Arc: Ways to Nowhere, Interlude
Title: When the Dam Breaks (Ficlet)
Author: purpledragon42
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Um...PG, I guess?
Pairing(s): None...although it might kinda seem like Dean+OC at the end...I promise it's not!
Genre: Um...angst
Warning(s): Original Character; First Person, SUPREME, MEGA SPOILERS for anyone who hasn't watched up through "Death's Door" in Season 7, possible OOCness (although I always try really hard not to do that. ^_^;)
Prompt(s): A meme I'm creating actually inspired this - the prompt idea I was working with was this, "Your character gets into a knock-down, drag-out fight with another character. Who are they fighting and what's the fight about?"
Disclaimer: If I owned these guys, I would have MUCH BETTER THINGS TO DO than write fan fiction about them. *evil grin*
Summary: Dean and Veronica are having trouble dealing...with life, with death...and with each other. What will happen when the dam finally breaks and they can no longer hide behind the walls they've built up around themselves?
A/N: I have not written anything else involving the Supernatural universe or this original character...but I've been in a Supernatural kind of mood lately and suddenly found myself bitten by a voracious little plot bunny. ^_^; I'd love to hear what y'all think of Ronnie - her character's still kind of in development, so I'm curious to see what people have to say about her so far. And, of course, how do you feel about Dean? Does his portrayal feel accurate based on what we know about him? Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed here. :)
I listen to his footsteps as they stride past me into the kitchen, and the harsh clink of the whiskey bottle hitting the glass as he pours. Sighing, I pause in my typing long enough to push my glasses up and rub at the bridge of my nose. At the rate Dean's drinking he might as well just take the whole bottle with him. In fact...the only reason I can come up with for why he isn't doing exactly that...is to annoy me with his incessant pacing. This time, as he walks back across the living room, I look up to watch him go. He's hurting, that much I know...hell, we all are. Bobby is...my eyes begin to sting at the thought, but I force myself to acknowledge it...gone...he's gone. And that leaves us - Sam, Dean, Rei, and me - floundering. Come to think of it...ever since Cas died, Bobby was the only thing keeping my conversations with Dean...cordial. I wonder how long it will take...before one of us says or does something that can't be taken back. At the rate that Dean's drinking...probably not long...
"You got something you wanna say?" Dean's voice, harsh and slightly slurred from the alcohol, pulls me from my thoughts long enough for me to realize I've been starring.
Barely meeting his eyes, I reply with a simple, "No," and go back to typing. My work is far more important than some petty squabble - the others might be okay with trusting Frank Devereaux...but I'm not, and I want a safety net surrounding us the second Mr. Paranoid-Delusional decides we aren't worth the trouble anymore. Suddenly my laptop screen slams down, barely missing my fingers as I jerk them away.
"Dean! What the hell?!" I snarl, looking up to find him glaring at me from the other side of the coffee table.
"This ISN'T my fault!"
Mouth slightly agape, all I can do is stare. Where had that come from!? Did he honestly think I blamed him for what happened to Bobby?
"Say something!" he shouts, banging his fist on the table hard enough to send my coffee cup sloshing sideways.
I meet his gaze, trying to stay calm. I don't want an argument...not now...not so soon after...but I'm not sure what to say to diffuse the situation. Maybe if Sam or Rei were here...but they'd left awhile ago to gather info on a possible case; who knows when they'll be back. With an inward sigh, I carefully reply, "No one is blaming you..."
"Aww, don't give me that crap!" Dean growls, finishing off the drink in his hand and slamming it down on the table so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack. "You think I haven't seen the way you've been looking at me...ever since we gave Bobby his send-off..."
"Dean..." I try again, wanting to reason with him...and not wanting to think about Bobby.
"Did you ever stop to think that maybe if you'd been here, instead of halfway across the country, then maybe none of this would've happened? Maybe if we'd had an extra set of hands that day, Bobby'd still be alive."
