Promises, One-shot, [PG], Dean, Cas, Gen, Angst
Fanfic: Promises (a 5.22 coda)
Author: sandymg
Beta: borgmama1of5
Summary: Dean struggles with the toughest promise he’s ever had to keep
Spoilers: through 5.22 Swan Song
Wordcount: 1900 words, One-shot
Genre: Gen, Angst
Characters: Dean, Cas
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke - who'd best treat them well
A/N: Because everyone has to write a coda for Swan Song, don't they? :)
[Um, wow ... I won something! Thanks.]
Promises
His little brother was a pain in the ass.
Had been ever since the day he spoke his first word. Their dad thought it was “Da” and Dean never bothered correcting that assumption. But he knew whose name was being called.
‘S no wonder that Sam had chosen to ask the hardest thing possible of him. Fucker asked him to live. Which was hands down the last thing Dean wanted to do.
The gun lay on the table gleaming. He’d just finished cleaning it. The motions familiar and sure. Squeezing the solvent. Running it through the barrel. The twist of his wrist his father taught him which had reminded him offhand of the motions he used when jerking off, although he never shared that with the old man. Drops of oil. Wipe. Dry. Repeat. He pulled out the toddler toothbrush, his trick, not his dad’s.
He’d long finished, and wasn’t sure how long he sat after, just staring at the revolver. Long enough for Lisa to notice.
“Dean?”
Her thoughts were transparent.
And oddly, today, he wasn’t thinking it. After all, it wasn’t like he’d blow his brains out on her dining room table.
“Sorry. I’ll put it away. Ben’s not home yet, is he?”
Lisa shook her head no. She was wary around firearms and asked Dean not to leave anything where Ben could remotely get to it. Dean had accepted this with no small sense of irony. Between him and his Colt, Dean was by far the more dangerous of the two. But Lisa had a blind spot where it came to him. Sam had known this somehow. Damn him. And he used that to extract a promise he had no right asking.
Lisa knew. Well, she knew the Apocalypse was over or averted or whatever. She’d asked about Sam. Dean had tried to answer. Had even tried to use the word “dead.” But the word wouldn’t leave his lips and instead he said simply that Sam was gone. His face must have given away the permanence of that because she only said quietly, “I’m sorry” and never brought it up again.
Until today.
“Dean, I know you’ve been struggling with your grief over your brother’s death. Maybe … maybe if you talked about it.”
Dean looked past the Colt to her concerned brown eyes. “Sam’s not dead.”
She looked confused. He thought he really shouldn’t have said that because it’s not anything he was planning on explaining. He slipped the weapon under his waistband and walked to the bar to fix himself a drink. Another thing she’d been very indulgent about.
But she pushed. “I thought-“
“Well you thought wrong!” He’s not sure where the anger came from. Wasn’t there a second ago. Had only been the ongoing disappointment that he couldn’t die. “We can’t die.”
“Dean.” Now she was in his face. “Everything dies.”
“Not us. Not me. Not him. Not my fucked up family.” His voice cracked on the last word and before anything further could happen he downed the Jack and poured more immediately.
Anger.
One of the stages of grief. He remembered Sam talking about this. About the time Dean took a tire iron to the Impala. When Dad chose Hell so Dean could live. An odd humor clutched his throat. You couldn’t say that Sam didn’t one-up the old man. Sam’s deal was pretty much the Deal of the Century. Six billion souls for the price of one.
And who was left to say thank you? One washed up hunter that Dean couldn’t bring himself to call and an angel trying to take care of the mess left upstairs. Dean didn’t figure he’d see Cas for a long time. If ever. For the best. Would take away the temptation to beg.
Lisa was staring at him, eyes moist. She was lovely. So beautiful with her shiny dark hair and gorgeous lips. He’d meant what he’d said to her those weeks ago. If he ever dared imagine himself happy it had included her. And the kid. And a home and peace.
He knocked back the last of the whiskey. But not like this. The price was too high. He wasn’t stupid. Knew there’d be a price to pay. Dean Winchester didn’t get happy without a bulldozer tearing the Earth up to make way for a space highway. But even in his darkest dreams he couldn’t have come up with this.
He still didn’t let himself say it to Lisa. Was too hard. He saw it though. Every time his eyes closed he saw that pit swallowing up Sam. And Adam.
Shoulda jumped, he thought for the millionth time. Shoulda followed Sam.
Damn him for making me promise.
“Dean?” Lisa asked again, concern pitching her voice unnaturally high.
“ ‘M okay. Maybe I’ll just take a walk, okay? I’ll be back before dinner.”
He was out the door and striding fast before she got another word in. He didn’t know why suddenly he was so angry at Sam. If Sam were here right now he felt like he’d beat him to a pulp. Smash his face like Sam no Lucifer had smashed his. Over and over. And all Dean could do was take it and love his brother anyway.
The Righteous Man that starts it shall end it. Man, did they forget to give him the punch line on that one. He’d always believed that if he could just retain his humanity they might be able to win this. Except God, or whomever was running this show, didn’t really love humanity. Paid lip service all right … but deep down He was no better than Lucifer and his ilk.
