Title: Each Coming Night
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He feels no different than he had before he came here. He has no peace, and he won’t be moving on from this, from her, any time soon.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #2: loss.



Will you say to me when I’m gone,
"Your face has faded, but lingers on
because light strikes a deal with each coming night."
Each Coming Night – Iron & Wine

He’s still not sure he wants to be here. That is what he repeats to himself as he stares out the driver’s side window. His seatbelt isn’t even unbuckled and they’ve been here for about ten minutes now. Sam has been sitting next to him quietly, but Dean feels the weight of his unasked questions pressing against the back of his head.

With a deep breath, he removes his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Sam asks. Dean shuts the door behind him.

It’s harder than he thought it would be, putting one foot in front of the other. He goes slowly, telling himself he just doesn’t want to trip over something in the night. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to lie to himself, or why he thinks that will somehow make him feel better. Nothing much is going to make him feel better today.

It was an accident that has brought him here, traveling across a state line and eating up an entire day. It had all happened by chance, and now, here he is, weaving through gravestones, until he finally comes to rest in front of the one he’s been looking for.

Sam found her obituary on his computer. He turned nearly white as he stared at the screen, freaked Dean out good and well before he turned around the laptop to face him, and Dean’s stomach bottomed out. He couldn’t even bring himself to read it. He slammed the laptop shut as quickly as he could and closed his eyes.

Fuck. It was all he could think, and it’s all that he’s thinking now. Sam didn’t ask where they were going when Dean put his foot to the gas and didn’t talk for miles and miles and hours and hours. He knew Dean well enough to know where he was taking them.

Layla would never, and probably could never, understand the kind of impact she had made on him, how she had made him see the collateral damage that doing the right thing could cause. A good person, a great person, is now dead because of something that he’d had to do. He doesn’t know what to do with that, what to think of that.

He didn’t come here to talk to her gravestone, to ask deep meaningful questions, and to tell a slab of granite how much Layla Rourke had meant to him, what she had helped him see and believe. He didn’t come here to say anything besides the only thing that could be said.

“Goodbye Layla.”

He lays on hand on the gravestone – it's so damn cold – before walking back to the car. He feels no different than he had before he came here. He had no peace, and he wouldn’t be moving on from this, from her, any time soon.

He doesn't want to.