A/N: Starts at the end of the events of Ep 3.12 Jus in Bello. Spoilers through that episode. Dialogue from episodes in bold. I own nothing, just playing in the Supernatural sandbox.
—SNS-SNS—Chapter One-SNS-SNS—
"The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured, causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen."
There was silence in the room long after Ruby stormed out. Sam glanced over at Dean, who was now cleaning as many weapons as he could put his hands on. That had always been his coping mechanism, and he wouldn't begrudge him that. This situation just simply sucked. They had tried to do the right thing, had fought so hard. What was worse, they thought they had won…only to be sucker-punched after the fact. None of those people had deserved to die, and they had died because of them. Correction, thought Sam, they died because of me. This Lilith demon was out for his blood, and in lieu of him she apparently was taking out everything and everyone in her way. Sam pushed his laptop away, no longer able to pretend he was focused on it, and began pacing. After two quick turns in the room he let out a frustrated sigh, grabbed his coat, tossed, "I'll be back." over his shoulder and headed out the door. Dean stared at the closed door debating what to do, finally deciding to give Sam a while to cool off before he tracked him down.
Hands going through the motions of disassembling, cleaning, inspecting, and reassembling his weapons - something he'd done a million times - was soothing but did not occupy his mind, so unfortunately Dean's thoughts were a runaway train. Of all the horrors of the past 48 hours, the one that seemed to stick foremost at that moment was the loss of Victor Henriksen…especially coming so soon on the heels of finally gaining him as an ally. He was incredibly smart, dedicated, and a bulldog with a scent on a case…all skills that would have made him a gifted hunter. And Dean had no doubt he would have become a hunter. That had been clear even if the words hadn't been nearly said in their conversation at the jail…
"You know what my job is?" Henriksen had asked.
"You mean besides locking up the good guys?" Dean couldn't help the jab. "I have no idea."
"My job is boring, it's frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save ... a few people. Maybe. That's the payoff. I've been busting my ass for 15 years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there's something off in the corner so big. So yeah… sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life."
Dean felt compassion towards Henriksen's frustration. "You didn't know."
"Now I do."
And now he's dead. Dean tossed the reassembled shotgun on the bed, frustrated with his thoughts. Looking up, he checked the clock and decided he had given Sam enough alone time. He had a bullseye on his back, and it just wasn't safe for him to be wandering around distracted. Dean didn't doubt his brother's skills in a fight or ability to defend himself, he just felt better if he was there to watch his back. Grabbing his coat, he headed out the door and looked across the parking lot trying to determine where Sam might have gone. Not immediately seeing him he strode across the gravel lot towards the main road, but a soft thunk off to his left in a stand of trees had him veering that direction, somehow intuitively knowing he would find his brother that way. Sure enough, as he wound his way around thick bushes following a narrow dirt path he saw a small clearing ahead with a brother-sized shape that seemed to be attacking something. He picked up his pace, jarring his wounded shoulder, but as he got closer he found that Sam was apparently taking out his frustration on a tree.
Dean grabbed his wrist to stop him as Sam drew back to pound his fist into the trunk again, knuckles already bloodied. Sam clearly had not heard him approach, however, because he was flat on the ground before he could think, pain whiting out his vision and an unbidden cry escaping him. "Dean?" Sam cried in dismay, realizing what he had done instinctually. Dammit, now I have hurting my own brother to add to my list of failures.
"Excellent reaction time Sammy." Dean gasped, struggling to sit up and lean against the tree. Sam immediately came to his assistance, then plopped down beside him, trying to get a look at his wound but being batted away.
"Dean, I'm sorry - "
"It's my own fault, I knew better than to startle you." Dean looked at Sam's downturned head, knowing he was going to beat himself up over this too. "Sam." When he finally looked up Dean held his gaze, communicating silently his understanding and forgiveness. Hoping he'd gotten through, he then grabbed one of Sam's hands and began checking it for broken bones. He winced once or twice during the examination, but thankfully nothing appeared to be broken. "Not the smartest move, bro." Dean chided softly.
"Dean - " Sam turned away, his body communicating all his frustration at his helplessness to affect what had happened. After sitting silently for several minutes, Dean realized if he didn't move now he likely wouldn't be able to move later.
"Help me up." he commanded gruffly. Sam immediately sprang to his feet and offered a bracing hand for Dean to rise, not letting go until he was certain Dean was solid on his feet. Even then, he held on just a moment longer, finally speaking softly, sounding lost, "What now?" Dean regarded his brother affectionately. For all his size and maturity, he was sometimes still so very much his little brother.
"Now?" he replied, "Now we go back to our room, patch ourselves up again, and sleep. Tomorrow we keep doing what we do - hunting things, saving people."
"We're kinda sucking in the saving people department."
Dean paused, not wanting to blow off how Sam was feeling - or his own emotions for that matter. Finally he settled on a variation of what he had said earlier to Henriksen when asked if he thought they could win. "Yeah, it's sucked lately. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. We do have choices. I choose to keep fighting." Sam nodded in response, and they headed back to the room to clean up, get some sleep, and find their next case.
