Expert's craft
An expert spends their life immersed in their trade; living, breathing and just existing in their field. Not much time and consideration is given to the inconsequential aspects of life that do not directly relate to their area of proficiency. It is their job to be the most knowledgeable person on that thing. Sacrifices are made, feelings are often hurt and lives are only half lived. That is the choice made by an expert because really, what else is there?
That's how Dean saw himself, an expert in Sam Winchester, his baby brother, whose sole purpose was to protect and love unequivocally. He was the protector; every choice he ever made was to care for Sam. From the day he ran out of the burning house, lungs choking on the poisonous air, his body protecting Sam from harm, Dean Winchester's profession was to prevent harm from reaching his baby brother. And now. Now he had awoken from a hellish nightmare, one where he left his little brother in the murderous hands of someone who wanted to harm him. He allowed that dick to have a shot at killing Sam, he gave his god damn permission. He has been chasing his Sammy around the bunker, trying to smash his skull in with a gad damn hammer. All because he couldn't face the depth of his despair. All because he didn't want to be human anymore. He chose to be emotionless and unfeeling; he chose to have a blackened soul, so that he could finally stop feeling. The ultimate selfish choice.
Not many people truly love someone, love them so deeply that they would watch the world burn to save them. Dean does and has. He let the world suffer by not closing the infernal Gates of Hell, choosing his brother, choosing to be the guardian and sentinel of his better half. That's exactly what Sam is, his better half, his reminder of what he is fighting for and why he must never step past that ominous line that would destroy his soul forever. What a joke. Considering the choices he made. He chose to try and burn the world down to kill Sam, his Sammy. Oh god. How can he get passed this? His heart conspired to kill him, as it twisted into an unstoppable, deep-seated ball of self-hatred and disappointment. How hard Sam fought for Dean, the lengths he went to. Christ. The things Sammy did and he just left him in the dust of his rear view mirror. Like he was nothing. How wrong that idea is.
When you fail in your duty, when you irrevocably destroy the element of sole importance to you, when you choose to let it shatter and break, that is when the fires of Hell truly consume you. Dull blackness devours you; guilt, an unforgiving reality. When your singular reason for living becomes nothing to you, when you make a cold, detached choice to sacrifice that, this is when you know you have well and truly gone off the reservation. So far, you are not even sure how to return any more. Dean wonders whether he even should anymore. There is only so long you can scrape through life before you truly question the merit of your choices and the reality of your self-destructive tendencies. Can he really protect Sammy from the dangers of this world, from the darkness within both of them and make him proud of them again? Should he really be trying to make amends for his sins? At some point, you have to accept the truth. His poisonous arms have embraced Sammy, corrupted him, and driven him to depths of hell to protect their family. How many times can you glue back together the broken shards of your life?
He knows he will have to face Sam when he comes back, so eagerly on an errand to fetch Dean's favourite foods and beer. To welcome Dean back into his loving arms, so desperate to save him from himself. How can he face him? How can he hold his life's work in his arms, grasping him close as he is finally back with his comrade, his confidante and kindred spirit?
He fears that Sammy's love; his kindness and unwavering belief in him will be his undoing. Not because he is afraid of dying for Sam, as far as he is concerned, that is his predestined death, in place of his most beloved one. That bullet has his name on it and it is this expert's reward; protecting his métier from everything, which apparently now included Dean. No, his fear is that Sammy's devotion and resolute credence in his older brother, so unworthy of such reverence and love, will ruin him. He did not deserve Sammy. His savior who cured him; his savior who cursed him with facing reality and accepting all the overwhelming crap that came with being Dean.
Where was he to go from here?
Rustling bags thudded onto the spotless kitchen surface, Sam placed an endless supply of greasy food substances, all undoubtedly Dean's favored dishes, and he called out to his brother. It was as though it was any other given day after a hunt. Sam worshipping at the alter of Dean, fussing, providing and demonstrating his devotion through mindless affectionate acts. The careless act of brotherly devoutness almost broke Dean, if it was even possible to be any more shattered than he was.
Desperation, love and comradery drove Dean towards a brokenly hopeful Sam, grasping the scruff of his hair; he dragged his head forward to bump heatedly against Sam's. "Next time-" his raspy voice broke and he carefully cleared away the tears crawling out of his damaged soul "next time you drive that blade home and kill me. The day I threaten you. The day I seize to fight for you. That is my hell. You end me, you hear? You hear?" Before Sam had the chance to refute the command or before Dean could crumble into his pit of misery, he briefly increased the pressure of his forehead on Sam's. "It's you, it's always been you. Not a demon life, not Crowley; nothing. The day that you are not my world, that's my end. There is no world without you Sammy. So vou god. Damn. End me." He swept away from Sam to collect the icy bottles of beer, with tiny beads rolling down the necks.
"You hear me Dean; no matter what, now matter how, I will always choose my family; I will always fight to save you. You are no sacrificial lamb; you are my world and I fight for what matters to me. Let all hell break loose if I have to, brother."
Closing his sad, tempestuous eyes, the words caressed his lips; throat aching from unspent tears "we will burn this world to the ground." Dean raised the bottle to meet Sam's. "To my little brother."
"To my world."
The bottles clinked dangerously as the brothers maintained a dangerous silent battle, communicating only as brothers can, as people who know each other so completely and intimately. Dean trying to send every possible apology and desperate plea for Sam to both leave him for his safety and to never be away from his side again; Sam projecting every morsel of love and relief that he felt at being back with his brother. It barely scratched the surface of them moving forward from this, of their world ever being ok again. So much damage was wrought; there are only so many knocks a bond can take before it fractures. How many knocks would it take for the Winchesters to be permanently separated? Neither brother cared to find out; Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, his silent thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for fighting for me. Thank you for choosing me. Explicitly shared in the Dean Winchester way; unspoken words and meaningful glances. All clearly received in the Sam Winchester way; with understanding, patience and compassion.
Sam Winchester: an expert at work; molding, shaping and shielding with the hands of a connoisseur. Dean was his specialty, despite their recent lapse. He was the protector; every choice he will ever make will be to care for Dean. He will live and breathe his chosen sphere; living, breathing and just existing in his field, in his older brother and in repairing the damage he has caused. Sam Winchester is an expert in Dean Winchester and he will spend his life dedicated to that cause. That is the choice made by this expert because really, what else is there?