Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-11-15 06:56 pm
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-11-15 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
[MWR] Ransom quote
[Follows THIS. Sam is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likely_evil, but other than that this isn’t binding on any other muse mentioned herein.]
“You think you’re suffering right now? Huh? You got no idea what suffering is.”
He sold his soul for Sam.
He was the big brother. It was his job. He was to keep his pain in the ass little brother alive, and when Dean was given a job, he gave it one hundred twelve plus percent, especially when it came to Sam. So when his brother died, he sold his soul to get him back. When his year was up, he went to Hell for him. And when he came back from the dead, Dean was the one stepping between Sam and the angels, not willing to let all those sacrifices he made go to waste just because Sam let some demon screw him up when Dean wasn’t around to protect him. All those sacrifices weren’t supposed to end like this. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.
“Dad told you to protect me, Dean. Not side with the angels that want to kill me. And the one time I do need you, you fuck up. Like always.”
Sam’s words were on repeat in his head as he sat in the motel room, trying to process the intent behind the words, the meaning. Was Sam screwing with him, trying to get him to push him away for some half-assed battle tactic? If that was the case, Dean was going to kill him for it later. Vulnerable or not, Dean needed to know that both he and Sam were on the same side. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he needed his brother beside him. He always needed to know where his brother was, make sure he was safe, he was happy. That was his job after all. Protect Sam. Take care of Sam. Make sure Sam has what he needs, and that he stays in one piece. And until earlier, Dean thought he was doing a damn good job.
His hand hurt, but he didn’t really care. Physical pain was better than the emotional gut punch that Sam had dealt him earlier. Physical pain was what was keeping him from focusing on the fact that his brother was gone. Gone, because he didn’t like the way they were fighting this war, no matter how Dean tried to explain it. He wanted to help people, to use what he could do to save people, no matter what the angels said. Dean should have known that this was coming, some day down the line, but it had been his strongest prayer that it wouldn’t. That Sam would stay with him, and keep fighting with him, because more than anything, Dean knew that he didn’t want to do this alone. He couldn’t do this alone.
And yet, here he was. Alone.
There was a flutter of wind next to him, but he didn’t turn to see who it was; he knew. There were only two angels who would bother to be here right now, and if it was Uriel, he would be gloating already. It had to be Castiel, and Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what the angel had to say. At least not at the moment. So instead, he just sat in silence, stewing his thoughts and trying to figure out where the hell he was supposed to go from here.
For the most part, Castiel allowed him his silence, but after a long time he turned to face Dean, trying to speak as gently as possible. “Dean—”
“I won’t hunt my brother.”
As far as Dean was concerned, it was all he needed to say. If that was the great big divine order that Castiel had come to deliver, Dean wasn’t having any of it. There was no way that his brother’s blood was going to be on his hands—not after everything he had done to keep Sam alive. If God wanted Sam dead, he was either going to have to take it and shove it or find someone else.
“We weren’t going to ask you to,” Castiel replied smoothly, not looking at Dean, just like Dean wasn’t looking at him. He could, however, sense the way Dean’s back straightened in surprise at his response, but he didn’t acknowledge it, continuing to look straight ahead. “We know what your brother means to you, Dean. We wouldn’t put that kind of weight on your shoulders.”
“So you’re just going to send someone else to kill him. Fantastic.” There was anger in Dean’s voice, but there was also a deflated sense of hope, begging for Castiel to tell him that he was wrong in his assumption, and that his brother wasn’t going to end up dead. Castiel was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, Dean hanging on the silence and waiting for some kind of answer from the angel next to him.
“While we do not agree with Sam’s position, we are not—blind to it. We understand why he feels the way he does. It will not save his soul from Hell when he does die, but his death will not be of our hands.”
Dean knew that what was being said to him was some kind of screwed up version of the truth. He could hear it in the way Castiel said it, the way he chose his words carefully. Sam’s prolonged lifespan probably had something to do with Dean, and the angels’ need to keep him cooperative, but Dean wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sam would stay alive, and that was all that mattered to him.
“So why are you here?”
Castiel’s eyes finally turned on him, watching his face for a moment, before responding. “I need to know that you’re still on the right side, Dean. That you’re still willing to fight for us.”
Dean snorted slightly at that, shaking his head slightly as he got up to walk towards the other end of the room. “Do I have a choice? Pretty sure I remember Uriel saying that if I decided to screw you guys over, I get sent back to the pit.”
“Everyone has a choice, Dean,” Castiel replied, staying where he was. “You just have to realize that there are consequences for your choices.”
“Yeah, yeah, I realize that there are consequences,” Dean said bitterly. “I choose to stay with you guys, I’m at war against my brother. I choose to follow Sam, I drop dead and go straight back to Hell. Real great choices I got here.”
Dean remembered Hell just as vividly as he did the day he got out, and that was one place he didn’t want to go back to. No matter what kind of separation he had from his brother, Hell was worse. Hell twisted and turned you around until you didn’t know which way was up anymore, and you weren’t all that sure you wanted to. So when it came down to it, it was either suffer through living without Sam and knowing that they were both on opposite sides, or suffer eternal damnation? He was going to pick breathing. Hands down.
Castiel looked like he was about to say something, but Dean shook his head to cut him off, running a hand over his face slightly. “Don’t worry, Castiel. I’m still on your side. But I won’t kill my brother.”
“That’s all we ask.”
The next thing Dean knew he was alone again, the silence of the motel room suffocating him like a thick blanket. It was hot and heavy with tension and silence, and for the first time since Sam had left, Dean wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted a distraction and some distance between himself and what he had his brother once had been. He moved to the side table in the room, grabbing his coat and the keys to his car, before heading out the door.
