SPOILERS FOR WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE!!!!!
OK, so maybe I didn't hear the word 'love,' but I like this story, so humor me here.
Disclaimer: I don't own SN, but so many of my fanfics have wound up as episodes that I might as well (Totally not kidding here, people).
You, Too
She turned in the doorway, nightgown billowing ever so slightly, blonde hair shining, and he felt his heart burst again. She was alive. She was alive, and she had talked to him. She was willing to let him stay. She wanted him.
"I love you," Mary said, glancing back over her shoulder at her son. Dean froze.
o0o0o0o
The wriggling four-year-old snuggled deep under the covers, wrapping his small arms around his favorite teddy bear, which had been a birthday gift from his father. "G'night, mommy," he smiled.
"Good night, love," Mary said, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead.
The boy pulled the covers up to his chin as his mother crossed the room. She paused at the door, turning back to smile at her young son, her hand hovering over the light switch.
"Mommy?" he asked, voice shaking, tears welling up in his bright hazel eyes. It was all Mary could do to keep herself from laughing out loud. The boy was genuinely scared, horrified of the dark.
"It's ok, Dean," she assured, "just remember, there are angels watching over you. They won't let anything bad happen."
"Ok, mommy," he sighed, snuggling back under the covers and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"I love you," Mary smiled, flipping off the lights.
"I love you, too, mommy," Dean replied happily. He had no idea that it would be the last thing he ever said to his mother, had no idea that something was lurking just outside their house, just outside their field of vision. It was something evil, something that planned to strike that night, bringing the happy family crashing down to the ground, burning bright.
o0o0o0o0o
Dean stood in the middle of the grimy motel room, eyes darting between his one-year-old brother and his father, who was busy packing a green duffle bag with a load of supplies.
"Daddy?"
"Won't be gone long, kiddo," John assured, "just a couple days. Take care of your brother, all right?"
"Daddy, why can't I come?"
John sighed. "You just can't, all right? It's dangerous."
"If it's dangerous-"
"I have to, son," John barked, his voice a little harsher than he'd intended it to be.
Dean sank back, away from his father's voice. His knees shook and tears welled up behind his hazel eyes and John bit back a laugh. This was the kid he was going to turn into a soldier? This was the kid he was going to take to war with him? It seemed like some kind of joke.
With a soft grunt, John hefted his bag up onto his shoulder and turned toward the door. "Lock up."
"Dad?"
"What?"
"I love you."
John closed his eyes at the crack in his son's voice, the way it wavered. "Love you, too," he said quickly before opening the door and stepping out into the night.
Dean ran to the window and watched his father drive off. He had no idea that the dad he knew would never come back from that first hunt. When John came back, he would be different, gruffer, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. In a way, Dean's father was walking into a sort of demonic ambush that would run the rest of his life. An ambush that would slowly kill him, leaving his innocent children to fend for themselves.
o0o0o0o0o
The rain pattered against the tin roof of the bus stop as the two brothers stood, side-by-side, looking out onto the road. It was a dark day, a fitting day, and the silence that had fallen between them since their arrival only amplified the harsh plop of every raindrop.
"Sammy?"
"It's Sam."
Dean nodded. "Sam, then. You sure you want to do this?"
"I'm positive, Dean," Sam replied, hefting his backpack up higher, hoping to lighten the load for a moment, "I can't do this anymore. I can't live this life."
"Don't leave." Dean cringed. He hated that sound, that raw desperation, that last-ditch, the way his voice wavered as the tears stung his eyes. "Please."
"I have to do this, man. He has to know."
"Then just tell him."
"Look," Sam sighed, "there's no point trying to talk to him. He just doesn't get it. All he sees is vengeance. I'm not gonna let him run my life anymore."
Dean opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to beg, but couldn't find the words. There weren't any words to find, only warm tears that spilled past his defenses and clouded his vision and mixed with the few tiny raindrops that fell through the bus stop's leaky roof.
There was a squeal of tires as the bus pulled to a stop in front of them and Sam took his first steps toward true freedom. Dean gulped. "Sammy?"
Sam turned around, standing in the doorway of the bus, both feet firmly planted inside the large vehicle. "Its-" his voice died off as he saw his brother's face, the look of rejection, of loss, of abandonment that clouded the handsome features. "What?"
"I love you."
Sam sighed, glancing down at his soaked-through shoes, tears stinging at his eyes. He looked back up, back at Dean, at the tears building behind the older man's eyes as he waited for confirmation that the feeling was mutual. The bus door slammed shut, the driver tired of waiting.
Dean stood in the rain, watching the bus drive away, trying to convince himself that the words had been on Sam's lips, that the younger man's response had just been cut off. He would try to convince himself of that for years, even after his Sammy came back to him. But Sammy wasn't Sammy anymore. He was still Sam, and Sam still wanted to be normal. That was something Dean just couldn't give him.
o0o0o0o0o
He froze, just staring at her, marveling at her beauty, the rosy flush in her cheeks that meant that she was alive, still feeling the way she'd fit right into his arms, still smelling her perfume. He froze.
Dean had learned form experience, learned a long time ago, learned from his mistakes. He'd let too many people in, let too many people hurt him. He'd admitted his feelings, and they'd all changed. They'd all died, in a way.
He wasn't going to lose his mother again, not after finally getting her back. He couldn't take the chance.
"You, too," Dean said, relief flooding his system. Two words. It had gotten the point across, and she wasn't in danger. Nothing was going to happen to her. Maybe Mary didn't have angels, like she thought, but she had Dean, and that was better.
So, any opinions?