sinkin' like the settin' sun - SN fic - R

[tigriswolf]

Title: sinkin' like the settin' sun
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters, anyone you recognize. just for fun.  Title from "The Cowboy Rides Away" by George Strait.
Warnings: spoilers for up to "Heart"; underage whoring;
Pairings: Sam/Jessica, Dean/OMCs, Dean/OFCs, Dean/Sam, Dean/Cassie
Rating: R
Wordcount: 6500
Point of view: third
Dedication: JazzyIrish who requested Dean
Notes: sorta like a fifty-sentences thing, except I ain’t numberin’ ‘em and there's no prompt-word.
More notes: not in chronological order.
Notes cubed: part of my Dean canon

 

Dean will never, ever tell Sam this, but sometimes he really, truly hates him, for everything that Sam is and he isn’t, for everything Sam had and he didn’t, for the memories Sam doesn’t have and isn’t haunted by, for the potential Sam has—despite everything—, potential that, for Dean, burned to ash when he was four years old.

 

His first broken bone, he was eighteen months old and lost his balance while climbing out his crib.

 

Sam always tried getting Dean on his side of the arguments with Dad, and Dad always expected Dean to be with him.

 

Dean never forgets the look in Dad’s eye after the shtriga almost gets Sammy.

 

Dean has nothing to compare his feelings towards Cassie to; if it’s love or not, he doesn’t know, but he hopes it is, so he tells her God’s honest truth.

 

So, me you won’t kill, but her you’re just gonna blow away? Sam asked in anger, and Dean didn’t reply, Yes, because you’re mine, though he wanted to.

 

Watch out for Sammy, Dad says, and Dean will until he can’t anymore; but the second part of his order—kill him, Dean—Dean never could.

 

Everybody dies, Dean knows, because Momma did.

 

The summer he was sixteen, Dean was the happiest he could remember being; his whole body ached, inside and out, as he drove the Impala away from Griffin.

 

Dean can’t understand Sam’s fear of horses, no matter how often Sam explains it.

 

The first time a teacher tried asking if anyone hurt Dean at home, he was in sixth grade and it took him a second to catch on.

 

If Dean were to think about it, he’d guess his terror of planes stems from falling out of his crib so often; of course, it actually stems from something he can’t remember—his mother’s cousin David tossed him into a tree and he wasn’t able to get down until his grip failed and he fell: he was barely two.

 

Dad kicked Mom’s cousin David’s ass from one side of Lawrence to the other, though Dean has no memory of that, either.

 

(He isn’t even aware of it, but Dean knows how he’ll die: he’ll fail to save Sam and that’ll be that.)

 

Sometimes, Dean really really wants to kick Sam’s ass, but he doesn’t—because of Jessica, because of his promise, because of Madison… because Sam’s breaking, and something has to keep him together.

 

Dean’s first human kill, he was nineteen; he likes to tell himself it was self-defense, but it really wasn’t.

 

He came across Maria when she was just a little thing, couldn’t be more than twelve, trying to take care of three baby brothers and survive; he set her on Pastor Jim’s doorstep and checked in now and again. Last he heard—before Katrina—she’d moved down to New Orleans, keeping the boys with her.

 

Before Sammy, Dean was the little prince; after, he was a big brother. He’s always considered it to be an even trade.

 

Dean’s favorite class was always math because the rules never changed.

 

About half the time, Dean knows what Dad will say before he says it; the other half, Dad surprises him with a gentle apology or a new tape or a short vacation from the hunt, and it’s those times that Dean almost thanks Sam for going to Stanford—almost. Because being an only child isn’t worth the ache in his soul.

 

No matter how often they traveled, Sam maintained his perfect grades from one school to the next; Dean shook his head in wonder and asked Sam where the pod was.

 

They don’t need you, NotDad snarled, and Dean knew it was the truth.

 

Every single song from 1990 onwards sucked, in Dean’s estimation.

 

Before that fugly scarecrow, Dean loved apple pie; after, he couldn’t stand the sight or smell of it.

 

Dean lost his virginity to an older woman named Caroline, then again to a man who called himself Kenny.

 

He did everything Dad ever asked of him and he never let on how much it hurt that everything was never enough.

 

Mommy sings lullabies and kisses his forehead and Daddy tucks him in, then he wakes to Mommy screaming and fire.

