A/N: Here's my latest S10 drabble. No Crowley or OFCs this time, I promise, just the boys and an issue I felt like fixing, which begins with "L" and ends with "ester". And it's for my dear friend MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd, who says the most interesting things and frequently makes me look at matters from a different angle - thanks for that, sweetheart.
Unbetaed, so apologies for any mistakes.
Had it coming
"So, is it done?" Sam asks, and he's feeling bitter and betrayed enough to remain relatively calm.
"Yeah, it's done," comes Dean's level reply and Sam wonders suddenly when they started talking like strangers.
"Any casualties?"
It's loud in the bar and next to him someone's laughing loudly. Still, he has no trouble making out Dean's clipped reply. "Martin."
"Was it Benny?" Sam asks through gritted teeth, because, fuck, he left, but Martin's death's not on him, it isn't, it's on his brother's freaking vampire buddy and on his brother's blind faith in the guy.
"He had it coming, Sam," Dean confirms his suspicions, sounding utterly unapologetic, and not like anything he should. Certainly not like the brother Sam spent most of his life hunting monsters with. When a vampire manages to kill another hunter, that definitely shouldn't be your response, it's just wrong. And there's so many other things about this that are also wrong, all of them too chilling to contemplate, because this isn't some random hunter but Dean, so Sam hangs up on him.
Unlike the last time he and Dean had one of their disagreements about Benny, Sam doesn't throw his phone against the nearest surface. He merely downs the rest of his tequila and pays, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
It's difficult to accept that his own brother would let him down so badly. But there's simply no way he's going to believe that Benny was actually the victim here.
oo0oo
"Well, I'm not walking out that door with you, I'm just not," says the man who's both so like and unlike his brother that it's terrifying. He's got all the charm Dean ever had raised to the power of ten, more than enough to make it deadly and fill the deserted bar to the brim with his presence - which considering how Sam's already seen his fair share of dangerously charismatic evildoers is indeed saying something. And he's exuding a bewitching sort of ease, of being perfectly comfortable in his skin, that Dean never had, or only very rarely, after a particularly exciting night out. "So what are you gonna do, you gonna kill me?"
He smiles, lazy, nonchalant, and raises the tequila to his lips.
Sam looks at him, sad and steady, and shakes his head. "No."
"Why?" It's teasing, curious even. It's almost like having an actual conversation, with an actual human being – with his actual brother. Except for the fact that Sam knows quite well that if this were his brother, one hundred percent, no Mark, no black lenses, they'd never be talking this much at all, not without one of them bleeding to death or worse. "You don't know what I've done. I might have it coming."
Sam bites his lip, shakes his head. He's never going to believe that, not when it comes to Dean, black eyes or not.
"I don't care," Sam says and starts walking towards him. "Because you are my brother and I'm here to take you home."
Dean drains his tequila and laughs.
Sam presses his lips together and tries to believe it enough for the both of them.
oo0oo
"Man, I feel dirty just for carrying this," Dean says, elbowing his way back to their table and dumping a most delectable looking chicken salad down in front of Sam.
"Thanks," Sam says, pocketing his phone and turning to face his salad and his brother. "I think I've found us a case – looks like a standard salt and burn."
Dean is distractedly taking small bites from his burger and doesn't reply.
"Hey," Sam flicks his fingers under his brother's nose, trying to catch his attention, and Dean glares at him, "we said we'd take it slowly. We agreed on that just half an hour ago, right?"
"Sure," Dean answers, not sounding particularly convinced. He wipes his mouth and glances around the diner, smiling at the pretty blonde who's just come through the door, frowning at the teenagers at the table next to them, before he finally looks right back at Sam with fresh intensity. "Listen, Sammy, I should probably have told you earlier in the car… You're not the only one. I lied too, okay."
Sam feels a chilly sensation settle in his chest. He shakes it off with great determination and says nothing.
"Technically, though, I was still a demon when I lied, so…" Dean continues, and Sam can't help but quip back, "Technically, you've unbeen a demon for over a week now, so you've had plenty of time to unlie to me about it."
"Do they teach you that sort of grammar at college these days?" Dean grins at him, and Sam grins back. "Anyway," Dean begins again, more soberly, "what I said about Lester… I didn't mention it before because…. Sammy, I didn't want you to take this lightly, I mean you went dark, man, seriously dark…" He trails off with a slightly lost expression and takes a gulp of his beer.
"I'm not taking anything lightly. I know what I did. I know it wasn't okay. But I had to get you back..." Sam shrugs. "I only just got you back, don't you think I can still start tearing myself up over everything I did in a couple of days?"
Dean licks his lips and then nods, slowly. "Well there's one thing you don't need to tear yourself up over: Lester's soul didn't go to hell."
Sam stares at him.
"He sold his soul to have his wife killed. Then he showed up, wanting to watch, and I knifed him instead. The wife's still kicking… and banging, no doubt."
Dean flashes him a brief smile, complete with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and Sam realizes that he's missed this particular expression on his brother's face so much that he wishes he had his phone at the ready to snap a picture. Plus the phone would have the advantage of giving him something to hide his own face behind, for he's feeling ridiculously close to tears at finally being confronted again with a sprinkle of one hundred percent pure Dean Winchester glee. As it is, all Sam can do is press his lips firmly together and hope that it doesn't show too much.
Dean's face softens. "Don't be such a girl about this, Sammy. Yeah, you did make him lose his life, but not his soul. And to be honest, he was a douche. He really had it coming."
Sam swallows, and decides to believe his brother's assessment this time. He's got enough weighing on his conscience, he doesn't need to feel guilty about Lester on top of it. "Okay."
Dean looks at him very seriously then and says, "Sammy, there's another thing I should probably have told you before…"
Sam's heart clenches. There's only so many confessions he can take in a day.
"... Your sunglasses suck, badly."
Sam feels the childish impulse to throw the remainders of his chicken salad right into his brother's stupid, smirking face, coupled with an alarming need to actually throw himself on his brother and envelop him in a crushing hug. But it's a very good salad and they've definitely already had as many chick flick moments as any healthy grown-up male can swallow in a day, so he says instead, rolling his eyes, "Dude. Pot? Kettle?"
"You're the kettle… kettle," Dean mutters and frowns at himself, realizing this was probably his worst comeback ever in the long, varied and immensely entertaining History of Dean Winchester's Subpar and Altogether Thoroughly Unwitty Rejoinders. But Sam feels way too happy to rag him about it. Besides… tomorrow is another day and they're in for a long drive.