The Promise
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I like to borrow them once in a while.
A/N: Just a little one-shot that I wrote to indulge myself. I thought I'd share it with you and wouldn't mind knowing what you think. Thanks for reading.
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We must not promise what we ought not, lest we be called on to perform what we cannot -Abraham Lincoln
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He sat at the end of the bar, alone in a room full of people and gestured for another shot of tequila. The bartender accommodated him and, after quickly downing the liquor, the man asked for a beer. Again, the bartender accommodated him and the man wrapped his hands around the glass like it was a warm cup of coffee.
A tall blonde woman slid onto the stool next to him, but he barely noticed. Until fairly recently, he not only would have noticed her, he would already be flirting with her. These days, he had too many things on his mind to spend any time thinking about women. Of course, it didn't hurt to look and she took his glance as an invitation.
"Hi," she smiled at him. It was a wide smile that showed off what was probably a lot of expensive dental work. "I'm Trisha."
He only nodded.
"Do you have a name?" she asked, leaning forward. Her low cut blouse showed off what was probably even more expensive plastic surgery.
"Yeah."
His monosyllabic response did nothing to deter her. He was used to his handsome features attracting women and while normally that worked to his advantage, tonight all he really wanted to do was drink his beer and be left alone.
"I don't think I've seen you here before."
He only nodded.
"Do you live around here?"
He shook his head and took a long swig of the beer.
After another unsuccessful attempt to engage him, it sunk in that he wasn't just playing hard to get and she walked away. He watched in the mirror behind the bar as she set her sights on someone at the other end of the bar. He rubbed his face and finished his beer before making his way to the men's room.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, idly wondering what had drawn Trisha to him. He looked like crap; his face was pale and drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes. He'd certainly had better days.
But who could blame him, really? He spent most of his time traveling from town to town, hunting and fighting supernatural beings that could kill him without warning. The father he worshipped died less than six months ago, after his own miraculous recovery from a run in with a demon-possessed truck driver. He suspected the two events were tied together, but he hadn't figured out all the details yet. But probably the worst part was that, before he died, his father told him he might have to kill his brother. Not just any brother, but the younger brother he had sworn to protect before he was even born.
Dean Winchester was many things, and a lot of them weren't particularly good, but he was loyal to his family. He had always put Sam's needs first and to find out that that the kid might turn evil and, if that happened, it would be up to Dean to kill him? How was he supposed to process that kind of information? How was he supposed to go from protector to killer?
The truth was, Dean wasn't processing it very well. He had grown reckless in the hunt and Sam had to pull him back from the edge more than once. Things had gotten so bad for him that when he thought Sam had been infected with some demon virus that would lead to his demise, Dean admitted to Sam that he was tired of their lifestyle.
Not long after that, he broke down and told Sam the secret their father had shared with him only minutes before his death. He remembered pulling off the rural Oregon road and leaning against the rustic wooden fence as he stared at the lake in front of him. It was so peaceful and so serene; something Dean was certainly not used to. He knew that Sam thought the stop was odd, but his brother willingly accepted the beer he pulled from the cooler in the trunk. He sat on the fence and, after a few minutes, tried to get Dean to talk more about being tired of the lifestyle.
Dean ended up telling him much more than he intended.
Before Dad died he, he told me something. Something about you.
What? Dean, what did he tell you?
He said that he wanted me to watch out for you. Take care of you.
He told you that a million times.
This time was different. He said that I had to… save you.
Save me from what?
He just said that I had to save you. That nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn't. I'd –
You'd what, Dean?
I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.
Sam was understandably angry. He was mad that their father kept this secret from them, but more than that, he was hurt that Dean kept it from him. Their father's silence was something the brothers had learned to live with, but Dean knew that his was unacceptable to Sam. Dean begged Sam to give him time to figure things out; he pleaded with him just to lay low for a while. In true Winchester fashion, Sam refused.
They'd gotten past Sam's anger and moved on. But every day was a constant struggle for Dean. His first thought each morning was that he couldn't face another day; yet somehow he did. He forced himself out of bed and he did what was expected of him; just like he had every day for the last twenty-seven years.
