justprompts: Black and white or shades of gray?
Dean didn't even attempt sleeping that night.
There was, to begin with, the matter of dreams. With the parts of believing, if only for the sake of getting Uriel to show up, that he might get back downstairs; Alastair's goading, reminding him of too many times before; and talking about it to Sam, he didn't have a very good feeling about how vivid the nightmares would be. Not to mention the part of angelic appearance. He suspected now he'd be getting personal visitations again, if they wanted him, but Uriel wasn't exactly the stuffing of sweet dreams. Even if the enthusiasm he'd had for dealing with those demons had had its kicks.
And then there were the thoughts, quite enough to keep him awake on their own. All raw, everything that was happening and had happened, battering at him over and over again. He wished it could go away, that he wouldn't feel anything. That there was a way to numb it all - the guilt, the responsibility.
There had been Anna. He didn't know what her name was now that she had recovered her grace, even. Now that she had sacrificed what had hurt so much to achieve, for all their sakes. His and Sam's and even Castiel's. Whatever would happen to her next... he wouldn't, couldn't forget that.
If that even mattered anymore.
He hoped she had recovered enough faith to be alright. Happy, probably not. But where she belonged.
He shifted slightly. There had been Uriel. Who had been bluffing, thankfully, because if he hadn't, Dean'd have probably been returned down to the rack. Sam would have killed him himself if he'd been there to see that. No matter the plan and all. Just for that... resignation, for that swerving that close to the edge of being cast down again. And Dean felt guilty for that. Too.
But he couldn't just let Anna be killed.
He'd done evil enough; he couldn't afford to stand aside and let more just happen. He had to... balance it somehow.
You're not a freak. And you're not evil. And you are good. You do good.
Dean sure hoped so. That he was doing good, at least. After all, he'd probably done more evil than any mortal man or woman walking under the sun. No matter what the circumstances, he'd done it. Himself. That wasn't even guilt, there. That was responsibility, and it weighed on him like a mountain, the memory of ten years of it.
His fingers curled, balling some of the covers inside his first.
Tainted. Not by anybody's actions at an age when he couldn't have done anything about it. His actions, his weakness. It was still there with him. His. His causing pain.
He turned to one side, folding upon himself. He'd caved in to the pain. He'd hurt others.
And Sam hadn't run away knowing that. A marvel, a miracle, that. His eyes rested on the still shape on the other bed and he sighed. He'd really really hated what Uriel'd made him choose between. And the edge of shock and betrayal after the angels had showed up. Why? Because I couldn't lose you again, little brother. None of them were either only light, or only darkness. Sam wasn't perfect, Anna wasn't perfect, and Castiel and Uriel definitely weren't either. And he was wondering if god himself was pure light; or if even Lucifer himself was pure black, but not enough to even begin doubting that he didn't want that one traipsing about or calling the show. But now Sam knew... that in the shades of grey they were all muddling through, his older brother was dark, darker than himself.
Dean hadn't been ready to talk about it. Not to Anna or Castiel; not even to Ruby who knew what it was about. But after what Alastair had mentioned, he couldn't just let Sam wonder what that was about. He owed his brother that much at least. He owed him truth enough to know how much he could trust, and how much he couldn't. Because obviously, there was a limit.
He couldn't even think about it too much. Even if it came back to him, that thought that maybe when he said, Sam would just... get mad at him. Incredulous. Then he'd find a way to take off. Go hunting on his own. Or with Ruby. Something.
Tomorrow would be another day. Hopefully, another case.
He still had no fucking idea why they'd chosen him, why he was so important to the angels. No idea why he was so special - as Henriksen had put it, why was Dean alive and he wasn't? So he focused on what he thought he did get. He couldn't undo the damage he'd inflicted in the pit. So he tried to balance, one little bit at a time, up here now that he had a chance. One job at a time.
And so he clung to that effort to do a little good, and to his brother. And wanted to stop feeling.
And hoped to God that something would make things better. Somehow.