I go up through the mowing field,

The headless aftermath,

Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,

Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,

The whir of sober birds

Up from the tangle of withered weeds

Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,

But a leaf that lingered brown,

Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,

Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth

By picking the faded blue

Of the last remaining aster flower

To carry again to you.

-A Late Walk by Robert Frost

000

When the Aster Flowers Bloom

Sam stood before the gray headstone of the grave—her grave. He hadn't seen it since the funeral a few days ago.

He swallowed, throat tight with tears that were floating too close under the surface.

Sam wanted to cry.

Even after a week, he still hadn't broken down—and that had surprised himself. But he just hadn't been able to let go. Because giving in and grieving, means she's really gone. Forever.

But the pressure in his head and chest were mounting. Every day it felt like there was less room for his lungs to expand, for his heart to beat.

And even he knew he couldn't go on like this. If he wanted to find Jessica's killer he had to be sharp and focused. And his brother needed him, needed him to watch his back.

So, he stood there, watching the grey headstone of the girl he loved so much.

The hot tears were making it difficult to read the engraved characters of her name—making it impossible to see her gorgeous face on the picture.

He swallowed again, saliva gathering in his mouth and swiped a hand over his cheeks.

His nose was running, too, and he swiped at it with his fist.

He let out a shuddering sigh and just stood there, not knowing what to do, but to stare.

"Sam?"

His brother's quiet voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

Dean's footsteps came forward until he was standing beside Sam.

Their shoulders did not touch.

Sam didn't look at his brother, but he felt Dean's gaze linger on him for a moment before his brother looked away.

"I wish we had brought something with us. Flowers or something. I mean..." Sam trailed off.

A beat.

"We could, you know if you want to."

Dean let the words linger.

The silence continued to stretch out between them.

Sam felt himself unravel at the seams. The more he fought against his tears, the more they fought back to be released. And at last, they slipped down, one after another, and there was no holding them back anymore.

He let out a sob. The sound was harsh in the otherwise silence around him.

Damnit. Damn it all.

He felt Dean's arm come around his back and grip his arm, pressing Sam against him. And Sam didn't fight it anymore. He was done struggling.

He let his head thankfully fall on his brother's willing shoulder and cries.

The sadness rips itself out of him. Tears and snot covering his face, sobs tearing through his body.

Dean says nothing.

There is nothing to say—nothing to make it better.

Dean stands there and lets his brother mourn.

And Sam cries himself out.

000

His brother's shoulder shrugged softly underneath his damp cheek, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"You alright, Sam?" Dean's voice is a little scratchy.

Sam nods, not yet trusting himself to speak.

He lifts his head and pulls away, unfolding himself out of the embrace.

Sam turns away from his brother, hands rubbing across his face.

He makes a disapproving noise. Ew, gross. And wipes at the snot that's coating his upper lip and chin.

"You need this?"

He turns his head a little, not meeting his brother's eyes.

Dean's holding out a tissue.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam mumbles and takes it from him.

He turns away again and wipes his face clean.

A nudge at his shoulder has him turning his head again.

"Here, you need to drink."

Dean is holding out something again, this time a water bottle, cap already unscrewed.

Sam reaches for the water bottle and takes a sip. Then he downs the whole bottle when he notices how utterly thirsty he is.

When the bottle is empty, he crumples it and then stands there, folded plastic in one hand, staring into nothingness.

"You okay?"

Sam turns around. Dean is studying him.

"Yeah, I'm okay." And after a moment: "Thanks."

Sam tries to smile at him but doesn't quite succeed.

But Dean nods, clearly relieved.

His brother scrapes his throat, meeting Sam's gaze.

"We could bring flowers if you want to. Or, or something else."

Dean scratches his neck.

Sam looks away for a moment before looking back.

"Yeah, flowers, we can do that. I would like that. She-she loved flowers.

Sam smiled, eyes far away.

"She once planted aster flowers nearby our apartment. And when they bloomed that fall, they were so beautiful and colorful. You had to see her, Dean, she was so proud."

"I would have loved to see that, Sammy," Dean says quietly. And he smiles a soft smile at his little brother.

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "I wish you had seen it, too."

End

Hello :)

I started writing this fic a day before going on vacation and had thought I would complete it once I was back home. But surprise :p I still found the time to write.

I was searching through a long list of beautiful flowers to use for this fic and came across the aster flower.

Common meanings of the aster flower:

Patience

Love of variety

Elegance

Daintiness

Afterthought

I love this flower and also thought its meanings are very beautiful.

I also came across this beautiful poem 'A Late Walk' by Robert Frost. And chose to use it for this fic.

One of the interpretations I came across: the narrator of this poem has come to knowledge of a death and now walks through the present world with this depressing reality in mind.

Thought that was fitting for this fic.

I really hope this is alright, tell me what you think :)

Not beta'd, all the mistakes are mine.

Hope you enjoyed!