Life is a Lemon
I want my money back
Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala, missing the feeling of freedom he used to derive from it with a force that drove him slowly mad.
Since he was back, everything felt weird, unreal, like sand between his fingers, like he couldn’t grasp anything solid, and everything was just streaming away from him.
It’s a whole of nothing
And nothing’s all I ever get
Every time I turn it on I burn it up and burn it out
He had thought the feeling would vanish after a while, that he just had to get used to breathing again, get used to the feeling something was missing - until he realised what was missing was the pain.
Without it he felt suddenly incomplete, like he was supposed to hurt.
It was comforting that Sam was by his side again, that he wasn’t alone anymore, but not comforting enough.
He still felt something nagging inside him.
There’s always something
There’s always something going wrong
That’s the only guaranty
That’s what this is all about
He had come back from hell to a world that was the same yet different; to a brother who still lied to his face without even wincing.
He had come back to a brother who had been lying to his face when he told him he did not use his powers, and had no intention of ever doing so, if Dean did not want him to.
It’s a never ending attack
Everything’s a lie and that’s a fact
Life is a lemon, and I want my money back
A small part of Dean understood why Sam used his powers, why he had crossed the line and subsequently felt compelled to lie to him about it - the rest of Dean was scared shitless what would be the consequences.
There was a war going on, and he and his brother were stuck in the middle of it, just like they always were.
Dean had fought a lost fight for all his life and he was getting so weary of it he wanted to scream.
The fact that it had been an angel of all creatures that roamed the face of the earth who had brought him back was still an ongoing mystery to him; even though Castiel had pointed out he had done it because Dean was still needed on the battlefield.
Dean did not want to fight anymore, he had enough of it, had fought too much for two lifetimes already, and as grateful as he was for getting out of hell, a disturbingly large part of him believed he was not worthy of being saved.
But nobody asked him and nobody ever would.
And all the morons, and all the stooges with their coins
They’re the ones who make the rules
It’s not a game it’s just a rout
He would fight this fight until he died - again - and then would hopefully be allowed to finally rest in peace.
He did not want to leave Sam, he really didn’t, but he was beginning to understand that nothing he did made any difference.
It seemed to be his fate to lose, and it was so tiring to fight against something he just could not change.
By now it almost failed to make him angry.
There’s desperation
There’s desperation in the air
It leaves a sting on all your clothes, and no detergent gets it out
Dean felt Sam’s eyes on him as he gripped the steering wheel of the Impala with brute force and clenched his teeth, hoping Sam would not see how close he was to giving in.
Memories of hell burned in the back of his mind, things he had forgotten when he had been brought back, and that kept resurfacing one after the other.
It had started with the nightmares, had grown and gained force, and sometimes the memories caught up with him while he was wide awake, making him space out so bad it was he miracle he had not yet crashed the impala into a tree.
And we’re always slipping through the cracks
Then the movie’s over fade to black
Life is a lemon, and I want my money back
When Sam told him to stop the car, Dean did it without questioning him.
They had not really talked to each other since Dean’s confession about his ascend in hell, what he had done, and Dean would do pretty much anything that would keep it this way.
He was glad Sam was still by his side and hadn’t left him like he’d expected him to do, but he could not wait for Sam to actually comfort him.
What about love?
It’s defective
It’s always breaking in half
Dean almost jumped out of the car in surprise when Sam put his arms around him and pulled him close.
What about sex?
It’s defective
It’s never built to really last
Sam told him to stay still and he did.
Dean had never allowed anyone to hold him this way, not even Cassy when there had been something between them he had thought to be love.
What about your family?
It’s defective
All the batteries are shut
Dean had thought the bond between him and Sam was tattered by now, threadbare and worn, but the echo of Sam’s steady heartbeat against his chest was the most consoling thing he had ever felt.
What about your friends?
They’re defective
All the parts are out of stock
Dean closed his eyes, Sam’s breath warm against his cheek, and he finally realised why he had been brought back.
What about hope?
It’s defective
It’s corroded and decayed
It did not really matter that Castiel deemed him nothing more than a soldier to fight for his side, fight for heaven, on the battlefield.
Dean was back because Sam needed him.
What about faith?
It’s defective
It’s tattered and it’s frayed
Dean was back because Sam could live no more without him than he could without Sam.
And they would win this thing because they were together.
What about your gods?
They’re defective
They forgot the warranty
Even if Dean had never believed in God, the fact that God put enough faith in somebody like him to bring him back from the dead had to count for something, even if the pressure made Dean feel a little uneasy.
What about your town?
It’s defective
It’s a dead-end street to me
There were many things in Deans life he had left behind, the house that had burned down and been rebuilt, the feeling of home he’d lost when he had been four years old, but he would not leave Sam, would never ever leave Sam again.
Sam was his home now.
What about your school?
It’s defective
It’s a pack of useless lies
His life had been hard, but it had prepared him for this, had prepared him for this fight, and maybe there would be something of a reward at the end of it.
Maybe he and Sam would finally be allowed to live.
What about your work?
It’s defective
It’s a crock and then you die
Dean was a hunter, always had been one, had been raised to kill evil, even if somewhere along the lines good and evil had begun to blur.
Angel or not, if one of these suckers tried to hurt Sam, Dean would raise hell - not quite as literally as Sam could do if he wanted to, but still quite close to it.
What about your childhood?
It’s defective
It’s dead and buried in the past
Dean sighed as he felt his body relax against Sam’s, and wondered if this was all that had been missing.
It felt a little weird being held by Sam, his little brother - even if Sam had passed little a very long time ago.
Dean had always felt obliged to be the strong one, the one who took care of everything, and even if he had failed more than just once to do so, it was hard to let someone else take over.
What about your future?
It’s defective
You can shove it up your ass
Dean had no idea how it would go on from this point onwards, but for the first time in what felt like years, the future seemed like something he could handle.
The End