Because Dean knew how Sam was able to overcome Lucifer.
Knew just how Dean Winchester was able to save the world.
He knows that by being there ... by not leaving Sam to die alone, but loving Sam no matter what ... it gave Sam the strength to regain control of Luci and jump in the pit.
Any love, any good Dean had left in him had been twisted to buy an eternity of torture for the only person he'd ever given a damn about. And now he was expected to live some normal life?
Dammit, Sammy. Hadn’t he done enough? Given up enough? That promise was cruel, man. His mother. His father. His brother. Why the hell should he get to live? Why would Sam think he’d want to? He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to with every fiber of his being.
The flutter didn’t surprise even though it should have. The blue eyes pierced in that way that never failed to unnerve.
“Cas.”
“Dean.”
“How’s Heaven?”
“Fractured. How’s Earth?”
“Still here.”
Cas nodded. Dean supposed that answer was good enough. Best they could have hoped for.
“How are you?” Cas asked.
Dean turned and met those blue eyes and thought he didn’t really have to answer, did he? Cas just nodded again.
They walked together in silence until they found themselves back in front of Lisa’s house. They dropped down on the front steps. Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looked absently at the street. So cookie cutter. Like the millions of streets they’d driven down over their many years on the road. Passing these little white and green and yellow houses. Looking in. Always wondering what it would be like to have a home, a yard, a front stoop.
The sidewalk was smooth, looked like it was repaved fairly recently. A single lamp post stood sentinel-like on the corner, keeping guard.
Dean bit his lower lip. He told himself he wouldn’t ask this. Told himself the answer would be too difficult to bear.
“Can you … can you save him? Get him out?”
Cas sucked in air he didn’t need. It was a soft sound, like a wish blowing apart in the wind. Dean could sense that Cas had turned to face him, but he didn’t look toward Cas. Couldn’t watch his face as he replied.
“No. I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean said nothing. Inside he was roiling. Begging, screaming at the top of his lungs that Cas should get his lily white ass in there and pull his brother out of Hell just like he did for Dean. That this was bullshit and unacceptable and so unfair. So wrong.
Why hadn’t Dean just jumped in the pit after him?
Fuck you, Sam, for making him promise that impossible promise.
Cas turned minutely toward the house. Through the window, Lisa could be seen setting the table for dinner. It appeared she hadn’t noticed them sitting in front of the house. Dean wondered if Cas was only visible to him. A hysterical laugh threatened to take over. Maybe none of it was real. Maybe there were no angels and no devils and no pain-in-the-ass little brothers.
“He wanted this,” he told Cas, pointing to the house. Cas’s eyebrows furrowed. “S-Sam. Wanted me to have normal.”
“Your brother loved you.”
“My brother was a selfish son of a bitch.” This time the anger didn’t surprise as much. “He got his fucking redemption. I got. This.”
Cas looked behind him again before catching Dean’s eye. “Is this so bad?”
“No it’s not bad. Of course, it’s not bad. It’s … amazing. She’s … But how can I have this when … ?”
“Would you like me to take your memories, Dean? I can do that. Got my … mojo back full strength. I can make you forget … what happened. Give you a chance to live a good life here.”
Dean thought nothing could possibly surprise him anymore. After all, he’d lived through the freakin’ Apocalypse and stared Lucifer down and watched his brother … No!
“You son of a bitch! You take one second of my memories away from me and I’ll pluck your wings off feather by feather and knit them into a chicken suit. You want to make me forget what happened? Want to make me forget that Sam took on the devil himself … and won?! He kicked that mother down so deep he couldn’t move his pinky. Sam looked me in the eye and told me it would be okay. He pulled that evil bastard into Hell. That was my brother that did all that. And I’ll damn you to Hell before I let you take that away from me!”
Cas shrunk back as if he’d been struck. “It … It’s just that I thought … “
“Yeah, well you thought wrong.”
And that’s when Dean realized he couldn’t keep this promise for anyone less.
The door opening coincided with the whisper flap. Cas was gone. And Lisa stood in the doorway saying dinner was ready.
This living thing wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t know when (or even if) he’d start wanting to live more than wanting to die. But Lisa’s smile was deep and genuine. Hopeful, before turning back inside.
Dean turned toward the street one last time and took in its quiet serenity. The stalwart lamp post gave off a misty beam. The glow inside the house was yellow gold. He spent a long moment looking in the window like an outsider, taking in Lisa’s quick, sure movements as she put food on each plate. He had to make a promise back. He had to try to start wanting this again.
He was inside nursing one drink with his dinner when the light outside flickered and gave out. It registered vaguely through the alcohol-dulled haze of the normalcy of Dean’s life.
fin
This story is dedicated to the memory of sammyndeansgrl1 , a writer within this fandom who passed away yesterday. I had the pleasure of knowing her through her wonderful, warm, touching stories and the lovely exchanges we had via comments and personal messages. In creativity, one lives forever.