downpour - SN fic - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: downpour

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: the brothers aren’t mine; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for everything

Pairings: none beyond Dean and the weather

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 460

Point of view: third

Storm
Tempest

 

            It’s been storming for three days straight. The roads are washed out, trees are down everywhere, the Impala’s windshield is cracked, and he’s done with this. Completely fucking done with it.

            Dean just stares out the window, face serene, not seeming to care that the gate of Hell opened, that the demon—the DEMON, the bastard they’ve hunted their whole lives—is dead, or—the best fucking part—he’s got a year to live.

            Dean just stares at the storm. And Sam’s more pissed than he’s ever been, because how could Dean have done it? How dare he? It’s like he thinks he doesn’t matter!

            And, looking at Dean’s back, at the set of his shoulders, Sam realizes with a deep ache that it’s the truth. Dean honestly believes that he doesn’t matter, not as much as Sam.

            “Dude.” Dean cuts into his reflections, glancing at him. “I’m goin’ out for a minute.”

            “You’re doin’ what?” Sam can’t have heard him right. This isn’t the usual little storm, not like the dozen others Dean’s stood in the middle of—it’s one step away from being a damned hurricane!

            Dean’s smile is gentle. “It’ll be fine, Sammy,” he promises, and is out the door.

            Sam gapes, then lunges to his feet and strides across the room in two steps. He’s pissed—at the demon, at Jake, at the world, at himself, at Dean—and he bellows as he opens the door, “Dean, get your ass back in here!”

            He’d half-hoped that Dean’d react to the drill sergeant tone of their father, but Dean ignores him, standing in the howling rain, face toward the dark-gray, rolling sky. Sam hears his laughter over the wind and wonders—again—how Dean can be so reckless about the weather. He’d flip out if Sam acted so uncaring about a natural force beyond their power or comprehension, but Dean? Doesn’t care about himself. Never has.
            And that adds to Sam’s fury. Dean’s gone and sold himself, uncaring that he’ll spend eternity—forfuckingever—in Hell. No way out. Dean’s done stupid shit before, to keep Sam safe, but this? He’s given away his soul. The thing that makes him Dean.

            Sam wants to slap him, punch him, show him just how stupid a move that is. But Dean won’t understand. He thinks Sam’s worth more, always has. His one job is keeping Sam safe, and damn the world if it gets in the way.

            Or himself.

            There’s very little Sam can’t forgive Dad for, when it all comes down to it. What he’s done to Dean is at the top of the list.

            Sam sighs, watching Dean. The rain falls harder, wind shrieking, and Dean laughs. Sam sighs again and steps forward, joining his brother in the maelstrom.