So I know I'm kinda stuck on Dean right now, but first of all; I'm a Dean girl, so it's natural. Secondly, I don't think that killing defenseless beings (angels or not) is something Dean would take lightly or let go that easily, so I'm trying to portray the amount of guilt I think would suit his character. In my humble opinion, no matter how far Dean has progressed, he still takes on a huge weight of responsibility for the things he's done. (ALSO HOLY CRAP CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE PREMIER LAST NIGHT? JEEZ). Anyway, enough with the A/N- onto the story.
Dean's POV
"Dean? Dean?"
The voice sounds scared, desperate. It's a tone I've been conditioned to respond to for my entire life, and it pulls me back now, back to the hard floor of the kitchen and the array of smashed containers and food that is now splattered across almost every inch of the tiles.
I blink past my blurry eyes, jerking back suddenly and smacking my head against the fridge when I see how close Cas's face is to mine. Jeez.
"Dean, are you alright?" he asks, kneeling in front of me, hands gripped tightly in the collar of my shirt, shaking me back to the present. And I want to respond, to tell him to get the hell out of my personal space, to back away and let me be, but in my head all I see is the stricken expression of a helpless angel right before I extinguished the light from his eyes.
So I just stare.
And suddenly there's a bucket of ice cold water being splashed across my face and most of my torso, soaking through my shirt and cascading down onto the floor, mixing in with the cold noodles of Sam's favorite pasta salad.
"Kevin, what the hell?" I yell, leaping to my feet and turning to face the prophet, who grasps the condemning bucket in his hands.
"Sorry," he stutters, "you...you were just sitting there. Cas and I were calling your name for a solid five minutes and you wouldn't budge. Had to snap you out of it somehow."
I clench my jaw to prevent myself from spewing the offensive string of profanities that threaten to slip past, instead focusing on taking deep breaths to calm myself. Who the fuck throws a bucket of freezing cold water on someone? Seriously?
I shake as much of the water as I can from my hair, some of the droplets landing on the countertop and glistening against the otherwise spotless surface. I pause for a second, watching them shimmer before stalking off towards the bathroom. Kevin and Cas follow close behind like two little goslings following their goddamn mother or something.
I whirl to face them, hands pressed against either side of the doorframe, fingernails burrowing into the wood. "What?" I bellow, "Now I'm not allowed to dry myself off?" I tell myself it's the chill of the water that's making me tremble.
Cas and Kevin just stare at me, a mixture of fear and alarm written clearly in the lines of their faces. I run a hand across my forehead, digging my fingers painfully into my temples, trying to clear my head.
"Sorry I uh...I'm...I need a minute," I stammer, pushing off against the doorframe and slamming the door behind me, immediately reaching to grab the sink to keep myself from crashing to the floor. A few more short huffs of breath and I'm finally steady enough to lift my face to the mirror, closing my eyes instantly when I see the familiar guilt lodged behind them.
"Dean?" Cas's voice is muffled behind the door, but I can still hear the obvious concern bleeding from it.
"I'm fine, Cas," I lie, resting my forehead against the mirror. I'mfineI'mfineI'mfine.
I quickly dry my face with a towel and emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, almost slamming Cas with the door when it swings open.
"I'm fine," I repeat, rolling my eyes and striding back towards the kitchen. Someone's gotta clean up that damn mess before...
"Sam?"
My little brother is standing in the entranceway to the kitchen, eyes wide, holding a crumpled paper bag that reads 'Hal's Diner' in obnoxious red bubble letters.
"Dean...what happened?" he asks, gaping at me.
"I uh..." I search my mind for some kind of explanation. "Uh...Food fight?" I laugh weakly, sensing that Kevin and Cas have come to stand behind me, taking in the scene before them. Wow. Nice work, Dean. A+ for the least believable story in history.
"A food fight?" Sam huffs. "Bullshit. Dean, what the fuck happened? This is..." He seems at a loss for words, gesturing to the disaster in front of him.
"Sam I just..." I start.
"It was my fault," Kevin interjects, stepping over a half eaten cheeseburger and coming completely into the kitchen. And now Sam's not the only one gaping. I'm trying to control the shock that I'm sure is written all over my face, grateful that Sam has turned his attention to Kevin who is still holding that goddamned bucket for Christ's sake.
"Yeah," Kevin laughs shakily, "Whoever closed the fridge last did a horrible job making sure everything was in the right place because when I went to open it, everything just kind of tumbled out onto the floor...sorry. I found a bucket to fill with soapy water," he says, shifting it against his legs. "I was gonna clean it up..."
I wait, trying to read Sam's expression. He's squinting hard at Kevin, but then he glances over at me, eyebrows raised. I shrug, the corner of my mouth curling upwards slightly- the signature smirk that I know Sam hates.
"Yeah...okay Kevin," Sam replies after another moment, clearly not buying it. "So who wants food?"
