His Curse
By Portrait of a Scribe
It's after seeing their father in Chicago, after the incident with Meg Masters and the Devas, that Dean first begins to realize what his ultimate fate is to be. It's after they and their father have parted ways and the boys have cleaned up their bloodied faces, bound their bruised bones, that Dean takes a rare moment to watch Sam sleep. It's then that the comprehension slowly begins to dawn on him.
He is destined to be left alone. His final fate is to be deserted by all those whom he loves.
Sam tosses his head and lets out a contented sigh.
First, it was Mom. The demon took her from them. Dad slowly distanced himself from him and Sam, threw himself into the Hunt, and Mom's memory slowly began to fade. It was only the first of many things, Dean realizes, that are bound to fade.
A soft snore echoes from Sam's throat. Dean swallows painfully and forces back the tears he tells himself aren't there.
Second to leave was Sam. After being raised like they were, Dean couldn't really blame Sam for wanting to have a normal life. But he didn't want to be without his brother. The resentment was a quiet thing, and the fear even quieter; for two years, it hid inside his heart while Sam went off and did his college thing. Dean would admit to himself in the privacy of his own head that he was proud of his little brother's accomplishments. It still didn't make the feeling of being deserted any easier to bear.
Sam's brow furrows in his sleep, and he turns over. Dean's calculating green eyes, far more perceptive than he usually lets on, trace the harsh lines of the bandages that line Sam's neck after the damage that the Devas did.
Dad was the third. Well, technically, he started fading away years ago, after Mom's death, after the fire, after the demon. But when he went on that last Hunt before Dean tracked down Sam again, he left them for the last time. He didn't say it, no, but Dean feels it now, looking back, feels that this will be his father's last Hunt, a last Hurrah before he goes to wherever it is that he'll go when it's all finally over. Be that Heaven or Hell or whatever else there is out there, it doesn't matter. It's a slow fade, and Dean doesn't know if he can stop it.
Sam grunts. Dean blinks back the tears and the pain, and heaves himself to his feet, crossing the room to the bathroom. He's got blood in his hair, and he feels like shit, and he just wishes right now that he had a handle of Jack or a keg of beer to drown out the hollow sickness he feels rotting him from the inside out.
Dean is destined to be alone. He knows it.
Sam will be the next to leave. It's inexorable. As Dean slowly shucks his blood-crusted clothing and dumps it in the sink and starts the shower running, he allows himself to accept the realization for what it is: the truth. It's the honest-to-God truth that he's as cursed as the rest of his damned family. Sam will be the next to leave, and Dad will die, and Dean will Hunt alone yet again while Sam lives his own life. Dean will probably become that weird uncle that Sam always tells his kids about but whom they don't really know. He knows he'll never be around. Again, it's unavoidable. After all, it's too late for him to do something else with his life. He's addicted. He loves saving lives, loves the adrenaline rush, the way his heart pounds in his chest and his mouth grows dry, the way the hair on the back of his neck stands on end when there's something watching him that he can't see. Dean knows he's too addicted to leave the Hunt for good, so he knows that he's destined to end up alone.
Hell, he'll probably die on a Hunt one of these days. Like, really die. It's almost happened a few times: the Norse Scarecrow in the orchard, the poltergeist in their old house, the Native American burial ground bugs... the electric shock that damaged his heart so badly that he wouldn't have lived until today, had a madwoman and her pet Reaper not given his heart damage to some other poor bastard in Dean's stead.
But Dean is a survivor. It's more likely that he'll be the one to watch the world burn, and everyone he loves burn around him.
But Sam. Sam. Dean chokes as the water runs hot over his head and shoulders, stinging the gashes on his face and making the bruised ribs on his left side ache. The two-week-old burn on his left pectoral pulls, a painful reminder of the cannibal psychos they dealt with not too long ago.
Dean's gotten so used to having Sam around... To not being alone...
He knows he won't be able to handle it when Sam leaves him, too. Dad, he can take. Dad's been more or less gone for years. Mom? Dean made peace with her absence long ago, though he still actively seeks justice for her murder. But Sam? Sammy?
God, Dean's just so tired of being alone. He knows Sam doesn't get it. Sam's young enough that he can't remember Mom and the pain of losing her, and even though he lost Jess like he did, he's also young enough that he can bounce back from it eventually. Dean... Dean knows that he isn't as well-adjusted as Sam is, isn't capable of leading a normal life like Sam is. Dean's list of social problems is a mile and a half long, and he knows that he'll never really be able to overcome them.
The loneliness grips him. Dean chokes down a scream and slides down the wall to sit under the warm stream of water, rocking slowly back and forth. It isn't the first time he's done this since his reunion with Sam. Dean knows that this isn't healthy, but he can't help it.
Sam has too many problems of his own without Dean adding his to that volatile mix. Dean refuses to burden his brother like that. As he chokes on another silent scream, Dean swears he can feel something inside him groan, snap, and then, finally, break.
He gasps, coughs on the water he inhales, and pretends that the warmth running down his cheeks is just from the shower, even though the water cascading over his head has turned icy since he got into it. Dean shoves his fist in his mouth and pretends that he can't hear himself screaming inside his own head.
Sam's green gaze is concerned when Dean finally makes it back out to bed, hair plastered dark and dripping to his forehead, boxers hanging low on slim, scarred hips. Dean feels stiff as an old man. His body hurts, and his soul is weary. But the smile Dean musters for his little brother tells Sam that he'll be okay, because Dean can't be anything other than okay. Not for his little brother.
Even though Sam will leave him one day, Dean knows how to treasure what little he has in the present.
Until Sam finally leaves him, Dean will make the most of his brother's company and the bonds of love that have tied them together all their lives. Until Sam finally vanishes into the ether like everything else is destined to do, Dean can pretend that he isn't doomed to live out his life with the lonely ache festering inside him.
Dean lays down, turns his back to Sam, closes his eyes, and tries vainly to sleep.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, though I wouldn't mind waking up to Dean Winchester's face one morning...
Wrote this on my phone last night after watching Ep. 17 of season 1 and realizing everything that was just more or less confirmed for me by the end of the season. Yes, SPN noob, here. Freaks me the hell out half the time, still, but no spoilers, please.
Just tell me what you think and we'll see what hits me for my second foray into the world of SPN.
-Scribe