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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
AN: Cannon through the end of 5.03. Goes AU from there. This story is based on a combination of two prompts from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnkink_meme (Here and Here).
Prologue
Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel and he gritted his teeth against the silence that had descended as soon as they’d gotten in the car. The music wasn’t enough to fill the space, and he abruptly turned it off. He cast a sidelong look at Sam when his brother didn’t react.
Sam was still looking out the window – had been ever since they’d gotten on the road – eyes riveted on the passing scenery. The awkward silence stretched on, Sam’s long, heavy sigh the only break in the oppressive stillness.
The memory of Sam looking at the blood covered knife with longing hit Dean in the gut for the fiftieth time that day. He couldn’t get past the image, and Sam wasn’t talking about it. Or at least, his little brother seemed to think that blanket apologies should wipe out everything that had happened between them. Sam seemed to think that Dean should somehow just trust that Sam wasn’t going to slip back into his addiction now, but it wasn’t like they could retire and Sam could go into an AA program and talk about his feelings. Sam was supposed to be the smart one. He knew what he was risking, but kept doing it anyway.
Misery radiated off of Sam as he moved restlessly in his seat.
Dean got it, got that Sam felt guilty for his colossal fuck-up, got that Sam needed someone to give him absolution, but Dean’s shoulders were already carrying too fucking much. When did he get to put his foot down and say, for once, ‘you’re going to have to carry this one on your own for a while, Sam?’
He loved his brother. That wasn’t even a question. His first instinct would always be to protect Sam, and, when that wasn’t enough, to fix it when things went wrong. It was just… Dean didn’t think fixing Sam’s mistake would really help this time. In fact, maybe the heart of the problem was that Dean always fixed Sam’s mistakes, and that’s what allowed Ruby to get her claws into Sam in the first place. Maybe at this point, his determination to protect his brother was more weakness than strength.
Sam shifted once more, this time casually pressing a hand against his crotch. Dean smirked to himself – kid had to pee and was stubbornly not saying anything because he didn’t want to be the first to break the silence. Bullheaded to the point of self-destruction – that was his brother.
A rest stop was coming up on the right, so he took pity on Sam and pulled into it. As soon as he put the car in park, Sam slipped out, casting Dean a pensive look before slinking off to the restrooms.
Fuck. Sam was going to make them have another road-side chat. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It never did any good anyway. All it did was stir stuff up that didn’t have any chance of being fixed.
Whatever Sam needed, it was becoming increasingly obvious to Dean that he just didn’t have it to give anymore. Maybe he was different before hell; maybe Cas hadn’t actually been able to pull all of him back. Dean wasn’t sure, but the person he’d been 40 years ago was a pretty distant memory. He knew he’d thought at the time that the sacrifice would be worth it, but he was beginning to think he’d been just a little bit naive.
Dean watched him go and then got out of the car, walking a circuit around the area to stretch his legs. Halfway around, and obscured by the restrooms, he paused by a tree and leaned against it, listening to the soothing sound of traffic speeding by on the highway.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Motor oil and gasoline mingled with the smell of pine supplied by the lightly wooded area. Smelled like home. Dean knew he was being hard on his brother, but, what did Sam expect? He’d always put Sam first. Always. He pulled out his flask and took a long swig, not enough to effect his driving, but enough to take the edge off his emotional fatigue.
There really wasn’t anything to discuss. Unless Sam was willing to admit that he needed help, serious help – not just forgiveness – Dean was going to have to watch him like a hawk to make sure he didn’t slip up. Sam was way more liability than back-up at this point. Somehow, Dean was going to have to pick up the slack, and find a way to stop the apocalypse at the same time. No fucking problem. With a heavy sigh of his own, he slipped his flask back into his pocket and headed back towards the parking lot.
Sam was sitting at one of the tables by the time Dean made his way back, and he slid onto the bench opposite. He pulled out War’s ring, wondering what they should do next. “So,” he started casually, “pit stop at Mount Doom?”
Sam was clearly still in brood mode. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, “Dean…”
“Sam,” Dean interrupted, “Let’s not.” Rehashing the same things over and over really wasn’t going to help anybody. The only thing it was likely to do was make it harder for Dean to keep sticking around.
“No, listen. This is important. I know you don't trust me.”
