Double Standard - fic for charity auction
Title: Double Standard
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
W/C: ~3K
Summary: Dean never thought he’d end up there.
A/N: This was written for jb_slasher in return for a generous bid for my fic at rainbow_support. Thank you for donating, I really hope you like this story.
“We got someplace to be?” Sam asked, looking to his left as his brother white-knuckled the steering wheel of the Impala and tore up the highway beneath them with no regard for the posted speed limit signs.
“Someplace the fuck away from Greenwood, Mississippi, I don’t care, just fucking away.”
Sam simply nodded and directed his gaze back out the passenger side window. He had no desire to make things worse for his brother than they already were.
The past few days had been tough. OK, the past year and a half or so had been…more than tough. Well, all right, fine, their entire damn lives hadn’t exactly been a cake-walk. But this case in Greenwood had turned out to be so much more than they’d bargained for. Bargained, right, ha ha ha, Sam thought, because wasn’t that just the perfect turn of phrase?
They’d gone there on the trail of what they thought might have been a black dog. Their dad’s journal had a little bit of information recorded in his unique scrawl about the phenomenon, mainly that it was British lore, not much taken down in the States. Even a sketch to go along with it. Supposed to be spectral, some kind of spirit, malicious. Glowy eyes, red eyes, hard to see, maybe able to make itself disappear or reappear, and big. Really big. Sam hadn’t mentioned the Arthur Conan Doyle book he’d read in middle school about Sherlock Holmes investigating the strange case of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose family was thought to be cursed due to his connection to a black dog or a hellhound. He figured it would just give Dean another opportunity to make fun of him, call him a geek or whatever. There were plenty of chances for that, and it probably had nothing to do with anything, so he’d kept his mouth shut.
After talking to several witnesses, friends and family members, though, finding out about the people who made the deals, heard the hounds coming for them…well, Sam figured maybe he should have spoken up a little sooner. Finding out that the legendary Robert Johnson’s crossroads deal wasn’t so much of a legend as it was actually the truth was not as much of a shock to Sam and his brother as it probably would have been to other people. Specifically, people who hadn’t been told about monsters since they were children, people who hadn’t been trained to fight the supernatural from the day they were old enough to lift a shotgun or read an exorcism rite. That kind of left that category of other people to include almost everyone on the planet except for the brothers Winchester.
They’d known other hunters, sure, met them, even gotten close to a couple of them. But neither of them had met anyone their age who’d grown up in the life, who’d been thrown into the deep end of the ‘yeah, things really do go bump in the night’ pool at the age Sam and Dean had. And hell, even Sam knew he had gotten a little protection. His brother had tried to keep it from him, he had put his very best effort into making excuses and telling lies in an attempt to protect little Sammy for as long as he possibly could. Their father had tried, too, though his attempts had been half-hearted and Sam now knew that Dean had intervened several times to keep their dad from letting the baby of the family find out about what John was really doing when he left them alone. It couldn’t last forever, though, despite Dean’s efforts. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating when he reminded Dean more than a year ago about the time their father had shoved a loaded pistol into his tiny hands when Sam confessed to being afraid of something in his closet. He knew his brother had tried to protect him from all that knowledge, just like he’d tried to protect him from every single other potentially hurtful circumstance in their lives. Dean had done his best, but there was just no way for him to shield Sam from the cold hard facts that came part and parcel with the life they lived. He’d grown accustomed to it, eventually, there was no other option but to learn the skill of the hunt, what was necessary to kill this spirit or that monster or whatever the hell else they came across in their travels.
This time had been different, though. John’s sudden death and Dean’s miraculous recovery after their literal collision with a demon-possessed truck driver had left questions, suspicions, in both of their minds. Sam knew that his brother was convinced their father had made a ‘deal’ with Yellow-Eyes to save Dean’s life, and he honestly didn’t doubt it so much himself. John might not have been father of the year material in some ways, but the idea that he’d willingly trade his life, his soul for the life of his son wasn’t all that far-fetched. John had known that his boys would be all right without him, but without each other? Well, there was no question that neither of them would be happy to live without the other. John knew his sons needed each other more than they needed him, even though he had no clue about the not so platonic nature of the relationship they’d shared since they were teenagers. Clearly, that had been kind of ‘on hold’ while Sam was away at Stanford, but it didn’t take more than a few months before they were right back there again, where they belonged, in each other’s arms, in each other’s bed.
