesn’t argue with her though. He doesn’t have the energy to argue about anything right now. He hugs her back and kisses her forehead.
“Just, just tell him I’ll be right there. I just need a minute to get my shit together.”
Mary smiles at him again. She doesn’t get after him for swearing like she usually does.
“I’ll tell him you’ll be there in a moment.”
She turns to leave and then turns once more to look back at him.
“Remember, Dean, angels are watching over you.”
Dean scoffs. He doesn’t mean to. It’s just that at this very moment, it doesn’t feel like angels or any other heavenly feathered being gives a crap about his unimportant little life right now. He’s not even sure there’s a God or why he would want this kind of suffering to even exist.
“Sure, mom. Thanks.”
“You take your time, sweetheart. I’ll get John to ply him with some good ole Irish whiskey. There’s no way he’s turning that down. Just don’t take too long.”
Dean smiles at Mary.
“I won’t.”
Mary leaves and Dean expels a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes another long swig of Jack and dries his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks at his gold wedding band and wants to cry again.
“Dammit! Suck it up, Winchester! Get a grip.”
He caps the liquor bottle and puts it back under the pile of clothes. Then he puts on a brave face and opens the door that leads into the kitchen. Time to face the music.
Father Jim is sitting in the living room on the comfy brown leather couch. He’s munching on cocktail sausages with a wide brimmed glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey. He looks up and sees Dean approaching. He stands up quickly, swallows the last remnants of cocktail sausage and gulps the Irish whiskey down faster than a sailor on shore leave.
“Dean, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Dean grimaces.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Dean swallows hard and points to the sliding glass door between the kitchen and the dining room. Father Jim gets up and follows Dean. Dean opens the sliding glass door and walks out to the concrete patio slab outside. He looks at the sad state of his backyard. He hasn’t been able to cut the yard properly since Lisa took a turn for the worse. It really irks him, just another failure in a long list of failures.
“Sorry about the backyard. It looks like crap. Haven’t been maintaining it as well as I should.”
Father Jim doesn’t seem to notice the scraggly grass or the weeds interspersed within it.
“Don’t worry about it my son. It’s the least of your problems. I just wanted to touch base with you. I didn’t have time to speak with you at Lisa’s funeral mass or at the gravesite. I hope you were ok with the readings I chose.”
Dean bites his lower lip. Truthfully, he wasn’t listening to all the readings. He wasn’t paying attention at all. He knows there were at least three of them. Then, he remembers one of them.
“Uh, the Timothy 4:7 one was good. The one about fighting the good fight and finishing the race and keeping the faith… that, that was awesome.”
Father Jim nods his head approvingly.
“Yes. Yes, that’s one of my favorites. I tried to pick scripture readings that Lisa and your family would approve of. Lisa was one of Salvation of the Lord’s most pious parishioners. She will be sorely missed. Now it’s time for you, my son to continue the good fight, finish the race and keep the faith.”
Dean doesn’t know why that last statement irks him so, but it does. Lisa was a good woman. She was in a league of her own. Dean didn’t deserve her. He was lucky she picked him in the first place. She had given him a beautiful son, a family to belong to. And now, now she was gone and Dean was a boat left to drift in a bottomless sea of sadness without an oar or direction. He had lost his compass, his true North. Dean wasn’t ready to fight the good fight. He wasn’t ready to finish whatever damned race he was in. And, he wasn’t even sure he had faith to begin with.
“Don’t you worry about me. Lisa was a saint. You don’t know anything about me. I’ve got a rap sheet of sins so long it’d take you hours to unravel so spare me the pity. I’ll be lucky if I get to live another day without her so cut the crap!”
Father Jim gulps. His eyes looked left then right, trying to find the nearest exit route.
“Well, I want you to know that I’ll be praying for you and your family. Salvation of the Lord Church has grieving and consoling sessions every Thursday. You’re most welcome to come if that’s something you’d be interested in. Our doors are always open to you and your family, especially Ben.”
Dean takes a deep breathe. He never meant to sound like a dick even though he probably sounded like a dick. He was just in so much pain that he couldn’t control himself.
“Yeah, well…. I might consider joining someday. We’ll see.”
Father Jim just nods his head and fumbles for the handle of the sliding glass door as he leaves.
Dean staggers towards three green floral lawn chairs and plunks down on the first one, his. He places his heavy head in his hands and weeps. He wasn’t much for bible readings and he didn’t have a lot of them memorized, but he remembers the shortest Bible verse - John 11:35… “Jesus wept.”
It’s gonna be a hard life from now on.
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