Camp Chitaqua
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.
SN2014SN2014SN2014SN2014SN
Chapter 36: Choices
SN2014SN2014SN2014SN2014SN
Maybe they can do it right this time, make reparations for all their sins, can come out the winners.
But Sam doesn't have trust in any of that. Trusts Dean, yes. But their lives?! It never ends happily, fate doesn't care how much they sacrifice, their good intentions, just goes for their jugular.
Every. Single. Time.
And he can't do it, can't face a future where winning might mean he and Dean aren't standing side by side at the end. And it's selfish, it's really selfish considering he started this, kicked the lock off of the Cage. But he can't seem to care. It was heaven's plan and they bailed on it, set things in motion then got out of Dodge when things got too hot.
He can't be expected to be more righteous than heaven's showrunners, right?
'Dean will never go along with it,' he soberly shot down his own idea. And worse than Dean's denial…would be Dean's disappointment, maybe even disgust in him. So his idea…has to die. 'With one of us, huh?' because they aren't making it out alive, can't. That hasn't been their track record.
And that terrifying statistic gives Sam the courage to try, not to win but to convince Dean to do the unthinkable in their family: to let evil stand.
It's almost friggin' ironic that The Colt ends up in Dean's hands the very next day.
SN2014SN2014SN2014SN
It feels heavy in his hands, heavier than any other gun, heavier than it felt when he used it to kill Azazel.
Dean tries not to notice that his hand's trembling, sets The Colt on the table with a thunk and takes a step back. All those years searching for it, determined to find it, resolved to kill the monster that he thought was wearing his brother's meatsuit, soul and all.
He had been prepared to use it…to kill his brother.
Turning his back on the gun, he goes for the liquor, doesn't do anything as civilized as grab a glass, simply gulps down a burning swallow from the bottle. But it doesn't burn away the bile at the back of his throat. 'I was going to kill Sam. Was going to follow dear old Dad's commands to the edge… and way friggin' beyond.'
SN2014SN2014SN2014SN
By the time Sam enters the cabin, Dean's drunk, is just sitting in the dark, The Colt laid out within his grasp but he's not touched it since he put it down. Can't.
Sam says nothing. From the slice of moonlight slipping in from the open doorway at his back, he takes in his brother's slouched position, the bottle Dean's still got in hand and The Colt. Closing the door, he claims the chair at Dean's side and chooses to ignore The Colt, to concentrate on his brother. "So…The Colt," he says, like it's a revelation instead of probably the last nail in their coffin.
"The Colt," Dean repeats, head sloppily coming up, glazed eyes resting on Sam. "I looked…everywhere for it." Knows how wrong that was, to tirelessly look for The Colt…and to never look for Sam. Maybe he wants Sam's hatred for that, that desire making him say what he does next. "I was going to use it to kill you: Point blank Range." But Sam registers no shock or even hurt, simply nods his head sadly. 'Sad at me and my predictable obedience to Dad or sad that I have only one setting: blood lust?'
His hand reaches out for Sam but he misses, almost topples out of his chair …except Sam catches him, saves him.
Setting Dean back upright in his chair, Sam is reluctant to let his brother go, to trust his balancing abilities right then. But then Dean fists his hands in his shirt and it feels like he's grabbed ahold of his soul when his eyes search his, looking for…Sam doesn't know what.
"I shoulda looked for you…I shoulda let us be the dynamic duo …shoulda trusted you," Dean stammers, needs Sam to hear him, to know how sorry he was, that he knows how wrong he was.
"I wasn't trustworthy Dean," Sam bluntly counters, had years to think it through, replay that last conversation…..heck, all their conversations that last year and he knows he wasn't going to be ok, was going to come apart, would have dragged Dean down into the mire with him.
"We could have done things differently, have things…end differently," Dean insists and Sam stiffens at Dean's 'end differently'.
"Is that what this is, Dean? The end?" hates that his voice is hoarse, that his eyes are burning, that his planned speech to Dean about conceding the battle is imploding in his chest cavity right where his heart is.
But Dean looks away from him, looks to The Colt. "Colt's here, Sammy." And there's not hope in his tone, not determination that victory is neigh but sad acceptance of his condemnation, their condemnation.
And it infuriates Sam, Dean's acceptance that his life should always be forfeit for the greater good. Surging from the chair so abruptly that it crashes backward, he has Dean staring at him like he's a raving lunatic. And that is before he snatches The Colt off the table and throws it across the room, to smash through the glass window in the door.
"Sam, that's The Colt!" Dean shouts, coming to his feet, stumbling around the table but Sam grabs him at waist and shoulder, holds him back.
"We don't even know if it'll kill him, Dean! All you and I know is….we probably won't both survive the attempt," Sam shouts back, reaches up and cups Dean's face, gets his brother's clearing eyes sighted on him. "We don't have to do this, we can…survive. Right here. He doesn't have his vessel, he won't last much longer, he'll have to …quit and go home."
"We don't know that, Sam!" Dean parries back, afraid of what Sam's saying, of the way his heart's beating in his chest at even the idea….of getting a pass.
