Ignorance is Bliss (But Forgetting is Hard)
Chailyn
Summary: First off, this is a follow up to the fantastic Skag Trendy's, "Your Latest Trick," so, run over there and read that, and review it, and then come back and read this. To not know. To not know would be bliss.
Note: If they were mine, I'd be taking them camping instead of my friend. We'd have smores and get wasted, and give it the 'ol college try. Again, the idea was inspired by S.T.'s story, I hope you approve and enjoy, dear...and er—don't hate me, or it.
Beep.
The sound of the monitor, with its little blips, going across the screen, was a reminder.
Sam was alive.
Beep.
He almost blew his brains out.
Beep.
Sam almost died.
Beep.
--
He was on the edge, had been ever since his dad died.
No, not died, the voice in his head told him, sacrificed himself--for you.
Protect your brother, Dean.
The last god-damn thing his father had told him before marching off to eternal hellfire for him, and he just about screwed that up too.
No, that was the second last thing. The last thing made him sort of okay with blowing his brains out on the bad days.
Dean sighed and looked down at Sammy, blissfully unconcious, unaware...he wondered what it felt like.
To not know. To not know would be bliss.
"You just don't know, Sammy." He whispered, glad for the time alone Bobby had given him.
--
With the ugly silence and starkness of a clean and sterilized hospital room enveloping him, all Dean could do was think about things, things that should be said, things that would be said, things that would never be said.
Maybe it would have been better for them to have gone that way.
Twenty-four year olds who die from mysterious heart attacks don't become demons and go to hell.
Their brothers don't have to shoot them in the head so that they don't become supreme ruler of all evil.
Lucifer's puppet.
The former, and the latter, they'd both have the same ending; he'd had enough time alone to figure that out. He refuses to keep going without Sam.
Bobby took his gun, his security blanket, but that's okay because he doesn't need it right now. He has Sammy.
--
Waiting for Sammy to wake up, he's had the whole conversation in his head.
"Why, Dean?" Sam's soft brown eyes boring through his soul, seeing right through every cover-up, every lie, every excuse.
He could see the image of that gun to his head racing through Sam's mind as he tried to avoid his penetrating glance. To just thank whatever higher power that was out there--if there was one--he still had Sammy, and pretend it never happened.
LieLieLie
"Meg, she trying 'ta punish us I guess, made you have a heart attack."
That disapproving look, the hurt glance, and fucking puppy dog eyes.
"I don't mean that, Dean." Sam will tell him, "I saw...Bobby take your berretta."
He'll shrug and look away, Sam's alive now and that's all that matters, everything else can be fixed.
Sam won't become Lucifer's toy.
Dean won't have to kill him, and then himself.
They'll go down, years from now, fighting the good fight. If theirs any good in the world, he'll go first.
Bitch.
Jerk.
And Sammy will know exactly what it means.
--
The Disney version.
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