He's dropped it for now, but by the look he gives me next, I know this is far from the end of it.
"I need to talk to my brother for a minute."
Shit.
We've all just about finished our food at this point, the four of us sitting around the bunker's kitchen table. From an outsider's perspective, we would probably look like the once popular high school jocks, now worn ragged from the stress of the real world. In my opinion, the outsider sees the best case scenario.
All I see when I look at the three men around me is pain and loss and suffering and more pain.
"Dean?" from his tone, I can tell it's not the first time Sam has tried to get my attention.
"Yeah?" I ask wearily.
"I said; I need to talk to you. It's important," Sam says, hitting me full force with his wide, pleading eyes.
"Yeah well, you're gonna have to wait. Pretty sure it's my night to do dishes," I grin. It's a ridiculous defense mechanism, but sometimes if I can annoy my little brother enough, he'll give up on trying to have a serious conversation.
"Dean."
God he sounds just like Dad when he says my name like that. He knows it too. Does it on purpose. And I can tell he won't let this one go, no matter how badly I want him to.
"Fine, yeah. Fine," I comply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Kevin takes this as his cue to leave, gathering up the silverware and styrofoam containers that we all know don't even need to be washed. Cas, on the other hand, is still about as socially adequate as a humpback whale and doesn't make a move to get up, still picking at the remainder of his hamburger bun.
"Hey Cas, can you give us a minute?" Sam asks. The former angel jolts back slightly, as if pulled from some deep reverie, before nodding once and standing, almost tripping over his chair as he leaves. I can't decide whether I want to laugh or cry.
I'm spared from having to make that decision though because Sam has turned his full attention on me, endless questions no doubt already balanced on the tip of his tongue. He lets the first one tumble out.
"Why'd you do it, Dean?"
I let out the breath I've been holding. Dammit not this again please. "I told you Sam, you were dying and I..."
"No. No, not that Dean. I mean why the hell did you trash our kitchen, you idiot?"
It takes me a second to respond, and I can feel Sam growing more impatient the longer I wait. Again, I choose the easiest option, the one way I can think of to avoid all this emotional shit.
"Did you not hear Kevin?" I say, eyes focused on the floor. "I'm blaming you for that by the way. I'm pretty sure you were the one who closed the fridge last. I mean obviously, we've gotta work on your tupperware placement. Sloppy, just sloppy."
I wait for the yelling then. I wait for the exaggerated exhale, the frustrated sigh. I wait for Sammy to shake me by the shoulders and tell me to stop lying to him. I wait for the things I've come to expect from my baby brother, but now they never come. Confused, I raise my head to stare back up at him.
He's just looking at me.
Not staring. Just looking. Mouth closed, jaw set- he's waiting for me to break the silence. Thinks that if he stays quiet long enough, I'll be forced to fill the empty space with words. He's waiting for the truth to come pouring out, praying that I'll vent all this newfound guilt instead of turning it into another seamlessly tragic punchline.
"Stop looking at me like that," I say, not wanting to disappoint him completely but also not willing to give in. He just shakes his head, still not saying anything.
"I know what you're trying to do," I say after another beat of silence. "Not happening bro, sorry." I shrug and wait for his rebuttal. Still, it doesn't come.
We're just standing there like idiots. Totally silent. Finally, I can't take anymore.
"Whatever Sammy, I'm goin to bed. You decide you actually want a conversation, you come find me." I start walking towards my room, feeling like even more of an idiot when I realize it can't be more than quarter past nine. Wow. Genius excuse Dean, fantastic job.
"Dean don't walk away from me." Dammit that kid knows exactly what to say. I stop, still not turning to face him.
"I know you still feel guilty, but you have to move past this, man," he begs. "I need you here with me, one hundred percent. Just like you need me. I've already forgiven you. So now you need to forgive yourself. And I know that's not an easy thing- God knows I know that."
"Sam..." I start to say.
"Shut up Dean. Just listen for a second," he says, cutting me off. "We've both done some pretty awful things. But get. Over. It. I won't let you drag yourself down with all this shit anymore. It's gonna kill you. So knock it off. Snap the fuck out of it Dean because I am not doing this alone."
I'm trying so hard to hold everything back that I don't realize how close Sam's gotten until he places a strong hand on my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.
"Got it?" he asks, twisting his fingers into a death grip on my sleeve, forcing me to look at him.
"Yeah Sam. Got it," I reply. And I do. I get it. I've watched my little brother drown in his own guilt before, and I know exactly what it feels like to drown in my own. To give in to the gnawing, aching pit in my stomach that leads straight to nowhere.
I can't do that again. For Sammy's sake, I can't be that again.
"Okay," I say, huffing out a long sigh. "Let's start digging, shall we?"
I'm thinking of doing the next chapter from Kevin's POV. Let me know what you think! And thanks for reading!