 

Sometimes, when Dean takes care of the guns, he thinks about how easy it’d be to put a bullet in his brain.

 

I’m tired, Dean told Sam, but it didn’t nearly convey how worn out he really was.

 

Mommy helps Dean hold Sammy the first time, and he looks into his little brother’s eyes then up at Mommy and says, “He’s so itty.”

 

Dean’s first hunt, he was nine; his first kill, he was twelve; his first death, he was fourteen—but Dad restarted his heart and he spent a week in the hospital.

 

It’s a little odd, considering what all he’s seen, but Dean has never been afraid of dying.

 

He looked at Jessica standing beside Sam and knew he’d lost his little brother for good.

 

Dean only does it every now and then, when the money is nearly gone and using the cards too risky, and if Dad knows, he never says a thing.

 

In almost thirty years(God, how’d I last this long?) he’s spent a total of one month in jail.

 

He’s worn so many names in his life that sometimes in his nightmares he can’t remember who he is.

 

“Hey, kid,” the woman says boredly, “you’ll have ta put somethin’ back.” Dean looks at his groceries and tries picking out what they don’t really need.

 

Dad’s gone, too far to call, and Sammy’s so sick Dean worries he might die and his little brother just wants some damned Reese’s—so Dean’ll get him his damned Reese’s, no matter what it takes.

 

Mommy told him to take care of Sammy, so he climbs into Sammy’s crib and molds himself to fit around his baby brother, and swears to Mommy that Sammy will always be safe.

 

When Sam pulls that trigger four times, Dean feels a part of him die and wishes for a moment that the gun had been loaded.

 

Dean passed physics with a solid A and Sam grumbled when his turn came because the class made no sense whatsoever.

 

In second grade, Dean met prejudice for the first time he could remember, when a few brats jumped a little black boy; Dean threw himself in with the solitary kid and never could really understand what the fight was about.

 

After Caroline came a steady stream of women, but every man after Kenny paid—often in twenties, but sometimes fifties, and, one time, a hundred.

 

Dean, in Sammy’s eyes, could no do wrong; then Sammy turned thirteen, became Sam, and looked at Dean in constant disappointment.

 

He can remember baking cookies with Mommy and no one will ever measure up.

 

His senior year, the counselor called him into her office and asked him what he saw in his future; he shrugged, biting back Death, fire, blood, and guns.

 

“I swear to God, Dean,” Sam yells one night while Dad’s gone and Dean’s fixing supper, refusing to step in on the soccer issue, “you’re more of his wife than his son!”

 

Dean hits Sam for the first time after Sam snarls something about Dad being a bastard who cares more about a woman dead fifteen years than his living children.

 

His second hunt, Dean’s slammed against a wall and four of his ribs snap like twigs; thankfully, he blacks out before the pain kicks in.

 

Dean was fifteen the year he decided he’d probably never see forty.

 

If he ever asked Sam—but he won’t—Dean bet Sam would say the Impala is a replacement for a big black horse named Griffin.

 

Dean’s favorite song, from the moment he hears it at age ten, is “Desperado” by The Eagles; he fucking loathes Clint Black’s remake and wishes he could erase that desecration from his memory.

 

He doesn’t know what he did to make Missouri hate him, but after her third dig at him, he decides she can go fuck herself because he doesn’t care anymore.

 

“You’re my brother,” Sam says, “and I’d die for you.” But, Dean thinks, you won’t stay for me.

 

He’s never handled being alone well, which is something Dad and Sam don’t get because they flourish in solitude.

 

Dean hates the words pretty, beautiful, and gorgeous, though he despises slut most of all.

 

“I love you, Daddy,” Dean whispers into his father’s neck as an empty coffin is lowered into the ground.

 

There’re three things he hates Dad for: chasing Sammy away to Stanford, telling him that damned secret, and then trading his life for Dean’s.

 

“Your mother loved horses,” Dad says, heating a needle, and Dean clenches his teeth to hold in a scream as Dad threads it through his shoulder.

 

Sam and Dad are too much alike and Dean is so very tired of standing between them with every breath he takes.

 

Sometimes, Dean wishes he had the strength to walk away—but he’s too weak.

 

He couldn’t explain it to Sammy, but being unable to do a thing about his heart-attack? Was a relief.

 

“Bonnie to your Clyde,” the Fed said and Dean swore Sammy would not die like she did.

