Disclaimer: Me no ownsies Supernatural things.
Authors Note: I came across this in my folder of unfinished things. Originally intended to be part of a longer fic, but quite honestly I ran out of steam, and I think this stands alright by itself. Very short, a touch angsty. And Dean would loooove it if you reviewed. ;)
The Precipice of Hell
He was sorry, actually. For the first time in his goddamned life he actually felt sorry. Guilt, admission of responsibility, apology – these weren't states that Dean Winchester were familiar with; associations with his family being the obvious exception. Yet here he sat, in this neat and tidy diner in this neat and tidy town, feeling utterly condemned. The fact that he had done this to himself was now of little solace or relevance. He wished he could summon the same courage that had exploded in him when he realised he could prevent Sam's demise. But on the edge of his own plunge into fiery eternity, he felt nothing but wretched despair.
Because for all his complainings, the wishes that he thought he craved so desperately, all the times he had despised so completely his nomadic chaos of a life – he had finally realised. He didn't want to die. He was only young. It wasn't fair.
The way his car gleamed, the way the sunshine fell across the street, the smile of the waitress as she cleared the dishes, Sam's laugh and the stupid pranks they pulled on one another.
His life was good, he thought miserably. Desperately. His life was perfect.
And now it was too late.