Some say all mistakes are forgivable. One small slip and something goes wrong; but there are always people out there who are willing to forget. After all, we're human beings; no one holds a grudge forever… right?
Not in the case, it seems, of Dean Winchester.
Dean's self-trust deteriorated back in 1988, when he was exposed to the power of demons for the first time since his mother's death. The physical damage hadn't been inflicted on him, per se; it was much worse than that. Worse than anything Dean could've ever dreamed.
It all started when John Winchester went on a hunting trip. No odd occurrence, really; it happened so often that he'd personally taught his nine year old son everything and anything he'd need to know about protecting himself until he got back. Dean even went as far as to say he was a natural at keeping the place and his little brother safe. All he had to do was keep the door locked and put Sammy to bed at the right time. It was practically a leisure job at this point. It wasn't as if anything tried to get to them anyhow. What sort of demon would want two children?
Dean rubbed the butt of his dad's rifle; the one he'd be using to protect the house - or, in this case, motel room. It was new and shiny enough already, as Dean hadn't actually had to use it, but it had become nervous habit nowadays. You taste copper in your mouth, shine the gun. You get butterflies in your tummy, shine the gun. You get any cold feeling in your gut about Dad leaving, just shine the gun and keep your mouth shut. Dad knew what he was doing. He'd be fine.
However, less could be said about Dad's feelings on leaving his sons. For the fortieth time, he stressed to Dean; "All right. You know the drill, Dean. Anybody calls, you don't pick up. If it's me, I'll ring once, then call back. You got that?"
"Mm hmm." Dean droned. "Only answer the phone if it rings once first."
John gave Dean a sigh, shouldering his backpack. "Come on, dude, look alive. This stuff is important."
"I know, it's just… we've gone over it like a million times. You know I'm not stupid."
"Oh, I know you're not." John walked back up to him, the familiar sounds of his clunking boots on the wooden floor giving Dean a sense of familiarity and trust. John leaned forward and tapped Dean on the nose with one finger. "But it only takes one mistake. You got that?"
Dean pursed his lips and nodded. He'd heard this lecture a thousand times. Every time, his dad sounded so sincere and ominous, but nothing ever actually happened when he left. Heck, Dean felt confident that he could leave Sammy here alone and he'd be just fine by the time they got back. What really was the point in getting worried if the demons never cared for Dean or Sammy in the first place? Still, John lingered in the doorway to give Dean a last concerned look.
"If I'm not back Saturday night?"
"Call Pastor Jim." Dean recited dully. Of course Dad would be back by Saturday night. He always was.
"Lock the doors and the windows, and close the shades. If someone tries to bust in," John pointed at the gun. "Shoot first, ask questions later. And most important...?"
"Watch out for Sammy." Dean finished.
John grinned and pulled an arm around Dean, squeezing his son fondly, and for a moment - just a fraction of a moment - they felt like a normal family again. "That's my man."
xXx
Five year old Sammy had been sprawled in Dad's fluffy armchair watching Thundercats when he noticed Daddy leaving. He watched as he hugged Dean goodbye and disappear as the door swung shut. He vaguely noticed Dean bolting the door afterward.
He never truly understood why Daddy kept leaving them at random intervals. There didn't seem to be a schedule, and he always came back late. It was confusing to Sam, but never worrying. Everything about his young childhood consisted of Dad leaving, and when he did, it never occurred to Sam what he could really be doing. It hadn't ever mattered.
Dean appeared next to him, leaning on the chair and watching a few seconds of Sammy's cartoon. "Whatcha watching, Sammy?"
"Kitty movie." He explained, pointing at the protagonist's cat-like features.
"I see."
Sammy stared at the screen a couple seconds more before turning to face his older brother. "When is Dad gonna get back, Bean?"
Dean looked down and stuck out his lips. Then he pulled them into a smile and looked back to Sam. "He'll be back before you know it."
xXx
Sammy sat at the table absentmindedly, swinging his feet under the chair. The kitchenette light was the only light on in their tiny motel room, making the dark night outside their windows even more ominous. Dean tried to dull Sam's mind on the topic of monsters by staying nearby.
Dean brought up a glass cup and a carton of milk, somewhat distractedly pouring his little brother a drink. Then he walked back over to the stove to check on Sammy's dinner.
"Bean, when's Daddy coming back?" Sammy restated his question from earlier that day. Truth be told, Sammy wasn't asking this because he missed his father, but rather because he missed Dean. Whenever Daddy wasn't hunting, he was training Dean, taking more and more quality time away from Sammy. Sammy loved his brother. He liked spending time with him. When Daddy got back, that'd be taken away, so Sammy tried to make the moments count.
