Decisions--SPN fic (spoiler for 8.10)
Title: Decisions
Author:borgmama1of5
Summary: A missing hour or so from 8.10
Wordcount: 600
Genre: Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: Through 8.10
Rating: PG-13
Beta: sandymg (Thanks for being awake at 2 am!)
Disclaimer: Nothing in Supernatural belongs to me, or it would be different.
Decisions
“I’mma take a walk…Clear my head…”
Dean watched his brother close the door behind him.
He hadn’t lost Sam…He’d let him go.
A hollow, peaceful feeling sat in his chest.
It was different than the burning ache when Sam had slammed the door on John’s, “If you leave, don’t come back” or the devastating paralysis at Cold Oak or the bitter despair at Stull Cemetery. After those, Dean hadn’t known how he could go on.
Now he knew he could…would. Even though it would be like missing a piece of himself, Dean knew he couldn’t keep Sam with him any longer. It was ridiculous, looking back, that despite how vehemently Sam had protested for all those years that he didn’t want to be a hunter, didn’t want this life, Dean had never really believed it.
Until now.
Dean regretted that he really hadn’t thought through what a call for help from Amelia would do to Sam, what it would make him remember. That had been wrong. Though honestly, Dean couldn’t think of what other options he’d had.
He wiped a hand over his face and tried to think of what would ground him. Keep thoughts at bay.
He’d gotten good at not thinking in Purgatory. Focusing on what had to be done to stay alive.
He could do that again. Dean pulled out his pistol. Clean the weapons. Familiar and mindless. With the rags and oil, he set himself at the table and fixated on the immediate job.
The gun was separated into its components when something Kevin had said edged into Dean’s concentration.
“…she was too distracting…I couldn’t focus…I can enjoy it when this is all over with…”
Distractions. Things that got in the way, got you killed.
And Dean realized what he had to do next.
Rising from the chair, he dialed Benny. Listened to the Louisiana drawl of his name, caught the strain in Benny’s voice and hesitated before taking one deep breath and saying what had to be said.
“I’m sorry, man, I, uh, not gonna make it…End o’ the line…You, uh, stay good, all right...Adios.”
He stared at the phone after the disconnect, resigned at the inevitability that he was, in the end, alone.
But with a job to do. Seal Hell and every damn demon away forever. And find out what was wrong with Cass. No idea how to do either one…but that was no reason not to keep going.
After efficiently reassembling his weapon, Dean was surprised to find he was hungry. He rooted through the canned goods in the cabinet, pulled out two cans of chili, dumped them in a pot. It took a moment to realize that he’d only needed to open one can.
Waiting for it to heat up, Dean sat down on the couch and turned on the small TV, flipping stations until he stopped at a boxing match.
He heard the sound of the door over the announcer’s patter, forced himself to not turn around. He wasn’t sure he could keep his mask in place and he didn’t want to hold Sam back. Expecting to hear the sound of a duffle being packed, the metallic scrape he heard instead confused him.
The refrigerator whooshed open, followed by a distinct clink, and a shadow blurred the corner of his vision. Dean allowed himself a glance.
Sam set two beers on the table. Continuing to stare fixedly at the TV, Dean opened one for Sam, then his own. Sam set down a bowl and spoon toward Dean. When Sam had his bottle in hand, Dean finally looked at him.
Sam nodded.
Dean saw pain, and resignation, and ‘we both fucked up but we are better together’ on his brother’s face.
Dean hoped Sam saw the same.
They had work to do.