So yeah, they’d suspected. But while Sam was watching over Evan Hudson, Dean had gone to the crossroads and gotten his confirmation. Do demons lie? Well sure, of course they do. Sometimes. But this one wasn’t lying. Though Dean resisted its (her) attempt to claim his own soul in ten years in exchange for his father’s return to life; it (she) had also made sure that Dean knew, and by extension, that Sam knew, that what they’d suspected was true. John Winchester had willingly handed over his soul to a demon in order to save Dean’s life back there in that hospital months ago.
Sam knew how much Dean was struggling with that information. Dean, of course, had always seen himself as the sacrificial lamb of the family. Willing to give up anything and everything for his father, his brother, his long-dead mother, hell, even for total strangers who’d never so much as thank him for his efforts. He knew what Dean had said to Evan about how his wife would feel about him making that kind of deal to save her life, how it would affect the rest of her life knowing what the cost had been.
Now, Sam was watching his brother experience all of those emotions for himself. Trying to reconcile the fact that he was alive and his father was in Hell, that John had gone willingly, had even given up the one shot they had at killing the demon they’d been after their whole lives, to save the life of his son.
Sam had his own cross to bear over their father’s death. Thinking back to the last ugly, heated words between them made him feel physically ill. Those last few moments when his father had smiled, had actually looked peaceful, told Sam he didn’t want to fight…he still couldn’t let go of his anger. And he never even got a chance to try, because John was gone before Sam could get back with his cup of coffee.
The ride was silent, Dean not even bothering with his loud music this time around. Sam figured no amount of Metallica or Zeppelin was going to distract his brother from what he was trying to process.
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Deals.
Those people in Mississippi all made deals. Stupid fuckers. Ten years. Ten years of something they thought would make them happy, the tradeoff an eternity in Hell. Did they even think? Did it even cross their minds while they were sucking face with that red-eyed crossroads bitch that they’d be leaving people who loved them behind? Voluntarily? Maybe their family and friends would know about their deals, maybe they wouldn’t, but it sure as shit didn’t mean those people wouldn’t miss that deal-making son of a bitch once he was gone.
And now Dean knew for sure. One of those deal-making sons of bitches was his own father. But he didn’t even get anything out of it. No ten years. No success and happiness or whatever the hell he would have wanted in that time. He got nothing, except a minute alone with his oldest son. One fucking minute and he used it to tell Dean he might have to kill his own brother one day. Kill his own flesh and blood, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, the man who’d stolen his heart away before either of them had any idea what it meant or where it would lead. Kill his Sammy. If he couldn’t save him. Asshole could have at least said what he fuck it was he was supposed to save Sam from.
Finally, after so much time, he honestly felt like he was starting to get it together again, coming out the other side of mourning his father’s death, finding some steady ground beneath his feet.
And then they had to go to fucking Mississippi. Just for Dean to find out that what he thought all along was true. His dad was in Hell, forever. He wasn’t conscripted, just like he hadn’t been drafted into the war before his kids were born, he signed up for it. Walked right to the front of the line, ‘Hey, where do I sign up to do something stupid and reckless?’ - that’s what he’d done.
When he couldn’t take the loop of thoughts in his head another minute, he found a highway exit and checked them into a motel. The whole thing was done in silence. He could tell Sam didn’t want to speak for fear of Dean’s wrath being unleashed on him. They didn’t need to talk about it anyway. It was the same every time. Dean went to the desk to hand over a fake credit card, asked for a room with two beds (still two beds, every time, just for different reasons now) and got a key. Sam started pulling bags out of the car and followed him in to the room, knowing Dean would throw his own duffle onto the bed closest to the door.
He was starting to see reason a little, though, at this point. It wasn’t fair for his brother to have to tiptoe around him. And Sam had his own grief over having their suspicions confirmed about the circumstances of their father’s death.
Sitting at the foot of the bed, unlacing his boots and throwing off his jacket, he looked up to see Sam eyeing him from across the room like he was something dangerous. Not talking about shit just wasn’t Sam’s thing, never had been, even when it took him a while to get to it, there always had to be a conversation. And Dean couldn’t bear taking that away from him, not any more than he could bear having his brother looking so heartbroken and lost.
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Sam was shocked when, after less than a minute of their mini-staring contest, he saw Dean’s face soften and heard him say, “Come on, Sammy. Come here.” as he scooted over to make room for Sam to sit next to him.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sam sat down there next to Dean but still wasn’t sure what to do or say. Taking a chance, he just leaned over and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish there was-”
“No, Sam, no, don’t, please”, Dean said, automatically wrapping his arm around his brother, pulling him in closer. Sam felt the kiss to the top of his head, Dean’s fingers carding through his hair. “It was shitty for both of us, I know. I’m not saying we can just go on like we don’t know the truth, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it now.”
