[ART+FIC] Writer's Block (Benny/Dean)

[uke_sama]

Summary: Benny Lafitte and Dean Winchester are on the opposing sides of the American Civil War. But in their last moments, they get the chance to speak.
Word Count: 1035
Characters: Benny Laffite, Dean Winchester & Alistair, Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Elizabeth.
Pairings: Benny/Dean
Tags: Character death


General Alistair ordered his troops forward. “You get close enough to kill, you shoot, ya’ hear? Just like we went over in training. We have the confederacy outnumbered, so I don’t want any casualties today.” There were a few nods and “yessir”s. The men were ready for battle.

Dean was assigned to the front lines and he was pumped. This was his time for glory. He would make his father proud. With a clear mind in which everything seemed to make sense, he prepped for combat.

They charged ahead, and Dean spotted a large scruffy man in his direct line of shooting. He lifted his bayonet and aimed to make the shot. Boom. The first shot was fired. Boom. He shot again to be sure, though he was fairly confidant in his shooting abilities.

The man dropped to the ground and Dean’s heart started racing. No, that’s not right, he thought. I just shot a man. He suddenly felt dizzy. How can that be okay? This is war, but how could I have killed someone who looked so good, so innocent? Killing was so much different in theory than it was when put into action. It felt dirty, not noble. Dean ran forward to the bearded fellow who lay wincing of the cold turf. He was still breathing, albeit unevenly.

Dean dropped to his knees and murmured “What have I done?” loud enough that only he and the soldier could hear. But it wasn’t for either of them to hear, it was a prayer intended for God, if he was even listening.

One comrade, Sam, looked over at him like he was crazy, but was too preoccupied with the battle at hand to comfort or help the wounded soldier. Of course if he weren’t too busy, he still wouldn’t have comforted him.

Dean was not a warrior, just a boy. A boy who’s made a terrible, terrible mistake enlisting in this bloody war. He looked down into the deep blue eyes of his victim and felt ashamed. The man gazed back up at Dean, eyes nearly vacant. This is what his father wanted of him? To be a murderer?

He felt a sudden sharp pain as a bullet entered his side. He let out a cry of pain and wrapped his arm around to clutch the wound and stop the bleeding. He could not stay stable and upright. There was just too much pain. He collapsed onto the ground, head just inches away from the bearded man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Dean grunted.

“Hey now, I knew the risks comin’ out here today. I’m sorry you had to come down too.” He inhaled sharply as another wave of pain washed over him. “I’m Benny, by the way.” He spoke in an almost whisper. His lungs couldn’t afford the air required for speaking with full volume

“Dean” he said, equally quiet, as he tilted his head just enough to see Benny in his periphery. Benny tilted his head too. It hurt like Hell, but he wanted to see the man he was talking to, so it was worth it.

“You got any family?” Benny asked.

“What?”

“Family. I just thought we should- oof, uh, make our last moments good ones. I’m not surviving this, but at least I know my dau-“ he groaned “my daughter’s got her mother,” pause, “lookin after her.”

Dean almost smiled but couldn’t quite move his face without causing more pain “I’ve got a kid sister, Jo.”

“Yeah? I always wanted a sister”

“Yeah. Man, she’s going to grow up to be something great. I can just tell already. She can read ‘n write, and she can shoot almost as well as I can”

“You’re a great shot, I’ll give ya that” Benny said, laughing. And then he started laughing about the fact that he was even laughing at all despite the crappy circumstances.

“Hey,” Benny said, suddenly shifting the conversation to other things on his mind “Do you ever get writer’s block? But instead of writing, it’s with things in your life, actions and such?”

“What do you mean?” Dean mused.

“Like here I am now, wondering what should be happening next. But I’m just stuck. I don’t know what to do, because there’s nothing I can do. My imagination’s run out.”

“I suppose I do feel that way sometimes. Like a dead end-”

“Yeah, exactly, a dead end” Benny piped in

“No pun intended,” Dean said with a smirk.

“But we still have time to write the story. Not much time, brother, but enough. We can bridge the gap between the Union and Confederacy. Neither side is really all that evil.”

“I s’pose we can. Where does the story start, Benny? Where do we start?”

Benny’s breathing slowed down. He opened his mouth, desperately trying to continue the story, but he couldn’t speak. His breathing stopped. The hand clutching his wound went lax.

With what little might Dean had left, he went from the whispers of their conversation so far to screaming pleas. “Benny? No come on, stay with me. We were gonna write a story, bridge the gap. No, Benny, come back! B-Benny?” Dean moved his hand away from his own bullet wound and reached to hold on to Benny’s hand. The blood flowed more quickly and he felt the difference. It stung terribly. “Benny.” He shouted once more. He closed his eyes and whispered “Goodbye, Benny” right before his heart stopped beating for good.

…

Years later, long after the war was over and the country settled into a new sense of normal, Elizabeth and Jo met in the restaurant Elizabeth worked in. The two became close friends, never knowing that Elizabeth’s father and Jo’s brother had once met as they were close to death.

Jo was a writer, and the café was a quiet place to think and scribble words on paper. She was working on a story about how her brother fought in the Civil War for the Union, but she was having some trouble with her writer’s block. Elizabeth helped her come up with ideas and edits in between serving other customers.

The two of them continued that story the soldiers never could.