Then they decided to tackle a gig in Connecticut. An inn owned by the same family for generations had been recently sold and there had been two freak deaths in just a couple of weeks. The new owners hadn't taken possession yet and the brothers guessed that someone, or some thing, that didn't want the inn to be sold caused the deaths. They secured a room and started their investigation.
After going out to check out a lead, Dean returned to find out that a man who worked for the new owners had checked in and then hung himself in his room. Sam always took the death of innocent people hard; he figured it was their job to protect people from the supernatural and each death was a failure. Dean didn't understand why he was taking this particular death harder than normal until he realized Sam was drunk. Sam had gotten it into his head that the more people he saved, the less likely he was to turn evil.
Dean wanted to avoid the conversation and tried to get Sam into bed so he could pass out in peace, but he wasn't completely successful.
There was nothing Dean wouldn't do for his brother. He protected him on the playground at school and later, in the field as they hunted. When their father left them alone before they were old enough to help him on jobs, Dean made sure Sam had plenty to eat before he served his own meal. Sam was his first priority; always and without complaint.
He'd just wanted to put Sam to bed, but the younger man insisted on talking and wouldn't cooperate until Dean made the promise. That damn promise he didn't want to make; the promise that he knew some day would come back to bite him in the ass.
I need you to watch out for me.
Yeah, I always do.
No, no, no. You have to watch out FOR me. All right? And if I ever turn into something that I'm not, you have to kill me.
Sam –
Dean, Dad told you, you have to.
Yeah, well, Dad's an ass. He never should have said anything. I mean, you don't do that. You don't lay that kind of crap on your kids.
No, he was right to say it. Who knows what I might become? Even now, everyone around me dies.
Yeah, well, I'm not dyin'. 'Kay? And neither are you. Come on, sit down.
No, please. Dean, you're the only one that can do it. Promise.
Don't ask that of me.
Dean, please. You have to promise me.
I promise.
Thanks. Thank you.
Dean looked at himself in the mirror again and saw the tears that welled up in his eyes. He didn't really believe Sam would become evil; the boy didn't have an evil bone in his body. But what if? What if Dean failed to protect his brother and the demon somehow turned him evil? How in the hell was Dean supposed to kill the one person who meant more to him than anyone else?
He splashed water on his face before leaving the bathroom and heading out of the bar. He'd had the foresight to give Sam the car keys when he left after a couple of beers and now he had a half mile walk ahead of him. He figured that would sober him up just enough.
Sam was asleep when Dean walked into their room, but neither one was completely comfortable until they were both home, home being whatever motel room they were renting at the time, and Sam's eyes opened as Dean flopped onto his bed and kicked off his boots.
"You okay?" Sam asked, not quite awake.
"Yeah, go back to sleep."
"Mmmm. 'Night."
"'Night, Sammy."
Dean sat on the edge of his bed, watching his brother. There was just enough light coming in through the thin curtains so he could see Sam's face. Sometimes he still looked so damn young and Dean resisted the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his eyes.
No, please. Dean, you're the only one that can do it. Promise.
Dean, please. You have to promise me.
Promise me….
Promise….
Sighing quietly, Dean covered his mouth with his hand and closed his eyes.
He had hoped that Sam wouldn't remember the conversation the next day, but, as usual, he couldn't catch a break. They were standing next to the Impala after finishing the case.
It feels good getting back in the saddle, doesn't it?
Yeah, it does. But it doesn't change what we talked about last night, Dean.
We talked about a lot of things last night.
You know what I mean.
You were wasted.
But you weren't. And you promised.
If Sam hadn't remembered, Dean wasn't sure if he would have felt duty-bound to honor the promise, but Sam did remember.
His father put him in charge of Sam's care many years ago and it was a job Dean relished. He loved his brother before he was even born and promised his parents he'd be the best big brother ever.
He knew what he might have to do. He'd thought about it every day since his father's death. He sometimes dreamed about it and when Sam was possessed a while back, he considered doing it. Killing Sam would kill him too, he knew it would. But if the only way to protect Sam would be to kill him, somehow he would find a way to do it. It was his job to make sure Sam didn't suffer.
Besides, he promised.
Dean blinked away tears and focused on Sam's face again. This time he didn't stop himself from reaching out. With a slightly shaking hand, he brushed Sam's bangs from his face and pulled the blanket up more securely around him.
"I promise, Sammy," he whispered.
fin