He’d been holding back for the whole day while they were in the car, but Dean’s reassuring touch pushed him over the edge and Sam finally let a few tears fall. They just sat there like that for a few minutes, until Sam felt something different and pulled away. His brother looked over at him, one tear on his cheek, but a gentle smile on his lips. Sam leaned in and kissed away the tear, like Dean used to do all the time when they were kids.
Something broke in the air between them, and Sam was so incredibly grateful to feel Dean’s arms around him, holding on tight. Sam easily returned the embrace, filled with relief that this was yet another time when they could at the very least take comfort in each other’s presence.
Over the next few minutes, shoes and shirts and jeans were discarded, only interrupted by the intense but still somehow chaste kisses that were traded between them. Finally mostly unclothed and lying down, it was like the two of them were starting all over again. Usually, sex was fueled by adrenaline, fear, anger, or some mix of those things; a rush of clashing teeth, pulled hair, both of them frantic, rutting and bruising and taking each other. Not tonight. There were no more tears, but there also wasn’t any rush or desperation. It must have been half an hour at least that they just held and kissed each other, and Sam didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful for anything else in his life. Dean seemed to need exactly what he needed; the reassurance of their intimacy and love and commitment, not the fast and rough sex they usually engaged in.
It’s not like that wasn't the direction they were headed, Sam knew that, they weren’t going to just fall asleep in the middle of their kisses. But it was still gentle. Slow. His hands roaming over Dean’s chest, then down, lower, pulling Dean’s boxers off as well as his own, letting their bodies press together, the friction between them intensifying by the second. Never breaking off the kisses against their mouths and faces and necks, he wrapped his hand around both their cocks and stroked, loving every single sound he coaxed from Dean with each movement.
Surprisingly, the whole show wasn’t slow, it was just a few minutes before he felt his orgasm coming at him, unstoppable, and knowing Dean was right there with him. Both of them murmuring each other’s names along with soft exclamations and whispered curses, Sam felt Dean’s release spill over his hand and onto his stomach just moments before he stilled and held his breath as he came with a simultaneous dizziness and clarity.
Dean was his, no matter what else they’d lost, no matter what else happened, they belonged to each other in every way. There wasn’t a single thing that could happen to either of them to change that. Their shared grief was mingled with their shared love, like their seed was mingled on their bodies and hands right at that moment.
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He hadn’t been sure this was going to happen tonight, after everything, but Dean was glad for it anyway. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it, this affirmation that regardless of anything else that might change in their lives, this was something that wouldn’t change, wouldn’t disappear, wouldn’t slip away and leave them bereft.
It didn’t make him feel any better, though, about the secret he was keeping. He’d have to tell Sam, at some point, what their father had said in that hospital room. But he’d put it off as long as he could. He was absolutely convinced that there was nothing he couldn’t save Sam from, and equally convinced that there was nothing in the world that would convince him it was necessary to murder his brother.
He didn’t give a shit, right at that moment, what their father had said. John was gone, he made his choice, he was a deal-making sucker like all those folks in Greenwood had been. He’d never felt before that his father was weak and pathetic, but the idea still wound its way around his mind as he compared John to the dead and suffering Mississippi people who’d gone to that crossroads.
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Months later, after so much…the help they got from Bobby, the loss of the Roadhouse, the relief of Ellen and Jo’s survival, his desperate screaming at the café in the middle of nowhere when he realized Sam was missing…Dean didn’t spare even a second to think of those poor condemned souls he’d been so preoccupied by after Greenwood. He didn’t think a minute about how he’d once thought his father had betrayed them by doing what he’d done at the hospital after their crash. He didn’t even think about what would happen when Sam found out what he’d done. He couldn’t face the inevitable heartbreak he’d cause his brother as a result of what he was doing right this second.
He just dug into the ground at the crossroads after Cold Oak, buried his box and waited. So it was one year instead of ten. What the fuck ever. He kissed that creepy red-eyed bitch without a second of hesitation and hurried back to where he’d left Sam.
Later. He’d think of a way to explain it to Sam later, a way to explain it to Bobby later. For now he just held onto his brother and bit back the guilt as he lied to Sam about what had happened. Held on like he’d never let go, because he was going to keep up the pretense of not letting go for as long as he could.
