Similiar
A/N: I do not own Supernatural.
He recognized them.
Dean Winchester shifted uncomfortably in his bed, the musky sheets inevitably tangling around his legs. He sighed, pressing his head deeper into the lumpy pillow. The motel room held an odd, almost sour odor that Dean tried definitely not to think about. The pale, flimsy curtains weren't efficient enough to shield the room from the bright street lamps, nor the thin walls adequate enough to mute the rushing cars on the highway right beside the Glory Vista Motel(Sam had found the name strangely ironic.) So whether it was any or all of these factors, or the fact that he couldn't get the young boys, Joe and Ryan Silver, out of his throbbing head, Dean couldn't sleep.
He jerked slightly to the creaky sound of the bathroom door opening, bright light flooding into the room. Subtly, he examined Sam's face for any evidence that his little brother's unsteady wall in his mind had collapsed. Sam silently turned off the light, diminishing Dean's vision, but he was satisfied: Sam was fine. For now.
His stomach clenched, and he shifted again, turning away from his brother as Sam slipped into his own bed. As far as Dean could tell, Sam had obediently kept his promise to Dean, no more poking at his suppressed memories, but when would that change? When would the wall fall whether Sam had tampered with it or not?
This is what haunted Dean in his nightmares. But much like the rest of his life, sometimes they broke into reality. Like with Eve. Eve, who had mirrored his mother's image, and did horrible things, poisoning his mother's memory. And thus, his mother would have nearly turned him into a Jefferson Starship, a hybrid creature...a monster, if not for Cas.
Dean had killed Eve, and an evasive, a damn right annoying, thought decided that in a way, he had killed his mother too.
"Smart plan, Dean," Bobby commended once they had left that house.
" Downing the remains of a monster a 'smart plan'? That's a first," Dean scoffed half-heartedly. He still hadn't gotten over the icy dread that had set in immediately once Eve had told them that Ryan was a Jefferson Starship, and it had only gotten worse when he saw the three, mutilated bodies.
Bobby chuckled weakly, but Dean felt Sam's wary gaze on him as they arrived at Bobby's truck parked on the street outside the house. Not wanting to deal with a chick-flick moment later on that night, Dean quickly added, "Maybe I'll grow wings," he smiled broadly, "Like a phoenix, right, Sammy?"
"Sure, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes and Dean let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Take the damn compliment," Bobby demanded gruffly, opening the door to the driver's cab. "You saved a lot of people doing what you did. Both of you." He looked both of the younger hunters meaningfully in the eyes.
Not all of them, Dean thought wistfully, lowering his gaze to the asphalt as the image of them finding the bodies in the house not a hundred feet away blazed in his mind.
"Thanks, Bobby," Sam smiled appreciatively as Bobby climbed into his truck and slammed the door shut.
"You call if you need anythin'," Bobby said through the cracked open window, "And I mean it. Don't be a pair of Idjits."
"We'll do our best," Sam agreed, bobbing his head, and they both stepped out of the way as the truck's ignition was triggered and started heading back up to the highway.
It was eerily quiet in the dead of night. And dark. Only the scattered street lamps led their way back to the Impala. Dean knew that utter chaos would erupt in the next few days in this area of the country, but they would be long gone.
"Are you all right?" Sam asked as he opened the passenger's door.
Dean sunk into the leather seat with relief, bringing the engine to life with a twist of his key while Sam patiently watched his face.
"Yeah, Sam, I'm fine," Dean replied evenly as the Impala slowly crawled out of the small neighborhood and onto the main road, "Just want to get the hell out of here."
And thankfully, Sam had known better than to push just then. They had rode the rest of the way in silence and had checked-in at Glory Vista at three in the morning.
Dean stared up at the moldy ceiling feeling utterly lost. The deaths of those two kids still knotted his stomach. He couldn't stop thinking about them. He couldn't stop thinking about how much they reminded him of Sam and himself.
Dean rubbed a hand down his face tiredly. He should have known. He should have known Ryan was a Jefferson Starship. So what if he had failed all the tests that proved him a monster? Dean should've known. Then maybe Joe and their uncle would still be alive, then maybe-
But God. That kid looked so much like Sammy.
With his gentle demeanor, scrawny body and long, silky hair, it was hard not to trust Ryan Silver, even without the precaution of tests. Dean wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Joe knew who his brother was.
