TITLE: Untitled
AUTHOR: Allocin
SUMMARY: Dead Man's Blood coda. Dean is not an animatronic soldier.
RATING: G
CATEGORIES: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam
A/N: Dean has taken up residence in my head. I don't know whether to hug him or kill him.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and characters are not mine. I make no profit from this. Don't sue plzkthx.

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Dean is standing by the open trunk, wiping his machete down with an old rag when Sam approaches him. Even without really looking, he can tell Sam is clenching his teeth, a deep frown on his face. Dean is methodical with his task, placing the blade carefully in its proper place and belying none of his own thoughts. He is as irritated and impatient as Sam, but Dean knows how to pick his battles.

"So now what?" Sam asks in that confrontational tone that always grates on Dean's nerves. The tone that says he will squabble and argue with whatever the answer is. Dean slams the trunk shut and brushes past Sam to the driver's door. "Dean, we can't just drive off," Sam says.

"Yes we can, Sammy," is the brisk answer. They can drive off; they were instructed to do it. Sam slides into the seat next to him.

"But what about dad? You're just gonna leave him?" said incredulously, like he can't believe Dean is obeying this order out of all the ones given to him.

"Dad's a grown man, he can take care of himself," Dean says. Gruff and distracted. His mind is preoccupied by things other than Sam's disbelieving scoff.

"I don't believe you! We're finally together again, just like you wanted, and you're willing to let him take off? Again?" Sam gestures with his hands as if he can encapsulate all his frustration with Dean and their father and everything. Dean has still not started the car yet. "Y'know, you're just as bad as dad. You say one thing but you do something that completely contradicts it. You want us to be a family, but you're willing to send dad away the minute something comes looking for us, just like it always does."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean says. And for once, Sam does. Dean is looking at his hands, resting against the inner bottom ring of the steering wheel, but he's not really seeing them. Because despite what Sam may think, he is not a mindless soldier. He has ideas and opinions of his own. Normally they coincide with his father's; if that makes him seem whipped, then so be it. He does what he has to do, takes what he has to take.

He turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life under his fingertips, a blast of encouraging sound.

"Dean?" Sam asks, and he's unsure. He can spot the stubborn set of Dean's jaw, the one that says there is nothing in this world that can stop me from doing this. He floors the gas and heads onto the dark road. "Dean, what about –"

"You tracking any evil with that spidey sense of yours?" Dean cuts in. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sam's face, open and plainly shocked. The twist in Dean's lips says don't question this.

"They're close," Sam says. "Take a left at the bottom, and we can walk it from there." Dean nods once and there's nothing more to say.

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