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nilchance1. It starts when Sam hits puberty, like being a raging bitch-queen is hardwired in his genetics or something, and gets worse every damn day. Sam is like Dad, hair and hands and temper, in that unflinching belief that if Dean wasn't with him, then he was against him. Sam might grow out of it, but if Dad's any fucking indication-
Dean loves them both. Dean hates them both.
After the third time a motel manager has to take Dean aside and tell him to shut them up, the drug dealers are starting to complain, Dean can taste the open road like blood in his mouth. He nods, mouths the right words, and waits for the manager to leave. Then he looks at the other cars in the lot, at the beaten up van that dwarfs the Impala, and thinks: I know how to steal a car.
For a second, it plays like a movie in his head. He could go somewhere else, be someone else. He could pump gas in Idaho. Head for Alaska. He could drive the back roads of Texas, where the long dry fingers of brush tried to reclaim the asphalt. He could sit on the warm wood of that boardwalk in Delaware and watch the girls go by without thinking, this is what I'm fighting for. He could have his own bed with clean sheets, a refrigerator with a constant supply of cold beer, reliable heat in the winter, a fan. He could work on classic cars or fight fires, real ones, ones that went out without needing an exorcism first.
He could lay up nights the rest of his life wondering if he'd know when Dad died, trying to come up with excuses for his nightmares. Reading the obits and watching strangers die, weapon-less, one of the victims.
Dean rolls his shoulders, feeling tight muscles groan, and goes back into the warzone.
2. When Cindy calls his cell, she's crying so hard Dean thinks the poltergeist came back. It takes twenty minutes to talk her back into coherancy. Dean's sitting in the passenger seat at a gas station, watching Dad work the pump, when Cindy blurts out, "I'm pregnant. I think it's yours."
Dean drops the phone.
It's a long damn drive up to Michigan. Dad keeps talking like the words are jerked out of him: "Did the condom break?"
"No, sir."
"Dean, if you're going to be running around-"
"For Christ's sake, I'm careful, all right?"
Dad glances at him, eyes shadowed. He hasn't been sleeping well since Sam took off, but Dean's fist still clenches when Dad says tiredly, "Numbers might be against you there, boy."
Dean tries not to think. Keeps doing it anyway. He's 20. Cindy's a nice girl and all, but Dean doesn't want to marry her and he thinks if he had to live with her, he'd go bugfuck. He thinks of the way Sam smelled, the soft baby scent, chubby fingers and tiny fingernails. He thinks of Mom burning above the crib.
It's not safe. It won't be safe until this is over.
When it turns out Cindy was wrong, false alarm, her hormones are just FUBAR, Dean tells himself that it's relief he's choking on.
3. They sit out the bus station for a while, neither of them saying anything. Sam's fingers drum restlessly on the handle of his duffle. There are other kids climbing onto the bus, dragging suitcases and boxes full of crap. Dean helped Sam pack his life up last night, and it only took twenty minutes.
It should be raining out. The sun drills into Dean's head, tender from too much of Jim Beam's lullabye.
Sam drags in a ragged breath, like the first taste of air after drowning, and says in a headlong rush, "You could come with me."
Dean stares at the wheel, his own white-knuckled hands. He doesn't say anything, and after a few minutes, Sam takes it as a no.
Dean knows he's a goddamn coward, because he never tells Sam that it could've been a yes.
4. "You know, son," the sergeant says, too casually, as Dean hands the last of the shivering children over the edge of the boat, "we need people like you."
The floodwater is black and cold, and Dean's in it up to his hips. He pauses in cursing himself for picking Flatwater, California as a reststop to blink at the rocking boat.
No monsters tonight, a switch from Dad's recent relentless drive. Just floodplains, a poor area, kids clinging to the tops of trailers. Dean had caught word of it over dinner, some waitress beside herself worrying over her sisters, and looked at Dad. They hadn't said anything. They hadn't needed to.
Better that they not say anything, lately. Dad'd been short-tempered, and Dean could feel the lack of sleep wearing on him. They kept the music cranked up. Dean tried not to think of Sam.