He really, really needed a goddamn drink.
1307 words
likely_evil, but other than that this isn’t binding on any other muse mentioned herein.]“You think you’re suffering right now? Huh? You got no idea what suffering is.”
He sold his soul for Sam.
He was the big brother. It was his job. He was to keep his pain in the ass little brother alive, and when Dean was given a job, he gave it one hundred twelve plus percent, especially when it came to Sam. So when his brother died, he sold his soul to get him back. When his year was up, he went to Hell for him. And when he came back from the dead, Dean was the one stepping between Sam and the angels, not willing to let all those sacrifices he made go to waste just because Sam let some demon screw him up when Dean wasn’t around to protect him. All those sacrifices weren’t supposed to end like this. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.
“Dad told you to protect me, Dean. Not side with the angels that want to kill me. And the one time I do need you, you fuck up. Like always.”
Sam’s words were on repeat in his head as he sat in the motel room, trying to process the intent behind the words, the meaning. Was Sam screwing with him, trying to get him to push him away for some half-assed battle tactic? If that was the case, Dean was going to kill him for it later. Vulnerable or not, Dean needed to know that both he and Sam were on the same side. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he needed his brother beside him. He always needed to know where his brother was, make sure he was safe, he was happy. That was his job after all. Protect Sam. Take care of Sam. Make sure Sam has what he needs, and that he stays in one piece. And until earlier, Dean thought he was doing a damn good job.
His hand hurt, but he didn’t really care. Physical pain was better than the emotional gut punch that Sam had dealt him earlier. Physical pain was what was keeping him from focusing on the fact that his brother was gone. Gone, because he didn’t like the way they were fighting this war, no matter how Dean tried to explain it. He wanted to help people, to use what he could do to save people, no matter what the angels said. Dean should have known that this was coming, some day down the line, but it had been his strongest prayer that it wouldn’t. That Sam would stay with him, and keep fighting with him, because more than anything, Dean knew that he didn’t want to do this alone. He couldn’t do this alone.
And yet, here he was. Alone.
There was a flutter of wind next to him, but he didn’t turn to see who it was; he knew. There were only two angels who would bother to be here right now, and if it was Uriel, he would be gloating already. It had to be Castiel, and Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what the angel had to say. At least not at the moment. So instead, he just sat in silence, stewing his thoughts and trying to figure out where the hell he was supposed to go from here.
For the most part, Castiel allowed him his silence, but after a long time he turned to face Dean, trying to speak as gently as possible. “Dean—”
“I won’t hunt my brother.”
As far as Dean was concerned, it was all he needed to say. If that was the great big divine order that Castiel had come to deliver, Dean wasn’t having any of it. There was no way that his brother’s blood was going to be on his hands—not after everything he had done to keep Sam alive. If God wanted Sam dead, he was either going to have to take it and shove it or find someone else.
“We weren’t going to ask you to,” Castiel replied smoothly, not looking at Dean, just like Dean wasn’t looking at him. He could, however, sense the way Dean’s back straightened in surprise at his response, but he didn’t acknowledge it, continuing to look straight ahead. “We know what your brother means to you, Dean. We wouldn’t put that kind of weight on your shoulders.”
“So you’re just going to send someone else to kill him. Fantastic.” There was anger in Dean’s voice, but there was also a deflated sense of hope, begging for Castiel to tell him that he was wrong in his assumption, and that his brother wasn’t going to end up dead. Castiel was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, Dean hanging on the silence and waiting for some kind of answer from the angel next to him.
“While we do not agree with Sam’s position, we are not—blind to it. We understand why he feels the way he does. It will not save his soul from Hell when he does die, but his death will not be of our hands.”
Dean knew that what was being said to him was some kind of screwed up version of the truth. He could hear it in the way Castiel said it, the way he chose his words carefully. Sam’s prolonged lifespan probably had something to do with Dean, and the angels’ need to keep him cooperative, but Dean wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sam would stay alive, and that was all that mattered to him.
“So why are you here?”
Castiel’s eyes finally turned on him, watching his face for a moment, before responding. “I need to know that you’re still on the right side, Dean. That you’re still willing to fight for us.”
Dean snorted slightly at that, shaking his head slightly as he got up to walk towards the other end of the room. “Do I have a choice? Pretty sure I remember Uriel saying that if I decided to screw you guys over, I get sent back to the pit.”
“Everyone has a choice, Dean,” Castiel replied, staying where he was. “You just have to realize that there are consequences for your choices.”
“Yeah, yeah, I realize that there are consequences,” Dean said bitterly. “I choose to stay with you guys, I’m at war against my brother. I choose to follow Sam, I drop dead and go straight back to Hell. Real great choices I got here.”
Dean remembered Hell just as vividly as he did the day he got out, and that was one place he didn’t want to go back to. No matter what kind of separation he had from his brother, Hell was worse. Hell twisted and turned you around until you didn’t know which way was up anymore, and you weren’t all that sure you wanted to. So when it came down to it, it was either suffer through living without Sam and knowing that they were both on opposite sides, or suffer eternal damnation? He was going to pick breathing. Hands down.
Castiel looked like he was about to say something, but Dean shook his head to cut him off, running a hand over his face slightly. “Don’t worry, Castiel. I’m still on your side. But I won’t kill my brother.”
“That’s all we ask.”
The next thing Dean knew he was alone again, the silence of the motel room suffocating him like a thick blanket. It was hot and heavy with tension and silence, and for the first time since Sam had left, Dean wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted a distraction and some distance between himself and what he had his brother once had been. He moved to the side table in the room, grabbing his coat and the keys to his car, before heading out the door.
He really, really needed a goddamn drink.
1307 words
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