Five Years Ago
Summary: What would have happened if Henry Winchester hadn't screwed up?
Note: This is an AU for now.
Prologue
2007
"We are ever so grateful for your loss..."
Dean tried to smile, failed.
Too many hugs, cards, friends, sympathies.
It was unreal.
Nothing affected him, hit him, hurt him, made him feel anything.
He was auto piloting, keeping the family intact, the funeral on course, the grieving to be done by everyone but him, having to hold and hug too many other people with non holding him instead.
His father had stroked out, quick, easy. Nobody had ever expected John Winchester to go so peacefully, least of all Dean and Sam.
There was still the meeting later. The accord. Politicking at its worst.
Plans from decades ago, only now being put into action.
Dean felt Sam approach behind him. Realized that they were finally alone with their father. Whoever had been speaking to him had disappeared without Dean realizing it.
The two went mute as they started their last real conversation. Questions and answers that they'd had asked each other so many times in the past. Had long since memorized the questions and answers. All of it done nonverbally, each knowing the questions and answers, knowing everything that couldn't be said.
"Are you ready?" Sam indicated.
Dean tried to smile for his brother, just couldn't get it out. Felt like crawling into the casket with his father.
"No. It's going to get ugly, and I can't protect you. And that nothing that we'll say to each other will be true. You are the most important thing. You are my brother. Never forget that."
"You're still going back to school?"
"Yes," Dean nodded. "Especially now."
"We won't be able to talk like this for a while."
"Years, probably."
"And then you'll come back...Promise me, Dean. You won't abandon me. You have to come back."
Dean stilled, refused to answer even in the silence of the cemetery.
The conversation stillborn, ended. Each realizing that their brotherhood was ending. Couldn't look at each other.
"Dean," Sam initiated out loud, giving Dean have this final gift of not being the one to start the fight. "I can't believe you!" he spat, full of vitriol and pain. "Now? Over dad's grave? You just up and change everything about the Men of Letters? I can't believe you!"
"That's not what this is is about, Sam!" Dean yelled back, "And you know it!"
"We're supposed to only engage in research! There's a reason why we don't go out and hunt, and now you want to just up and destroy centuries' worth of work."
"Stop it, Sammy. I'm the oldest brother, and I've been trained to lead the group since I was four. You're the one acting like a dick... You know you can't stop me."
"And what about me? I was groomed to just like you! And I have the PhD and the JD to my name.I was here running everything when you were out driving around the country with dad! You're don't even want the job. And then you waltz back in, and suddenly you're calling primogeniture rights? This isn't a monarchy, Dean. I have just as much right as you do."
"You weren't running anything! You were a research intern. I was out in the real world. Not stuck in the library."
"Dean, that's what the Men of Letters is about! And dad and you never got that. You guys wanted to go hunters."
"And you know what's best for this place? I grew up here too, but no. Sammy Winchester knows this place better than I do."
"Yes!"
"You're going to get everyone killed."
Sam stilled. "God, Dean. You think I'm that incompetent? It's either you lead or everyone dies?"
"Yes, Sam. It's that simple."
Sam went white hot, hurt, angry, wanting to punch his brother until his knuckles were broken and bleeding.
He walked away.
"That's it, Sam!" Dean yelled after him, "Walk away like the bitch you are! You walk away from this family, don't come back."
Sam didn't break his stride, "that's what I want, Dean," he answered. Left his brother broken on the grave. Stomped toward the fleet of limousines, closed his eyes, let the hatred seethe out away from him. Growled loudly in anger.
"Hello, Samuel, come sit down" an older man said quietly after Sam had calmed down.
"Marcus," Sam responded, plopped down onto a marble bench.
"I realize that this is poor timing, but-"
"Stop the bullshit, I'm not going to backstab my brother."
"You don't have to, Sam. Everyone knows that the two of you were destined for this power struggle- that even God personally exalted you with his grace. But Dean... Dean wants change simply for the sake of change, and you want to continue our traditions of quiet research. It's a simple matter of understanding what the Men of Letters actually do. You need to be our leader, Samuel." Marcus cooed
Sam sat there, contemplating, staring at random tombstones, looked away, saw the sun off in the distance. "Fine," he finally announced. "I'll do it."
"Very good!" Marcus exclaimed, "And, Sam. I am truly sorry for your loss."