Title: Dulce et Decorum Est
Genre: Gen, AU from Devil's Gate
Spoilers: Pretty much everything we know about the YED.
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1250
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them for a bit.
Summary: "See, the thing is that Sam is actually happy for once. Happy with their father for Christ's sake, and if that isn't the sign that something is actually wrong, amazingly, hugely, apocalyptically wrong, then Dean isn't sure what would be." --- Dean listens to Sam and does not take the Colt with him when they go to rescue their father. Everything changes from there.
See, the thing is that Sam is actually happy for once. Happy with their father for Christ's sake, and if that isn't the sign that something is actually wrong, amazingly, hugely, apocalyptically wrong, then Dean isn't sure what would be
He looks at Dean like he can't even tell what he's asking for, but Dean knows. He's always been able to tell what Sammy really wants, had been able to even back when they were kids and Sam would beg and beg for a comic book, or a cookie, or chocolate milk (the type with the rabbit on it, not just plain syrup), when really what he needed was some form of reassurance that he was still loved, even if Dad wasn't home and wouldn't be for days. Sam tended to demand one thing but need another and Dean's been a study of that dichotomy for decades.
Sam's asking Dean to keep away now for his safety, but what he needs is this connection with their father that he hasn't experienced for years. It's the unforeseen second chance that Dean first felt the signs of back during their hunt for the vampires, when he'd returned to the hotel clutching a jar of dead man's blood and more than half fearing that they'd torn each other apart in his absence. Instead he'd found the pair of them chuckling together over something that neither of them had ever explained.
Sam needs this phoenix chance with their father. Even Dad looks guardedly hopeful at the opportunity, like it's something precious that he'd lost once and never expected to find again. Between the two of them, it's damned heartbreaking and Dean hasn't ever really had it in him to deny either of them anything.
Even if what they're asking is for him to leave.
"Just for a while, Dean," Dad had said, his large hand curling around the nape of Dean's neck. His eyes had been dark and calm and serious, his gaze intense and so close to normal that Dean had almost been able to ignore the eerie feel of his father's thumb gently stroking up and down, fingers long enough almost to brush over his pulse. Dean's breath had caught in his throat, hair on his scalp bristling, but Dad hadn't even seemed to notice what he was doing, just kept talking low and even and whiskey smooth. "Just for a little while, then we'll regroup, take that son of a bitch down."
Sam hadn't hugged him goodbye as he might have once, as though doing so would invite a more permanent departure than what was promised. He'd watched Dean carefully as he'd loaded supplies instead, just as vigilantly as he had been ever since he'd woken up in the night screaming, Dean's death still flashing before his eyes. Sam had Seen Dean die and something in his vision made him certain that it would only happen with the three of them together and that it would happen soon. If Dean left, Dad had said when he learned of it, then they had a chance to circumvent Sam's future. He had sounded wretched even as he said it, but he was also determined and there was no mistaking that he was giving an order, not a suggestion.
Sam didn't want Dean to leave, that much was obvious. But then he was listening to Dad for the first time in his life and if Dad couldn't chance all of them being together, all of them at risk with two walking wounded after their skirmishes with the demon's minions, then for once Sam was able to back him. Dean had never been able to fare well against either of them individually. Both of them tag teaming him just wasn't fucking fair.
Sam's visions haven't been wrong before, no matter how uneasy they make Dean to think of. And Sam is sure, solidly certain, that if Dean stays, he'll die. Dean thought about explaining to him that his own death didn't particularly bother him so much, not if it meant that his family was kept safe, but he had looked at Sam's obstinate face and at the filial hope mostly hidden in his eyes and the words had died unsaid in Dean's mouth. He hasn't seen the two of them connect like this since Sam was first entering puberty. Watching them slowly circle each other, warily laying their guards down and remembering what it was to be ifather/i and ison/i makes him feel somehow redundant. Not needed.
As he if could tell, Dad had given Dean a task, something to keep both him and them safe. Dean would be acting as distraction to allow Dad enough time to give Sam a crash course in his weird psychic crap. He said he'd learned it from Missouri, though it was fairly obvious that the both of them shared a sense of misgiving and futile hostility at the sheer concept of entrusting Sam's safety to an outsider. But Dad trusted Missouri, had for years according to his journal, and he was certain that the demon was able to track Sam since he lacked any control. The old woman's tricks could help keep Sammy under wraps, at least for a while. Long enough for them to catch their breath and lick their wounds. Long enough to come up with a new game plan, something to put the Colt and the three final bullets to good use.
And it would give Dean a sense of purpose, Dad seemed to think. A bit of sugar to cover the bitterness of abandoning the family when they'd been laid low.
Even with Dad's assurances, there's still something about it that just feels wrong. Instinct knots in Dean's chest and coils there, heavy and low, sleek as cold blood and dirty as raw iron. He knows this is a bad idea, even as he's packing up to go.
It's not just leaving Sam behind, although that's a thousand different types of /wrong/ in its own right. Nor is it about walking out on Dad when the man was still recovering from shakes brought on by whatever drug concoction the demons had slid down his throat. It's something about how Dad's gaze lingers where it never did before, trailing over Dean as though he's taking his oldest son apart and finding new ways to slot him back together. It's something in how hesitantly excited Sam is becoming about being able to explore his freaky abilities. It's in how the both of them are just acting different, somehow not quite right, and how Dean is the only one who seems to be able to see it.
He casually laced both their beers with holy water the night before he was supposed to leave, but there was no reaction at all from Sam and nothing but a raised eyebrow from his father. He's never heard of a dark creature that holy water wouldn't work on and that's practically the ultimate assurance that things were okay. Instead though what should be a final certainty feels remarkably flimsy and shallow, like there's something that Dean hasn't picked up on yet, some other shoe waiting to drop.
He managed not to flush at his father's knowing gaze but Dean knew that Dad knew, and somehow after that the concept of getting away for a little while was just a little bit easier.
So Dean leaves, driving away in the Impala, misgivings sitting like sour beer in his gut. He watches their figures in the rearview, dust coiling up from under the wheels to almost obscure them from sight and if he was asked, he'd be completely unable to say exactly why the sight of his father and his brother standing so close together, not touching but with the sunlight reflected bright out of both of sets of eyes, their shadows trailing long and dark behind them, bothered him so damned much.