Author's Note : Set on early S5 episodes, the very first most heart-wrenching parts of the story, in my opinion…
P.S. My very first SPN Fics in Indonesian. Now, I'm presenting this in English... particularly as some sort of apology for taking forever to update my other fic, Midas's Gold. However, I really hope you enjoy the story. Reviews and Favs are highly appreciated :')
Summary : It's just one of those normal days for Dean Winchester; a case to look forward, Metallica on the radio, more news of apocalypse destruction, and the impala's steering wheel under his palms. Unless… Sam's not there by his side, sitting on the passenger seat.
Warning : Not Slash. It's my way to contemplate about the boys' brotherly love, as we all do to this very day. Do expect a real heavy angst though. Not beta-ed, so every single mistake is mine and mine alone.
Disclaimer : I know. It's not mine...
Just Another Day… (Without Sam)
Metallica was blaring out loud from the radio. Occasionally, Dean would shake his head or tapping his fingers at the steering wheel, along with the rhythm. His lips would mumble few of the lyrics, sometimes humming or whistling the refrain or other parts of the song. Definitely not worth a Grammy Awards, but Dean was still proud of his voice. He enjoyed it nonetheless, and that alone was a good thing.
His fingers reached to the volume button unconsciously, turned it up to spike the speaker's maximum capacity. Beats of the drums appeared to compete with the purr of the engine, trembling the whole frame of the impala. Joining in, Dean sang his heart out, as loud as he thought possible.
He knew just too well there wouldn't be any patrol cop telling him to pull over just because of being noisy as hell. The highway he was in looked deserted anyway, with only few semis and occasional trucks to keep him company for hours. Furthermore, Dean had prepared several IDs from various specific bureaus within reach, at least one for each pocket.
The thought of fooling a rookie traffic police into fining an undercover federal agent under the name of Dean Smith making him chuckled.
Well, a small dose of fun certainly wouldn't hurt so much for the time being. To be honest, Dean was sick of the endless news of the coming apocalypse on the radio. Killing blizzard in Illinois, massive tsunami all over California coasts, friggin dust bowl (like again, yeah) in Arkansas, and even a big flood, Noah style, in Mississippi…
Chosing where to go next would be a neat trick.
"Sammy, gimme the map!"
Dean wouldn't avert his attention from the ever stretching road ahead of him. Not with those imaginary waves dancing from the burning heat of the high noon. The seemingly unending arid land, drying bushes, and desert like landscape on both sides of the road started to make him dizzy.
"I said, give me the friggin map, Sam!"'
There was no map. Not even an answer or at least the infamous bitchy retort. There was nothing but the sound of Metallica duo with impala's purr.
"For the love of—SAM!"
Dean yelled in a mighty annoyance and turned his head to the passenger side almost spontaneously….
Only to find it empty. Nobody was sitting there.
The impala slowed down gradually, siding to the shoulder of the road in a graceful move, until its tires came to a stop, sending particles of dust and dirt all over. Both of Dean's hands were still at the steering wheel, gripping it tight until his knuckles turned white. His body was as rigid as any marble statue, while his face went blank all of a sudden.
Dean took a look to his passenger side just one more time, as if whatever he saw earlier was nothing but his delirious imagination. As if when he blinked, the lanky figure of his little brother would reappear before his eyes.
And to his disappointment, Dean was still starring at nothing. Hot tears appeared out of nowhere, stinging his already bloodshot eyes from an everlasting lack of sleep. Dean's jaw hardened while his throat suddenly constricted with a phantom force, as if somebody was trying to choke him to death.
"Bitch…"
Dean decided to shut his eyes tight, letting his long denied tears to finally unshed. Vaguely, he could feel the moisture trailed down his cheeks before free falling from his disheveled chin, worthy of days without proper stopping. Straightening himself on the driver seat, Dean tried to swallow back the bitterness that was creeping up from his throat. The last thing he needed was losing composure and broke down miserably right on the God forsaken highway.
No matter what he did though, Dean's mighty wall of toughness had eventually crumbled down. He finally admitted that he could no longer maintain his I'm-fine-mind-your-own-business manner anymore.
Giving up to the waves of bitter emotions and mental exhaustion, Dean sank his face between the crook of his elbows which were still resting at the steering wheel. Dean was sobbing out of control before he knew it.
You let him go, he cried out to the suffocating silence, you always manage let him go.
"Dean… is there something you want to say to me?"
Dean could remember that moment as clearly as day. That face. That expression.
