Spoiler alert for Season 9
Disclaimer : Not owned by me. If it was, I'd have already put things right.
Note : Short chapters
Irritated at the delay on S9 E16, unhappy with the
wedge between Sam & Dean, I've had to resort to
wishful thinking and deal with the split between
Sam and Dean in my own little way. A quickie fic :
PROLOGUE
-o-o-o-o-
Dean Winchester was stretched out on his bed at the bunker, headphones on, Metallica blasting straight into his brain, both hands behind his head. Eyes open, he stared off into the distance, and wondered just what the Hell he was doing? At what point, exactly, had he turned into a monk? When had the bunker become a freakin' monastery? Complete with vows of silence and celibacy? He was a good looking guy, in his prime, but unless he was working a case, here he was, alone in his room. Like a wind up toy put back in it's box till some kid decided it was time to play with him again. Well...
"Screw this!"
It was time for Dean Winchester to hit the road, and possibly break a few vows along the way.
-o-o-o-o-
C1
-o-o-o-o-
Dean moved quickly and efficiently around his room. It felt good to be packing ready to go on the road again, almost exhilarating. He'd had enough of being a home boy, especially given that the air at home was so frosty. Let Sam bury himself alive with his books, he seemed happy with them and he was much more inclined to embrace the way of a hermit than Dean. Dean, however, was always a creature of restless energy, of movement, of a need to do; and without even a line of communication to his brother Oops, ex-brother he needed to do...Anything. Satisfied that he had packed pretty much everything he needed into his duffle, Dean took a last glance around the room he had thought was his before turning to grab his jacket out of the wardrobe. He reached inside, and hesitated. With a shrug and a small smile, his hand moved away from the denim he had been about to get hold of and instead, Dean lifted out an old and battered jacket made of leather.
-o-
His free hand brushed slowly over the black leather, softened by years of use. He couldn't remember when or why he had stopped wearing it. The jacket had once been like his second skin, a part of his identity back then. It came from a time when the reason for Hunting was simple, when the goal was more of their own choosing, before Heaven's Dicks got involved and began to screw with the world. Before he and Sam somehow became, in the words of Babylon 5, Mankind's last best hope for peace. Back when Sam was happy to be his brother, before Sam decided that all it took was a few words and he could sever the blood tie between them Jerk Like a film promo montage, snippets and snatches of memories filled Dean's head as he put his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and settled it's familiar weight around. Slinging his duffle over one shoulder, Dean walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, lifting an ornately decorated antique silver dagger and a gem encrusted trinket box on route, useful if he needed a fast way to supplement the cash he carried with him. It didn't take Dean long to grab what he viewed as essential food supplies, a six pack, bottled water, a loaf, an unopened pack of cooked chicken and the two full bags of M&M's he'd not felt like opening with things being as they were between Sam and himself. He looked at the table, trying to decide whether or not to leave a note for Sam. The decision became irrelevant when Sam walked into the kitchen, coming to a full stop when he saw Dean.
-o-
For a few beats there was silence. Dean waited whilst Sam ran his eyes over his brother, the carrier of food and drink in Dean's hand, the duffle hanging from one shoulder, how Dean was dressed; digesting the likely significance. Dean noted the slight nod of Sam's head when his younger brother appeared to have reached some conclusion and he tensed slightly, readying himself for Sam's reaction, preparing himself to be disappointed by it.
"You're leaving?"
There was little emotion on Sam's face when he spoke, activating the disappointment, sending it running through Dean, and strengthening his resolve. He really couldn't live this way. He had to get out, get back to doing what he loved, be around people who might at interact with him on a friendly basis, rather than view him with unforgiving hostility. He'd had it with constantly seeing that in Sam's eyes, was sick to death of being a recluse.
"Yup...Hope you're ok with me takin' this?"
As he spoke, Dean raised the carrier of food for Sam's inspection.
Sam barely gave it a glance.
"Sure. Take what you need."
Dean was beginning to feel awkward under Sam's blank faced scrutiny.
"Thanks, this' fine. I'd better get off. Er, do you want me to ring you sometime? Let you know how things are?"
"I guess. It's up to you. You don't have to."
Dean lowered his gaze and nodded at the floor, he could feel himself growing angry, starting to feel a blossoming urge to force some emotion out of Sam, drag some clue about what his brother was really feeling from him. It was definitely time to hit the road.
"I see...Well, hope life turns out ok for you Sam, seein' as how I lumbered you with one."
Dean strode past his brother, almost but not quite knocking into Sam, and swiftly headed out of the bunker, resisting the temptation to slam the door. Dean's vision was blurring as he walked toward the Impala.
-o-
Initially, Sam didn't move from the spot he was standing in when Dean brushed past him. He had known Dean was going the moment he had set eyes on him dressed in his father's old leather coat, and he thought he was ok with that. He'd wanted Dean to leave in fact. Hoped it would prove to Dean, finally, that he could carry on without Sam, he could let Sam go. So, why the Hell were there tears running down his face? Why couldn't he stop them? And why did Dean's parting words hurt so damn much?
"Crap!"