The Angel and The Devil, Heavy On Your Shoulders [21/22] Sam/Dean, R
Title: The Angel and The Devil, Heavy on Your Shoulders (Part VI. Three.) Word Count: 1055 [35000 total]
MASTER POST for warnings, author's notes, and link to art
Part VI. This Is Gonna End Bad.
--Chapter 3--
“Dean, you can put the knife down now,” Sam says. It’s cautious and slow, the way you talk to a man on a ledge: no sudden moves. Dean thinks maybe Sam is reading his mind. Dean tries out his most disarming grin, and even though he knows Sam can see-literally-right through it, it makes him feel better about what’s about to go down.
“You know, it’s not such a bad idea,” Dean says. He sees the horror spreading over Sam’s face, and he’s sorry for it, he truly is.
“Dean, no, whatever stupid idea is in your head right now, just-no.”
“Think about it, Sam,” he says, swinging his arms wide. “They’re going to use me to get to you. Cas is right, this isn’t over. They aren’t just gonna let me off the hook.”
“We can fight them,” Sam says desperately, and Dean can tell he doesn’t have much faith in his own words.
“You know how to kill an angel Sammy?” Dean asks. “Hell, you know how to even so much as put a scratch on Castiel?” He shakes his head when Sam says nothing. “No, we can hide from them, but, come on, how long do you honestly think we can keep that up? They can get into my head, Sam. How can I outrun that?”
“So, what,” Sam says with tight lips and a mean expression. “The answer is you killing yourself?” Sam slams a fist against the wall, and Dean can feel the whole house shudder. Well, whatever Sam was an hour ago, he’s healthy as a horse now, and looks ready to kill Dean his damn self. But Dean just grins a little wider.
“Yeah, Sammy, I think it is.” Dean watches Sam’s hard anger crack and crumble, and he looks close to crying again. Dean lowers the knife, but his mind is made up. He goes to Sam and wraps him softly, letting his brother’s big frame curl around him. He’s in some strange time warp, shushing Sammy and running a hand over his hair. “It’s alright. I’m not gonna let those fucks get to me again. They want to use me, and I don’t know about you, but I’m itching to throw a wrench in those asshole’s plans.”
Sam pulled away, but his balled fists didn’t let go of Dean’s jacket. “What about the world?”
“Sam, come on, I know I’m cocky, but I’m pretty sure the world will go on without me,” Dean says confidently. And he thinks it’s probably true…although what kind of world it’s going to be, Dean’s too afraid to even consider. In this moment of clarity and calm, Dean knows two things: He hasn’t been doing the world much good in a good while, and if mankind’s destiny rests on him, then they’re all fucked. “I’m out of ideas, Sam. The most I can do is go out my way, before…” He wants to say before he hurts someone. Well, it’s too late for that.
“Then….what about me?” Sam says. Dean has to look up at his little brother, that’s true, but suddenly Sam seems so small.
Dean laughs and gives Sam a little playful shake. “What about you? You’re strong, Sam. You’re stronger than me. You stand a chance against them. I won’t pretend you didn’t do some wrong, weird shit, but it’s given you an edge. This is still a new beginning, okay? Use it, man.”
Sam sniffs and says in a strangled voice, “No, that’s not what I mean. I love you, Dean.”
It’s nothing Dean doesn’t know, but hearing it hurts. He won’t pretend he doesn’t catch Sam’s real meaning, that he doesn’t notice the way Sam’s biting his lower lip. He can see the long road of this conversation in front of him. That road is him admitting that last night wasn’t about love or a good ole fashion fuck, it was guilt. It was Dean convincing himself that he owed his brother a final request.
What Dean couldn’t bring himself to confess is how much he’d liked it.
Yeah, he loves Sam. And he’d probably be stupid enough to say so, if it all went that way. That way ends in him losing his nerve, changing his mind, and becoming God’s pawn all over again. As far as Dean’s concerned, God can go to Hell.
Dean switches his grip on the blade’s handle, pulls it in the air and buries it in his stomach.
He’s going to die his way, where they can’t get to him anymore. He won’t let them change him anymore. He’s going to die Dean Winchester, damn it, and the whole god damn world, heaven and hell can eat his dust.
He’s dimly aware that Sam is yelling. It’s amazing-there’s a fucking six-inch knife in his gut, and he feels fine. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t feel like anything. When his knees hit the floor boards, it feels like nothing. When Sam grips him tight, it feels like nothing. Not bad, not good, just…nothing. Dean smiles.
He likes it.
Sam’s yelling and man, are the waterworks going full blast now-snot and tears and the whole shebang.
“Don’t leave me,” he says. “Please,” Sam says. He’s so worked up and all Dean can think is that he’s gonna miss this kid, but then again, he isn’t, is he? He feels calm and sleepy, and he knows it’s a side effect of the Anenexus, but he enjoys it anyway. He reaches up an unfeeling hand and puts it on Sam’s cheek.
“Hey, Sammy,” he whispers. Dean can feel the darkness flowing over the edges of his mind. “Be good, you hear?”
Sam is hysterical. There’s a repetitious chorus of “no, no, no, no” coming from low in Sam’s throat. Dean doesn’t know what else he can say to make it better. He’s feeling so sleepy, and his thoughts are dragging, fraying, coming pleasantly undone. He knows it won’t make it better, in fact, it might make it worse, but Dean says softly, “Hey, I love you, too, Sammy. I love you too.”
He feels tired, so completely and wonderfully tired. How long has it been since he’s really slept? Too long, Dean decides.
The last thing Dean sees is Sam, and he knows it’s finally over.
-part VII-