Where you end (is where I begin)
.
(For Amy)
Dean is a simplistic guy. He's always been. That doesn't mean that he does not have a complex personality; he just chooses to never overcomplicate things. He cannot be bothered to do so, because he has more important things to care about. His mind is set on the essential aspects of his life, which makes it much easier not to lose his focus.
There are three things by which he defines himself. Everything he is, everything he was and everything he thinks he ever will be, can be summed up in three simple phrases, and it is all you ever need to know to understand Dean Winchester.
3) He is a hunter.
It's what he was raised to be. It's hard to remember a life before the endless drills, the weapon checks, the research, the wariness, the greasy diner food and the crappy motel rooms that always change and still basically look the same, blurring together in his mind. The only memories he has of what happened before the fire are vague, hazy pictures of their mother – and he will be damned before he ever tells Sam that sometimes he forgets what her voice sounded like – and faint reverberations of her singing and bringing him to bed.
The bottom line is that it's night impossible for him to look back at his life and detect any traces of normalcy. The last shard of that died the very moment John pressed little, fragile Sammy in his arms and told him to run. There used to be a time, long ago, when this might have made him angry, but in the end, he has never really questioned it. His grandparents were hunters, his mom was a hunter before she quit, his father is a hunter, he will be a hunter. He might not have known this before, but there is an inevitability to his life that he has long since come to accept. Years later, when friggin angels of the Lord will come down to earth to lecture him about destiny, he will tell them to shove it up their asses, because this is as far as he goes with the destiny thing: Apple-pie lives are great, but they weren't made for him. All his life, he has wanted to protect and save people, and that's what he does, so he's good with it.
End of story.
2) He is a son.
And he is a good son, too. He was a good son to his mother: when she, gentle, loving and sweet, was sad, he tried to make her smile. He cannot make his father happy, not since she died, not really, but he can make him proud, and he can lift some weight of his shoulders. His father is the person he looks to for guidance, and he does as he is told. He does not question the orders he is given, and he this is not only because John raised him to be a soldier, or because his father taught him everything he knows about every evil thing he ever came across, or because it makes his dad's life easier, or because it makes his life easier. It's not even because he is mostly right with what he says.
Mostly, it's because of his gratitude for his father giving him something that defines him more than anything.
Because, you see, the essence of Dean Winchester's soul may be broken down to three things, but he is not made out of three equally large parts. He is a hunter (and a protector) and he is a son (and a soldier, and a supporter), but only to an extend of ten percent each. Eighty percent of him are reserved for something else.
1) He is a brother (and maybe a little bit of a father)
There is nothing more important than this.
Sam takes up such a big part of his heart and his mind that losing him would leave a void he couldn't ever possibly fill again. All his life, he has been watching Sam, watching over Sam, all the good memories he has feature him as the protagonist.
Sam, munching a spoonful of cereal, a drop of milk dribbling out of his mouth because he is giggling with joy when Dean promises to take him to the playground. Sam, nose buried in his book, frowning and biting his lips in extreme concentration. Sam, knees drawn up to his chest, watching the stars with wide eyes that never seem to lose the spark of innocence and curiosity he was born with. Sam, running towards him, waving his arms in excitement and puerile pride when he comes home with another A+ paper. Sam, rolling his eyes and squinching up his face in a horrible grimace and shoving Dean's shoulder in not quite so deep annoyance. Sam, sitting in the back seat of the Impala, staring out of the window, at the world flying by. Sam, laughing when Dean teaches him how to shoot. Sam, complaining about Dean's music choices but singing along with him nonetheless. Sam, typing away at his computer. Sam, letting himself fall back on the motel bed and sharing a beer with Dean.
Sam, curling himself up into a little ball under the covers and comfortably fitting himself against Dean's side as if he was always meant to be there.
Dean does not know who to be without his brother.
They were never meant to be apart. They have always been together. DeanandSam. SamandDean. One soul in two bodies. His brother fits into the space at his side perfectly, and Dean fits himself around him like it's the most natural thing in the world (and it is), enclosing him, protecting him, until, in the darkness, no one can tell where one ends and the other begins.
He can live without being a hunter. He can live without being a son. He cannot live without being a brother.
How does one live without a beginning, or a main part, or an end?
This is who he is.
This is all he needs.
A/N.: This was written for Amy and the "Strength for Amy" Project (if you don't know what this is, google it). I don't know you personally, but as it was said before, family don't end with blood, and the Supernatural fandom is the biggest family you will ever have. I wish you all the best, a lot of strength (which, I belive, you already have heaps of, but a little more can never hurt) and best of luck for your surgery.
Kick it in the ass, Amy!