Wow, it's been a while since I wrote anything at all. My apologies.
This is the latest one that I wrote about two weeks ago, give or take a few days, in response to a prompt by Spiceblueyes over at the comm hoodie_time LJ. In a twist, I'm going to post the prompt first, before the fic. Unbeta-ed.
Prompt: Dean always knew hunting came with an expiration date. When he finds out what his is from a reliable source he's not happy about it, but it's far away still and 26 may be too young to die but he can save a lot of people before then. Time passes, Sam goes to Stanford and John suggests they start hunting separately, and the date looms.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
He clutched the amulet tightly, not caring that the sharp ends were digging into his palm. On his other hand were two letters, papers full of words that sought to soothe but instead they only served to turn up the pain he was feeling inside. He had read those letters, committed them to memory, and here he was again, opening up the envelopes to stare at the hauntingly familiar handwriting. The words blurred and he used his fist, still holding the amulet tightly, to rub away the tears. He took one out and read the first one.
Sam,
I know the first thing you do is to blame yourself, but dude, don't. It was my choice, I've known when and how I'm going to die since I was 21, and I'll do it again a hundred times if I have to. I carried you out the door when you're six months old, and since then, you've been my responsibility, my job. If I don't save you, what else am I supposed to do?
I know I haven't told you this, but I'm proud of you for getting a free ride to Stanford, for standing up to Dad, for doing your own thing. And I know Dad is, too. Don't be so hard on him, Sam, he only wants what's best for us, and to keep us safe.
I'm giving the Impala to you, take good care of her, or I'll swear I'll haunt your ass.
Remember everything I taught you, and everything Dad taught you, and stay safe little brother.
Dean.
The second letter was dated the same day, three days ago.
Dad,
The seer that I investigated alone back at Iowa in 2000 said she saw me on the ceiling surrounded by fire in five years' time. I didn't want to believe her, but when I found out that she was the true deal, I knew I would be saving Sam. I made up my mind not to tell you, and I'm not sorry for that decision. You were so angry at the world, at yourself and then at Sam, and I didn't want you to burden you with anything else.
Don't feel guilty for not being able to save me, because we both know the score going into the hunting business. You've always done the best for all of us. I admit, I thought all of us would be together when the time comes, but I know that you gotta do your own thing. I would like to think that I put up a hell of a fight. I saved a lot of people. I have no regrets.
The only thing I ask of you is not to be so hard on Sam. He might not know what it's like to lose a person like Mom.
And Dad, kill that son of a bitch for me.
Dean.
Dean was wrong. As of yesterday, his little brother had known how it was like to stand there and look on helplessly as the person he loved the most burned in front of his eyes.
A weight settled on his left and he turned.
Sam was sitting beside him, looking at his shoes, while Jessica stood at the doorway, watching them sadly. Both had bandages around their arms, a stark reminder of how close they were to being burnt themselves. Sam had gone back to the bedroom to try to pull Dean away from the ceiling, and it had taken three men to physically drag him out before the fire could reach him.
His eyes were red-rimmed and fresh tears were still spilling on his cheeks. For a second, John was transported back to the past when Sam was three and John refused to drive back to the motel to retrieve his toy dog. Sam had wailed and bawled like someone had murdered his best friend and John was sorely tempted to spank his youngest. Only when Dean had played peacemaker and given him his own toy soldiers to play with that the crying ceased.
Dean would never be the peacemaker again. But that was fine with him, because he knew himself and he knew Sam, and both of them were not in the mood for peace. Mary was gone, and now his first-born too, and it was all that demon's fault.
John passed the amulet and the letters to his remaining son, and Sam took them, biting his lip in an apparent effort to contain his emotions. A moment of silence passed, and then the oldest Winchester stood up, leaving Sam to crane his neck to meet his father's eyes. John stared back, and then held out his hand.
"Come on, Sam. We have work to do."
*SnSnSnSnSn*
A/N: So now you know why I put the prompt first this time round; don't say I didn't warn you! *hugz* Thanks for reading!