Disclaimer: TVD/SPN are not mine. Title is from "Highway to Hell" because Dean.
A/N: Five times Dean doesn't believe in God and one time he does.
This takes place in 'the birth and death of the day' verse, so if you haven't read that, I would recommend at least reading the prologue before this. Just so you know where all the characters stand. Or you could read the whole thing, that would make me happy too!
As for 'birth': I'm working on it, I promise; but I've been wanting to do a few one-shots from Sam and Dean's perspectives since I only write from Caroline's in 'birth.' I do hope this helps you forgive me for the wait.
I would love a review if you have the time/inclination. Enjoy!
a one way ride
Dean's not stupid—he's seen the mail hoarding Sam's been doing since school started. Brochures with shiny covers, big cheerful fonts and fucking scary wax kids on the front grinning hugely over Chemistry books and The Communist Manifesto. He's like a manic squirrel with the way he snatches letters out of the mailbox and hides them away where prying eyes can't see. Hell, whenever anyone who's not Caroline walks past Sam's open door, his kid brother runs over to shut it like he's a hiding a fucking dead body.
Which would probably scare Dean less, actually.
Then there's the whole fact that his little sister—his thirteen-year-old little sister for fuck's sake—is on her third—her third!—boyfriend and those little shits stare at her legs when they think Dean's not paying attention and they eat all his fucking food.
He doesn't know which he wants to do more—high-five Caroline over the heartbreaker tendencies that she clearly picked up from him or lock her in her room for the rest of eternity.
At least he and Sam—and John, when he's actually home and not off hunting, which is becoming a less and less frequent occurrence—can agree on that. They make a good Terrify the Cocky-ass Ninth Graders team. Sam puts all six-foot-five of his height to good use and towers over the unsuspecting little snot while Dean glares from behind him; good cop, bad cop except they always fight over who gets to be bad cop.
(Dean wins. Always.)
He's got to give her credit though, because Caroline usually rolls her eyes and scoffs at them instead of crying like he kind of assumed she would.
In fact, sometimes Dean's so busy being normal that he forgets why Sam's college dreams are such a problem.
But then their family falls apart on a perfect sunny day during a perfect Virginia summer.
John finds the brochures with the fake smiling asshole kids on the cover.
Then he finds the acceptance letter.
Stanford. Early decision with a postmark from back in November. Sam's been hiding it all this time.
Dean throws himself in the middle of the screaming match because that's what he does—he gets in front of Sammy, even if it means facing John. Liz takes Sam's side in the argument, which Dean is grateful for because he can't, not against his dad.
Caroline, though, takes one look at World War III going down in their kitchen and walks silently out the door, like she's been expecting this. Dean remembers her sitting on Sam's floor while he dreamily told her all about a California and wonders just how long Caroline's known this was coming. For a brief moment, Dean wants to follow her away from this hostile kitchen and let her tell him about her adventures at the Donovan pool and her newest crush; wants to let her make him laugh and pretend like it's just another summer day.
Instead he sucks it up and says pleadingly, "Dad," and he'll pretend to forget later how his voice shakes. "Dad, let's just talk about it, okay? Let's just sit down and figure this—"
John completely ignores him; it's like he never even made a sound. "You think I want you to end up like your mother?" he demands dangerously over Dean's shoulder to Sam and then temperature in the room drops. They don't talk about Mary Winchester. Ever. "You leave this family, Sam, and you die."
"Maybe I'll die if I stay," Sam retorts and John rears back as though Sam had hit him; Dean wishes Sam had just hit him. "Maybe I'll die crossing the street, so I should never leave the house, huh Dad?"
"Don't you fucking dare make light of this," John growls and when he takes a step forward, Dean takes a step back, still half in front of Sam. "You think that because you've never been on a hunt, you'll be safe out there? Bullshit, Sam! You think this school will help get you somewhere in life? All it'll do is help get you dead."
"Stop it," Liz orders and Dean sees her eyes flicker to the kitchen window over looking the porch. "If Sam wants Stanford, he's getting Stanford and that's that, John. Enough is enough."
