Dean was in his room. He was seated at the desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper and holding a pen. The pen's tip was pressed to the top of the page and there it stayed. He didn't know what to write even though, he knew what he wanted to say. The pen moved.
'Sammy'
Dean's thoughts were flowing but, they couldn't get out. He dropped the pen and turned, in his seat, away from the page. He rested his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. The thoughts found their way out.
"I can't watch you torture yourself with this and I won't let you get into something else that we can't fix. "
Dean lifted his head as he ran his hands through his hair. He used the upward momentum to lift himself from the chair and began to pace. Out loud he said, "you can't be a part of what I gotta do. "
With that thought, Dean's breath escaped slow and deep. He closed his eyes. In that instant, he heard Bobby's voice.
"You do what you always do. Run into the fire to help who's ever in it without knowing how you're gettin' out. You do it every time. You're pig headed."
And his own favorite response. " Do you think it's from eating too much bacon ? "
That pulled a laugh out of him. But, it was small and quick and then it was gone.
He stood in the center of the room with his head in his hands then pressed heavily as he rubbed his eyes. He slid his hands down his face until they met at the back of his neck. All of a sudden, he felt an urgency to do something.
He went back to the desk, took a seat and picked up the pen.
'I fight that's what I do. But hurting you and Cas, that's it for me. the end. I won't, I can't put you in a position where you might have to….'
Dean whipped out his arm, releasing his grip on the pen. It struck the wall with so much force, it bounced back onto the desktop and sliding across, it fell to the floor.
"I can't put that on you", he said. "I took the Mark without knowing what... The things I did. To you, both of you, all of you. The people I love, my family"
This time when Dean stood up, he slammed his hands on to the desk. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, it all came out slowly, like air from a tire.
"I hurt my family."
His eyes focused on the desk lamp. He saw the picture, creased from multiple folds and faded from time, leaning against the base. A picture of him and his brother, smiling and happy and young, so much younger, when evil was always monsters from somewhere else.
He picked up the picture and did something remarkable. He held it in the palm of his hand and pressed it to his chest. It was, maybe, a way to absorb it into himself. Like trying to keep it, memorize it. Pull the emotion inside.
He cleared his throat as the feelings must have settled there. Then he licked away the dryness from his lips, even, as he swallowed saliva collecting in his mouth. He sniffled and felt moisture in his eyes. He laughed at himself; such a girl, he thought.
He blinked quickly and wiping his face with his other hand, he returned to himself.
He placed his free hand on the note atop the desk and pressed his fingers firmly on the page. Curling his fingers, he dragged the sheet of paper into itself and crumpled it in his hand.
His mind drifted to earlier in the day.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Dean, please."
"I know, Sammy, I know. But I can't…."
"Not like this." Sam interrupted. He never wanted to hear the rest of that sentence. " Just think about what you're saying."
"I have thought about it. I know what I'm saying and what I gotta do."
"Promise me you won't do anything until tomorrow, please."
Dean didn't speak. A promise to his brother was sacred to him. It was the only thing, besides his love, that he could give Sam that had value, real value. He wouldn't give that promise easily and he wouldn't break it.
"Please, promise me."