Sam was never good at hiding his agitation. He was always, and would always let every piece of his hesitation and thought out completely, despite the fact that within the process, they would rip him apart. Particularly at those moments, when he was tortured with endless guilt trip. Because ever since he was young, Sam was always the Mr. Conscience. He wouldn't survive a day without voicing how much he regretted even his smallest mistake to the most irrelevant person.
Dean, on the other side, was a master of deflection and manipulation. He would kill himself before admitting a mistake. Most of the time, he had no need to do so though. Somehow, Dean would always find a way to turn a situation upside down and ended up proving himself to be innocent. It was an art he had been polishing over the years and it just kept getting better.
Being at quite the opposite of his open-book brother, Dean wouldn't ever allow a single drop of emotion leaked out of his mask of calmness and cockiness. He found relieves in dirty talking and porn-related jokes, assurance in mock sarcasm and blissful indifference. Nobody could take the mask away and risking all those nasty emotions flooded out without barrier. Not John, and not even his little Sammy.
There was nobody who could, other than himself.
"I tried, Sammy, I mean… I really tried," Dean gave his little bother a tired look before continuing in a low and steady-yet-troubled voice, as if all hope and happiness had been sucked dry from him, "but I just can't keep pretending that everything is alright. Because it's not. And it's never going to be."
Usually, Sam would've been more than grateful to get his big brother open himself up even only just a tiny bit. Hell, even a hairline crack would do, as long as he could made Dean answer his almost patented question of: "How are you feeling, Dean?"
Both brothers knew though, what would typically slipped out of the elder's dirty mouth. Let alone an honest yet figurative expression, Dean would likely stick with sarcastic remarks and rather not-making-any-sense-kind of response. In most cases, Dean would label Sam a drama queen—not aware of his own tendency not to resist a touch of drama—or annoyed him with the good ol' Samantha joke for the whole week.
When having a slightly worse mood than usual, Dean would likely snorted while stopping any of Sam's attempt on digging further by saying 'no chick-flick moment'. Most of the better days though, Dean would recite his long list of the most creative and innovative inappropriate joke human race had ever invented. Perverted jokes were his all time favorites, complete with a dash of his infamous Dean 'Casanova' Winchester seducing grin.
By now, those were long gone, together with their normal hunting days in the ancient past. Far before the reappearance of Yellow Eyed Demon, before hell, before Lucifer was roaming free from his cage and nurturing the newly unleashed apocalypse.
By then, what left behind between the two was an awkward silence.
Dean locked his gaze with Sam's, boring deep beyond the used-to-be-dewy-and-innocence puppy-dog eyes. After a few suffocating seconds, he let out a heavy sigh. "You chose a demon… over your own brother and look what happened…"
"I would give anything… anything," Sam's voice was now full of self-loathing and desperation, "to take it all back—"
"I know," Dean cut it short, before clenching his eyes shut tightly as if it would kept all emotional pain at bay, "and I know how sorry you are I do. But Man…"
This time though, he could longer surprised his own hurt and disappointment any further. After taking a few brief moments of silence, Dean let out a stuttering breath he didn't realize was holding earlier.
"You're the one I depended on the most," he continued. Even Dean could hear how his solid voice had now cracked by the end of the sentence, leaving nothing but choked whisper, "And you let me down in a way that I couldn't even…"
On his regular day, Dean Winchester was a tough guy. But today wasn't his regular day, and he could already felt his tears threatening to spill out. Looking away was a lame ass act of avoidance, but as long as it could keep his mask on, Dean wouldn't mind doing it without any second thought.
When he could finally face his little brother again, the stone hard mask was back on Dean's face. "I'm just… I'm having a hard time forgivin' and forgetin' here, you know?"
The soundless moment that followed was all but comforting. Both Winchesters waited each other to crack the silence. When Dean didn't seem to be the one doing it, Sam lifted up his face and took his shot. "What can I do?" he finally said in complete surrender, face grim.
"Honestly?"
Sam blinked a few times out of nervousness, while Dean was stood there, body went stiff with a bitter resolution.
"Nothin'," Dean shook his head weakly, "I just don't… I don't think we can ever be what we were, you know?"
Sam slightly nodded; face down in a mixture of deep regret and shame. One short glance and Dean could've counted several addition of lines on Sam's forehead. Lines which were built overtime with anger, frustration, and anxiety. But mostly, guilt and regret.
To be honest, Dean never wanted everything to end this way. He wanted to curse aloud and throwing punches alright, but darting knife-sharp words towards Sam was nowhere in his original plan.