"This is between me and my boys so stay of it, Liz," John snaps back and Liz's eyes narrow, her jaw clenching.
"Everyone just needs to calm the fuck down," Dean cuts in, holding one hand out towards John and one back towards Liz and Sam.
Of course Sammy ignores him, the little shit. "What I don't get," he says lowly, "is why you aren't even the slightest bit proud of me. I got into Stanford, Dad. Stanford! Anybody else would be proud of me, but you stand there and tell me going to college is turning my back on my family!"
"Because that's what it is," John says flatly and Dean hears Sam suck in a breath—or maybe it was him. "You walk out that door, Sam, and you're abandoning this family. You walk out that door and you better never come back."
The silence roars in Dean's ears and for the first time he turns his back to his father. "Sammy," he says softly, hands going to Sam's shoulders, "don't listen to him, he's emotional and he doesn't mean it—"
"He means it," Sam says coldly and the expression in Sam's eyes is an exact mirror of the one in John's. "You don't say shit like that and not mean it." Dean's caught in the middle of identical glares until Sam turns around and walks stiffly to his room.
"You're an ass," Liz tells John fiercely before slipping away and leaving just the two of them standing there alone.
"You got anything to say to me?" John demands, and Dean's pretty sure he meant to sound defensive and tough, but it comes out tired and defeated.
He shakes his head. "No," he says simply. "I got nothing, Dad."
When Sam walks out the front door, bag slung over his shoulder, Dean hears Caroline crying. Hears Sam say, "He's just pissed. He'll come around by Christmas, okay?"
She says, voice shaking, "Come back, okay?" and Dean can tell immediately that she's not buying what Sam's selling. He can't hear Sam's reply but he knows instantly when Sam has left. The silence rings in his ears, deafening and all-consuming.
He wakes up the next morning—not that he ever really went to sleep, the sounds of the fight echoing in his head—to find John has left too and that seals it for him. Dean's out.
Caroline freaks out on him and he's surprised at himself for being surprised. "Leave then! That's all you Winchesters are good for!" she yells at him, practically running out of the door and when he turns to Liz wide-eyed, he finds his stepmother glaring at him.
"Fix it," is all she says before turning to make herself more coffee.
She's halfway down the driveway when he catches up to her.
"Care," he says, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Hey. It's not forever, okay? I'm just going on a trip, just for a little while. I'll be back."
She blinks up at him and Dean knows she doesn't totally believe him. "Promise?"
He bumps her shoulder with his. "Promise."
It's not a complete lie but the blind trust in Caroline's face makes it feel like one.
.
.
.
.
Dean watched his house burn down with his mother inside when he was four years old.
He's not watching history repeat itself with Sammy.
Sam's not allowed to die.
He's just not.
.
.
.
.
Selling his soul wasn't exactly on his life's to-do list, but Dean figures protecting Sammy is and as it turns out, those two things have ended up being the same thing. Go figure.
Dean will never tell Sam or Caroline this, but having a sell-by date is actually kind of nice. Totally terrifying and nightmare-inducing, but he knows that by the end of spring he has to teach Caroline how to shoot straight and the best way to break some toolbag's nose. He sees the countdown clock in his peripheral vision at all times, reminding him of what—who he has to take care of before it hits 0:00.
Because if Dean doesn't teach her these things, how is she supposed to defend herself from handsy football players? Is Sam supposed to teach her? He snorts at the thought. No, this is his job.
"Don't tuck your thumb in," he orders and she gives him a no shit, Sherlock look before resuming the fighting stance he just finished showing her. "I'm serious, Care, it'll break if you tuck it in."
"I'm not an idiot," she retorts, holding her fists up higher and he's pleased to see neither of her thumbs is tucked in.
"Good," he approves. "And what do you aim with?"
"The knuckles," she recites dutifully, "and put all my weight behind it."
Dean holds his hands up, palms flat. "Come on, Pat Benatar. Hit me with your best shot."
Caroline drops the stance and stares at him incredulously. "You want me to hit you? I'm not hitting you, Dean!"
He lowers his hands and says firmly, "Look, Care. It'll make me feel better knowing you can protect yourself from overeager jock assholes, so just do this for me, okay?"
