Like Twisted Vines That Grow (Dean PG-13)
It wasn't my intention to torture Dean on his birthday, but I guess it's how I'm feeling lately.
Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester.
Title: Like Twisted Vines That Grow
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 523
Warnings: S4 spoilers through "Heaven and Hell"
Summary: 10_inspirations prompt fall from grace - Dean's life has been too hard lately to have a happy birthday.
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Thirty years old, now, but he felt at least twice that. Dean came back from the dead physically better than he had ever felt, the scars that marked his skin were new ones: from jumping out a stained glass window, from being pulled out of Hell by an angel. It seemed Castiel could only do so much, though, since he still remembered those forty long years and the day he gave up, became one of them. Alastair's mocking grins haunted his sleep, superimposed with the self the African dream root drew from his subconscious.
He woke up in a motel in southwestern Tennessee alone. Dean climbed out of bed, parting the heavy curtain that blocked out all sunlight to scan the parking lot. The Impala was gone, and he hoped that all Sam was doing was getting breakfast. Dean was glad for the privacy - could imagine the peripheral glances his brother would be giving, trying to figure out if he should bother saying anything or not. Dean wouldn't know what to say, either. Forty years of Hell, being stalked by anything but fluffy angels, and an impending apocalypse didn't make him feel quite celebratory, even if Dean was impressed to have made it this far, ignoring all the side trips along the way.
Thirty meant he had outlived Mom. He wondered if it mattered to her knowing his life had been exactly what she never wanted it to be. Dean caught his reflection out of the corner of his eye as he turned away from the window. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to be getting worse. He would sleep but it wasn't anything but restful. He thought he looked normal for his age until he met his own eyes. It was the same eyes as his father when he'd grab the bottle of Jack after a hunt. How had time passed for him in Hell? He'd fought his way out, but at what price? Had Hell managed to break John Winchester, or was that the ultimate proof that Dad had been the stronger man?
Dean had only been awake for an hour when Sam returned with a box of doughnuts, some sandwiches, chips, and a thirty rack of the cheapest looking beer Dean had ever seen. He held the door open, watching Sam wrestle all the boxes into a stack that he could carry into the room. Sam was gaping like a fish, clearly struggling for something to say but either coming up short or thinking better of it, just like Dean thought he would. At least there were some things about his brother that still hadn't changed.
He put the beer down on the table, cracking open the case as Dean locked the door behind him. Sam nodded then held out a can, Dean managing a half-hearted smile as he took the beer and accepted that the nod was all the acknowledgement Sam was going to give him about his birthday. It was better just to say nothing because this time there wasn't anything happy about this birthday at all, and Dean was getting pretty damned tired of lying.
Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester.
Title: Like Twisted Vines That Grow
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 523
Warnings: S4 spoilers through "Heaven and Hell"
Summary: 10_inspirations prompt fall from grace - Dean's life has been too hard lately to have a happy birthday.
+++
Thirty years old, now, but he felt at least twice that. Dean came back from the dead physically better than he had ever felt, the scars that marked his skin were new ones: from jumping out a stained glass window, from being pulled out of Hell by an angel. It seemed Castiel could only do so much, though, since he still remembered those forty long years and the day he gave up, became one of them. Alastair's mocking grins haunted his sleep, superimposed with the self the African dream root drew from his subconscious.
He woke up in a motel in southwestern Tennessee alone. Dean climbed out of bed, parting the heavy curtain that blocked out all sunlight to scan the parking lot. The Impala was gone, and he hoped that all Sam was doing was getting breakfast. Dean was glad for the privacy - could imagine the peripheral glances his brother would be giving, trying to figure out if he should bother saying anything or not. Dean wouldn't know what to say, either. Forty years of Hell, being stalked by anything but fluffy angels, and an impending apocalypse didn't make him feel quite celebratory, even if Dean was impressed to have made it this far, ignoring all the side trips along the way.
Thirty meant he had outlived Mom. He wondered if it mattered to her knowing his life had been exactly what she never wanted it to be. Dean caught his reflection out of the corner of his eye as he turned away from the window. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to be getting worse. He would sleep but it wasn't anything but restful. He thought he looked normal for his age until he met his own eyes. It was the same eyes as his father when he'd grab the bottle of Jack after a hunt. How had time passed for him in Hell? He'd fought his way out, but at what price? Had Hell managed to break John Winchester, or was that the ultimate proof that Dad had been the stronger man?
Dean had only been awake for an hour when Sam returned with a box of doughnuts, some sandwiches, chips, and a thirty rack of the cheapest looking beer Dean had ever seen. He held the door open, watching Sam wrestle all the boxes into a stack that he could carry into the room. Sam was gaping like a fish, clearly struggling for something to say but either coming up short or thinking better of it, just like Dean thought he would. At least there were some things about his brother that still hadn't changed.
He put the beer down on the table, cracking open the case as Dean locked the door behind him. Sam nodded then held out a can, Dean managing a half-hearted smile as he took the beer and accepted that the nod was all the acknowledgement Sam was going to give him about his birthday. It was better just to say nothing because this time there wasn't anything happy about this birthday at all, and Dean was getting pretty damned tired of lying.