Short little dity I wrote after "Playthings," so there ARE SPOILERS FOR PLAYTHINGS. If that doesn't bug you, read on!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Promises Made and Broken
"I can't. I promised."
Sam just stared at his older brother. Dean stared back, like that simple statement explained everything.
"What? Who?"
Dean dropped his eyes. "Dad. He made me promise."
The Impala sped down the rural road, rain hitting the windshield, pattering on the roof, making interesting patterns as it slid down the windows. They were heading out of Connecticut, away from the hotel, from the old woman, the room full of dolls, and the ghost.
But they weren't heading away from the promise.
"Before dad died, he told me something. He told me something about you."
"What? Dean, what did he tell you?"
He'd never be able to escape the promises he made, no matter how hard he tried.
"I'm going out for a little while," John Winchester said softly, staring his six-year-old son in the eyes, "you're in charge, Dean. Take care of Sammy, all right?"
"All right, daddy."
"I want you to promise me that you'll keep him safe. Can you do that?"
"Yep," the little boy replied, eyes shining with the weight of the responsibility his father was trusting him with, "I promise."
He glanced at Sam, who was busy angsting, humming droopy music to himself, and staring out the rainy window.
"Save him, Dean," John whispered, knowing his time was growing thin, "if you can't save him, you'll have to kill him."
Dean jerked away, back pressing against the hospital pillow, shock apparent on his pale, scarred face. "Dad-?"
"Promise me," John begged, squeezing his son's shoulder.
"Fine," the younger man sighed, shoulders slumping with the weight of the burden his father was shouldering him with, "I promise."
Dean turned his eyes back to the road, thoughts and memories racing through his head, guilt gnawing at his stomach, anger constantly threatening to lash out and hurt the one person he had left.
He didn't know what to do.
"Watch out for Sammy."
"Yeah, dad. You know I will."
Unless that hadn't been what he'd meant.
"You need to watch out for me, Dean."
"I always have."
"No. You need to watch out for me."
Dean shuddered, even though the heater was blasting a continuous stream of warm air into the car.
It felt like his life was spinning out of control, like he wasn't in charge of anything anymore. He was losing his edge, losing his brother, losing his grip on his thoughts and emotions and life.
Things were starting to get bad.
"I need you to promise," Sam slurred, "that you'll kill me."
"I can't do that."
"You promised dad."
Why is it that drunks always seem to be able to think better than sober people? "Dad's an ass."
He hadn't been able to believe the words had left his mouth. Hell, if Sammy hadn't been wasted, his jaw probably would have dropped the six required feet to the floor in shock.
Dean just didn't say things like that.
Dean had always been the good son.
"Promise me."
"I promise," Dean said sadly, heart breaking with the thought of the murder his brother was making him commit.
Dean had promised.
He'd promised his father he'd look out for Sam, and now the younger man sat beside him with a broken wrist and thoughts of a murderous destiny.
He'd promised never to tell Sam the secret, promised that Sammy would never know, and now he did.
He'd promised his remaining two family members that he'd kill the psychic if it came right down to it.
"You can't protect me from this," Sam said, face set and determined, eyes dark as he considered his fate.
"I can try."
Dean had broken promises before, so what was one more?
So, yeah. That's it. Any comments?