Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-12-22 11:46 pm
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-12-22 11:46 pm
[JP] Kyle Reese quote
[Set in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
greypicketfence. Sam = ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likely_evil, Ruby = ilove_atallman, Bobby = bobbyknowsbest. Set after THIS (Warning: Major Character Death).]
“Pain can be controlled - you just disconnect it.”
Dean buried his brother on a Saturday.
At least, it felt like a Saturday. Dean wasn’t really sure what day it was, and to be honest, he really could care less. It was a few days after it happened—he and Bobby had gone back and forth for ages on the best way to do this. Bobby wanted to cremate him, and Dean knew that they should, but Dean didn’t have the heart to do it. This was one of those times where Dean actually managed to be more stubborn than Bobby, and Sam was buried in a box on Bobby’s land with more wards to protect him than Dean even knew existed.
It was a quiet funeral—it was just the two of them, after all. It was the way things should have played out the first time, and to some extent, Dean was surprised that it did. Maybe it was the fact that what Sam had said had gotten through to him, and Dean had learned his lesson, or the fact that Bobby never out let him out of his sight for longer than it took the use the bathroom. Dean was smart, but Bobby was smarter. If he had to sit on him to keep him from going to make another stupid mistake, than that was what he was going to do.
After they finished covering the grave, Dean spotted a flash of blond hanging back at the bottom of the hill. She had a lot of nerve coming back here, Dean knew that much. He pushed away from Bobby dropping the shovel where it was and storming down to meet her halfway with a hard punch to the face.
Ruby recoiled from the blow, almost stumbling off her feet as she clearly wasn’t prepared for it. She looked up at him, before shaking her head slightly. “Alright, I deserved that, but I tried to stop him, Dean. I really did.”
“But you didn’t. And I don’t give me that bullshit, I know you’re the one who put this idea in his head.” He paused for a minute before pointing his finger in her face. “If I ever see your face again or hear that you were anywhere near me and mine? I’ll send your ass right back to Hell where you belong. Understand me?”
He was furious. He was so pissed he could barely see straight, and she was just a wavering mass of blond in front of him, but he knew that it wasn’t all with her. There was a bit of Sam for pulling this stupid stunt and leaving him, and there was a lot at himself for not seeing it sooner, but all of it right now was pointed at Ruby, the demon that he was pretty sure snowballed this whole mess for her own motives. Ruby just watched him for a minute, before nodding.
“Fine. I’m gone.”
And she was. Dean couldn’t have been happier.
***
Dean worked on cars for two weeks straight.
It was something to do. He knew that if he let his hand go idle for too long he’ll do something stupid, and he made Sam a promise. He promised that he would go home to Lisa and the boys, and he fully intended to keep it. But he couldn’t go home. Not now. Not when his head was still spinning from everything that had happened.
“Lisa called.”
He was under the hood of an old Chevy when he heard Bobby’s voice, and he looked up at him for barely a minute before turning back to the engine in front of him. “That’s nice.”
There was a heavy sigh from Bobby, before the other man continued. “She’s worried sick about you, kid. Says she’s been callin’ your phone, but it’s turned off.”
Dean paused, grunting slightly as he twisted one of the wrenches into place. “I’m not exactly up for talking, Bobby.”
“Fine. Ya don’t have to talk. Just letting her know you’re alive might be nice.” There was a pause, and another sigh, before Bobby started speaking again. “She just wants you to go home, Dean.”
Dean paused for a minute, long enough to wipe some of the grease off the wrench before looking up at Bobby with a heavy sigh. “I’ll call her when I get the chance. I just want to get this done.”
It was the same conversation every time she called, and every time it happened it didn’t get any easier. But the only thing Dean could do was work right then, so that’s what he did. He worked until his hands ached, until the light was too dim for him to actually see what he was doing, and then he was back out again once it was bright enough for him to see. He didn’t sleep, just fixed cars because apparently that was the only thing he could do right.
