This is a one-shot that will an AU likely by tongiht. But this idea gripped me and I had to post it. I'd love to know what you think of it.
I don't own anything Supernatural.
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Cussing he could have handled.
Throwing things he would have understood.
Physical aggression he could have defended against, even while he withstood the verbal lashing that would have been sure to accompany an emotional outburst.
Except there was no emotional outburst. There was no cussing and swearing, no having to duck flying books, or having to make sure all the knives were safely in the trunk.
Dean had gone quiet. He'd been so self-contained. It seemed like his father's death hardly rattled him at all. He seemed to be working hard at shrugging it off and moving on.
But Sammy knew better. Sammy knew that Dean wasn't fine, he wasn't ok, he wasn't actually coping, and that sooner or later the other shoe was going to drop with the weight of one of Wily E. Coyote's anvils and it was going to leave a wake of destruction that the brothers might not recover from.
And now this.
Dean hadn't said much since his assault on his faithful Impala. He hadn't even acknowledged to Sam that he'd taken his temper out on his baby. He was just treating the trunk lid as one more repair that had to be done before they hit the road.
But this… this was throwing it all back in Dean's face again. Throwing it back with interest. Literally.
Because Sam was holding a cheque. A cheque made out to Sam Winchester, in the amount of $200,000. A cheque from their father – or more appropriately from their father's insurance company. A cheque made out to his only living beneficiary. Made out to Sam
Because Dean was dead. And among the other things dead men don't do, they don't inherit their father's life insurance benefit.
As far as the claim adjusters at the insurance company were concerned John Winchester only had one son. Ever since St. Louis, when he killed his double to save his brother, Dean Winchester had been officially numbered among the dead.
Which had never sucked as much as it sucked when Sammy received his inheritance, and Dean got squat.
Sam didn't think that his brother's calm was going to survive this latest affront. He suspected he was not only looking at more money than he'd ever seen at once, he was also holding the proverbial spine severing piece of straw that cause camel consternation.
But so far… Dean was still being silent. But Dean has gone utterly still with the news, he'd frozen completely.
And Sam knew if was because Dean couldn't just shrug this off, he couldn't just assimilate this latest cosmic insult and move on. This was unfair, it was unjust, it was…
"Whatever."
Whatever? That's all Mr. Stoic was going to accord this colossal piece of truly bad circumstance?
No. No way. Sam was going to push. And hard.
"Dean, you can't just shrug this off. I can deposit half of it to an account in your name. I can…"
"In my name? In my name?" Dean's tone was sarcastic, but still none of the fully leashed but broiling turmoil had been allowed to escape.
"In case you missed the memo, I'm dead. And my name isn't going to get you very far at the bank. Keep the money. Save it for when you go back to school."
Dean started to turn away, but Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him from turning back to his car. Dean just regarded his brother coolly, all his carefully guarded control still firmly in place.
"Dean, I'm sorry that it's my fault you're dead, and I'm sorry that on paper Dean Winchester doesn't exist any more, but half of this is yours. I can give it to you in cash…"
"I don't want the damn money Sam." Dean's much vaunted composure had micro-fissures appearing across its calm surface.