 

Dean told Sam he couldn’t do it alone but it wasn’t till he added, “I don’t want to” that Sam agreed to come.

 

Sammy can’t remember Daddy, only Sir and Dad; Dean tells him about Daddy, but Sammy doesn’t believe.

 

Dean treats every woman with respect—even Missouri—because Mom expects no less and Dad taught him well.

 

His earliest memory, Mommy is singing in the kitchen and he’s banging pots together.

 

He’s drunk tap-water in every continental state, and Louisiana—specifically, the Baton Rouge area—has the best. Not to mention, jambalaya kicks ass and sea food’s a joke everywhere else.

 

After Katrina, Dean couldn’t catch his breath until Maria got ahold of him and assured him that her and the boys were alright; he still didn’t calm until he met up with them in Tucson and could see they were safe with his own eyes.

 

The closest Dean’s ever come to loving a woman like she was Mom is a prickly widow in eastern Kentucky.

 

Dean’s favorite teacher is a guy who teaches English and only asks that Dean do his best; he doesn’t ask Dean questions, doesn’t try to ‘fix’ him—so Dean does what he can.

 

Sammy loves school in a way Dean never has, and when he brings home those acceptance letters to Stanford, Harvard, Yale, Princeton—even fucking Oxford, for Christ’s sake—Dean’s not surprised in the least.

 

Dean could have gone to college, if he wanted—he only thought about it for a second, and he couldn’t leave Dad and Sammy alone.

 

Dad doesn’t drink that often, and never around Sammy.

 

Dean knows Dad’s gruff because he cares and can’t afford any weakness.

 

He’s good at math and mechanics and shooting—but he’s not good with people who aren’t kids or aren’t in danger, and he flounders whenever given an actual compliment because he just doesn’t know what to do.

 

In the hospital for a shattered elbow—don’t ask—he found his way to the kid’s ward and entertained them for hours with stories about the three knights who traveled around saving people from evil wizards, wicked witches, and tyrannical kings.

 

Ever since Dean was fifteen he hasn’t allowed himself to think about having children, no matter how much he wants some one day.

 

Just like he hates being alone, Dean doesn’t like not having someone to take care of.

 

Daddy is a mechanic—you help cars?—and Mommy is a nurse—you help people?—and Dean thinks he wants to be a fireman so that he can help cars and people and buildings, too.

 

Molly’s nice, for a ghost, but she’s caused a few deaths herself and needs to move on—so Dean feels for her, he really does, but he won’t take the ghost-whisperer tack with her; he’ll leave that to Sammy.

 

Sam’s asking the impossible, but if making a promise he won’t keep helps ease Sam’s soul, Dean’ll lie every damn day of the year.

 

Dean doesn’t have any of his own yearbooks, though he tracked every one of Sam’s down.

 

If he could have any ability in the world, it’d be the power to heal.

 

He hates horror films because they piss him off: the characters re idiotic and the writers get everything wrong.

 

Dean tried reading Great Expectations when he had to for school and got bored to tears, though he does remember David Copperfield fondly. And it pissed him off when Sydney Carton died in Two Cities.

 

He found out about the megalodon in sixth grade, flipping through a prehistoric creature encyclopedia while Dad researched; he became obsessed with the beast and read everything he could.

 

Horses have always called to him and he loves everything about them, from their noises to their smells to how they look when they run.

 

Once Sammy hits thirteen and becomes Sam, he starts questioning every word out of Dad’s mouth, wonders—often and loudly—why Dean doesn’t, and one day decides Dean is a spineless soldier with no mind of his own—and when he tells Dean this, Dean can only stare at him and wonder how the fuck roly-poly little brother Sammy became such a tactless, hurtful, pissy snot.

 

Dad gave him the necklace a week after Sam left and made him swear to never take it off—no matter what, son—and he didn’t tell Dean why.

 

Dean didn’t graduate high-school and he never submitted a senior quote.

 

He doesn’t have a favorite color—’cause those are for sissies—but if he did, it’d be golden: morning and Momma’s hair.

 

He’s lived through every weather phenomena of the continental US—his one earthquake was a 2.6—except a volcano and he never wants to be anywhere near an eruption.

 

Besides horses and megs, Dean loves tigers; one of his dreams has always been to pet one some day.