And finally, he understood. He wasn’t angry with John anymore. Dean was just following his father’s footsteps like he always had.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
W/C: ~3K
Summary: Dean never thought he’d end up there.
A/N: This was written for jb_slasher in return for a generous bid for my fic at rainbow_support. Thank you for donating, I really hope you like this story.
“We got someplace to be?” Sam asked, looking to his left as his brother white-knuckled the steering wheel of the Impala and tore up the highway beneath them with no regard for the posted speed limit signs.
“Someplace the fuck away from Greenwood, Mississippi, I don’t care, just fucking away.”
Sam simply nodded and directed his gaze back out the passenger side window. He had no desire to make things worse for his brother than they already were.
The past few days had been tough. OK, the past year and a half or so had been…more than tough. Well, all right, fine, their entire damn lives hadn’t exactly been a cake-walk. But this case in Greenwood had turned out to be so much more than they’d bargained for. Bargained, right, ha ha ha, Sam thought, because wasn’t that just the perfect turn of phrase?
They’d gone there on the trail of what they thought might have been a black dog. Their dad’s journal had a little bit of information recorded in his unique scrawl about the phenomenon, mainly that it was British lore, not much taken down in the States. Even a sketch to go along with it. Supposed to be spectral, some kind of spirit, malicious. Glowy eyes, red eyes, hard to see, maybe able to make itself disappear or reappear, and big. Really big. Sam hadn’t mentioned the Arthur Conan Doyle book he’d read in middle school about Sherlock Holmes investigating the strange case of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose family was thought to be cursed due to his connection to a black dog or a hellhound. He figured it would just give Dean another opportunity to make fun of him, call him a geek or whatever. There were plenty of chances for that, and it probably had nothing to do with anything, so he’d kept his mouth shut.
After talking to several witnesses, friends and family members, though, finding out about the people who made the deals, heard the hounds coming for them…well, Sam figured maybe he should have spoken up a little sooner. Finding out that the legendary Robert Johnson’s crossroads deal wasn’t so much of a legend as it was actually the truth was not as much of a shock to Sam and his brother as it probably would have been to other people. Specifically, people who hadn’t been told about monsters since they were children, people who hadn’t been trained to fight the supernatural from the day they were old enough to lift a shotgun or read an exorcism rite. That kind of left that category of other people to include almost everyone on the planet except for the brothers Winchester.
They’d known other hunters, sure, met them, even gotten close to a couple of them. But neither of them had met anyone their age who’d grown up in the life, who’d been thrown into the deep end of the ‘yeah, things really do go bump in the night’ pool at the age Sam and Dean had. And hell, even Sam knew he had gotten a little protection. His brother had tried to keep it from him, he had put his very best effort into making excuses and telling lies in an attempt to protect little Sammy for as long as he possibly could. Their father had tried, too, though his attempts had been half-hearted and Sam now knew that Dean had intervened several times to keep their dad from letting the baby of the family find out about what John was really doing when he left them alone. It couldn’t last forever, though, despite Dean’s efforts. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating when he reminded Dean more than a year ago about the time their father had shoved a loaded pistol into his tiny hands when Sam confessed to being afraid of something in his closet. He knew his brother had tried to protect him from all that knowledge, just like he’d tried to protect him from every single other potentially hurtful circumstance in their lives. Dean had done his best, but there was just no way for him to shield Sam from the cold hard facts that came part and parcel with the life they lived. He’d grown accustomed to it, eventually, there was no other option but to learn the skill of the hunt, what was necessary to kill this spirit or that monster or whatever the hell else they came across in their travels.
This time had been different, though. John’s sudden death and Dean’s miraculous recovery after their literal collision with a demon-possessed truck driver had left questions, suspicions, in both of their minds. Sam knew that his brother was convinced their father had made a ‘deal’ with Yellow-Eyes to save Dean’s life, and he honestly didn’t doubt it so much himself. John might not have been father of the year material in some ways, but the idea that he’d willingly trade his life, his soul for the life of his son wasn’t all that far-fetched. John had known that his boys would be all right without him, but without each other? Well, there was no question that neither of them would be happy to live without the other. John knew his sons needed each other more than they needed him, even though he had no clue about the not so platonic nature of the relationship they’d shared since they were teenagers. Clearly, that had been kind of ‘on hold’ while Sam was away at Stanford, but it didn’t take more than a few months before they were right back there again, where they belonged, in each other’s arms, in each other’s bed.
