Title: Dulce et Decorum Est
Author: Derry
Disclaimer: Not mine. Seriously. No profit made nor harm intended.
Spoilers: Mostly Malleus Maleficarum, but all episodes up to that are fair game too.
Warnings: Angst, suicidal ideation, some coarse language
Other notes: Short and probably about to be completely nullified by canon, this fic is really as much my musings as Dean's about the ramifications of a certain issue raised in Malleus Maleficarum (yes, THAT one). The title owes something to the Horace, but probably even more to Wilfred Owen. Thanks to Starrylizard for casting a quick beta-eye over it, but of course all mistakes it still contains remain my own.
Summary: Immediately post-Malleus Maleficarum, Dean Winchester considers his options.
Just step back into the room, close the door, try not to trip over anything in the dark and hope to hell that Sam isn't still awake and wanting to talk about what happened out there tonight. There's been more than enough discussion for one night. No amount of talking is going to make anything better.
The Colt is still lying on top of Sam's open duffle and Dean remembers there was a time when it did seem like the gun might have been able to make things a little better. But not now. Not for this. Nothing can fix this.
"Stoic" Ruby said, before she tried to go for the jugular with "heartbreaking." She might have switched sides, but does she seriously expect him to break down weeping or bare his soul to some demon chick? He'll see her in Hell first.
Yeah, maybe he will.
He does believe now, that there's no escaping the Pit. And every soul sent there has their humanity burned away, becomes a demon. Every single one. There's no hope of salvation.
When he made the Deal, he accepted death. He accepted that he'd have to endure whatever Hell thought it could throw at him. Hellfire, torment, the death of hope. That all was his sacrifice to make. That was the bargain.
Not this. Not losing all that has ever made him human and becoming something that destroys everything he's ever loved.
The Colt feels heavy in his hand. He doesn't remember picking it up, but it's a good weight. It feels like Justice. It feels like Salvation.
He remembers what his father said about it and if this gun can kill demons - not just send them to Hell, but actually kill them - then surely any Hell-bound soul killed by the Colt couldn't still be demonised by the Pit. Surely, they'd just... end. Neither salvation nor damnation. Just... nothingness. Surely that's an option.
Only, it isn't. Not for him. He can't take his soul off the bargaining table, not even by his own death, because that would mean breaking the Crossroads Deal and that still means the end of Sam's life. And Sam needs to live. Now, more than ever.
Sam needs to save the world. He can and he will.
And if Dean can't be saved from the Pit, then he's just going to have to fight harder than he's ever fought before because it might take centuries, she said. Long enough for Sam to live his life. Long enough for him to fight and maybe even win this war. If it can be won.
What the hell, she thinks every soul ever sent to Hell became a demon? No way, bitch. Not every one.
Not Dad. John Winchester clawed his way out of Hell still human enough to know his kids, still Dad enough to save them. Wherever Dad is, he's not a demon nor on his way to becoming one.
Okay, maybe that's not something that Dean really knows for sure, but it's something he believes with everything he's got. He has to. And if Dad saved him, he's sure as hell going to save Sam. He's just got to keep fighting.
Personal salvation is just a fairytale that he's never really believed in anyway. Hellfire be damned. Dean Winchester might burn in the pit for all eternity, but he's not going to let those sons of bitches turn him into one of them.
No. Fucking. Way.
