[FIC] Tragedy is a Representation of an Action
Title: Tragedy is a Representation of an Action
Author: phaelsafe
Rating: PG
Genre and/or Pairing: unrequited Destiel, angst
Spoilers: 7.03
Warnings: None, really. Philosophy and morality?
Word Count: ~1600
Summary: Sam realizes what Dean has done.
This is Cas' fault somehow. If he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed -- if he'd just listened to Dean. If Dean hadn't taken Cas' existence for granted in the first place, maybe the angel would still be alive, and Dean wouldn't be in this situation in the first place....
Sam walks out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. He immediately stops in his tracks, eyeing his brooding brother. He continues to shake the remaining droplets of water from his longish hair as Dean tosses back another shot and slams the tumbler onto the table.
The tension in the room is thick, and Sam stills completely. The minutes tick by, and Dean glares at the now empty glass like he finds its lack of liquor offensive. "Uhm... Dean?"
"Yeah, what?" Dean growls.
Watching his brother closely, Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he makes his way over to the bed and pulls a set of clean clothes from his duffel bag. He has just finished buttoning his jeans when he whirls around, his hand falling limply by his side, the shirt now forgotten.
"You said you trusted me, Dean" comes the defeated wail.
Dean looks anywhere else, away, out the window and into the parking lot. He can't stand to see the hurt he knows Sam is feeling at the realization, the pain that Dean put there. It radiates from his brother in waves. Ever so softly, he says, "It had to be done."
In only a few strides, Sam is towering over Dean. "Did you put the kid down, too?! Jacob?"
Fury burns away the alcohol-induced buzz just as Castiel's Grace ever did. The thought stings, fuels the glare he turns toward his brother. "No, Sammy! Jesus. He didn't do anything."
Astonished, Sam jerks back. He studies Dean's face, carefully locks their eyes, and then says quietly, "Neither did Amy."
"She was killing people and feeding them to her son!"
"She had to! He was dying! And those people deserved it!" Sam counters.
"Says who? You? Her?" The chair nearly falls over as Dean stands up to crowd into Sam's space. "Where does she get off deciding whether someone deserves to die because she needs to feed?"
"Yet you get to decide her fate. What gives you the right, Dean?"
The strained lines around Dean's eyes ease suddenly as his anger melts away. "She wasn't human. It's one thing if the monsters are willing to try to live like humans -- to ignore their nature and treat us like equals so we can live together peacefully," Dean says, spitting out the last word. He hadn't killed the kitsune because she was a supernatural creature. It wasn't that simple. Nothing is ever that simple.
Sam flinches, his lashes dropping and shuttering any emotion away from sight. "She said she wouldn't hurt anyone," he murmurs. His eyes narrow, and he looks back to gauge Dean. "Is punching people is how you treat equals, Dean?"
"She already hurt people, Sam. That whole live and let live philosophy is only fair when both parts are followed. What if she had more kids, or the corpse thing stopped working? She knew better than to cross that line, but she did it anyway. She had to. That doesn't give her a free pass on killing humans-"
Dean stops suddenly and tilts his head to the side, confused.
"-what are you talking about? She and I didn't fight at all. She didn't even realize-" he inhales slowly trying to compose his thoughts. Sam clenches his jaw and waits silently.
"It was quick and as painless as I could make it."
"Jackass. I was referring to when you clocked me upside the head," Sams says equally confused, his brows drawing together.
Dean turns his attention inward, thinking. Once he found where Sam was staying, he had picked the lock and waited inside for his brother's return. When Sam finally stumbled in hours after the sun had set, his face smudged with dirt and hair tangled with twigs and leaves, and a bruise blossoming along his temple, Dean had scrambled for an ice pack and a wet cloth. He helped Sam clean up, then handed him some pain-killers as the younger Winchester ran through the details of his reunion with Amy.
"Sam, I..." he gapes for a second, his mouth working to form the words. "I didn't hit you. I wouldn't do that. Not after, you know," he says, pointing at the other hunter's head. "Between the leviathans and C-Cas...." Dean bites at his lip to avoid tripping up further. "Dude, like you need more trauma, Space Case."
"But, you did. I remember. You said it was because I... stole the..." Sam trails off. He blinks at Dean managing somehow to look even more baffled. Fear creeps into his hazel eyes and then they dart around the room. "Is this- Am I-"
"You're not hallucinating," Dean says, releasing a weary sigh. He scrubs an uneasy hand through his already messy hair. "It's how they work. They lure their victims in with illusions."
Sam doesn't look convinced in the slightest. "But I wasn't her prey. Why'd she let me go? Why did she tell me her story? I know that much was real; you already confirmed it."
"I don't know, they're smart. Like Vulcan smart." Dean says with a shrug. He doesn't know so he holds the gesture for a few seconds longer, his hands splayed to the open air. "It worked, didn't it, playing off your sympathy? Both times. I guess she figured this way you wouldn't come after her again."
"...she killed her own mother to save me."
