It's gonna be a long, hard ride
SPN REWATCH || S01E01: Pilot (1.1k)
it’s the night after the fire, his brother is tossing and turning in the bed next to his and Dean can’t get his mind to shut off. (gen, discussion of the days after Mary’s & Jess’s death, alcohol //, drug mention, smoking //)
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It’s when the darkness sets that the events of the previous day really dawn on him. Dean hasn’t thought of their mother in a long time, nor does he remember a lot of the night it happened. For him, it’s just a blur of fire and crying. He remembers his father telling him to take his brother outside and run as fast as he can. He remembers telling the bundle in his arms it would all be okay.
But that is all he really remembers. The weeks and months after form a fog in his brain; there’s the silence in class and at home, only smiling because it’s the only thing that calms Sammy down when he’s in one of his crying fits. Which, they were frequent after the fire. He remembers how he’d come home thinking to find his mother and finding an empty motel room and a note from his father. The disappointment.
Sam - because he’s too big for ‘Sammy’ now - doesn’t remember anything about the night, the hours, days, months both before and after. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Dean’s thought it over more than once, has imagined it more than once, what it would be like, not knowing that charming smile of their mother’s. Only knowing their stoic father, not the man he was before.
Dean can’t help but think of the memories now, lying in a crappy motel room bed with a pillow that might as well not be there. He can feel the strain on his muscles but doesn’t care. He’s had worse, way worse. The darkness around him is almost comforting enough for him to imagine this all hasn’t happened. With Sammy-Sam snoring in the background, it almost feels like the older days.
Maybe, they can imagine the falling out never happened, they never cut ties. He can imagine his brother hasn’t ignored all of his phone calls and voice mails over the past couple of months. He can almost imagine last night never happened.
Maybe, maybe. Maybe not.
Things are different now, he knows that. It almost has to be, for him. Seeing Jess burn seemed to have set something off in his brother. A switch has been flipped (maybe, the same that flipped in his father’s head after their mother) and it can’t be undone. It’ll change him. Dean hates thinking about it, but can’t stop.
It’s now that their conversation on that first day comes back to him: Sam’s rant on how they never had a childhood, how their mother (one he never knew) wouldn’t have wanted this for them. And he’s right, but now Sam might be turning into just the same thing that he resents in their father: the absence, the obsession.
When Dean closes his eyes, he can see his brother transform into their father. Grief is too powerful, no matter what your upbringing (because, after all, this is something law school can’t teach you how to cope with).
Sam tosses and turns in his bed: his snores interrupted with the ruffling of sheets, a pillow goes flying off the edge - Sam didn’t even notice, so the nightmare must be bad - and every now and again, he says her name, whispers it. This is unfamiliar territory; Dean doesn’t know if he should wake him up, if they’re that familiar with each other again. Years ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice, he’d have shaken him awake. Now though, he’s not so sure it’s what’s right.
Sam going to Stanford changed things, moved their boundaries, made them strangers again. Dean almost doesn’t notice it during the day, nor does he care really. The job kept them busy before and on the ride back to his apartment, Sam was too preoccupied. Whenever they’re in public, it seems fine. Dean can slip into his role and he can switch off that worried part of him. It’s at night he can’t help but feel the tension between them.
And he doesn’t want to be bitter about it, he really doesn’t, but part of him is. Part of him hated his brother from the moment the door slammed shut after him. Hates him for so much of what happened afterwards. Another part of him can’t blame him for it. He got out, got his chance. Even if it’s taken away now, he had a couple of weeks of the normal and happy he so seemed to want.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The wood creaks under his feet as Dean pads down the stairs. He’d quickly slipped on a pair of joggers and shoes before fetching a beer and his cigarettes and heading outside. The cold bites even through the joggers, but he doesn’t care as he leans against the hood of the Impala.
It’s only just turned November, so the air isn’t too cold, not quite yet. The beer warms him up from the inside, which he’s more than happy with. He’d love to have something stronger, to get drunk enough to forget everything that’s happening and get to sleep. Just a couple of minutes would be a relief, but Sam’s counting on him. So he doesn’t. Sticks to his beer and his cigarettes.
His father’s already disappointed enough with him, that he knows. He can’t deal with Sammy’s disappointment on top of that. Sure, this barely takes the pressure of, barely calms him down, but he’s grateful for whatever it does.
“Isn’t it a bit too cold out?” a voice says from the other side of the car. Sammy’s standing there, clad in his PJ pants and hoodie and for a moment, it seems like the kid’s fifteen again and worried about his older brother. Coming for advice. Not today.
“Eh, it’s not too bad,” he shrugs before turning to his brother. “What are you even doing up, isn’t it like three?” He’d seemed to finally have settled by the time he slipped out.
“Closer to four,” Sam corrects him, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Couldn’t go back to sleep. Saw your bed was empty so.” He shrugs. “Figured. What about you?”
“The same, really. Couldn’t fall asleep.” He brings his cigarette back to his lips and pointedly ignores the looks Sam gives him.
“Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t do it often. Things changed since you left Sammy.” With Sam gone, a lot of the pressure fell on his shoulders, a lot of his father’s frustration reigned down on him. Everyone changed because of it. Their father did, he did, Sam did. If smoking helped, why not. “Don’t go giving me lectures on it.”
“Wasn’t going to. I’m going to put on some coffee. See if something’s open for breakfast. Want something?” He doesn’t ask why Sam doesn’t just go back to bed, just nods and tells him to bring whatever for him.
By the time Sam’s back, he’s taken a shower and ready to go on pretending. Learning. Adapting to life with his brother there again. Until he decides he’s had enough, that he’ll go back to class and Dean will be there to fend for himself. Again.