The flipside.
Disclaimer: Nothing but the bad spelling is mine.
Authors note: Again, the middle of the friggin' night here and I can't sleep. Apparently, this is what happens when I can't sleep.
It's unbeta'd (because I am not going to stalk my poor beta in the middle of the night, especially since I am going to be stalking her with 'The Road Ahead'. Also, If I don't post this now, I never will. I just don't have the same courage in broad daylight.
The silence was unnerving. Which was unnerving all by itself, because there had been silence between them before, both of the uncomfomtable and the companiable sort, but it had never been like this.
He would like to able to say that that was because he had never shot his brother before. Only that wasn't true. He had. So that couldn't be the reason then, that the silence stretched between them endlessly, leaving them more afraid to speak with every passing second, could it?
Or maybe it could.
Because he has shot him twice. Because who the hell shoots his own brother...twice??
"It wasn't you, Sam."
He can hear Dean speak those words, as if he were saying them right now. He probably was, trying to channel them into Sams mind by sheer force of thought and will. Like he knows he will always hear Dean say it, no matter the amount of years passing, no matter the amount of times he may shoot his brother.
'It wasn't him.'
No. He knew that. It wasn't him. It wasn't him that had punched his brother the face. It wasn't him that had shot him.
And that was exactly the problem.
It wasn't him.
It was a demon, possessing his body.
It was demon possessing his body.
A demon, possessing his body, aimed a gun at his brothers chest, and fired.
It wasn't him.
And yet, it was.
It didn't really matter that it was a demon throwing that punch, because it was his arm that it used.
The demon had known which body to take. Whose voice to use. It hadn't been a random occurence. It hadn't been a coincidence that this demon had taken control of Sam Winchesters body and opened fire on Dean Winchester.
There had been thought put into it, groundwork. It had wanted to hurt Dean, and it had known exactly how to do that.
It had taken Sams body, and used his appearance, his voice, his traits, to goad Dean into killing him, and when that hadn't worked, it had done everything in its power to get back at the older hunter. To hurt him the best way he knew. By taking possession of Sams body.
And it was.
The best way.
Because nobody can hurt Dean like Sam can.
And that, he realised, had nothing to do with the demon. That was all him. He was the reason the demon had chosen him to hurt Dean. He was the reason it worked. He was why Dean hurted.
He always was why Dean hurted, in the end.
Because, for all the facades and charades Dean puts so much effort into holding up, he's dangerously careless about letting the world see his biggest weakness.
For anyone who bothered to look, it was painfully obvious that nothing Dean ever did, was without Sam in mind.
Ever.
Because, for Dean, it's all about Sam. Always has been. Always will be.
And he...he let it happen. He's let himself become what he had sworn to Dean he was no longer. He has let himself be his big brothers number-one priority. He has let himself, once again, become the protected. Barely a week back on the road and he had let them fall back into the well established swing of things. The swing that dictated that Dean was the big brother, and Sammy was the little one. And the Big Brother protects the Little Brother.
Ergo; Dean protects Sam.
And he can't deny how easy it has been. To let himself be pushed aside and let his big brother jump headfirst into whatever was threatening them.
He has let himself become Sammy once more.
And, for that, Dean carries the scars.
Because the demon knew.
And Sam didn't.
And how did that happen? When did he stop seeing Dean? Or was that where the proverbial crux lay? Was it not a question of ceasing to see? Was it a matter of having never started?
Because he knew what he meant to Dean, knew his brother would go to any lengths to protect him. But, apparently, he hadn't realised how far along those lengths stretched. He had never truly realised how much his brother depended on him. How could he have believed Dean when he made that promise? How could he have sighed in thanks and fallen asleep. How could he, even afterwards, not have seen that Dean only made that promise because he couldn't not, simply because it was Sam asking. Begging. And Dean couldn't refuse his brother anything. He could never bear to see his little brother suffer. So, he did what he always did. What he had always done.
He looked his brother in the eye, whispered words of comfort and heaved the burden onto his own shoulders.
And he did it without Sam noticing.
Sam had to admit that Dean knew how to do his 'job' better than he had ever realised because he had never noticed how his brother hadn't really solved his problems, had only taken them from Sam and made them his.
Today, however, things changed.
Today, Sam noticed.
For the evidence of his neglect is etched on his brothers face.
And he can't make himself look away.
He stares at the bruises that mark his brothers face.
Bruises that he has put there.
Reminders of how much he, despite his vows to share his brothers burdens, has screwed up.
Because the demon knew. And he had let it happen.
He has let himself become the one thing that can break his brother.
No, it wasn't him.
I will stop hounding you soon! But after writing this so quickly, I couldn't leave it at this and I had to give them, or myself, some "closure" in the shape of a tiny chickflick moment.
Interested? Or do you want me to leave it?