"Wait, you don't..." Dean stops. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then swipes his hand down his face and curls it sheepishly around the back of his neck. "I guess she was still messing with you, and then we never talked about it afterwards, so I thought you remembered what really happened. Dad killed her mother, and I let Amy escape. Dad was pissed at me for it, but back then she hadn't done anything. At least, that's what she said, and man, she was just a kid...."
Sam just stares at Dean. Not quite comprehending, he asks, "What?"
"You called and asked about girls. I ditched Dad claiming I was going to check up on you when really, I was coming to mess with you. Big brother stuff, 'cause how often did that happen while we were growing up?" Dean asks. He's rambling now and Sam still expects an explanation. "When I saw you throwing punches at nothing, I- just guessed. I called Dad, and followed you two -- how you found at the library both what we were hunting and what we were hunting, all within thirty seconds, I'll never know. Dad thought it was more dangerous to try and pull you out by myself. Anyway, we barged in just as the mother was about to shred your face off," Dean finishes. Those has been some wicked claws. A shiver threatens to crawl down his spine, but he represses it.
The dismal silence stretches on, distressingly so since neither can figure out what to say or do next.
Sam covers his face with his hands and just turns on his heel. He doesn't go any further, he just deflates where he stands and bows his head. "Our lives really fucking suck sometimes," he remarks almost too faintly for Dean to hear as he slides to the floor.
Dean follows suit and flops to the ground in a graceless heap, pressing his back against Sam's. He closes his eyes and drops his head back against his brother's neck. "Yeah, well," he sighs. "Yeah."
They sit in the quiet of the room for a few minutes until Sam breaks in with "I saw Cas' trench coat in the trunk of the Impala."
Ice washes through Dean's veins and he stiffens. Sam cranes around to look at him from the corner of his eye, and Dean can feel the awkward gaze as it falls upon him. He lifts his head and tries to shove all the emotions away as they suddenly surge to the surface, but that just makes his chest seize up, his heart physically hurt. "Really not a good time right now, Sam," he replies, his voice low and rough.
And fuck is he pissed at the angel, but fuck, does he miss Cas.
"I know, but I think you're seeing him in everything. You're going to have to deal with this sooner or later because it's affecting you. In a major way." Dean makes a noise and starts to pull away, but Sam loops his arm through Dean's to keep him from fleeing. "Not right now. It's fine; I understand," he soothes as he grasps his brother's hand loosely. With a gentle squeeze, Sam looks away and says, "Whenever you're ready. I'm here. Always will be."
Though Dean snorts, he clutches at Sam's hand and smacks none too gently against the younger hunter's back once more. "Yeah, okay. Fine. When I'm ready," he huffs.
Author: phaelsafe
Rating: PG
Genre and/or Pairing: unrequited Destiel, angst
Spoilers: 7.03
Warnings: None, really. Philosophy and morality?
Word Count: ~1600
Summary: Sam realizes what Dean has done.
This is Cas' fault somehow. If he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed -- if he'd just listened to Dean. If Dean hadn't taken Cas' existence for granted in the first place, maybe the angel would still be alive, and Dean wouldn't be in this situation in the first place....
Sam walks out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. He immediately stops in his tracks, eyeing his brooding brother. He continues to shake the remaining droplets of water from his longish hair as Dean tosses back another shot and slams the tumbler onto the table.
The tension in the room is thick, and Sam stills completely. The minutes tick by, and Dean glares at the now empty glass like he finds its lack of liquor offensive. "Uhm... Dean?"
"Yeah, what?" Dean growls.
Watching his brother closely, Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he makes his way over to the bed and pulls a set of clean clothes from his duffel bag. He has just finished buttoning his jeans when he whirls around, his hand falling limply by his side, the shirt now forgotten.
"You said you trusted me, Dean" comes the defeated wail.
Dean looks anywhere else, away, out the window and into the parking lot. He can't stand to see the hurt he knows Sam is feeling at the realization, the pain that Dean put there. It radiates from his brother in waves. Ever so softly, he says, "It had to be done."
In only a few strides, Sam is towering over Dean. "Did you put the kid down, too?! Jacob?"
Fury burns away the alcohol-induced buzz just as Castiel's Grace ever did. The thought stings, fuels the glare he turns toward his brother. "No, Sammy! Jesus. He didn't do anything."
Astonished, Sam jerks back. He studies Dean's face, carefully locks their eyes, and then says quietly, "Neither did Amy."
"She was killing people and feeding them to her son!"
"She had to! He was dying! And those people deserved it!" Sam counters.
"Says who? You? Her?" The chair nearly falls over as Dean stands up to crowd into Sam's space. "Where does she get off deciding whether someone deserves to die because she needs to feed?"
"Yet you get to decide her fate. What gives you the right, Dean?"
The strained lines around Dean's eyes ease suddenly as his anger melts away. "She wasn't human. It's one thing if the monsters are willing to try to live like humans -- to ignore their nature and treat us like equals so we can live together peacefully," Dean says, spitting out the last word. He hadn't killed the kitsune because she was a supernatural creature. It wasn't that simple. Nothing is ever that simple.
