justprompts: Wary
Of course he was freaking wary about the whole thing. Even without the bit about Sammy supposedly being Lucifer's meatsuit; from the moment Zachariah said he was supposed to be Michael's.
Considering the whole not-riding-your-own-body thing. He could see how shitty it had been on Jimmy. And his family. And then he could see how shitty it was on the poor sod who'd hosted Raphael.
Fuckers. Demons, angels, the whole stupid lot of 'em.
But sometimes, just sometimes. In the middle of the night when he'd woken up from a nightmare and it was real quiet, not even cars passing outside, and all he could hear was breathing, his own, Sammy's...When there didn't seem to be much of the world
Sometimes, he wondered if it wouldn't be something to do. Say freaking 'yes'. Let the archangel beat the crap out of Lucifer, for all that the fucker had done.
For all that he'd done to his brother. Or what it might do.
The angels - and archangels - were dicks. Well, he didn't know about all of them. Just all that he'd met. Okay, Gabriel had some high points, and Castiel had registered there are options. And Anna... whatever.
But kicking the devil, the devil, that had to trump even resisting their dickishness, didn't it? Was he wrong, telling them all to fuck off? If he could really end it, what he made possible downstairs, what the two of them started... Make it possible to get fixed. Clean up the mess they made, just like always. Maybe he should actually do that.
Then Sammy would stir, or he'd shift and the mattress would poke him or the bed would creak, and he'd think of... of how he knew Sammy had been while he'd been downstairs. Who knew what kind of shit the kid would get into if he wasn't around. Even with the words about wanting to get away, he knew that it wasn't what Sam wanted. He knew that being left on his own was not what Sam wanted, and would never be; and he knew because he knew, bone-deep, soul-deep, that the two of them got into the worst shit when they were separate.
And there were the drawbacks to the plan. First, of course, there was the question if Michael would manage to kick the crap out of Lucifer. True, it'd happened the first time around, but then he had his daddy's backing. Dean was pretty sure that, in metaphysical muscle, that make a lot of difference.
Then there was the bit where he didn't know if Michael wouldn't just ... stick with his body. Wearing him around and everything, and, he'd heard what Castiel had told Jimmy (out of the mouth of babes, and shaddup with quoting that) about forever and never dying and never changing and never seeing his family.
And then the bit that if he did get vacated...
Well, he'd not be any good for brother or anything to anybody.
Fuck that noise.
He had no frigging idea what to do anymore. The Colt had been the plan, but yeah, they all knew how well that worked. And people kept dying and the crap kept happening, and he just didn't know.
But even in the middle of the night, he wouldn't just go and say yes.
For now.
Considering the whole not-riding-your-own-body thing. He could see how shitty it had been on Jimmy. And his family. And then he could see how shitty it was on the poor sod who'd hosted Raphael.
Fuckers. Demons, angels, the whole stupid lot of 'em.
But sometimes, just sometimes. In the middle of the night when he'd woken up from a nightmare and it was real quiet, not even cars passing outside, and all he could hear was breathing, his own, Sammy's...When there didn't seem to be much of the world
Sometimes, he wondered if it wouldn't be something to do. Say freaking 'yes'. Let the archangel beat the crap out of Lucifer, for all that the fucker had done.
For all that he'd done to his brother. Or what it might do.
The angels - and archangels - were dicks. Well, he didn't know about all of them. Just all that he'd met. Okay, Gabriel had some high points, and Castiel had registered there are options. And Anna... whatever.
But kicking the devil, the devil, that had to trump even resisting their dickishness, didn't it? Was he wrong, telling them all to fuck off? If he could really end it, what he made possible downstairs, what the two of them started... Make it possible to get fixed. Clean up the mess they made, just like always. Maybe he should actually do that.
Then Sammy would stir, or he'd shift and the mattress would poke him or the bed would creak, and he'd think of... of how he knew Sammy had been while he'd been downstairs. Who knew what kind of shit the kid would get into if he wasn't around. Even with the words about wanting to get away, he knew that it wasn't what Sam wanted. He knew that being left on his own was not what Sam wanted, and would never be; and he knew because he knew, bone-deep, soul-deep, that the two of them got into the worst shit when they were separate.
And there were the drawbacks to the plan. First, of course, there was the question if Michael would manage to kick the crap out of Lucifer. True, it'd happened the first time around, but then he had his daddy's backing. Dean was pretty sure that, in metaphysical muscle, that make a lot of difference.
Then there was the bit where he didn't know if Michael wouldn't just ... stick with his body. Wearing him around and everything, and, he'd heard what Castiel had told Jimmy (out of the mouth of babes, and shaddup with quoting that) about forever and never dying and never changing and never seeing his family.
And then the bit that if he did get vacated...
Well, he'd not be any good for brother or anything to anybody.
Fuck that noise.
He had no frigging idea what to do anymore. The Colt had been the plan, but yeah, they all knew how well that worked. And people kept dying and the crap kept happening, and he just didn't know.
But even in the middle of the night, he wouldn't just go and say yes.
For now.