"You can protect me from overeager jock assholes," she counters, crossing her arms and Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead.
"Care," he says quietly, "we've talked about this."
"No," she corrects him, her voice rising in pitch like it always does when she's fighting off some overwhelming emotion. "You've talked about it and I refuse to accept that there's no way out. There's always a loophole, Dean, you're just not looking hard enough."
"You think I want to die?" he asks, stung and she blinks at him, tilting her head thoughtfully and chewing at her lip before answering.
"I think you want to die on your own terms," Caroline says finally, looking down at her shoes. "I think that you mostly wanted to save Sam, but I—I think that it also makes you feel at least a little better that no big nasty can say it killed you." Dean's gut twists and she peeks up at him from under the pieces of hair that have fallen in her face. "And I think you want to be like John, a little."
Dean stares at her, swallows and says gruffly, "When did you get so perceptive, Care?"
Her serious face vanishes and she grins at him. "I'm just smarter than you," she says tauntingly and when he wordlessly holds up his hand, she lands a perfect right hook smack in the middle.
Weeks later, her best friend's parents die and it's literally the worst moment he could possibly leave, but his year's almost up and he's got this last minute attempt at living he's gotta do. The idea of Hell is really fucking scary and he can practically feel it clawing at his soul.
Dean's never been that good at handling crying girls, but he's a fucking Rico Suave with those chicks compared to how he deals with a crying Caroline.
She soaks the front of his shirt, and he tells her that he'll be back to scare all of her boyfriends. He's really fucking proud of her when she doesn't beg him to stay.
But when he and Sam drive away from Mystic Falls, the town lights getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Dean starts thinking—really thinking, complete with images in his head—about what he'll miss.
He's not going to see his little sister graduate from high school.
He's not going to see her get married. He'll never see Sam get married, or ever get to see him even be in love with a girl.
He'll never meet his nieces and nephews.
All that will be left of him is what Sam and Caroline remember and his hands start to shake.
"Sammy," Dean says hoarsely and Sam glances over from the passenger seat in concern. "You and Care—you two have to take care of each other, okay? Protect each other from all this shit."
Sam's face hardens. "Don't talk like that. We're gonna fix it, Dean, so don't start listing out your last wil and testament to me," he snaps grimly and Dean shakes his head, intent on wrangling this one last assurance from Sam.
"Sammy," he says again, more insistently this time, his knuckles turning bone white against the steering wheel. "Promise me."
Sam stares at him and for a brief, terrifying moment, Dean thinks he might refuse out of pure denial. But then Sam deflates and nods silently and Dean breathes a heavy sigh before adding in an attempt at lightness, "Don't let her marry some little shit either."
"That's your job," Sam retorts, looking away, "so you'd best stick around to make sure it doesn't happen."
But when Dean's standing in the middle of a torn salt ring, the breath of hellhounds pungent in his nose, he looks at Sammy and his littler brother, grief contorting his features, grits his teeth and gives a single jerky nod.
And none of it's okay but—
.
.
.
.
Dean's pretty sure the universe is fucking with him because he gets resurrected from the actual bowels of capital H Hell to find out that not only is the world going to shit but that his sunshine in a glass kid sister is an undead creature of the fucking night, and how does that make any sense?
Here's a hint: it doesn't.
But Sam keeps telling him the entire car ride home—and Dean has to force himself to not side-eye how tightly Sammy's gripping the steering wheel because dude, go easy on the old girl—that Care's still Care, just with a different staple food.
Which, Sam also reassures him, isn't, you know, people.
Liz calls them when they're six hours out of Virginia and when Sam puts her on speaker they both fall silent at the despair in her voice.
"She's really sick," Liz says shakily, and Dean can hear the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing as his stepmother walks around the kitchen. (He would know the sounds of that kitchen anywhere.) "You boys better hurry, I don't know if—" her voice chokes off and she takes a deep breath. "Just get here as soon as you can, okay?"
As soon as Sam hangs up, Dean says lowly, "What happened?"
Sam's eyes don't leave the road. "Werewolf bite."
