(fic: SPN) The Animal (Epilogue)
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Kai and Sera are his constant companions now, though they don't dare sit shotgun. He wasn't too sure about the idea of hellhounds riding in the car with him, but they're quiet and calm and help on hunts and remind him of Sam, so it's not too bad. He thinks they miss Sam as much as he does, but he doesn't understand them on the same level that his brother did, so he doesn't know for sure one way or another. They're company, though, and it's nice to not be alone in the Impala again.
When he gets to Stanford, the shapeshifter is already gone or dead. Dean wishes he could have put the silver bullet in the bastard himself, though he's not sure that he could have killed it if it was wearing his baby brother's face. In that way, he's glad that he's not the one who dealt with it - he doesn't want the last time he sees his brother's face to be on a creature that he's killed.
He starts having dreams about his brother. At first, they're of when Sammy was a baby, how he'd only sleep if Dean was curled up next to him, and would put up a fuss whenever anyone other than Dean or their dad picked him up. Then the dreams fly ahead to just before Stanford, then after, then to the harrowing year before Dean's deal went up and when Sam dragged him out of hell kicking and screaming with the blood of thousands on his tongue, then when Sam left again and came back broken. Occasionally those dreams change to nightmares, then they slip into something that should never have been and wouldn't have ever happened had Sam never left. Those dreams are drenched with sweat and heat and the scent of sex in the air, and when Dean wakes up from those the hounds are always right around the bed, watching him. It's unnerving as hell, but he thinks they know what he's dreaming of, what he's missing.
He stops getting doubles when he rents a room; there are times he has to stop himself and remember that there's no one else with him. The hounds don't sleep inside, they spend the night hunting nightmares, or sinners, or rapists or whatever it is that hellhounds like to do while most people sleep. Unless Dean has one of those dream-nightmares.
It hurts. Dean tries to go back, tries to find where the compound had been, but when he returns to Guatemala he can't find it. It's as if the compound had never existed, or as if the greenery had swallowed it back.
And so, to fight the pain and memories of his little brother and the memories of the fire, he hunts.
He is alone-but-not, has no interest in barmaids or cute deputies or... anything. Anything other than the hunt, and that only gets him so far.
Then he's not alone any longer.
“Sam?”
“D....dean.”
The word is a weak exhale, but Sam is there and he's fine and-
“I killed them. So, so many didn't get out, and-”
Sam shudders, and Dean hugs him close. They're on a crowded street, and Dean looks around for a moment before herding Sam towards the Impala. Sam doesn't want to let go when Dean directs him into the passenger side seat, but Dean gets him settled and goes around to sit behind the wheel. As soon as Dean got in the car, Sam scoots over until he is pressed against him. He is feverish, heat leaking out of him like he is still on fire.
“Dean-”
“What happened?” Dean speaks calmly and he puts his arm around Sam's shoulders.
“They burned in the compound. The Dampeners, and then the ones whose brains were turned off and some of the babies didn't make it out and neither did their carriers. If there had been more teleporters...” Sam shivers and presses tighter against Dean. “When a psychic kills another psychic, they inherit the other psychic's powers. I- the explosion was my fault, and I killed them, and now...”
Sam turns his face and kisses Dean hard on the mouth, with plenty of tongue. For a moment, Dean goes through with it, then when they pull apart, for a few moments Dean sees the world through Sam's eyes.
It's terrifying.
The colors are distorted, people glowing with twisted colors, and there are shadows moving where a moment ago they hadn't existed. People change shapes, suddenly sprouting fur or feathers or spikes that pulse with a light that hurts Dean's eyes.
The only quiet in the chaos is in the car. Sam shivers again and sticks close to Dean's side. He's murmuring quietly, and as Dean watches Sam slowly, slowly relaxes. When Sam opens his eyes there's an odd sheen to them.
“I'm tired, Dean.”
Dean pulls Sam closer and presses his cheek against the top of Sam's head. “Then how about we go get some sleep?”
“Sleep?” Sam sounds as if the idea is foreign. “Dean, I haven't slept since before the compound blew.”
It's then that it registers in Dean's mind that there's not a single mark on Sam's body to show that he'd been at ground zero of an explosion that decimated everything in a mile-and-a-half radius.