"Tomorrow." Dean replied, pouring the contents of the pot into a bowl.
"When?"
"I dunno. He usually comes in late, though." He placed the bowl in front of Sammy. "Now eat your dinner."
Sammy looked down into the bowl with distaste. "I'm sick of scabetti-os."
Dean raised his arms, dumbfounded. "You're the one who wanted them!"
"I want Lucky Charms!"
"There's no more."
"Not true! I saw the box!"
Dean set his jaw stubbornly. "There's only enough for one more bowl, and I didn't have any yet."
Sammy pouted. Then that's when he remembered the trick. The one that worked every time.
Sammy tilted his head and looked up at Dean with big eyes. As long as he looked cute he could practically get whatever he wanted. Just as he suspected, Dean sighed and took the Spaghetti-o's away, coming back with the red cereal box in hand.
Satisfied, Sammy grabbed the box and stuck his hand inside. A few moments of scavenging for the marshmallows, Sam came across something oddly shaped and wrapped in plastic. An idea striking him, he pulled out the toy and held it out to Dean.
"D'you want the prize?"
Dean blinked at him for several seconds before slowly smiling at the ground and taking the toy.
"Thank you, Sammy."
xXx
Dean bit the inside of his cheek, tearing off the loose skin. He'd been watching the TV for a while now, waiting for Sammy to drift off in the other room. Maybe he was finally asleep?
He leaned over the arm of the chair to peek into the bedroom. Sure enough, Sam was curled up on his side under the quilt, eyes closed, his feathery brown hair falling lazily over his face. Dean allowed a soft grin. Finally.
He stood up and turned off the TV. He pulled on his jacket, grabbed some quarters and the keys to the motel room and, with one last look at his brother, slipped outside.
This had been heavily advised against by his father, but hey - neither Dean nor Sam had encountered a single demon while in the house alone. Besides, he was only going to be a few minutes. Heaven knew he needed the fresh air.
Dean locked the door behind him and headed to the arcade in the reception.
xXx
After Dean had conquered Galaga thirteen times, he noticed the dimming of the lights and turned around, where an employee was shutting the arcade down. The guy met his eyes and called out to him.
"Hey, kid. We're closing up."
Dean nodded and thanked him before heading off to the motel room. After playing 'mom' to Sammy all night, it was relaxing to take a bit of time for himself.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He shed his coat and was about to turn the lock when he noticed something bright out of the corner of his eye. He turned a bit to see what it was.
Through the cracked door of the bedroom, Dean could see a light. At first he assumed Sammy had woken up and turned on the light but it seemed somehow… different. The light was whiter than the bulb allowed. And Sammy was awfully quiet. Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn't remember closing the bedroom door.
He crept forward. Carefully, he pushed the door slightly more open and peeked inside. What he saw stole the breath from his lungs and stopped his heart.
Sammy lie on his back, over the covers, limp as a ragdoll. Hovering over him was a creature so horrible, so disfigured, so wrong, that Dean felt like throwing up. It was a hag-like monster with scraggly white hair, skin like that of a decaying apricot, and gnarled hands like outstretched tree branches, the size of Dad's hands three times. It donned a torn black cloak, and its gaping mouth hung open, sucking in a strange light from the mouth of Sammy himself.
Dean tried not to gasp. He clamped his hands securely over his mouth and backed away from the doorway.
Oh no. Oh no. On no.
Numbly, he reached for the rifle. This couldn't be happening. It wouldn't happen. Dean wasn't about to allow Sammy to die like this.
He cocked the rifle.
Immediately, the creature's head whipped up, its glittering, beady eyes staring straight into Dean's soul. Dean froze, his muscles paralysed. He couldn't move; he was terrified.
Suddenly, he heard a loud, shrill crash behind him, and a deep voice shouted "Get out of the way!"
Dean quickly fell to the ground, covering his head as several gunshots rang out. A shriek escaped the ghoul as it was penetrated by the iron shells, and it hissed as it jumped away. Dean shakily looked up at Sammy's head hanging over the side of the bed. His eyes were slightly open and his skin was extremely pale. Dean reached out for him but he jumped when a loud shattering broke through the air, and the monster escaped through the window.
It was gone.
John gave a moan of worry and rushed over to Sammy's side. Dean stood up, watching shakily as his father shook Sammy gently, calling his name, attempting to wake him. For a terrifying moment, it didn't work. Dean felt a tightness rise in his throat. By leaving, what had he done?
Then, Sammy coughed weakly and opened his eyes. He cleared his throat, staring blankly up at John. "Hm... Dad? What's going on?"
