Can't sleep. So, SPN drabble.
I'm quite convinced that nymeria is to blame for this, somehow. I'm too tired to figure out how that works.
Dean hated it when Sam tried to analyze him.
It wasn't so much that his brother understood him. No, he expected that. What bothered him was the questions, both those tailored so specifically to chip away at his surface and those so blunt they'd strike him to the core. All the right questions, never a right answer. At least, not one that he wanted to give, nor that he had to give; Sammy knew what answers to expect, that was why he'd ask the questions in the first place.
Asking questions when he already knew the answers... that was why Dean hated it. Sam just had to make him face those answers, even when he was doing his damnedest to avoid them, avoiding realities he wasn't ready to face or accept.
Take what some unseen hand dealt to him? That didn't work for him. He'd followed his father and played the perfectly dutiful son, but he knew the man, respected him, placed him on a pedestal and watched it all crumble away. It was some arbitrary "destiny" shoved onto his brother, and himself by proxy, that he couldn't-- wouldn't accept.
Leave it to Sammy to be so frustratingly contrary to the order Dean clung to. Challenge a father throughout life but heed him in death, take some prophecy for unavoidable fact. Dean didn't understand, didn't think he would ever understand. The only reality he could find in all the muddle was Sam's reality, as senseless as it was, and even accepting the possibility of it defied everything in Dean's being.
But Sam was all he had left; there was no reality besides him. And as much as he needed Sam, it scared the hell out of Dean where that left him.
Just another reality he wasn't ready to face...
Dean hated it when Sam tried to analyze him.
It wasn't so much that his brother understood him. No, he expected that. What bothered him was the questions, both those tailored so specifically to chip away at his surface and those so blunt they'd strike him to the core. All the right questions, never a right answer. At least, not one that he wanted to give, nor that he had to give; Sammy knew what answers to expect, that was why he'd ask the questions in the first place.
Asking questions when he already knew the answers... that was why Dean hated it. Sam just had to make him face those answers, even when he was doing his damnedest to avoid them, avoiding realities he wasn't ready to face or accept.
Take what some unseen hand dealt to him? That didn't work for him. He'd followed his father and played the perfectly dutiful son, but he knew the man, respected him, placed him on a pedestal and watched it all crumble away. It was some arbitrary "destiny" shoved onto his brother, and himself by proxy, that he couldn't-- wouldn't accept.
Leave it to Sammy to be so frustratingly contrary to the order Dean clung to. Challenge a father throughout life but heed him in death, take some prophecy for unavoidable fact. Dean didn't understand, didn't think he would ever understand. The only reality he could find in all the muddle was Sam's reality, as senseless as it was, and even accepting the possibility of it defied everything in Dean's being.
But Sam was all he had left; there was no reality besides him. And as much as he needed Sam, it scared the hell out of Dean where that left him.
Just another reality he wasn't ready to face...