 

In between hunts, the summer he was eleven, Dean spent time with one of Dad’s old allies, a freaky woman named Eliza; she talked his ear off about the Greek gods and he decided Artemis might be the coolest chick who ever lived, even if she was a bit cruel.

 

Dean knows his father’s not perfect, but Dad’s always done the best he could and he deserves loyalty for that, if nothing else.

 

He swings by Stanford at least once a month; Sam may have walked way but Dean just can’t let him go.

 

Sometimes, while he was brushing Griffin or Melon or Pinto, he could almost see a big gray out the corner of his eye.

 

There was a lake on the edge of Ms. Smith’s property and one day Dean took Griffin, Sam, and Dice there; he convinced Sam on Griffin in front of him and Dice bounded beside them, and for the longest time, that was best day of his life since November.

 

Unable to stand formulated cop shows of any kind, Dean still watches “Law and Order: Criminal Intent” whenever he can because he has a slight crush on Bobby Goren. (And hush up. You do, too.)

 

Dean knows the Bible backwards and forwards and thinks Delilah is a bitch for being disloyal—of course, he also thinks Samson is a fool for casting aside his wife in the first place, not to mention kind of a bastard.

 

One of Dean’s girlfriends in high-school—they dated for six days—was a real mythology fan and she compared him to Apollo; Dean, however, since he probably knew more than she did, wasn’t all that swayed by her ‘compliment’ and still politely broke up with her.

 

It only happened once when Sam was seventeen and Dad was away on a hunt and Dean hadn’t been able to go because of a busted arm—Sam was spread out on the couch and Dean was doped up on painkillers and he looked at Sam and thought gorgeous and he staggered over, leaned down, kissed his fucking little brother on the fucking lips—and passed out. They didn’t speak of it in the morning.

 

(He doesn’t remember, but Death called him cute, said he was a soldier, and told him it was time to go; he believed the cute and soldier bit, but refused to leave Sammy and Dad alone.)

 

One of the reasons Dean doesn’t have faith in God—besides Mom dying—is how freakin’ bloodthirsty the Bible is.

 

The first man to call Dean a slut got no argument.

 

Ms. Salinas told him to stop being such a smart-ass and he laughed.

 

Dad never hit Dean except in training, but he popped Sam across the mouth once and Dean shot between them, bodily shoving them apart—he never took a side, but Sam really shouldn’t have said Mom wouldn’t ‘a wanted this life for them, even if they all knew it was true.

 

If they ever decide to stop hunting, Dean thinks while picking the fancy-smancy lock to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they’ll make a killing as cat-burglars.

 

Maria calls Dean up just to talk sometimes, and he hears, he listens, he offers advice on how to deal with bratty kid brothers, and he tells her she deserves better than the string of bastards she dates, and if a man ever hurts her, to phone him immediately so he can teach the punk-ass bitch a lesson.

 

Dean doesn’t much care for so called ‘virtues,’ but he values loyalty above all else.

 

He can’t comprehend a world without Dad and when the doctor calls the time of death—ten forty-one AM—Dean feels like the Demon is still carving out his heart.

 

A ghost was haunting Harvard once and Dean sat in on some classes; he actually took a test, breezed his way through it, and walked out in under ten minutes. He’s pretty sure he aced it, not sticking around to see how Luke Solo scored.

 

When he was fourteen, Dad drove them from Seattle to Cheyenne and the only way to keep Sammy quiet was to read, so Dean pulled out his battered copy of Shane and thanked—something—that he didn’t get carsick.

 

He first catches Oprah when Dad’s laid up with a bad case of chicken pox—he apparently never got it as a kid and missed the immunization—and he doesn’t even mean to keep watching, but she’s addictive. So he doesn’t seek her out, but whenever she’s on, he watches for as long as he can.

 

Dean lies a lot, but never about the important things and rarely to people he loves—another reason to hate Dad, he snarls to himself after Sammy runs off without a word.

 

Sam doesn’t really want an answer, Dean knows, when he asks about the crossroad’s demon, because he knew before the question ever passed his lips.

 

He wishes Sam would look at him and really see him not the façade he wears for the world.

 

Dean curls around Sammy and just wants Mommy back because his heart aches and she could make everything better—he knows she could.

 

Sammy’s first major blow-up with Dad was about soccer and Dean almost wished he’d been as defiant about baseball.