So yeah, they’d suspected. But while Sam was watching over Evan Hudson, Dean had gone to the crossroads and gotten his confirmation. Do demons lie? Well sure, of course they do. Sometimes. But this one wasn’t lying. Though Dean resisted its (her) attempt to claim his own soul in ten years in exchange for his father’s return to life; it (she) had also made sure that Dean knew, and by extension, that Sam knew, that what they’d suspected was true. John Winchester had willingly handed over his soul to a demon in order to save Dean’s life back there in that hospital months ago.
Sam knew how much Dean was struggling with that information. Dean, of course, had always seen himself as the sacrificial lamb of the family. Willing to give up anything and everything for his father, his brother, his long-dead mother, hell, even for total strangers who’d never so much as thank him for his efforts. He knew what Dean had said to Evan about how his wife would feel about him making that kind of deal to save her life, how it would affect the rest of her life knowing what the cost had been.
Now, Sam was watching his brother experience all of those emotions for himself. Trying to reconcile the fact that he was alive and his father was in Hell, that John had gone willingly, had even given up the one shot they had at killing the demon they’d been after their whole lives, to save the life of his son.
Sam had his own cross to bear over their father’s death. Thinking back to the last ugly, heated words between them made him feel physically ill. Those last few moments when his father had smiled, had actually looked peaceful, told Sam he didn’t want to fight…he still couldn’t let go of his anger. And he never even got a chance to try, because John was gone before Sam could get back with his cup of coffee.
The ride was silent, Dean not even bothering with his loud music this time around. Sam figured no amount of Metallica or Zeppelin was going to distract his brother from what he was trying to process.
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Deals.
Those people in Mississippi all made deals. Stupid fuckers. Ten years. Ten years of something they thought would make them happy, the tradeoff an eternity in Hell. Did they even think? Did it even cross their minds while they were sucking face with that red-eyed crossroads bitch that they’d be leaving people who loved them behind? Voluntarily? Maybe their family and friends would know about their deals, maybe they wouldn’t, but it sure as shit didn’t mean those people wouldn’t miss that deal-making son of a bitch once he was gone.
And now Dean knew for sure. One of those deal-making sons of bitches was his own father. But he didn’t even get anything out of it. No ten years. No success and happiness or whatever the hell he would have wanted in that time. He got nothing, except a minute alone with his oldest son. One fucking minute and he used it to tell Dean he might have to kill his own brother one day. Kill his own flesh and blood, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, the man who’d stolen his heart away before either of them had any idea what it meant or where it would lead. Kill his Sammy. If he couldn’t save him. Asshole could have at least said what he fuck it was he was supposed to save Sam from.
Finally, after so much time, he honestly felt like he was starting to get it together again, coming out the other side of mourning his father’s death, finding some steady ground beneath his feet.
And then they had to go to fucking Mississippi. Just for Dean to find out that what he thought all along was true. His dad was in Hell, forever. He wasn’t conscripted, just like he hadn’t been drafted into the war before his kids were born, he signed up for it. Walked right to the front of the line, ‘Hey, where do I sign up to do something stupid and reckless?’ - that’s what he’d done.
When he couldn’t take the loop of thoughts in his head another minute, he found a highway exit and checked them into a motel. The whole thing was done in silence. He could tell Sam didn’t want to speak for fear of Dean’s wrath being unleashed on him. They didn’t need to talk about it anyway. It was the same every time. Dean went to the desk to hand over a fake credit card, asked for a room with two beds (still two beds, every time, just for different reasons now) and got a key. Sam started pulling bags out of the car and followed him in to the room, knowing Dean would throw his own duffle onto the bed closest to the door.
He was starting to see reason a little, though, at this point. It wasn’t fair for his brother to have to tiptoe around him. And Sam had his own grief over having their suspicions confirmed about the circumstances of their father’s death.
Sitting at the foot of the bed, unlacing his boots and throwing off his jacket, he looked up to see Sam eyeing him from across the room like he was something dangerous. Not talking about shit just wasn’t Sam’s thing, never had been, even when it took him a while to get to it, there always had to be a conversation. And Dean couldn’t bear taking that away from him, not any more than he could bear having his brother looking so heartbroken and lost.
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Sam was shocked when, after less than a minute of their mini-staring contest, he saw Dean’s face soften and heard him say, “Come on, Sammy. Come here.” as he scooted over to make room for Sam to sit next to him.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sam sat down there next to Dean but still wasn’t sure what to do or say. Taking a chance, he just leaned over and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish there was-”
“No, Sam, no, don’t, please”, Dean said, automatically wrapping his arm around his brother, pulling him in closer. Sam felt the kiss to the top of his head, Dean’s fingers carding through his hair. “It was shitty for both of us, I know. I’m not saying we can just go on like we don’t know the truth, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it now.”
