A/N: So, it's been forever since I actually added anything to FF. Kinda gotten sidetracked, life is so demanding! Anyway, this is my first Season 6 fic. Obviously it has to do with our fave soulless boy and how Deano is coping. And after Caged Heat, and with the promo trailers and snippets teasing about Dean's second brush with the big D, I just wanted to add a little mental meandering. Might become more than a long one-shot, depends. Hope it's enjoyable.
Placeholder
I can't let you go, you know that, right?
It doesn't bother me, what even those angels had said. Kiddo, if you an' me are dangerously co-dependent, it's because that endless stream of crap that was our lives – for which those winged dicks are largely responsible for – has made us so. 's not like we were ever gonna be normal, right? Not the way I know you wanted, before. Thing is, I kinda need my little bro back, because I ain't much of a big bro without him. It's the only job I've ever really enjoyed, or been truly good at, or cared about. So yeah, I think I deserve to make my wishes plain, but as much as I know it's selfish of me to want you back to the way you were, it's also because what they did to you is wrong. They took everything from us, and then some, so guess what? I'm flipping them the bird. I did it with Michael, you did it with Lucifer, and I'm doing it again, maybe this time with God, for real.
I'm staring at you right now, but you're not you. Not yet. And whenever I look at you as you are now, I keep thinking just how far from normal you are. It's sad, and ironic, and all kinds of messed up, because this shouldn't have been it. Not this. You, of everyone who played their parts, weren't supposed to draw the short straw. Again. As always. You wanted normal the most of any of us, and look what you are now.
Cas tried to explain it to me once. Said that expecting God to be so deeply involved with everything on this – try and imagine Cas saying this, you know, for the right effect – 'plane of existence' was stupid. Like us trying to comprehend and udnerstand how angels move and communicate in the, you know, whatever, up there. Or for a dog to suddenly start talking English. Yeah, Death had said something similar to me, before, something about snarky bacteria. Point is, God ain't anywhere near here, and apparently doesn't care. So I'm doing this, alone, again. Bobby and Cas will help, mind, but they won't be the ones to be there when you come back. Not like I will.
So yeah, guess why Lisa gave me the boot? It's because even soulless, you are worth it, any day, any time. I still want to kill you sometimes, still want to beat the tar out of you, take advantage because you can't feel guilty or upset about it afterwards. You don't feel anything, and even physical pain is just a weird response for your body. You don't give a rat's ass about any of this. And now you've gone and changed the game. You don't want it back.
You're not getting off that easily, kid. Trust me, you've been my responsibility your whole life, and I don't care if you're a better, stronger, faster hunter than me now. Maybe it was a complete ego thing before – I can't do much about you being taller, 'cept for maybe chopping you down below the knees – but big bro's prerogative, man, big bro's prerogative; you don't get to make that call. You're saying you don't want your soul back. Because Cas said it's a mutilated thing now. Did you actually believe that crap? Come on kiddo, I raised you to know better, soul or not! Angels are hardly the authority on human emotion, and their ideas about human souls are pretty unfeeling. Okay, so maybe you can relate... but it doesn't change the fact that even Cas is a dick sometimes, and you shouldn't believe everything he says. He told me you threatened to kill him. Not such a good idea, since he's the only one, I think, who can actually still help us. It didn't help that he admitted you were quite scary and menacing, even if he didn't show any emotion when he said it.
Why don't you want your soul back? You can't feel fear, but maybe you can still think it. And you walking off wasn't all that unfeeling. You're afraid of getting it back, I get it. It's been in the pit with Lucy and his ass-hat big bro, taking out their frustrations on it, for more than a century hell-time.
If I somehow managed to corner you and forced you to talk without stalking off in an... un-huff, maybe you could finally tell me the truth. You don't want it back because finally, you get to go through life without constantly bitching and whining about everything, going emo-to-the-max. I never thought I'd say it, but I'd rather you wail my ears bloody than just have you standing there, sometimes pretending that you're still you. Newsflash: you're. Not. SAM.
Yeah, I'm selfish, I'm right up there with the best of them. Sue me. At least it's being selfish for wanting someone, not something. Not greedy. Not looking for money, or fame, or a normal life. I just want my brother back, that's all. The only thing in life that's ever really made sense to me. Yeah, you there, mop-haired Sasquatch, I'm talking to you! Not the shell you are now, the one that actually thinks it's got a say in this. Tough luck pal, you may look, speak and talk it, but you ain't it. No soul, no say. Choices are for people, not Gigantor replicas with no conscience. You don't have free will here, so don't go assuming that you do. I get your soul back, I'm ramming it down your throat. I don't care if it shatters you, turns you into the meekest, mild-as-milk-water man in existence. I won't care if you can't take care of yourself, lose your dignity, lose your lunch every time or piss yourself uncontrollably until the end. If you never come back to who you were, if you scream blue bloody murder for the rest of your life when you go to sleep or when you're awake, or if you have to hold my friggin' hand in public just to get through each day, I won't care. Because you died human, and you'll live like one again. So buckle up Sam-droid, because no flimsy angelic spell will keep Sammy away. It ain't your body, you're just the walking, talking, breathing placeholder.
Selfish. It's relative. I can't be bothered, not where you're involved, not now. I've kissed scraped knees, cleaned your smelly ass when you crapped your diaper, given you the 'talk', made you so many breakfasts, lunches and suppers it boggles my mind, gave you the last of the Lucky Charms every time, got crappy jobs to make sure you had everything you needed for school; always stayed awake by your bedside until your eyes fluttered open beneath those ridiculous bangs you call your hair, helped you with your homework, stitched you up, held you when you cried after Jess, after Madison, after dad; told you bedtime stories, forgave you anything, forgave you everything, kept you innocent, kept you safe...
I sure as hell won't let it go. Control freak or not, you're coming back to you, Sam. I didn't spend twenty-seven years being the best big brother on the planet, just to be sidelined by a human machine that doesn't know arse from elbow when it comes to instincts. Doesn't know or care about things like happiness, people, laughter, love.
So, ready for your close-up? I'll be here and ready to catch you when you fall again...