His words send ice crackling through my veins as I bolt out of my seat to meet his challenge. I'm not sure what pisses me off more, the fact that he's trying to lay all the blame on me...or the fact that I've spent almost every moment since Bobby's death wondering the same thing.
"You have NO RIGHT to accuse me!" I growl, my hands balled so tightly into fists I can feel nails biting into flesh. "Everything I've done since I got back has been to help the three of you!"
I should leave it at that, shouldn't say anything more...but I'm hurting, too...and Dean is making himself an easy target. "Obviously, if I'd known you guys couldn't handle things on your own I wouldn't have left! But no, you find the head Leviathan and what do you do? You go in, guns blazing, and Bobby pays the price!"
Dean is in my face so fast, I almost don't see him move. I know I've gone too far...but I WILL NOT back down now.
"That's not what happened, and you know it!" the hunter shouts, latching onto the front of my shirt and shaking hard enough that the fabric starts to tear. "We did everything by the book, there was no way we could've known..."
"And what am I? Psychic?!" I interrupt, reaching up to the hand still entwined in my shirt, to give his wrist a solid squeeze, briefly relishing the superior strength my shifter genetics offer. He gasps, releasing me and I use the opportunity to put some distance between us.
Still holding his wrist, Dean strides forward more anger on his face than I've ever seen before...and suddenly I know with complete certainty that this isn't going to end until one of us is unconscious on the floor...but I'm also angry enough to know that it's NOT going to be me. He stops right in front of me. "Maybe not...but you should have been there for us! We needed you!"
I know I shouldn't say it...but the words slip like an arrow from my lips. "Like Cas needed you?" There's no time to regret the question, no time to protect myself from the fist that collides solidly with my face, knocking me back into the wall. He's on me instantly, arms swinging, but I'm in defensive mode now, and I may not know as much about fighting as he does...but my stint in Purgatory taught me a thing or two. I meet his blows with my own...and we both know he's no match for me when it comes to strength or stamina - being a 'monster' has it's perks, after all.
Finally I manage to pin him on the ground, back to the floor, myself sitting squarely on his abdomen. We're both breathing heavily, but I can tell he's nearing the end of whatever strength he's got left. Drawing my fist back, the urge to feel his bones crack and crumble beneath my knuckles reaches a crescendo. I've wanted this...needed this...ever since Cas died. It's Dean's fault...all of it...if he'd only listened...if he'd only tried caring more about someone other than himself for one DAMN minute! I can see the realization in his eyes of what I'm about to do...and the acceptance...as if he's been waiting for this act of retribution almost as long as I have. Maybe that's what makes me shift my arm as it flies towards his face...or maybe it's the light push of invisible fingers that may or may not have been there. Either way, instead of smashing into his nose, my fist slams into the wooden floorboards less than an inch away from his ear.
Still gasping for breath, our bodies seem to freeze there, as if fearing what our brains might order them to do next. And it's not until I see small plips of water appearing on Dean's shirt that I realize I'm crying. I haven't cried since...I can't remember when. The hunter lying beneath me stares, anger quickly giving way to astonishment...and then, gradually, understanding. He reaches up, brushing a tear from my cheek, and that's all it takes for the dam to break - I collapse on top of him, sobbing, as his arms wrap tentatively around me, tightening when he realizes I'm making no moves to stop him. We stay that way...I'm not sure for how long...until the sound of car doors outside forces us to react.
Carefully, I stand, fully aware that I managed to crack four or five of his ribs during the fight. Then I gently offer the Hunter my hand, which he accepts with a pained grunt. We stand there in silence...appraising the damage we've caused each other...both of us, no doubt, wondering how we're going to explain all of this to Sam and Rei. A part of me ponders why Dean hasn't let go of my hand yet...but another part feels comforted by the way his fingers still enclose mine. The steady grip seems to say, "I get it, now...we're both grieving...so why not grieve together?" And as I listen to someone fiddling with their key in the lock, I think maybe, just maybe, we might be able to survive all of this after all.