A/N: Through all of 5 pushing on to 6 seasons of the show worth I've hardly ever felt worse for Dean, than in 'Shadow', season 1. Between Sam's unsubtle blatancy and having to part ways with Daddy Winchester again, having barely found him, it would seem Dean must've been in a really bad place by the end of the whole ordeal.
So this is a little coda-story to this episode. A glimpse of Dean's innermost musings.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points mentioned and/or alluded to belong to me.
Not with a club…*
The cracked up shower head was sputtering water all over the tiny bathroom of the motel room they managed to cram their battered frames in, not until having put some considerable mileage between themselves and the temporary blinded daevas. And Dad, a voice at the back of his mind prompted, unbidden.
He had to go back to Sam. To tend to their many gushes and bruises. 'Beat to hell' didn't even begin to cut it. He would, as soon as his limbs complied to move past the leaden numbness. Off the filthy tiled floor. Through the door. Into the room. He just needed another moment.
His guiltiest secret. He didn't want it to be that demon - the one that killed Mom - today. Nor anytime soon. Oh, he longed to off it, all right, no less so than Dad did. Or Sam. No matter how accurately his brother deduced otherwise. He'd throttle the hideous bastard with his bare hands, if that could be to avail. If that could undo… everything. If that could make Dad laugh like he used to way back when Mom was alive. He's cursed to remember. Unlike Sam. If that could rid Sam of nightmares and sobs he didn't muffle by the pillow, while Dean pretended to be sound asleep.
But it couldn't. So he'd rather they nailed the fiend later, than sooner. Tonight but confirmed what he'd forbidden himself to recognize – he was faring on borrowed time. Sammy was indeed more like Dad than he'd ever admit, and Dean had to wonder now if Dad, probably, had a life in mind as well, to go back to, once The Hunt was over. The kind that factored Dean in no more so, than Sammy's. He was well aware he couldn't afford to believe Dad too would abandon the 'family business', abandon him, and yet… Given they survived the final standoff and the demon didn't cinder them all to ashes - what then?
Redundant. Unnecessary. A needy pathetic brother. An equally needy pathetic son. Unwelcome…
His guiltiest secret: maybe he'd manage to never make it through the ultimate fight, jump the demonic mojo to buy Dad and Sam a chance to regroup, perhaps. So that he'd never have to live through 'then'.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."
The words were but a ragged whisper, yet enough to crack the barely scabbed slits on his lips open. His tongue darted out, instinctively, swiping the lukewarm, salty moisture. He could but marvel why blood should taste so much like tears.
*Cf. 'Not with a club the Heart is broken' by Emily Dickinson