7s_prompts 5.3.4. Family
He used to not believe in God.
He used to not believe in angels or any powers but themselves who'd stand up against the forces of evil, and, guess what, most of that turned out to be correct. Most.
Apparently, they existed. Whether they cared crap-all about evil or right or anything, that was a different questions.
Obeying the orders of somebody who was missing, without questioning, without knowing why. And then slowly twisting those orders, those plans. Going mad with the absence. Going, for the most part and by the looks of it, just about as evil as the other side. Smiting and all that shit.
So apparently, they existed.
And so, probably... did their 'dad'.
And, according to them, it was his plan that had ended his baby brother in that room, the way he was. His brother, who resisted the temptation of a freaking Horseman, because he was that kind of a hero.
The words started rolling in his head as he was walking out. Maybe before that, because Castiel's voice getting between Sammy's calls for help and him grated, so he ran out.
Why us? Why him? What did we do to deserve that kind of shit? Haven't we done enough? Hasn't he?
All our lives. ALL OF HIS LIFE. He's fought to protect your creation. The way we've been given it, the way he's known it. With everything he's had, every last ounce of his will and strength and determination. He's defied demons and gods-- well, whatever, angels, and whatever that creep is, no, he's handled two of them, all on his own. And proved himself, over and over and over again. Without fail.
WHY DOES HE HAVE TO SUFFER LIKE THAT?
WHY?
Dean reached the car. His car, his dad's car. Their car. And his mind went right back to the room downstairs; his memory brought it all back, clear as anything. From this time, from the last. Sasquatch body, thrown clear across the room, against the wall.
I can't...
You know, I don't want you to take this cup away from me. Whatever's coming my way, I can take it. Like the freaking 'black horseman' said, I'm already dead. It won't make any fucking difference. No, I - just give me his cup. Let him free of this. Ease his pain, let him out of this freaking loop.
But he'd done this before, hadn't he. Offered himself instead of Sammy.
Because it's what he did. And he'd do it again and again, as long as he could.
He couldn't do this, though. Couldn't go through the freaking detox for his brother, couldn't do anything. Couldn't win.
Couldn't.
"Please... I could... I need some help. Please."
Like Sammy was begging. Please.
Nobody answered.
Why would He? It was all destiny, wasn't it. All aligned according to plan. He was one insignificant human asking one insignificant thing, and, yeah, right, like somebody even heard.
Screw this.
He left the bottle on the table in Bobby's kitchen, it didn't help. Nothing helped. Went back down and leaned his back against the wall and listened to his brother beg. Heard him hurt, and tear, and despair, and be horrified, and have living nightmares, and it tore at his heart and fed the pieces down into the emptiness that was already there. Lost. They were lost.
After a while, the panic room quieted. Dean pushed himself away from the wall and looked in; Sammy had sagged, drained. No body could keep that up indefinitely; his was exhausted. The binds had held, at least. He watched for a little bit, then his brother's chest started moving regularly, even if his body was tense - he had drowsed off. For now. Dean grabbed a water bottle from the floor and started unlocking the door; Cas reached to stop him and he just glared. "Water won't do anything to stop the freaking detox," he snarled.
He didn't wake Sammy; whatever rest he could get, he wouldn't interrupt it. Just sat there and watched him, for the minutes when he was drowsing. After a while, he reached and ran his fingers over the long hair, matted and tangled and damp and dank. Whatever I'm ever given a chance to do, bro, I will. Anything.
He hated crying.
If Sammy was adequate enough when he woke up, he'd hold his head up and help him drink a bit of water.
Shit comforts, that's everything he had to offer.
But he'd keep on trying. It's what he did, wasn't it.