"Dean, I'm sorry the world thinks you're dead…"
"Stop it Sammy, just stop. Yes it sucks that I can't be me any more, it sucks that I can't have a bank account or a legit job under my own name. And it utterly sucks that I can't inherit anything from my loving father because I pre-deceased him by a year. And it really sucks to be dead when you find out from an acquaintance who stumbled across your gravestone that according to the groundskeeper no one attended my burial or had ever visited my grave. It sucks big time to be continually reminded that to most people you don't matter, don't count, don't even exist. But none of this is anything I can do anything about Sammy. It just is. There isn't anything I can do to change it. I can't go back in time and just let Zach take his own fall, I can't…"
Sam interrupted his brother who was still remarkably composed, but maybe just one more push…
"But Dean, aren't you angry at being screwed over again? Aren't you ticked that you did everything Dad ever wanted your whole life, and because of me and my friends you get nothing? Aren't you pissed at me for…"
"ALL RIGHT!" Dean almost shouted the phrase. He lowered his volume, but what he lacked in sheer volume he gained in tightly focused intensity. "Yes, I'm pissed. At Dad, at the demon, at life, at you, at your friends. There's not too many people I'm not angry with right now. But I can't DO anything about any of that. What I can do, is what I've always done: hunt and look out for my brother. And I don't need money to do those things, I don't need acknowledge…"
"YES, You Do! You do need acknowledgement, you do need people to see Dean, you do need to be still a part of something. And you are Dean, you are important, you are vital and you are still a part of something: you're the last, best part of my family, man. You're all I've got left. And I don't want to lose you to a monster, I don't want to lose you to the demon, and I don't want to lose you to your anger and total shut down because you're pissed at Dad for dying."
"Jesus Christ, Sammy – I'm not pissed at Dad for dying – I'm pissed at Dad because he killed himself to save me – do you not get that? Do you not see the math that says Healthy Dad plus Demon Summoning Spell, plus Dying Son equals Deal with the Devil, Suddenly Dead Dad and Mysteriously Healthy Son who somehow single-handedly ditched a reaper? Fucking hell, Sammy, Dad killed himself for me, and goddamnitall I'm not worth the sacrifice, he was worth ten of me, and now I have to live with the knowledge that yet another person has died in my place. A person who had so much more to offer, and who had so much business unfinished. It was my time. The reaper was after me because my time was up – not Dad's time, not your time, but mine. How the hell do I live my life now? How do I justify that kind of sacrifice? "
Dean still wasn't shouting. But his eyes were brimming with tears, and he had turned away from his brother. He had one mission left: really it'd been his only mission: protect Sammy; and he was going to do that as long as Sammy let him, and then after that he'd hunt solo til the end. An end he expected would be brief and painful, but hopefully more meaningful than the death he'd supposedly already suffered.
Dean couldn't look at Sammy, who apparently either hadn't put two and two together previously or he had done the math, but had been living in denial. If Dean was going to burst his bubble, he'd better tell him the whole truth.
"I wanted proof, y'know? After the demon, after it messed with my head, after it said you guys didn't need me, after it said…" that you were Dad's favourite… " after… I just wanted to know that I mattered. I wanted to know that everything I've ever done for this family mattered."
Dean's breath hitched as he tried to stifle a sob that finally threatened to break free. "And, man I got my proof! I got it in fuckin' spades! Undeniable, irrefutable, 100 indelible proof that Dad loved me, was proud of me and that I fuckin' mattered." Dean's breathe caught as the first sob finally broke through. "Cause nothing says I love you, like offin' yourself for s-someone. Hallmark n-needs to up d-date its c-cards s-selection, c-cause I don't…"
And that was it for Sammy. And Dean. Sam pulled his sobbing brother, around and to himself and enveloped him in a fierce, crushing hug, as if trying to prove Dean mattered to him by sheer physical force. Sam felt his own sobs welling up inside him, felt his own anger at the man who had offered his own life for his brother and felt incredibly pissed that he'd so misread his father. And pissed at their life that left them orphaned, alone, and with huge burdens of guilt and sorrow for things they can't change and people they couldn't save.
And Sam wasn't repeating either "it's ok" or "just let it out" as both of those mantras were meaningless. He was repeating the only truth he could offer: "I've got you, I've got you".
It was truer now more than ever. And it was all he could think of to say. Because he didn't know how Dean was going to move on from this; he didn't know how to cope with the knowledge that his father had willingly sacrificed himself to the demon; he couldn't even make his worldview take on a comforting shape. But what he did know, the one fact he could hold onto, that he could take with him to his grave – hell now he could take it to the bank – was that whatever happened they'd face together.
Because the one truth that Sammy had always known his whole life was still true, but now that creed that said big brothers gave their all to their little brothers would have to work both ways. He did have Dean. And he was never letting go.
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