He got five of the old junkers to the point where they were purring like kittens. It wasn’t until he hit the engine of the fifth that the sound reminded him of one of the little boys he’d left behind, the one that was a little strange sometimes, but he was his and one of the few things he had left. Thoughts started to blend into memories of Sam, who was all he’d had for so long, and he looked back at the line of cars and realized that there was no point to it. It wasn’t going to change anything. Sam was still gone, and he was fixing cars like they were an offering to God, a bribe to try and get his brother back again. It wasn’t going to work. God, if there was one, didn’t give a fuck about an old beat up Chevy sitting in a salvage yard in South Dakota, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about a guy named Dean Winchester and what he wanted. That much was evident. If he gave a crap about Dean, he would have stopped killing his family a long time ago.
That was around when Dean started drinking.
***
For two weeks, Dean was pretty much catatonic.
He barely moved from Bobby’s couch, just kept the bottle in his hand where it was and stared into space, almost as though he was trying to find the motivation to move, but it wasn’t reaching him. He could see the look that Bobby was giving him every time he passed by, and he knew that this was killing him, but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t want to feel anything, and to some aspects he’d succeeded. Alcohol was great for stuff like that. Dean hadn’t felt a thing since he started drinking, and he was quite happy to keep things that way. It meant he didn’t have to face anything, which was better, as far as he was concerned, than having to face them head on.
Bobby happened to catch him when he was coming to after having been passed out for a while. He was hung over and probably cranky but the pain in his head was better than everything else hurting. He started to reach for the bottle next to him when he found it snatched out of his hand. He looked up at Bobby, confused, and waited for him to explain, because he always did.
“Lisa called again.”
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the headache throbbing, and pinching the bridge of his nose lightly. “I told ya, Bobby—I’m not up for talking.”
“You’ve been sittin’ on your ass for a month, Dean. If you’re not up for talkin’ now, when is that gonna happen?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a low growl, as he pushed himself up, trying to get himself past the man and away from the confrontation, trying to make it away from the pain. “Sam’s dead, Bobby.”
“Yeah, Dean—Sam’s dead and you aren’t the only one who lost ‘em.” Bobby grabbed his shoulder, making Dean face him. “I miss that kid like crazy. You’re not the only one who’s hurting here.”
Dean’s eyes dropped to the ground, and he shook his head. “I can’t do this, Bobby. It’s Sam.”
“I know its Sam,” Bobby said softly, placing the other hand on his shoulder. “But this isn’t like the last time. You’re not alone—you got a family, now. Ya got kids, and they’re waiting for you.” He was quiet for a minute, before looking at Dean softly. “Go home, Dean. Or at least call the poor woman and let her know you’re still alive.”
Dean paused for a minute, before he started nodding. He wasn’t sure he was ready to even take a step in that direction. But Bobby was right—as he usually was—and Dean needed to at least give some sign that he was alive. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder lightly, before turning back towards the kitchen.
“I’ll make you some coffee.”
Dean stayed where he was, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Did I tell you that Sam wants you to let them call you Grandpa?” Bobby just gave him a look, and Dean smiled slightly, as he held up his hands. “He was the one who said it, not me. You’re not going to deny him his dying wish, are you?”
Bobby snorted slightly at that. “That boy is lucky he’s dead, or he’d be getting a smack upside his head.”
“You know you’re like a father to us,” Dean sighed softly. “Right, Bobby?”
“Yeah, Dean,” he said softly. “I know.”
***
It was the middle of the night by the time he got back Cicero. He pulled up the curb and looked up at the house for a moment, watch the dark windows and trying to figure out what he was going to say. He knew it would probably be better if he waited until morning, but there was a part of him that ached to see them. He didn’t have to talk to them, didn’t have to let them know he was there. He just wanted to see them—remind himself that they were still there.
He still had his key, so he made his way quietly up the lawn and let himself in. He tried to be as silent as possible, since he didn’t want to wake anyone up, and just made his way through the house and up the stairs to the boy’s room. The door was open, thankfully, so he didn’t have to push it open, and he just stayed in the doorway for the moment, watching them sleep, and remembering some of the last things that Sam had said to him.
“This ends with me. No more deals, no more demons, no more sacrificing. You have a family now and you're staying with them. For me.”
He wanted this. He wanted the home and the family and the picket fence. He wanted to be here with them. He wanted this kind of life. But he wanted his brother too. Apparently there wasn’t any kind of world where he could have both and still be happy.