 

Dean’s good with guns—better than good, if you want the honest truth—but Sam’s excellent with knives and Dean loves it when Sam lets himself go, loses himself within the motion, and just lets himself be—not that Dean ever says as much with words.

 

He asked Sam to stay once and Sam said no, so he knows better now.

 

Dean has a driver’s license in every state of the union, Canada, and Mexico.

 

Dad dragged them to church a few times over the years and Dean tuned out everything but the music and choir.

 

Pastor Jim did the best he could, Dean knows, but Dean just never clicked with God and never will.

 

He compares Ms. Smith to Mom and hopes he’s not being disloyal by caring for her.

 

Despite what Sam thinks, the first thing Dean looks at when he meets someone is their teeth: he hates dirty teeth. Why do you think his and Sam’s are so well-cared for?

 

Dean realized he didn’t prefer either gender when he was fourteen, but he was turned off men for a while the next year when he had to pay for Sam’s Reese’s without any money.

 

Words, except from Sammy and Dad, have never really affected Dean all that much, as they’re the only people whose opinion he cares about.

 

Dad gave him The Talk when he was twelve, by telling him to care for girls as he’d want his mother treated.

 

Before Sam left for Stanford, Dean filled up an envelope with fifties—hustled by pool, poker, and something else—and a letter reminding him about salt and cat’s eye shells, and a cell-phone.

 

So, Dean doesn’t have much use for country, but George Strait? He’s just cool. So he—and Johnny Cash—escape(s) the after-1990 music sucks rule.

 

Benny, Maria’s second-youngest brother, called Dean in April a couple years before Sam left, begging Dean to come save Maria because her boyfriend was demanding money they didn’t have. Dean headed out and was gone a week, leaving Maria with enough money to pay her way for a month. The boyfriend wound up in the hospital and—far as Dean knows—never bothered Maria again.

 

Dean taught himself to cook from library books; he left a fine a continent wide. He started easy, with spaghetti and Salisbury Steak, graduating to fajitas and etouffee . But Sammy’s favorite, which Dean eventually taught him to make, was Chicken Marsala.

 

He tried pot once. He vomited for two hours straight and stayed away from drugs for the rest of his life.

 

For as long as he lives, Dean will never be able to forget the sight of his body choking the life out of Sammy.

 

Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad gave him the Impala—take care of her, son, and she’ll take care of you.

 

Dean hates himself for the thoughts(he’s your brother, you sick fuck), so he buries them as deep as he can.

 

Just leave, Sam’s green puppy-eyes beg him. You have a chance to live. But Dean locks them in and settles to wait until Sam changes because life without Sammy is no life at all.

 

Sam doesn’t ask why Dean’s eyes bled; Dean can’t decide if he’s hurt or relieved. (It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t.)

 

After Sam leaves, Dean picks a fight with Dad for the first time in ever—and, to his shock, actually wins. Of course, he ends up with two black eyes, bruised ribs, and a sprained wrist, but Dad said uncle first.

 

 

Until Daniel, a guy in Sedona with forest-green eyes and shaggy dark hair, Dean hadn’t enjoyed a male partner since Kenny.

 

He asks Sam about college on the way to Jericho and what Sam describes is an alien world.

 

Dean remembers dancing with Mommy in the kitchen, covered in flour, and laughing so hard his sides hurt.

 

He plays his music as loud as he can, trying to chase away the pain of what he’s lost and what he’s never had.

 

Dean knows what people see when they look at him: drifter, loser, danger, fuck-up—what hurts, though, is when he hears those same things in Sam’s bearing, because Sam just isn’t looking deep enough.

 

One of Dean’s greatest, most enduring fears is that Sam will find out what he’s done, look at him with disgust, call him a whore, and then walk away for good.

 

He likes Ellen, he really does, but she has no call butting into their life and demanding Sam’s secrets.

 

Sometimes, if he has the time, Dean sits on a bench near a park and watches the children play, wishing…

 

Sam doesn’t know, but Dean actually rarely goes home with the women he chats up; it’s just harmless flirting and he never promises them anything he won’t deliver.

 

Until Madison, until Glen, Dean had never considered the human inside the werewolf.

 

Gordon had a few good points, but he lost Dean the instant he directed that blade towards Sam.

 

If he didn’t become a cat burglar, Dean figured he could become an actor.