"Fuck," Dean groans, head dropping weakly into his hands.
It's like his life has been traded for Caroline's, and fuck whoever decided that was okay.
.
.
.
.
"Put that on my tab," a voice behind Dean says idly and Dean pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth. The guy stands next to him at the bar, lounging like he owns the place and is utterly confident in his own position of power.
"No thanks," Dean says coolly, meeting Matt Donovan's eyes over the top of the beer bottle before finishing it off in a single gulp. "I'm not that kind of girl, Klaus."
Klaus raises an eyebrow at him before making himself comfortable on the nearest barstool. Matt hands him a menu before disappearing behind a door marked Employees Only. "I don't suppose I should be surprised that you know who I am," he says languidly as the other bartender working puts a beer in front of him.
Dean salutes him with his own empty bottle. "I make it a point to know the crazy assholes chasing after my little sister."
Nothing in Klaus's face gives him away. "She's a lovely girl," he says neutrally and Dean snorts.
"A lovely girl you'll stay away from if you know what's good for you, Pablo Pi-psycho."
There is a flash of humor in Klaus's eyes before they shutter back into expressionlessness. "Unfortunately for you," he says easily, folding his hands on the bar countertop, "I tend to get what I want."
Dean's blood runs cold and his hand finds the knife he used earlier on his pie, fingers wrapping tightly around the handle. "Don't push me, Romeo," he warns lowly, and the idea of this—this sociopath with Caroline makes his stomach turn violent somersaults.
Klaus looks down at the knife Dean's gripping. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news then, mate, but that can't kill me."
Dean shrugs. "Bet it'll still hurt, mate." But he lets go of the knife and leans back slightly. "Serious question here. What do you think's gonna happen? She's gonna fall for all the bad boy bullshit and abandon everyone she loves for you?" He scoffs and Klaus's eyes narrow. "News flash, dude. Never gonna happen."
Klaus's eyes are practically slits as Dean digs his keys out of his pocket. "Caroline's a good person," Dean says as he slides his jacket on. "And she can overlook a lot of flaws in people she cares about. But after all the shit you've done to her and to people she loves, you've got a snowball's change in hell with her." He leans in and clasps Klaus's shoulder, a smirk on his face. "And take it from someone who's been to Hell—not a single solitary snowball."
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.
.
They took a beach trip once, as a whole family. Nowhere fancy, just a few hours drive up the coast to Chesapeake Bay when he was twelve and the world seemed a lot bigger, a lot brighter and a lot less dark.
Caroline darts out of the car as soon as John pulls the parking brake and Liz hollers after her to be careful and watch where she's going. Sam grabs the sunscreen and runs after her but Dean stays by the Impala and waits to help Dad with the cooler.
Dad grins at him from behind his aviators and says, "Go on, kid, I got it." Dean hesitates only for a second before taking off to where Sam is trying to throw a shrieking Caroline into the waves.
Dean digs the new water gun that Dad bought Sammy out of the beach bag that Liz sets down next to a brightly striped chair and holds it to the waves, letting it fill up with ocean water. Caroline's managed to escape a chasing Sam and scrambles behind Dean, giggling as Sam splashes at them.
Out of nowhere, a strong, warm hand wraps around Dean's stomach and he starts to kick and fight like Dad taught him last year; but Caroline's lifted in the air next to him and she's shrieking with laughter, not fear. Then Dad says in his ear, "It's okay, kid, just me," and Dean relaxes. Sam's clapping at their feet, yelling, "Take them higher, Daddy!" and Dad is Daddy like he was a long, long time ago.
The water is a perfect blue, the sand is warm under his toes and Sam helps Caroline build a sandcastle that Dean promptly smashes. Caroline sticks her tongue out at him through the gaps in her teeth; Sam takes a handful of sand and dumps it on Dean's head in retaliation, and Dad laughs as Liz looks on at them with a small smile on her face.
Dean doesn't have many memories of his family feeling complete—despite Liz and Caroline's added presence, there is always a hole where his mother should have been. But with the sun beaming down on him and shaking sand out of his eyes—Dean manages to feel whole.
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fin.