And he thought that that really wasn’t fair.
1868 words
greypicketfence. Sam = likely_evil, Ruby = ilove_atallman, Bobby = bobbyknowsbest. Set after THIS (Warning: Major Character Death).]“Pain can be controlled - you just disconnect it.”
Dean buried his brother on a Saturday.
At least, it felt like a Saturday. Dean wasn’t really sure what day it was, and to be honest, he really could care less. It was a few days after it happened—he and Bobby had gone back and forth for ages on the best way to do this. Bobby wanted to cremate him, and Dean knew that they should, but Dean didn’t have the heart to do it. This was one of those times where Dean actually managed to be more stubborn than Bobby, and Sam was buried in a box on Bobby’s land with more wards to protect him than Dean even knew existed.
It was a quiet funeral—it was just the two of them, after all. It was the way things should have played out the first time, and to some extent, Dean was surprised that it did. Maybe it was the fact that what Sam had said had gotten through to him, and Dean had learned his lesson, or the fact that Bobby never out let him out of his sight for longer than it took the use the bathroom. Dean was smart, but Bobby was smarter. If he had to sit on him to keep him from going to make another stupid mistake, than that was what he was going to do.
After they finished covering the grave, Dean spotted a flash of blond hanging back at the bottom of the hill. She had a lot of nerve coming back here, Dean knew that much. He pushed away from Bobby dropping the shovel where it was and storming down to meet her halfway with a hard punch to the face.
Ruby recoiled from the blow, almost stumbling off her feet as she clearly wasn’t prepared for it. She looked up at him, before shaking her head slightly. “Alright, I deserved that, but I tried to stop him, Dean. I really did.”
“But you didn’t. And I don’t give me that bullshit, I know you’re the one who put this idea in his head.” He paused for a minute before pointing his finger in her face. “If I ever see your face again or hear that you were anywhere near me and mine? I’ll send your ass right back to Hell where you belong. Understand me?”
He was furious. He was so pissed he could barely see straight, and she was just a wavering mass of blond in front of him, but he knew that it wasn’t all with her. There was a bit of Sam for pulling this stupid stunt and leaving him, and there was a lot at himself for not seeing it sooner, but all of it right now was pointed at Ruby, the demon that he was pretty sure snowballed this whole mess for her own motives. Ruby just watched him for a minute, before nodding.
“Fine. I’m gone.”
And she was. Dean couldn’t have been happier.
***
Dean worked on cars for two weeks straight.
It was something to do. He knew that if he let his hand go idle for too long he’ll do something stupid, and he made Sam a promise. He promised that he would go home to Lisa and the boys, and he fully intended to keep it. But he couldn’t go home. Not now. Not when his head was still spinning from everything that had happened.
“Lisa called.”
He was under the hood of an old Chevy when he heard Bobby’s voice, and he looked up at him for barely a minute before turning back to the engine in front of him. “That’s nice.”
There was a heavy sigh from Bobby, before the other man continued. “She’s worried sick about you, kid. Says she’s been callin’ your phone, but it’s turned off.”
Dean paused, grunting slightly as he twisted one of the wrenches into place. “I’m not exactly up for talking, Bobby.”
“Fine. Ya don’t have to talk. Just letting her know you’re alive might be nice.” There was a pause, and another sigh, before Bobby started speaking again. “She just wants you to go home, Dean.”
Dean paused for a minute, long enough to wipe some of the grease off the wrench before looking up at Bobby with a heavy sigh. “I’ll call her when I get the chance. I just want to get this done.”
It was the same conversation every time she called, and every time it happened it didn’t get any easier. But the only thing Dean could do was work right then, so that’s what he did. He worked until his hands ached, until the light was too dim for him to actually see what he was doing, and then he was back out again once it was bright enough for him to see. He didn’t sleep, just fixed cars because apparently that was the only thing he could do right.
