I've gotten to that point again where I just have a ton of these random little stories all over the place so, Ta-da, here's one of them. =).
Set in season 5 sometime after Dark Side of the Moon and before 99 Problems so SPOILERS.
Not With A Bang
It started with a bang and ended with a choked whimper. The werewolf shuddered once, violently, as the bullet hit its mark, life leaving it in a gust of gnarly breath and a slow-motion collapse. Dean examined the body with resigned remorse as he tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans. Sam hobbled slowly up from the ground and walked the few steps necessary to join his brother, pretending to regard the corpse while actually checking Dean over for injuries out of the corner of his eye. Other than the thick red slash marks across Dean's left cheek, he appeared unharmed, but an eye-roll in Sam's direction told the younger Winchester he wasn't quite as stealthy as he thought in his examination.
"I'll find some dry wood," Dean said, rolling out his neck and taking a few steps backwards before flipping a one-eighty and heading off in the opposite direction. Sam watched his brother's back as he walked away and then looked back down at the wolf at his feet, feeling slightly sick. It had been years, but this one reminded him of Madison because she'd also been young, and clueless as to what she had turned into. Krissa was her name— short and spunky and angry with the world. If she'd lived, Sam imagined she would've developed into a full-on hurricane. But instead, she was rotting on the ground, barely the beginnings of a rainstorm. All these years later and they still hadn't found a cure. He'd saved no one today.
The clattering of tinder startled Sam from his thoughts, and he jerked his head around, eyes landing on the pathetic pile of wood Dean had managed to collect. He sighed and turned to find more.
Even when the girl's body was nothing more than a pile of smoking ash in their rearview, Sam still couldn't stop thinking about her. Torn from the world like that.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said suddenly from the driver's seat, the words rolling off his tongue like the ground-up gravel beneath their tires. It'd been an hour since they'd burned the evidence, an hour since they'd spoken last.
"Why?" Sam asked, voice hitching slightly on just the one word. "S'not your fault. S'not anyone's fault. It just is."
"Sam…"
Sam thought of Heaven and Hell. Sam thought of fate and destiny.
"Look, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it, okay?" Sam interrupted. He didn't raise his voice, didn't change inflection, but Dean still looked like he'd been slapped across the face. Dean was thinking about destiny too.
"Okay," is all he said.
They were mostly silent into the night, eating up the miles until they found a motel peeking out from the side of the road, a little peninsula of land in the ocean they've been treading. They got a room and Dean dropped his duffel on the bed closest to the door. He wandered back outside into the crisp air without an explanation and Sam didn't follow. He thought he knew not to. Instead, he headed for the shower. When he reemerged a long time later with wet hair and a weariness crawling through his bones, Dean still hadn't come back. Sam flopped onto his bed and sighed, long and deep.
_oOoOoOoOoOo_
Dean hadn't stopped walking. He'd meant to turn around a little over fifteen minutes ago because Sam would probably be out of the shower by now and would maybe even have started worrying a little bit, but instead his feet just kept carrying him farther and farther away from the motel and away from his brother. It was weird because all he wanted to do was turn around and fall into bed and sleep until noon. But his body had other plans, didn't seem to want to listen. Instead, he wandered on beneath the flickering streetlights and the faint glow of stars that weren't quite bright enough to make out which constellation was which.
His arms swung lightly at his sides, and they were the only things that felt light anymore. Everything else was just too damn heavy. There was an apocalypse hanging over their heads and there was a hell-bitch who had managed to corrupt his little brother before he'd finally shoved her own knife into her chest, a little brother whose Heaven seemed to be filled with everything but Dean. Dean had told himself he had a week to get over it but now it had been two and a half and the rock in his throat was still lodged in there. Made it hard to swallow. Made it hard to look at Sam without choking on questions he'd never dare ask.
He was afraid the answer would be the back of his little brother's head as he turned to leave. As he walked, jogged, ran, sprinted away until he was gone for good this time.
Dean tripped on the curb and stumbled to a stop, breath catching as he finally looked, finally realized just how far away he was now. He twisted back around and started moving in the opposite direction, towards the motel. Pretty soon walking wasn't enough and he was jogging, running, sprinting to get back, mortified at how long he'd been gone without a phone or a way for Sam to reach him. Dean could already picture the look on his little brother's face when he finally walked back through the door, could imagine the long-winded speech Sam would give him about having to stay together now more than ever, eyes wide and fists shaking in barely-disguised fear.
Dean was panting by the time he caught sight of the motel, lungs burning in the frigid air. He slowed down as he neared the door to their room, not wanting to scare Sam with a flurried entrance if he were still there. The Impala was sitting in the same spot Dean had parked it, so he guessed his little brother wasn't in full-blown panic mode yet. Probably just went to look for Dean on foot.
Once he'd gotten his breathing back under control, Dean walked the last few steps to the door of their room, hoping Sam had remembered to take his phone so Dean could grab his own from the nightstand and call him. The door slid open and Dean's heart slid to the floor, dropped like the momentous weight it had become inside his chest. He leaned against the open doorway, one hand still on the knob, a tall silhouette standing out against the moonlight streaming in from behind him.
It wasn't enough light to wake Sam, snoring softly from the bed farthest from the door.
Dean stood frozen for another moment before he let the door closed softly behind him.
It didn't shut with a bang.
Please leave your thoughts/comments if you have a moment, and have a good day!