A drabble of Dean
This is just a silly little drabble I wrote after watching tonight's repeat of Lucifer Rising...
Spoilers thru Season 4.
PG13 for language.
I'm really tired, if I can use that for an excuse.
Please leave a comment. Even if it's to say I suck.
Dean wasn't trying to be angry. He just was. Sam had replaced him. With a demon. He was gone four months. Forty years lost.
He hated being so fucking girly. Sam was the emo bitch, not him. He hated that he couldn't look at Sam and know what he was thinking. Did he even have the right to wonder anymore?
Dean wasn't trying to feel betrayed. He hated that he slept facing Sam with his back to the door. Knife humming under his pillow. He did it anyway.
He hated having to be a better man than his father ever was. He couldn't help the sensation of skating across ice worn thin by too many mistakes, words that cut, burned. Idols toppling.
Dean wasn't sure how to play his new role. He wasn't Sammy's older brother anymore. He was just Sam's older brother, and what did that even mean ? He looked at the man his little brother had become and knew what failure tasted like.
He hated that he had spent his entire life trying to keep Sam safe, to keep him close. It took one demon four months to destroy everything that he had worked so hard for. Sam had been looking for something, someone. Sam just wasn't looking for him. Not anymore.
Dean wasn't that surprised it only took four months to be replaced so completely, and he knew why he deserved hell. He had failed at the only thing that really mattered. He had broken his promise to his dad, to Sam. Dad whispering secrets worth dying for. Sam's drunken plea.
He didn't understand the handprint on his shoulder. Not even with Sam standing next to him. Ruby's borrowed body sprawled behind them. Blood pooling. Lucifer rising. Angels singing.
He didn't understand why he was always too late.