Kurda was in Africa when he got the call from Dean. He'd been living in Ghana for a year or so, teaching evening classes to those unable to afford further education but who were hungry to learn
( ... )
He'd caught him in between the many, many hunts, while he was pouring over a map to decide which state to hit next. He let the phone ring inside the compartment. And ring. And ring. And then he opens the compartment, and checks the caller ID.
goddamn it He hadn't meant for him to call back. At least, that's what he's telling himself. He's not just running physically but mentally, too. And if there's anything that can be said about a life bathed in blood, it's that you learn how to shut off. mostly. channel everything else into cold, hard anger which lets you hunt and kill to feel angrier, and it's a whole spiralling, self-destructive mess. One he's well down the path on.
He answers just before the machine picks it up, ice sitting in his voice because he's refusing to let himself feel anything else. but behind the cold wall if the restained grief, ringing empty.
coping? what's that?
"If it's not a hunt, I ain't interested." Not even a hello. That's real nice.
"I just flew halfway around the world to be here," Kurda said, quickly, "Don't you dare say you won't see me Dean Winchester. I'm in Lawrence, where are you?"
Kurda was using his 'no nonsense' tone as he stood in line to get a cab. He had to be the strong one for Dean now, he couldn't get emotional, he had to be hard because it was the only way of getting through to the other man when he was like this.
He recieves a snarl from Dean's end of the line. "I'll say what I damned well want." He's not going to apologise for that, either. Not for the snarl, not for the being rude.
He's pushing. Pushing away from what he cares about because that leaves room for emotion. for the grief to settle back in and turn him inside out. "I didn't ask you to come back."
west. go west. Haven't been that way since... haven't been that way yet. His eyes track the nearest interstate on the map and follow it to the first town over the state line. "Call me back with a hunt or don't call back at all. How's that one sound?"
So far, he's only had himself until Kurda came back. and himself has been telling him it's not okay to be angry with Sam. And now he's being told it is okay, that it doesn't have to make sense... something in him snapped. Gave it up, and let the anger roll beside the grief, letting him move on to phase two in the getting better' process.
The sawn-off that he had secreted on his person is brought out, but he's holding it by what there is of the barrel. He'd holding it that tightly ina shaking grip that the metal is folding in on itself, making it unusable. not that he cares right now. The handle of the weapon is swung towards... past Kurda narrowly, and into the window of the impala. It's a brutal display of how he feels, all smashed glass and dented metal, taking out his anger on the car until his chest is heaving and he's sweating from the exertion. Even after the handle splintered, unable to hold up against his fury and the metal of the car, he kept going. Looks like you'll be getting a rental after you land in plymouth
( ... )
Kurda wanted to stop Dean from doing the Impala any more damage, knowing that he'd regret it, but this was what it was going to take to beat this thing so he let it be.
He moved towards Dean slowly, cautiously, glass crunching underfoot. "Dean...?" his voice was gentle. "It's alright..."
Kurda could sense that it was over, that the unnatural fury polluting Dean's heart had gone, the monster banished, and what was left was natural grieving for the loss of his brother.
He takes a shuddering breath, before he admits. "'M not fine." Which is rather contrary to what he's been saying before. "and it's not alright. He left me here, but he took everything with him. I don't know.... even where to start. I don't know how to live without because I don't know..." He trails off. He doesn't even know who he is. What to do or why he's still here. It doesn't feel right; being here. A small part of him wonders if this isn't similar to how the angry spirits they salt and burn feel, at least at first.
He sighs bitterly, still feeling frustrated, letting himself work through his anger at his brother that hew'd shoved down mercilessly. "He took it all. He didn't even think about it."
"You can do this, Dean - you can adjust. You've adjusted without him before, remember? The way you did with that family... with Lisa and Ben. There's so much more to you than you give yourself credit for." Kurda gently put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You've got to watch my back and protect me, God knows I need it... Sam had to go, it wasn't his fault and you know that, and I know you're angry that he wanted you to live without him, but he thought it was the right thing. Sam's always wanted the best for you..."