Sam flinches, his lashes dropping and shuttering any emotion away from sight. "She said she wouldn't hurt anyone," he murmurs. His eyes narrow, and he looks back to gauge Dean. "Is punching people is how you treat equals, Dean?"
"She already hurt people, Sam. That whole live and let live philosophy is only fair when both parts are followed. What if she had more kids, or the corpse thing stopped working? She knew better than to cross that line, but she did it anyway. She had to. That doesn't give her a free pass on killing humans-"
Dean stops suddenly and tilts his head to the side, confused.
"-what are you talking about? She and I didn't fight at all. She didn't even realize-" he inhales slowly trying to compose his thoughts. Sam clenches his jaw and waits silently.
"It was quick and as painless as I could make it."
"Jackass. I was referring to when you clocked me upside the head," Sams says equally confused, his brows drawing together.
Dean turns his attention inward, thinking. Once he found where Sam was staying, he had picked the lock and waited inside for his brother's return. When Sam finally stumbled in hours after the sun had set, his face smudged with dirt and hair tangled with twigs and leaves, and a bruise blossoming along his temple, Dean had scrambled for an ice pack and a wet cloth. He helped Sam clean up, then handed him some pain-killers as the younger Winchester ran through the details of his reunion with Amy.
"Sam, I..." he gapes for a second, his mouth working to form the words. "I didn't hit you. I wouldn't do that. Not after, you know," he says, pointing at the other hunter's head. "Between the leviathans and C-Cas...." Dean bites at his lip to avoid tripping up further. "Dude, like you need more trauma, Space Case."
"But, you did. I remember. You said it was because I... stole the..." Sam trails off. He blinks at Dean managing somehow to look even more baffled. Fear creeps into his hazel eyes and then they dart around the room. "Is this- Am I-"
"You're not hallucinating," Dean says, releasing a weary sigh. He scrubs an uneasy hand through his already messy hair. "It's how they work. They lure their victims in with illusions."
Sam doesn't look convinced in the slightest. "But I wasn't her prey. Why'd she let me go? Why did she tell me her story? I know that much was real; you already confirmed it."
"I don't know, they're smart. Like Vulcan smart." Dean says with a shrug. He doesn't know so he holds the gesture for a few seconds longer, his hands splayed to the open air. "It worked, didn't it, playing off your sympathy? Both times. I guess she figured this way you wouldn't come after her again."
"...she killed her own mother to save me."
"Wait, you don't..." Dean stops. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then swipes his hand down his face and curls it sheepishly around the back of his neck. "I guess she was still messing with you, and then we never talked about it afterwards, so I thought you remembered what really happened. Dad killed her mother, and I let Amy escape. Dad was pissed at me for it, but back then she hadn't done anything. At least, that's what she said, and man, she was just a kid...."
Sam just stares at Dean. Not quite comprehending, he asks, "What?"
"You called and asked about girls. I ditched Dad claiming I was going to check up on you when really, I was coming to mess with you. Big brother stuff, 'cause how often did that happen while we were growing up?" Dean asks. He's rambling now and Sam still expects an explanation. "When I saw you throwing punches at nothing, I- just guessed. I called Dad, and followed you two -- how you found at the library both what we were hunting and what we were hunting, all within thirty seconds, I'll never know. Dad thought it was more dangerous to try and pull you out by myself. Anyway, we barged in just as the mother was about to shred your face off," Dean finishes. Those has been some wicked claws. A shiver threatens to crawl down his spine, but he represses it.
The dismal silence stretches on, distressingly so since neither can figure out what to say or do next.
Sam covers his face with his hands and just turns on his heel. He doesn't go any further, he just deflates where he stands and bows his head. "Our lives really fucking suck sometimes," he remarks almost too faintly for Dean to hear as he slides to the floor.
Dean follows suit and flops to the ground in a graceless heap, pressing his back against Sam's. He closes his eyes and drops his head back against his brother's neck. "Yeah, well," he sighs. "Yeah."
They sit in the quiet of the room for a few minutes until Sam breaks in with "I saw Cas' trench coat in the trunk of the Impala."
Ice washes through Dean's veins and he stiffens. Sam cranes around to look at him from the corner of his eye, and Dean can feel the awkward gaze as it falls upon him. He lifts his head and tries to shove all the emotions away as they suddenly surge to the surface, but that just makes his chest seize up, his heart physically hurt. "Really not a good time right now, Sam," he replies, his voice low and rough.
And fuck is he pissed at the angel, but fuck, does he miss Cas.
"I know, but I think you're seeing him in everything. You're going to have to deal with this sooner or later because it's affecting you. In a major way." Dean makes a noise and starts to pull away, but Sam loops his arm through Dean's to keep him from fleeing. "Not right now. It's fine; I understand," he soothes as he grasps his brother's hand loosely. With a gentle squeeze, Sam looks away and says, "Whenever you're ready. I'm here. Always will be."
Though Dean snorts, he clutches at Sam's hand and smacks none too gently against the younger hunter's back once more. "Yeah, okay. Fine. When I'm ready," he huffs.