Disclaimer: Still belong to their creator, not to me. *sad*
Summary: Dean thinks rather depressing thoughts sometimes. Set right after Sympathy for the Devil.
Bobby said we loved Sam too much to let him go. Now I know how wrong he was. We didn't love him so much that we were killing him. We loved him so much that we couldn't kill him, even though I'd known for a while now that Dad was right. God help me, Dad was right. About Sam, about everything. I couldn't save him, I couldn't, or wouldn't, kill him, and I had let him bring on the apocalypse. Even Cass tried to warn me about how dangerous Sam was, how much he needed to be stopped, but I didn't listen to him, either. I basically told him that he was a self righteous, pompous dick and if he knew what was good for him, he'd fuck the hell off.
Now the whole world is paying for how blind I was. I can't remember the last time I trusted Sam completely, but I want to say it was some time before I took my trip to the pit. I couldn't trust him totally right before because he trusted that hell bitch too much. As soon as I started to doubt him, I should have killed him. He would have understood then. Hell, he would have understood before then, even. Back when he was making me promise to kill him. But he never killed anyone outright. I know now that he didn't have to. Evil is so fucking subtle. It wouldn't have let Sam tip me off by doing shit that I would have seen through.
My eyes sting, but I'll be damned if I let him see me cry. It would only make me look weak and make him feel bad. I know he feels bad already, but feeling bad about this would be like… no, there's nothing I can compare this to. No one in the history of the world has fucked up as royally as Sam has, lived to tell about it, and still have enough humanity in him to be sorry about what he's done. But that does nothing to ease my mind.
Because, if I'm honest with myself, it's my fault too. Maybe even more my fault than his, because I was human enough to see the signs, but I didn't stop it. I was too wrapped up in my own guilt to stop it, and then, I was too stubborn.
I pull into a cheap, rundown motel and stop the car. "Dean?" Sam's voice startles me, but I don't show it.
"Yeah?"
"It's seven o'clock. Why are we stopping already?"
"Because Sam… I'm tired. Do whatever you want, but I'm going to bed."
End