 

Sam laughed at him, but Dean remembered that hole-in-the-wall hotel room where half a dozen rats bit the crap out of his leg and he had to get a rabies shot.

 

(The Reaper approached him in the dirt parking-lot and was impressed that the young man did not attempt to run.)

 

Dean can use both hands equally well, though he hides that fact from authority—any advantage and all that.

 

Sam tried apologizing after Roosevelt, but Dean didn’t want to hear it because he knew Sam wasn’t sorry.

 

He called up Kathleen a year to the day she let them go and she asked if he had done everything the FBI claimed; Dean said no, not everything, and her silence spoke volumes.

 

Mr. Friedman pulls Dean aside during lunch and tells him that he can go far if he wants, but he’ll have to focus on school.

 

The cashier clenches his fist in Dean’s hair and calls him a pretty slut.

 

Dean’s first tornado scared the shit out of him and he clung to Sammy and Dad as hard as he could.

 

Caroline held him after and told him to never let the world harden him because he was absolutely wonderful the way he was.

 

He never looked at Maria as anything but a sister, and never the way he sometimes let himself look at Sam.

 

Jessica had a part of Sam that Dean never did, and he thinks he might hate her for that. Just a little.

 

Dean will never let himself go to prison for the ’shifters’ victims—and there isn’t a jail yet that can hold him for long, anyway.

 

He stops in at Ms. Smith’s farm early in ’05 and learns that she died the year before.

 

Agent Hendrickson tells him that he’ll end up on death-row and Dean laughs.

 

Dean threw Sam at Sarah because he hoped that she was just different enough to not hurt.

 

He loved Mom and he loved Dad and he loved Sammy—and he had no room in his heart for anyone else.

 

Roy pissed him off, though he understood where the tracker came from—but he didn’t want the guy killed by a wendigo.

 

Dean gets kids, he speaks to them like he respects them, like their thoughts matter—because he does and they do.

 

They spent a few months in Reno when Dean was seventeen; he got in a fight and shoved the guy back—the guy’s head hit the concrete and he didn’t move. Dean melted into the crowd and the authorities didn’t even know who to look for.

 

He hates dressing up fancy because the suit is just not him; but Sam slips into the role like a second skin.

 

Andy is a cool guy and Dean refuses to think he’s a killer because he’s hope for Sammy.

 

If the only way to save Sammy is to kill every innocent in the world—well. Not even a choice.

 

Dean checks around—Melon and Pinto were kept together a few towns over and Dice was adopted by a nice family, but no one knows where Griffin is.

 

Mommy used to tell him stories of Lune the Prince of Panthers; he repeats them to Sammy when his little brother can’t sleep.

 

Dean will never, ever admit it to anybody, but he loves the Disney movie Mulan because the chick kicks ass and saves her nation.

 

He gave Sam The Talk when Sam was eleven and tried to keep from laughing the whole time because Sam was beet-red and couldn’t look anywhere but the floor.

 

NotDad leans into his space and Dean hears in his head, Mine.

 

Sam picked him up and slammed him into the wall, in his face, and for a moment Dean really believed Sam was about to kiss him.

 

He never learned what all the ’shifter told Sam while in his form, though he did treat the wounds; he wanted to resurrect the skin-thief just so he could kill it again.

 

Dean refuses to ask tricks their names and always says it doesn’t matter if they request his.

 

His second death, he was nineteen and his heart stopped as he drowned in a haunted lake in Michigan; he was pulled from the water and resuscitated by a stranger whose name he never did learn.

 

He thinks Mom might be disappointed with the man he’s become—and it hurts.

 

Jessica challenged him with her eyes, standing tall at Sam’s side—he was mine, first, part of Dean howls. Mine, first. 

 

Dad proudly spun Dean around after his first time with a gun. “Wonderful, Dean!” Dad exclaimed. “You’re a natural.”

 

He tracks Griffin to a farm in Tennessee where he watches two little girls trotting around a pen; he chuckles sadly and says softly, “Some monster you are.”

 

He looked Mom’s killer right in its’ golden eyes and smirked, silently daring it to do its worst.

 

Jaime, Maria’s youngest brother, calls Dean early in ’07 and sobs that Maria’s missing; he hunts down the bastard that took her and tortures her fate out of him. It nearly kills Dean to learn that Maria’s dead.