Dean's smile feels stiff and jerky, too many teeth. "Pretty ones? That's flattering, dude, but there's this army p-policy-"
"Good men," the sergeant says, clear and firm. He looks at Dean like he sees him, really sees what he's done and what it's cost and what Dean's still willing to do. "There's papers back at base, is what I'm saying. Could get you all set up and paid for this. Bet your daddy'd be real proud of you."
Been a while since somebody looked at Dean like he was worth anything beyond killing.
The flashlight beam from the other boat spills across the dark water, searching among the floating debris and bodies for Dean's face. Dean holds up his hand, and catches a flash of his father's face, shadowed and gaunt with fatigue.
Dean manages a smile that makes his jaw hurt. "No sir," he rasps, "you've got the wrong guy. No heroes here."
The sergeant sighs and helps Dean out of the water. His grip is sturdy, but Dean doesn't trust it with his weight like he would Dad.
When they get back to solid land, Dad has half a dozen calls waiting on his voicemail. They take a towel, a cup of coffee, and get back on the road. Dean changes into dry clothes as Dad starts the car.
After a while, Dad reaches out across the back of the seat. He rests his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezes hard.
5. Only the pain in Dean's chest keeps him grounded. He digs his fingers into the mud anyway, gripping at whatever'll give him a handhold. His hands don't move with him. Can't-
CPR hurts like fuck. It's a matter of force; air into lungs, blood into heart, body into life. Dean's done it often enough.
Sam's sobbing for air. Dean's drifting. There's light through his eyelashes, like the sun underwater, and he can hear Sam chanting in such a desperate blur it sounds arcane. Dean tries to grab for those words, the spike of painalarmfury that comes with hearing Sam's voice breaking, but he can't reach him. Can't find his own way back.
Sam. His lips don't move. Sammy-
His mouth is covered. Sam breathes for him.
"Live," Sam grits, the flat of his teeth hard against Dean's lip, "don't you do this, don't you fucking leave me now."
Sam's hands shove, press, force. Cup his face, shove Dean's head back, baring his throat as Sam breathes again. Their mouths are sealed, and it hurts, and-
Sam knows the way back. He always has.
Dean manages to roll to the side before he spews half the lake. It's a near miss, though, and he may be puking on Sam, and he doesn't care. When Sam chokes and presses his wet face against Dean's neck, hot and itchy and swearing at Dean, Dean digs his fingers into the mud and breathes.
If he holds on tight enough, no one will make him leave.
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Date: 2006-09-19 07:45 pm (UTC)*snuggle* Cause, damn. Beautiful, as always.
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Date: 2006-11-14 04:47 pm (UTC)This was so, so good. Great Dean. Like, amazingly, fantastically great, and I want to read more. I want to read more of your Dean. He's been broken so many times his seams don't quite match up anymore, but he's still trying.
Fucking hell, this was a bright little spot on my otherwise ordinary Tuesday. Thanks for sharing.
(FYI, I found your story via
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Date: 2006-11-14 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-11-20 01:47 am (UTC)Wow.
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Date: 2007-03-29 02:23 am (UTC)Peace
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Date: 2007-09-05 09:44 am (UTC)good story.
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Date: 2007-10-17 04:45 am (UTC)The sun drills into Dean's head, tender from too much of Jim Beam's lullabye.
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Date: 2009-02-10 12:34 am (UTC)He could lay up nights the rest of his life wondering if he'd know when Dad died, trying to come up with excuses for his nightmares. Reading the obits and watching strangers die, weapon-less, one of the victims.
It's interesting, thinking about Dean considering this and wondering if it was worth it. Because he would weigh the pros and cons with this. But Sam....Sam still went with leaving. Would he have thought about this? Or was he too caught up in his own issues (not necessarily saying that he was selfish...Dean has issues too, he just deals with them by helping people)?
But it's the fact that he would stop and wonder, not that he'd tell anyone that he was wondering, but he would...that's what makes me adore him. It's the fact that he can find his better angels (and I just wrote that without even thinking about the angels storyline...I have been reading tons about Lincoln lately and I always loved his idea of humans and their "better angels" which he really seemed to take in a non-religious fashion).
(maybe I should lay off the parentheses for awhile, huh?)
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Date: 2013-04-16 01:57 am (UTC)