"No, we don't," Sam brokenly admits. Slipping away from Dean, he chides himself for thinking there was another path, that Dean would choose another path. He's heading for the door, to retrieve The Colt, to accept their fates when Dean says…
"It was easier…when I thought he had you, that I was….freeing you," Dean confesses, has lived with this truth for a month now even as the search for The Colt resumed. Because this face off…he wasn't ready for it, wasn't strong enough, righteous enough, brave enough to stand against the devil. Was just a man who had lost his mother, had cost his father his life and his soul, who had abandoned his brother, who had broken in Hell and had the blood of the world's current fatalities staining his soul.
Snagging onto the break in Dean's resolve, Sam swings around, crosses again to his brother. "So we keep our heads down, wait things out."
"Bury our heads while my …our mistakes burn the world down?" Dean charges, even as he wants so much to do just that.
"Heaven started all this, Dean. They used us, manipulated us. Now the world's on fire and we can't put out the flames. We can't. Us dying in some forlorn hope plan to kill the devil isn't going to change that," Sam rationalizes.
"So what, we do nothing…" Dean asks with more uncertainty than umbrage.
"We save people, like you already have Dean." Sam points out the door, indicating the camp. "Keep them alive…keep us alive."
"How can…can we just turn our backs on this?" Dean stammers, needs to know that, wants Sam to give him an excuse that he can believe, if only in this moment in time.
Tightening his grip on Dean's arms, feeling like there's almost hope that he can get what he wants, Sam entreats, "You said Mom didn't want us to grow up to be hunters, wanted us to be safe. Can't we just…be safe, Dean. For once in our lives, can't it just be enough to keep each other safe?"
Before Dean can answer, Cas walks in the door….. holding the Colt. "If I'm not mistaken, we just scoured the earth three times over for this thing."
When Dean walks by him, takes The Colt from Cas, Sam knows all is lost.
The gun isn't that heavy, feels right in his hand now, like a weapon instead of a burden to bear. Bypassing the table, Dean instead heads to his weapon cabinet…. and reverently but decisively puts The Colt in a place of honor and closes the cabinet. He turns to Sam even as his words are in response to Cas' inquiry, "Now we have it if we ever need it."
"Ever need it…I thought…" But Cas breaks off, sees the look pass between the brothers and has a feeling that the death sentence hanging over him and the two brothers has miraculously been lifted. A wide smile cracks across his lips. "Right, in case of emergency. So …I would say let's get drunk but I see you're already there."
"Always was ahead of the class," Dean brags as he reclaims his seat at the table.
"You mean clown of the class," Sam corrects, too relieved and happy to not be smiling like an idiot.
Joining the brothers at the table, Cas presents the things he thought he was bringing to the wake before their funeral. Tosses an apple at Sam and lays a slice of honest-to-goodness apple pie in front of Dean.
"What?! How?!" Dean stammers, hasn't seen a pie in a very long year.
"Last refugee we just took in, had a garden…and a knack for baking. I think she's a keeper," Cas deems with a wide smile.
"Definitely," Sam and Dean say at the same time.
But then Dean's eyes narrow and he perceptively asks Cas, "What did you get from her?"
"Oh, she's quite beautiful…" Cas reveals and Dean chuckles, offers up a "sly dog," which Cas takes as high compliments coming from Dean.
And then there's silence, but it's not the kind of silence that falls awaiting disaster but the type after a storm, when you know you survived. When you have faith in the fact that, all storms pass eventually, that even if the storm comes roaring your way again, you're stronger that it is, not because you're fearless but because you're not alone.
Cas decides that the world as he knows it has changed when Dean offers Sam half his pie..and Sam takes it. Knows things will never be the same when Dean accepts a similar gift and his friend merrily crunches on Sam's apple. And for the first time in a long time, even within his lifetime, he knows he's watching something special, that sometimes the end of an era is a miracle in the making.
"Crap, this is good," Sam praises, licking pie filling off his thumb.
"See, all these years and you never got that," Dean says, takes another bite from the apple before handing it back to Sam, knows they are Sam's favorite. Sam slides the pie back to Dean.
And Sam almost can't believe that it's happening, that Dean's agreed with him, that they have a chance now to have a life, albeit a crazy croat infested one, but one together. "Thanks," he hoarsely says to Dean because it needs saying.
Dean can't say 'you're welcome', because Sam's request, it was most likely saving his life. "Right back at ya," he says instead, enjoys Sam's smirk and then he's smacking Cas' hand away from his pie. "Hey, you are getting other "gifts" from our new recruit so hands off the pie."
"I'm not feeling the love," Cas grumbles but he's smirking, laughs when Sam throws him the apple which has exactly one more bite left. But he recognizes it for what it is: love and acceptance. Just like what Dean offers when he pulls something out of his pocket and slides it across the table to him with a quiet explanation of "Found this in my travels."
It's not his grace but it's something that restores a part of him. Is a silver necklace with a silver cross. And it reminds him of something he misplaced a while ago and it was time to restore. Looking up to Dean, he realizes the man understands him best of all, knows that he's been lost and needed to be found. And though Dean had done his best to keep him from losing his way, the man was hinting at the true compass he needed: the return of his faith.
"Thank you, Dean."
Dean simply nods, then he sits back in his chair and enjoys the company of his family. And though the rest of the world is in shambles, his world is as perfect as he needs it to be.
SN2014SN2014SN2014
THE END
SN2014SN2014SN2014
Well, a million thank yous to all my so reviewers! Your kindness was so appreciated. Also I wanted to thank everyone who put this story on their alerts or favorites.
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.