 

One of Dean’s earliest memories is Daddy taking him and Mommy to the Gulf of Mexico and splashing in the waves.

 

Dad’s gone, Mom’s still dead, and Dean needs someone—so he hurries to Stanford and Sammy, and hopes with everything in him that Sammy will agree to help him because he just can’t stand being alone.

 

Dad taught Dean a lot of things, some he didn’t intend—dying for Sam was at the top of the list.

 

Sam has nightmare after nightmare and Dean is helpless to stop the pain.

 

All Dean asks is a chance to figure things out, but Sam is their father’s son and takes off on his own.

 

He doesn’t need to whore himself so often anymore and that knowledge comes as relief.

 

He never felt guilt for Meg dying or that nameless guy in the alley. He’s not sure what that says about him.

 

Dean built an EMF reader out of a dead walkman, and it was easy. He cobbled together parts from other things and constructed the reader from memory. After Sam mocked him, he wondered if Sam knew how few people could have done it.

 

He never asked Dad if Dad’d meant to make him good for only illegal things. Sam screamed it loud enough for them both.

 

Dean knows they can’t outrun the demon, the FBI, and the hunters, too.

 

You may have to kill Sammy, Dean, Dad said, softly and sadly, and the world fell out from under him.

 

Until Dad told them to save the humans from the vampires’ cages and then get out of Dodge, Dean hadn’t disobeyed an order since he was ten-years-old.

 

A couple weeks after they leave Andrea and Lucas behind, Dean calls ‘em up to see how Lucas is; he and Andrea talk for fifteen minutes, then she puts Lucas on and they talk for close to an hour.

 

Sometimes the clients want to hurt him; Dean lets them.

 

(A week before Dean was born, a dark man with golden eyes approached Momma and offered her eternal happiness for her firstborn son; she turned him down so sweetly he gave her a reprieve for almost four years.)

 

Dean takes his pleasure where he can because what he really wants is so far out of reach as to be funny.

 

If he ever does get captured again—by someone who knows who he is—Dean’s willing to bet he’ll never make it to trial.

 

He just wants a safe, nightmare free, healing sleep. But he’s never gotten what he wants.

 

Dean wishes he’d been the one to kill Madison because the guilt and pain are eating Sammy alive.

 

Dean told those sick fucks in Hibbing one simple truth: if you hurt my brother, I’ll kill you all.

 

Jo’s hot—she really is—but she’s not his type. Too short, for one, and too blond, for another.

 

Caroline kissed his forehead and asked, “Don’t forget me, yeah?” giving him a large silver ring.

 

A week before he got Sam at Stanford, Dean was in New Orleans dealing with a sweet old grandma who was trying to summon back Katrina.

 

Dean is not a morning person, hasn’t been since turning twelve.

 

Sammy thinks it’s about him, but Dean fiddles with the charm around his neck and wonders.

 

Dean picked up the crowbar and pictured his own face as he slammed it against his car.

 

Sam didn’t tell Dean how he died in that vision, but Dean guessed it was sudden and violent, and if Sam had waited a heartbeat more, it’d’a been impossible to stop.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Dean said, not meeting the man’s eyes.

 

Sam told him that he should use To thine own self be true for his senior quote, but Dean was considering Semper fi. In the end, though, he used neither, and he didn’t graduate.

 

He can speak six languages fluently, read three more, and muddle his way through two others.

 

In between Sam leaving for Stanford and Dad vanishing from Jericho, Dean helped a lady named Victoria teach ballroom dancing.

 

Dean never cared what people at school thought of him—and, for some reason, that made him cool.

 

Sam first. Everything else… after. No matter what everything else might be.

 

Dean sat in Mommy’s lap and held Sammy, peering at him with wide eyes. “Careful, sweetie,” Mommy cautioned. “He’s breakable.” He’s not breakable, Dean thought. He’s mine.

 

He waits around for a man to help the little girls off Griffin, untack Griffin, and loose him in the pasture; he skulks along the side and whistles. Griffin looks up and lightly canters over, butts his head against Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, boy,” Dean whispers. “’s’good to see you.”

 

Mom pauses to look at him for a moment—then passes him up for Sammy, who gets two more words.

 

Darkness loomed on the edge of his vision and the world around him grew cold—Dad’s gone, Sam’s gone, and he had nothing to fight for, nothing to cling to life for—and for an instant, Dean considered letting go.

