Redux
Quick little fic! I rewrote the last scene and that conversation in 9.13: The Purge according to how a lot of fans wanted it to play out. And then the fall-out if it did.
Warnings: SPOILERS till 9.16. Some lines lifted straight from 9.13: The Purge. Plenty of swearing. Totally self-indulgent ending.
Redux
“I saved your hide back there. And I saved your hide at the church.” Dean looks up, sees Sam stiffening like he’s actually offended, which, what the hell. “I may not think things all the way through, but what I do, I do because it’s the right thing.”
“And that’s… the problem,” Sam says, in that soft, patronising voice that gets on Dean’s nerves even more than usual. Hell, he thought alcohol was supposed to numb him to this shit; he’s totally asking for a refund on this goddamn bottle of whiskey. “You think you’re my saviour, my big brother, who comes swooping in-”
“Damn straight,” Dean says without thinking, and yep, at least the ‘no-inhibitions’ thing is still working. Maybe this evening won’t be a total waste of time, after all. “Sam, you need more rescuing than friggin’ Lois Lane. You sayin’ that’s wrong? That you want me to go, ‘oh hey, my little brother’s in mortal danger, but let me not go in before he dies because he might be offended’?”
Sam lets out an exasperated breath and shakes his head. “That’s not-”
“What? Not what you meant? Oh, that’s right-we’re partners, not brothers. Partners don’t owe each other shit, right?”
Sam’s still looking at him with those big, sad eyes like Dean is the one to be pitied here, and what the fuck, it’s not like he’s the one with the apparent death wish. Dean’s given everything he’s ever had for this fucking kid, only asking that Sam be alive and by his side in return, and Sam can’t even give him that. “Tell me the truth, Sam,” he says, after a couple of beats of silence. “If the situation were reversed, and I was the one dying, you would’ve done the same thing.”
Sam opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then shakes his head and leaves.
Dean’s victory feels like the burning pit in the hollow of his stomach, and he douses it with some more whiskey.
-
Sam deals with the truth like he always does: being a prissy bitch. He barely talks to Dean after that, moving seemingly on automaton. There’s a brief spark when Kevin’s ghost haunts the bunker and they rescue Mrs. Tran, but it’s quickly gone the moment Kevin asks them (very sensibly, Dean thinks, and god thinking about that kid still hurts) to get over their shit.
God knows Dean’s ready for that. He’s practically at the start of the ‘getting over shit’ track, waiting for Sam to give him the signal. And, sure, that whole, ‘we’re not working as brothers’ spiel was a setback, but it’s not like Sam’s never come back from a hissy fit to realise that Dean was right all along before.
Sam looks devastated when they leave, and when Dean turns and goes, “Well?” (and he swears he didn’t want to come across sounding like a controlling housewife, but goddamit, Sam is being a bitch and Dean’s just had it up to here, okay?), Sam swallows like there’s jagged glass in his throat and says “Dean,” like the word Dean is some kind of creature that crawled its way up his throat and through his teeth.
“He’s right, okay?” Dean presses. “We have angels and demons on our ‘to-gank’ list, Sam. We got work to do. We can’t be hung up-” He waves a hand vaguely, “-over whatever the hell you think this is.”
“I think,” Sam says slowly, deliberately, “’whatever this is’ is me getting angry over you letting my body get possessed without my consent, then lying to me about it.”
“No,” Dean says. “This is you throwing a bitchfit over me saving your ass again. I mean, if you’re angry about what happened to Kevin, sure, blame me. I know that’s completely on me. But I don’t regret saving your life for one minute, Sam.” He pauses. “I’d do it again.”
He doesn’t wait to see Sam’s reaction; he turns and walks out of the room.
After all, he’s entitled to walk out on his brother a few times, too.
-
Sam stops talking to him entirely after that, and barely even eats or sleeps. It doesn’t even really occur to Dean until he sees his brother reading the same page of the same book for nearly five hours. That’s when he notices the dark circles under his eyes, the stink of stale sweat practically radiating off him, the greasy hair hanging limply round his face. Dean doesn’t know if this is a self-pity exercise, but anyway: there’s no excuse sitting around looking like a hobo where there are steam showers and memory-foam mattresses around.
He plonks a beer in front of Sam, startling him. “Go get cleaned up, dude. And then we can start working on the ‘looking human’ part.”
Sam flinches at that. Dean can’t imagine why.
-
He goes to hunt for Crowley and the First Blade on his own.
Of course, he would’ve appreciated Sam backing him up-what the hell did he save the kid for, if not for this?-but Sam’s too busy moping still, sitting around and staring at nothing in particular. It’s starting to freak Dean out, no lie, but at least Sam’s cleaning himself up this time. Straight up takes at least ten showers a day, always comes out with his skin a raw pink, like he’s trying to scrub himself to the bone. But then again, Sam always did tend towards overkill.
He comes back to the bunker, still yearning for the touch for the First Blade, that sense of clean, beautiful purity, like everything in the world has clicked into their designated places for the first time. Fuckin’ Crowley has him hostage with that goddamn blade, sure, but at this point Dean doesn’t really care.
Sam’s nowhere to be found, however. Dean searches every room he knows, screams himself hoarse, but no answer. Finally, finally, he gets the common sense to check his phone, and to his surprise, there’s a voice message from Cas waiting for him.
He presses play: Sam is with me, Dean. Please do not call me back or attempt to track us down. Take… take care.
Dean throws the phone across the room, and it shatters.
Finis