~~
Previous | Master Post | Author's Notes and Acknowledgments
Kai and Sera are his constant companions now, though they don't dare sit shotgun. He wasn't too sure about the idea of hellhounds riding in the car with him, but they're quiet and calm and help on hunts and remind him of Sam, so it's not too bad. He thinks they miss Sam as much as he does, but he doesn't understand them on the same level that his brother did, so he doesn't know for sure one way or another. They're company, though, and it's nice to not be alone in the Impala again.
When he gets to Stanford, the shapeshifter is already gone or dead. Dean wishes he could have put the silver bullet in the bastard himself, though he's not sure that he could have killed it if it was wearing his baby brother's face. In that way, he's glad that he's not the one who dealt with it - he doesn't want the last time he sees his brother's face to be on a creature that he's killed.
He starts having dreams about his brother. At first, they're of when Sammy was a baby, how he'd only sleep if Dean was curled up next to him, and would put up a fuss whenever anyone other than Dean or their dad picked him up. Then the dreams fly ahead to just before Stanford, then after, then to the harrowing year before Dean's deal went up and when Sam dragged him out of hell kicking and screaming with the blood of thousands on his tongue, then when Sam left again and came back broken. Occasionally those dreams change to nightmares, then they slip into something that should never have been and wouldn't have ever happened had Sam never left. Those dreams are drenched with sweat and heat and the scent of sex in the air, and when Dean wakes up from those the hounds are always right around the bed, watching him. It's unnerving as hell, but he thinks they know what he's dreaming of, what he's missing.
He stops getting doubles when he rents a room; there are times he has to stop himself and remember that there's no one else with him. The hounds don't sleep inside, they spend the night hunting nightmares, or sinners, or rapists or whatever it is that hellhounds like to do while most people sleep. Unless Dean has one of those dream-nightmares.
It hurts. Dean tries to go back, tries to find where the compound had been, but when he returns to Guatemala he can't find it. It's as if the compound had never existed, or as if the greenery had swallowed it back.
And so, to fight the pain and memories of his little brother and the memories of the fire, he hunts.
He is alone-but-not, has no interest in barmaids or cute deputies or... anything. Anything other than the hunt, and that only gets him so far.
Then he's not alone any longer.
“Sam?”
“D....dean.”
The word is a weak exhale, but Sam is there and he's fine and-
“I killed them. So, so many didn't get out, and-”
Sam shudders, and Dean hugs him close. They're on a crowded street, and Dean looks around for a moment before herding Sam towards the Impala. Sam doesn't want to let go when Dean directs him into the passenger side seat, but Dean gets him settled and goes around to sit behind the wheel. As soon as Dean got in the car, Sam scoots over until he is pressed against him. He is feverish, heat leaking out of him like he is still on fire.
“Dean-”
“What happened?” Dean speaks calmly and he puts his arm around Sam's shoulders.
“They burned in the compound. The Dampeners, and then the ones whose brains were turned off and some of the babies didn't make it out and neither did their carriers. If there had been more teleporters...” Sam shivers and presses tighter against Dean. “When a psychic kills another psychic, they inherit the other psychic's powers. I- the explosion was my fault, and I killed them, and now...”
Sam turns his face and kisses Dean hard on the mouth, with plenty of tongue. For a moment, Dean goes through with it, then when they pull apart, for a few moments Dean sees the world through Sam's eyes.
It's terrifying.
The colors are distorted, people glowing with twisted colors, and there are shadows moving where a moment ago they hadn't existed. People change shapes, suddenly sprouting fur or feathers or spikes that pulse with a light that hurts Dean's eyes.
The only quiet in the chaos is in the car. Sam shivers again and sticks close to Dean's side. He's murmuring quietly, and as Dean watches Sam slowly, slowly relaxes. When Sam opens his eyes there's an odd sheen to them.
“I'm tired, Dean.”
Dean pulls Sam closer and presses his cheek against the top of Sam's head. “Then how about we go get some sleep?”
“Sleep?” Sam sounds as if the idea is foreign. “Dean, I haven't slept since before the compound blew.”
It's then that it registers in Dean's mind that there's not a single mark on Sam's body to show that he'd been at ground zero of an explosion that decimated everything in a mile-and-a-half radius.
~~
Previous | Master Post | Author's Notes and Acknowledgments