John sighed and held Sammy close for a moment, rubbing his hair. Then he turned to glare at Dean. Dean felt his heart stop again. His father looked so disappointed…
"What happened?"
"I-I…" Dean almost wanted to lie. He didn't want to have to deal with Dad's ashamed looks for the rest of his life. The looks that would remind him every day for the rest of his life how he almost killed Sammy. But he couldn't. He just couldn't lie to John Winchester's eyes. "I just went out…"
"What?!"
Dean flinched. "For just a second! I-I'm sorry!"
"I told you not to leave this room." John seethed. "I told you not to let him out of your sight!"
Dean hung his head. He couldn't look at his father. He couldn't look at his brother. Every night for years afterwards, Dean would have nightmares about tonight; about how he had almost lost his little brother. About how it was his fault. He'd remember the expression on his father's face and how he'd never look at him the same again. He thought he could never be forgiven.
xXx
Sixteen years later, Dean shouted for a kid to hide under the bed. The shtriga they'd shot at emitted a loud screech, opening its mouth wide. Next to Dean, Sam cocked his gun and shot it again several times. It wailed lengthily and fell to the ground.
After a short moment of silence, Dean called, "Mike, you alright?"
"Yeah," The boy responded shakily from under the bed.
"Just sit tight." He advised, and circled around the bed to get a look at it. As its face came into veiw, all the horrible memories it'd given him as a kid came rushing back. This was the monster that had almost killed Sam. This was the monster that had snuck past his careless defenses and tried to suck the life away from one of the only people who'd ever mattered to him. What a disgusting creature, at that.
At the thought of his brother, Dean looked away briefly to meet Sam's eyes. His little brother wasn't so little anymore, having experienced so much of the loss and pain that came with this way of life; having been to school only to realize it'd all been for nothing, having had a girlfriend only to find her dead, coming to be with his brother only to find danger at every turn. Sammy wasn't an innocent little kid anymore. Then Dean wondered if either of them had ever been that.
Suddenly, Sam's eyes widened. "De-!"
Dean felt a flash of pain as he was thrown across the room, smacking against the wall and throwing everything into a blur. He faintly heard Michael scream and Sam cry out. Sam's cry was cut short as the dark shape that was the shtriga whisked past Dean and jumped him.
Dean grabbed at the wall, trying to pull himself up. Michael was breathing hard under the bed, having a panic attack, but Dean couldn't hear anything else. What was the shtriga doing to Sam?!
His vision was cloudy, but he could see well enough to make out his brother pinned beneath the monster, a white light connecting them slightly. It was happening again. After all these years, now the shtriga was going to finish what it started.
Not on my watch.
Dean lifted his gun. "Hey!"
The shtriga had only seconds to look up before the bullet sliced straight through its skull-between the eyes, to symbolize all the headaches it had caused Dean, all the nightmares it had plagued him with. The shtriga gasped sharply several times, going rigid and falling backwards.
Dean leaned over Sam, examining him. His face was as pale as it had been that night, and his breathing was quick and sharp. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking stupidly. He looked more shocked than hurt, though. Dean couldn't blame him.
Sam looked up into Dean's face incoherently. Dean gave him a half grin.
"You okay, little brother?"
Sam unsteadily lifted two thumbs up, smiling weakly. Dean grabbed his hands pulled him to his feet, patting his shoulder. Sam was okay. He was going to be okay.
Dean then glanced distastefully over at the shtriga, which was slowly disintegrating. Not fast enough, in Dean's opinion. He pulled out his gun and fired at it point-blank, giving it just about ten more holes. Not as many as he wanted to fire at it (for all of Dean's experiences with it, he wanted to leave it mangled and unrecognisable), but he needed to conserve bullets.
The shtriga crumbled to dust as they watched.
Mike peeked out from under the bed.
"It's okay, Michael." Dean called to him. "You can come on out."
Mike slowly crawled out from under the bed, breathing slower now. He stood beside Dean as he watched the monster disappear.
"Good riddance." Sammy whispered.
Dean looked over at him. Sammy had sensed his distress concerning this creature. Maybe he knew how much Dean hated this thing. Maybe that's why he helped him destroy it.
Or maybe his help was a message he'd been trying to convey. A message for Dean; a message to let Dean know that after all these years, Sammy forgave him.
Some say that all mistakes are forgivable. Dean used to think otherwise. Dean had almost let his brother die, and that was something he'd never let himself forget. But now, as he looked at Sammy, confident and trusting, he knew that the past no longer defined him.
Dean allowed a soft smile to come. Perhaps there'd be no more nightmares now. Perhaps, finally, Dean would feel at peace.