Dean didn't spit harsh words and didn't do anything but talking, but it'd be a big lie to say that he wasn't aware of how much his words had pierced into Sam. How much pain he had inflicted, not by an obvious rage-filled yelling, but a voice forged out of disappointment.
Nothing hurt the Winchesters the most other than an open declaration of distrust. Both Sam and Dean knew exactly how lost of trust would mean giving up of one thing that glued them together. One thing keeping them going.
Losing trust meant losing faith in family.
And Dean had a great job doing it too. A part of him rebelled, refusing to betray his one and only ingrained task to 'take care of Sammy' and hurting him instead, albeit emotionally. The other side of Dean however felt a sick satisfaction of getting what appeared to be a payback after what Sam did to him, albeit Dean's selfless devotion.
Nevertheless, it was out of question when he looked Sam in the eyes and saying that venomous sentence. "I just don't think I can trust you."
Even when he turned back and walked away to the impala, Dean could imagine how stricken his baby brother must've been. He knew what he said was screwed up beyond repair, but instead of dulling the edges, Dean chose to ignore the fact that every inch of his fibers yelling out for him to go back and embraced Sam in complete forgiveness.
Dean could start to identify the harsh pounding assaulting the back of his eyes. His brain chose the very moment to rewind his whole last conversation with Sam on that picnic table in River Pass, Colorado.
Sam was starring at Dean with hurtful expression, and yet, he could still manage to draw a faint smile nonetheless.
"Dean…"
"Sam, let's not…"
"Listen, this is important…"
For a moment, Sam seemed to find some difficulties composing his sentences. His blue green eyes were drawn away from Dean for a few moments. When he appeared to have finished his short contemplation, Sam finally opened his mouth and spoke.
"I know you don't trust me. Just… now I realize something," he took a brief pause, "I don't trust me either…"
Sam used to belief that if he had a good intention, whatever he did would bring up good consequences as well. If killing Lilith was what it took to prevent the last seal from breaking, Sam wouldn't mind to corrupt himself with gallons of demon blood. It was just funny that circumstances revealed itself that Lilith was the last seal, therefore by killing her, Sam had unknowingly set Lucifer free, thus starting the apocalypse.
"What I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby… or anything," Sam stammered in doubt, "the problem is… me."
Dean fully understood that he had everything he needed to keep Sam from doubting himself, keeping him from breaking down. One look at his little brother face and a tiny smile was all it needed to at least ease some of his overdue guilt away.
Sam used to have enough faith for both of them but at the mean time, the young man Dean was facing was nothing more than a little boy who had lost his way home. What left from Dean's smart and proud little brother was a mountainous pile of anger and regret, which pointed out to no one but himself.
There was something in Sam's expression now. Dean couldn't quite put his hands on it. "Maybe it's best we just… "
If only Dean could muster a bit more patience, a little more understanding, a tiny bit more faith…
"…go our separate ways," Sam said with finality. Right. So, that it was. A determination.
If only he was wise enough to swipe his disappointments away from his chest…
"Well, I think you're right," Dean answered shortly.
That was it and for the umpteenth time, Dean had let Sam go, just the way he did it the day Sam went with Ruby to kill Lilith. Just a few moments after calling his own little brother a monster.
And yet, he always proudly called himself an awesome big brother…
Dean wouldn't want to admit it, that he was fully aware of running away now, acting exactly like a coward he used to despised the most. Yes, Sam might hide beneath reasoning of his personal standard of morality, but what made Dean any different then?
He was the one bringing Sam back to the world of hunting—the very world Sam was fighting nails and toe to get away from—to find their lost daddy. He was the one who snatched Sam's future away at Stanford, the apple pie life he was dreaming of with Jessica…
Dean wouldn't want to admit it. Or might be, he was too ashamed of, too afraid of, too weak to stand up and pointing his own reflection in the mirror, while saying, "This is all your fault. Sam becomes what he becomes because of you and you alone, Dean…"
Dean brought up both his hands to his ears, trying desperately to block the voices in his head.
"You're the one turning Sammy into monster…"
"Please… just… stop…."
Dean had practically begged, but his attempt had come to no avail, until what left from him was broken sobs. He was aware that all he had been doing was praying to thin air, if not to his own befuddled mind.
He fought and fought for his family—the only family he had left—even going to hell and returned in the process, and that was all for nothing but delivering one thing he was most afraid of. A fatal consequence, just because of one selfish decision.
Dean was all alone now, and all he could do was letting his tears rolling away, while whispering one thing he could have—should have—said when he had the chance to do so.
"I'm so sorry Sam…"
Just Another Day (Without Sam) - FIN
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