He’d been holding back for the whole day while they were in the car, but Dean’s reassuring touch pushed him over the edge and Sam finally let a few tears fall. They just sat there like that for a few minutes, until Sam felt something different and pulled away. His brother looked over at him, one tear on his cheek, but a gentle smile on his lips. Sam leaned in and kissed away the tear, like Dean used to do all the time when they were kids.
Something broke in the air between them, and Sam was so incredibly grateful to feel Dean’s arms around him, holding on tight. Sam easily returned the embrace, filled with relief that this was yet another time when they could at the very least take comfort in each other’s presence.
Over the next few minutes, shoes and shirts and jeans were discarded, only interrupted by the intense but still somehow chaste kisses that were traded between them. Finally mostly unclothed and lying down, it was like the two of them were starting all over again. Usually, sex was fueled by adrenaline, fear, anger, or some mix of those things; a rush of clashing teeth, pulled hair, both of them frantic, rutting and bruising and taking each other. Not tonight. There were no more tears, but there also wasn’t any rush or desperation. It must have been half an hour at least that they just held and kissed each other, and Sam didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful for anything else in his life. Dean seemed to need exactly what he needed; the reassurance of their intimacy and love and commitment, not the fast and rough sex they usually engaged in.
It’s not like that wasn't the direction they were headed, Sam knew that, they weren’t going to just fall asleep in the middle of their kisses. But it was still gentle. Slow. His hands roaming over Dean’s chest, then down, lower, pulling Dean’s boxers off as well as his own, letting their bodies press together, the friction between them intensifying by the second. Never breaking off the kisses against their mouths and faces and necks, he wrapped his hand around both their cocks and stroked, loving every single sound he coaxed from Dean with each movement.
Surprisingly, the whole show wasn’t slow, it was just a few minutes before he felt his orgasm coming at him, unstoppable, and knowing Dean was right there with him. Both of them murmuring each other’s names along with soft exclamations and whispered curses, Sam felt Dean’s release spill over his hand and onto his stomach just moments before he stilled and held his breath as he came with a simultaneous dizziness and clarity.
Dean was his, no matter what else they’d lost, no matter what else happened, they belonged to each other in every way. There wasn’t a single thing that could happen to either of them to change that. Their shared grief was mingled with their shared love, like their seed was mingled on their bodies and hands right at that moment.
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He hadn’t been sure this was going to happen tonight, after everything, but Dean was glad for it anyway. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it, this affirmation that regardless of anything else that might change in their lives, this was something that wouldn’t change, wouldn’t disappear, wouldn’t slip away and leave them bereft.
It didn’t make him feel any better, though, about the secret he was keeping. He’d have to tell Sam, at some point, what their father had said in that hospital room. But he’d put it off as long as he could. He was absolutely convinced that there was nothing he couldn’t save Sam from, and equally convinced that there was nothing in the world that would convince him it was necessary to murder his brother.
He didn’t give a shit, right at that moment, what their father had said. John was gone, he made his choice, he was a deal-making sucker like all those folks in Greenwood had been. He’d never felt before that his father was weak and pathetic, but the idea still wound its way around his mind as he compared John to the dead and suffering Mississippi people who’d gone to that crossroads.
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Months later, after so much…the help they got from Bobby, the loss of the Roadhouse, the relief of Ellen and Jo’s survival, his desperate screaming at the café in the middle of nowhere when he realized Sam was missing…Dean didn’t spare even a second to think of those poor condemned souls he’d been so preoccupied by after Greenwood. He didn’t think a minute about how he’d once thought his father had betrayed them by doing what he’d done at the hospital after their crash. He didn’t even think about what would happen when Sam found out what he’d done. He couldn’t face the inevitable heartbreak he’d cause his brother as a result of what he was doing right this second.
He just dug into the ground at the crossroads after Cold Oak, buried his box and waited. So it was one year instead of ten. What the fuck ever. He kissed that creepy red-eyed bitch without a second of hesitation and hurried back to where he’d left Sam.
Later. He’d think of a way to explain it to Sam later, a way to explain it to Bobby later. For now he just held onto his brother and bit back the guilt as he lied to Sam about what had happened. Held on like he’d never let go, because he was going to keep up the pretense of not letting go for as long as he could.
And finally, he understood. He wasn’t angry with John anymore. Dean was just following his father’s footsteps like he always had.