 

The wrinkly, pale dude in the suit touched Dean’s face and it was sweet relief.

 

Dean just keeps surviving and he doesn’t know why.

 

So, Sammy gets visions—that’s new. And he’s watching Dean like Dean’s gonna freak out, like Dean’s gonna run—but Dean’s tougher than that and he’s not leavin’ Sam. Ever.

 

He pulled away from Stanford, letting Sam return to his normal life—and something prickled on the edges of his awareness, something dark and cold. So he spun his car around and sped back to Sam.

 

Rita asked him what he wanted, that night in her apartment, and he chuckled, “Nothin’ you can give me, sweetheart.”

 

Missouri pulled him aside while Sam was in the bathroom and said, “You’re gonna break ‘im, Dean. You’re no good for ‘im. Let ‘im go his own way.”

 

They can’t outrun the pursuit forever. And it might be easier to vanish if they’re each on their own. So after leaving Milwaukee in the rearview, Dean asks Sam if that’s what he wants. Sam looks at him with wide eyes and reaches out to grip his shoulder. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Dean. Not unless you convince it’s what you really want.”

 

When Dean was little—barely four, Sammy still inside Mommy—Mommy promised to take them to Egypt one day so that Dean could ask the sphinx a riddle.

 

He has Metallica on loud, a stretch of empty road before him, a case waiting, and his brother sitting shotgun—life’s good.

 

(John, you fool, it thinks, host’s hand tight on the Colt. Shoulda known better.)

 

Dean can’t help but wonder—where can this possibly end? Nowhere good. But he’ll keep Sam safe, keep Sam alive, keep Sam out of the demon’s grasp…

 

Dad, Dean thinks, looks at him and sees a soldier. He can’t remember when Dad looked at him and saw a son.

 

It’s a day after Jessica burns and Dean’s got them a motel room. Sam’s curled up on the solitary bed, sobbing like his heart’s been torn out, and Dean doesn’t know how to stop the pain. So he crawls up behind his brother and wraps his arms around Sam’s back, and whispers, “I’m here, Sammy. I got you. I’m here.” And Sam sinks into him.

 

Sam demands to know what Dean’s thinking because he believes Dean’s spinning out of control. So Dean tells him and takes no pleasure in the pain and fear on Sam’s face.

 

Jo got herself kidnapped by a serial killing ghost and Dean—for a handspan of heartbeats—felt gratitude that it wasn’t Sammy.

 

Four years without Sam—Dean felt empty. He knew it wasn’t healthy. He just didn’t care.

 

His third death, Dean electrocuted himself while killing a rawhide. Sam restarted his heart just long enough for the ambulance to show up.

 

Daddy picks Dean up, places him in the bed with worn-out Mommy and newborn Sammy, and says, “He’s yours to watch out for, Dean. That’s what big brothers do.”

 

He did consider taking the crossroad’s demon’s deal. For the record. Barely. For a second.

 

“Take your brother outside, fast as you can,” Daddy yells. “Now, Dean, go!” He’s not big enough, really, to keep hold of Sammy without Mommy or Daddy’s help, but they have to get out and Daddy’s busy and Mommy’s—somewhere. He almost drops Sammy on the stairs, almost slips himself, but Daddy needs him to be a big boy and do this. He gets Sammy safe and Daddy will come with Mommy, and Mommy will smooth down his hair and call him her darling, and—Sammy makes a small sound of fear and Dean promises, “It’s okay, Sammy.”

 

Gordon killed his sister. Dean’s heart clenched at the thought of killing Sammy. Gordon killed the monster his baby sister had become. And Dean knew he couldn’t.

 

Damn that skin-thief. A year after it’s dead and Dean’s still gettin’ the blame for its’ killings.

 

He’ll save Sammy. He’s got to. There is no other option.

 

A case, hunters and cops and demons on their trail, music loud, Sam grinning shotgun—all is right.

 

When Dean sleeps, though he’d deny it if asked, he watches a shadow kill Mommy, kill Daddy, kill him—and claim Sammy as its’ own.

Comments

[lunabee34.livejournal.com]

Mom pauses to look at him for a moment—then passes him up for Sammy, who gets two more words.

In the gut. Right in the gut.

I love the fractured style of this piece, little slices of "Deanness" in list format.

Great read.

[tigriswolf]

Thank you!