"Well, it wasn't long after that when my people started talking about war with the vampaneze, which seemed crazy to me. We'd just very clearly seen the horrors that war had inflicted on humans and now we were considering having our own? I wouldn't stand for it, so I made it my mission to counter the vampires rallying for battle, to find out as much about our blood cousins as I could and try and make peace with them before my people had the chance to do something stupid. I was doing that right up until the day I met you, that was my purpose, and then.... well.... it all went tits up..." Which was the nicer way of saying 'I was brutally executed and spent decades in hell'.
Now Kurda thought about it he wondered what his purpose was now. He couldn't continue with helping his clan for obvious reasons, so he supposed he'd sort of made Dean his purpose, which was an odd thought.
"And it going tits up was how you ended up in the Lake." He finishes. He shakes his head. "And people can't understand why there's days I wonder why we freaking bother." For you it was war with your blood cousins and being killed, for him it was saving the world and just losing everything in the process.
Kurda just sighed, "I don't blame them for what happened to me you know. I knew how it might end when I decided to go through with it, and if I'd succeeded then people would have died.... more people than already did. I don't regret what I tried to do, but I'm not bitter about the way it turned out."
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goddamn it He hadn't meant for him to call back. At least, that's what he's telling himself. He's not just running physically but mentally, too. And if there's anything that can be said about a life bathed in blood, it's that you learn how to shut off. mostly. channel everything else into cold, hard anger which lets you hunt and kill to feel angrier, and it's a whole spiralling, self-destructive mess. One he's well down the path on.
He answers just before the machine picks it up, ice sitting in his voice because he's refusing to let himself feel anything else. but behind the cold wall if the restained grief, ringing empty.
coping? what's that?
"If it's not a hunt, I ain't interested." Not even a hello. That's real nice.
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Kurda was using his 'no nonsense' tone as he stood in line to get a cab. He had to be the strong one for Dean now, he couldn't get emotional, he had to be hard because it was the only way of getting through to the other man when he was like this.
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He's pushing. Pushing away from what he cares about because that leaves room for emotion. for the grief to settle back in and turn him inside out. "I didn't ask you to come back."
west. go west. Haven't been that way since... haven't been that way yet. His eyes track the nearest interstate on the map and follow it to the first town over the state line. "Call me back with a hunt or don't call back at all. How's that one sound?"
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The sawn-off that he had secreted on his person is brought out, but he's holding it by what there is of the barrel. He'd holding it that tightly ina shaking grip that the metal is folding in on itself, making it unusable. not that he cares right now. The handle of the weapon is swung towards... past Kurda narrowly, and into the window of the impala. It's a brutal display of how he feels, all smashed glass and dented metal, taking out his anger on the car until his chest is heaving and he's sweating from the exertion. Even after the handle splintered, unable to hold up against his fury and the metal of the car, he kept going. Looks like you'll be getting a rental after you land in plymouth ( ... )
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He moved towards Dean slowly, cautiously, glass crunching underfoot.
"Dean...?" his voice was gentle. "It's alright..."
Kurda could sense that it was over, that the unnatural fury polluting Dean's heart had gone, the monster banished, and what was left was natural grieving for the loss of his brother.
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He sighs bitterly, still feeling frustrated, letting himself work through his anger at his brother that hew'd shoved down mercilessly. "He took it all. He didn't even think about it."
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Kurda gently put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You've got to watch my back and protect me, God knows I need it...
Sam had to go, it wasn't his fault and you know that, and I know you're angry that he wanted you to live without him, but he thought it was the right thing. Sam's always wanted the best for you..."
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Which was the nicer way of saying 'I was brutally executed and spent decades in hell'.
Now Kurda thought about it he wondered what his purpose was now. He couldn't continue with helping his clan for obvious reasons, so he supposed he'd sort of made Dean his purpose, which was an odd thought.
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