For Dean had recognized them. Recognized the way Joe had protected Ryan and took care of him. Recognized the way Joe had comforted Ryan because of the loss of their father. Recognized the way Joe had never doubted Ryan and his sudden muteness. Recognized the way Joe had trusted Ryan unconditionally. Like Dean had, with Sam all those years ago and still.
It had brought about a wistful nostalgia for Dean and he couldn't help but wonder(and hope) that Sam had felt that way too. He shifted again on his bed, so that he faced Sam who was sleeping soundlessly, his hair falling over his face and nose slightly crinkled.
But a part of Dean contemplated whether or not Joe had felt lingering thoughts of suspicion. Like if Joe had begun to question who really was sitting next to him in that holding cell, if Ryan was really Ryan.
Because Dean had felt that way too. And more than once. There were times when Sammy wasn't Sammy-when he was soulless, when he was possessed. But there were also times when he was just Sam, and that had tormented Dean the most.
Dean wondered if Joe had fleetingly thought that Ryan was a monster, for Dean had felt the same way about Sam, as heart wrenching as it was to admit, even to himself.
In Joe's final moments, did he plead to his brother to stop? Tell him he wasn't acting like himself? Or did he know, once Ryan had stared at him hungrily, that this wasn't Ryan.
Sam wasn't Sam.
But sometimes he was.
And that was freaking scary.
But Dean couldn't blame Sam completely, he couldn't, not with the life they lived, not with all the factors that had tugged Sam in the direction of starting the Apocalypse.
Just like how no one could blame Ryan. Eve, his mother, had turned him into a monster. Ryan didn't ask for any of that.
Dean struggled to stifle the mirthless laugh that couldn't help but rumble in his chest. Isn't that what happened to Sam? Sam didn't ask to have demon blood in him. He didn't ask to be raised in the life of a hunter. And he certainly didn't ask to be Lucifer's Vessel. And in a twisted way, their mother had turned Sam into a monst-Dean coughed weakly, acidic bile tickling his throat. By making the demon deal, Mary Winchester had given Sam to demons, had sent their father down a spiraling path of revenge, yanking her two children along with him.
Dean hated thinking about his mother in that way. She couldn't have known what would have happened, unlike Eve. At the time, she had thought she was doing the right thing, like Eve.
It wasn't her fault what happened to Sam.
But was it Dean's fault for not noticing? Was it Joe's fault?
After all, Dean could have prevented the start of the Apocalypse; Joe could have prevented the death of his uncle.
What's done is done, Dean thought grimly. Besides, Dean wouldn't wish that guilt on the poor kid, especially not for the crime of wanting to believe in his brother. Dean knew the unbearable guilt well, of failing the world, of failing Sam; the pain was crushing.
No, it wasn't Joe's fault. But it might have been Dean's.
Dean scrunched his eyes tightly, I'm sorry, Sammy.
For Dean had held distrust for Sam, possibly unlike Joe. However, Dean had acted too late on his suspicions, unlike Joe could have done.
He had failed Sam irreparably.
Dean's stomach suddenly clenched at the realization, a gasp escaping him. He glanced towards Sam, who stirred slightly, his head turning on the pillow. Dean froze, watching his brother for any other signs of him waking up. Only after a minute, did Dean's muscles relax.
It was strange that Ryan had turned Joe and not their uncle. And if he wanted their uncle dead and not turned, why didn't he kill Joe too? Maybe it was because both the Ryan and Joe monsters were hungry for meat. But...Dean liked to think that maybe Ryan was still inside the Jefferson Starship, the real Ryan, and maybe what Ryan still needed most was his big brother.
After all, Dean still needed his little brother. After all these years, after all the betrayal, pain and loss. And so maybe, Joe needed Ryan too, and willingly chose not to fight Ryan's fangs sinking into his neck.
Maybe that's all Joe and Ryan Silver wanted: to be together.
It wasn't Ryan's fault he turned into a monster.
And it wasn't Joe's fault that he couldn't prevent it.
And maybe, just maybe, none of that mattered.
No matter that they were no longer human. No matter that they had a hunger for human flesh. No matter that they had murdered and fed on their uncle, would murder and feed again. No matter that they died by the hands of demons.
They were together, had died together. And Dean, Dean couldn't think of a better way to spend his final moments on Earth.
Dean looked back at Sam and couldn't help but smile.
So Joe and Ryan were dead Jefferson Starships. And Sam and Dean were breathing humans. But they were similar.
For as long as he and Sam were together, nothing else mattered.