In Which Dean Tries Not to Get His Head Blown Off
He hadn't been alone since he had gotten back from the Pit, and to be perfectly honest, he hadn't really wanted to be. He had wanted as many people around as possible, because he knew that if there was the possibility that this was some kind of trick, and Alastair was just doing this to get his hopes up before dragging him back down again, back to the meat rack and back to the torture. He couldn't go through that again, and he wanted to soak in as much time as he possibly could, before the world started to turn sideways again.
Now, though, he needed to be alone. Because fact of the matter was, Dean Winchester wasn't alright. Not even close. He was starting to think that he was never going to be, not with the horror show that was playing in his head every night as he tried to get some sleep. He didn't know who he could talk to about this, or why, but that didn't matter at the moment. Dean Winchester's emotional problems weren't important. They had bigger fish to fry, and at the moment, one of those fish had his brother, and Dean really, really needed to get him back.
Regardless of what Castiel said about Sam being Lucifer's meat suit -- and whether or not Dean actually believed that to be true -- Dean's biggest fear was that they would kill his brother, and Sam would be heading straight for Hell. Straight for the place where not even Dean could hold out on going back on everything he believed in. Dean was not going to hand his brother a death sentence, send him to the place where time was backwards, the world was upside down, and where people -- good people -- couldn't even hold out against Alastair's promising offer. It was either torture or be tortured, and for so long, Dean refused, flat out refused, to have a hand in any of it. But then, year thirty rolled around, and Dean couldn't hold out anymore.
Alastair used to say that he had potential, demonically speaking. In those last few years, Dean had actually started to believe it.
That was the major reason Dean had for being alone on this one. Not because he wanted to keep his boys safe, and not because they were less of a target if they weren't together. Those just happened to be convenient truths of the moment. Dean was alone right now, because Dean didn't trust himself around people. He didn't trust his instincts to do the right thing. Vassago's brief fleeting mention of the demon who had broken him was just enough to bring all the self-doubt rushing back, and at the end of the day, Dean didn't trust himself around his own sons -- which, in a time like this, was a very dangerous thing.
He pulled up to the Roadhouse, and at first, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go in. He knew that Jo had probably heard about his death in some form or another -- he had certainly been dead long enough -- but considering the shit hit the fan barely a week after he had come back, he wasn't so sure that the good news had spread to her end. Walking in that door was probably going to earn him a couple buck shots of rock salt, but he needed her help. So if he was in for some more pain -- he was just going to have to take it.
He slowly pushed himself out of the car, walking over and letting his hand linger on the door knob for a minute. "Please don't shoot me," he sighed quietly, before turning the knob and starting to step into the house.
Now, though, he needed to be alone. Because fact of the matter was, Dean Winchester wasn't alright. Not even close. He was starting to think that he was never going to be, not with the horror show that was playing in his head every night as he tried to get some sleep. He didn't know who he could talk to about this, or why, but that didn't matter at the moment. Dean Winchester's emotional problems weren't important. They had bigger fish to fry, and at the moment, one of those fish had his brother, and Dean really, really needed to get him back.
Regardless of what Castiel said about Sam being Lucifer's meat suit -- and whether or not Dean actually believed that to be true -- Dean's biggest fear was that they would kill his brother, and Sam would be heading straight for Hell. Straight for the place where not even Dean could hold out on going back on everything he believed in. Dean was not going to hand his brother a death sentence, send him to the place where time was backwards, the world was upside down, and where people -- good people -- couldn't even hold out against Alastair's promising offer. It was either torture or be tortured, and for so long, Dean refused, flat out refused, to have a hand in any of it. But then, year thirty rolled around, and Dean couldn't hold out anymore.
Alastair used to say that he had potential, demonically speaking. In those last few years, Dean had actually started to believe it.
That was the major reason Dean had for being alone on this one. Not because he wanted to keep his boys safe, and not because they were less of a target if they weren't together. Those just happened to be convenient truths of the moment. Dean was alone right now, because Dean didn't trust himself around people. He didn't trust his instincts to do the right thing. Vassago's brief fleeting mention of the demon who had broken him was just enough to bring all the self-doubt rushing back, and at the end of the day, Dean didn't trust himself around his own sons -- which, in a time like this, was a very dangerous thing.
He pulled up to the Roadhouse, and at first, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go in. He knew that Jo had probably heard about his death in some form or another -- he had certainly been dead long enough -- but considering the shit hit the fan barely a week after he had come back, he wasn't so sure that the good news had spread to her end. Walking in that door was probably going to earn him a couple buck shots of rock salt, but he needed her help. So if he was in for some more pain -- he was just going to have to take it.
He slowly pushed himself out of the car, walking over and letting his hand linger on the door knob for a minute. "Please don't shoot me," he sighed quietly, before turning the knob and starting to step into the house.