He got five of the old junkers to the point where they were purring like kittens. It wasn’t until he hit the engine of the fifth that the sound reminded him of one of the little boys he’d left behind, the one that was a little strange sometimes, but he was his and one of the few things he had left. Thoughts started to blend into memories of Sam, who was all he’d had for so long, and he looked back at the line of cars and realized that there was no point to it. It wasn’t going to change anything. Sam was still gone, and he was fixing cars like they were an offering to God, a bribe to try and get his brother back again. It wasn’t going to work. God, if there was one, didn’t give a fuck about an old beat up Chevy sitting in a salvage yard in South Dakota, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about a guy named Dean Winchester and what he wanted. That much was evident. If he gave a crap about Dean, he would have stopped killing his family a long time ago.
That was around when Dean started drinking.
***
For two weeks, Dean was pretty much catatonic.
He barely moved from Bobby’s couch, just kept the bottle in his hand where it was and stared into space, almost as though he was trying to find the motivation to move, but it wasn’t reaching him. He could see the look that Bobby was giving him every time he passed by, and he knew that this was killing him, but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t want to feel anything, and to some aspects he’d succeeded. Alcohol was great for stuff like that. Dean hadn’t felt a thing since he started drinking, and he was quite happy to keep things that way. It meant he didn’t have to face anything, which was better, as far as he was concerned, than having to face them head on.
Bobby happened to catch him when he was coming to after having been passed out for a while. He was hung over and probably cranky but the pain in his head was better than everything else hurting. He started to reach for the bottle next to him when he found it snatched out of his hand. He looked up at Bobby, confused, and waited for him to explain, because he always did.
“Lisa called again.”
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the headache throbbing, and pinching the bridge of his nose lightly. “I told ya, Bobby—I’m not up for talking.”
“You’ve been sittin’ on your ass for a month, Dean. If you’re not up for talkin’ now, when is that gonna happen?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a low growl, as he pushed himself up, trying to get himself past the man and away from the confrontation, trying to make it away from the pain. “Sam’s dead, Bobby.”
“Yeah, Dean—Sam’s dead and you aren’t the only one who lost ‘em.” Bobby grabbed his shoulder, making Dean face him. “I miss that kid like crazy. You’re not the only one who’s hurting here.”
Dean’s eyes dropped to the ground, and he shook his head. “I can’t do this, Bobby. It’s Sam.”
“I know its Sam,” Bobby said softly, placing the other hand on his shoulder. “But this isn’t like the last time. You’re not alone—you got a family, now. Ya got kids, and they’re waiting for you.” He was quiet for a minute, before looking at Dean softly. “Go home, Dean. Or at least call the poor woman and let her know you’re still alive.”
Dean paused for a minute, before he started nodding. He wasn’t sure he was ready to even take a step in that direction. But Bobby was right—as he usually was—and Dean needed to at least give some sign that he was alive. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder lightly, before turning back towards the kitchen.
“I’ll make you some coffee.”
Dean stayed where he was, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Did I tell you that Sam wants you to let them call you Grandpa?” Bobby just gave him a look, and Dean smiled slightly, as he held up his hands. “He was the one who said it, not me. You’re not going to deny him his dying wish, are you?”
Bobby snorted slightly at that. “That boy is lucky he’s dead, or he’d be getting a smack upside his head.”
“You know you’re like a father to us,” Dean sighed softly. “Right, Bobby?”
“Yeah, Dean,” he said softly. “I know.”
***
It was the middle of the night by the time he got back Cicero. He pulled up the curb and looked up at the house for a moment, watch the dark windows and trying to figure out what he was going to say. He knew it would probably be better if he waited until morning, but there was a part of him that ached to see them. He didn’t have to talk to them, didn’t have to let them know he was there. He just wanted to see them—remind himself that they were still there.
He still had his key, so he made his way quietly up the lawn and let himself in. He tried to be as silent as possible, since he didn’t want to wake anyone up, and just made his way through the house and up the stairs to the boy’s room. The door was open, thankfully, so he didn’t have to push it open, and he just stayed in the doorway for the moment, watching them sleep, and remembering some of the last things that Sam had said to him.
“This ends with me. No more deals, no more demons, no more sacrificing. You have a family now and you're staying with them. For me.”
He wanted this. He wanted the home and the family and the picket fence. He wanted to be here with them. He wanted this kind of life. But he wanted his brother too. Apparently there wasn’t any kind of world where he could have both and still be happy.
And he thought that that really wasn’t fair.
1868 words