Dean looked away and nodded slightly – understatement of the year.
“Just, now I realized something. I don't trust me either.”
Dean looked back at Sam, more than a little surprised that Sam was actually acknowledging the elephant in the room.
“From the minute I saw that blood, the only thought in my head...” Sam looked away, shaking his head self-consciously. “…and I tell myself it's for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it, it feels true, you know?”
Sam sounded so sincere in his self-delusion, Dean had to look away. A part of him didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want what he believed to be true so completely confirmed. It still ripped at his gut, left him sickened at everything they’d lost.
“But I think, underneath...I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby or...anything. The problem's me. How far I'll go. It's something that means...” Sam floundered with his words for a moment, and Dean almost had time to wonder if Sam was done before Sam went right back to his default – his tone implying that Dean needed to be the one to fix this, to play rescuer again. “It scares the hell out of me, Dean. In the last couple of days, I caught another glimpse...”
Dean finally managed to drag his eyes back to Sam’s. More words. He still wasn’t sure what Sam’s point was. “So, what are you saying?”
“That I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just...go our separate ways.”
It had crossed Dean’s mind, he had to admit that if he was honest with himself, even if he hadn’t truly voiced the idea to himself – he hadn’t been able to give himself permission for that but Sam had just... It was… this was hard, his eyes were stinging, and he could feel anxious sweat trickling down his back. Sam leaving, again, was never anything he had thought he would ever want, but… “Well, I think you're right.”
Sam looked a little floored, and Dean felt helpless anger prickle over his skin once more. Impotent rage seemed to be his constant companion as of late, at least when he wasn’t feeling numb. What the hell had Sam expected when he said what he did? He really seemed to think that Dean would always be here to fix his mistakes, protect him from the consequences of his actions.
“I was expecting a fight,” Sam replied softly, hurt and disappointment spilling from his eyes.
Dean forced himself to stay strong, to not crumble under the pressure of Sam’s needs this time. “The truth is, I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right. And I just, I can't afford that, you know? Not now.”
Sam looked away, nodded. It looked like his heart was being torn out, and Dean was halfway to taking his words back before he pulled himself up short. It was ingrained, this stupid, selfless need to take care of Sam, no matter what. He just… couldn’t do it anymore.
“I'm sorry, Dean,” Sam said, anguish painted clearly across his face.
Sam could say that another thousand times and it wouldn’t fix anything. “I know you are, Sam,” he responded gruffly.
Sam turned, started to pull his long legs free of the picnic table, and Dean was calling Sam back before he could stop himself, flailing for words. “Hey, do you, uh, wanna take the Impala?” He didn’t know why, but it seemed like the right thing to offer, even though his stomach twisted at the thought of Sam saying yes.
“It's okay,” Sam replied, and Dean was pretty sure he managed to keep his relief off his face.
Sam stood and took a few steps away before turning back with a heartfelt, “Take care of yourself, Dean.”
“Yeah, you too, Sammy.”
Dean watched Sam move swiftly to the Impala, grab his backpack out of the back seat, and walk over to a nearby pickup truck. Sam must have turned on the kicked-puppy look full force because almost immediately he was getting into the passenger side of the truck.
It was killing Dean, just sitting there and watching the truck drive off with his brother. Half of him wanted to make a mad dash to the Impala and chase his brother down like in one of those high-speed car chases he’d watched in countless late-night movies growing up. Of course, the hero’s car never came off so good in those things… but his baby could probably bring it.
“I don't trust me either.”
Sam’s words rang through Dean’s head like condemnation. Sam had finally admitted he had a problem, but that didn’t mean Sam’s addiction wasn’t Dean’s failure. He’d sworn to Bobby that he wouldn’t let Sam turn into a monster. Bang up job there, asshole…
“The problem's me. How far I'll go.”
Dean could feel an uncomfortable burn in his eyes, and he couldn’t just sit there anymore. He pushed himself away from the table, and his hand was on the handle of the Impala before he’d thought out what he was doing. Damn it. He slammed his hands on the roof and rested his head on them.
He wanted, needed Sam by his side, but Sam, the Sam that had been Dean’s constant source of strength when he’d been in hell, the one that had actually heard Dean when Dean pleaded with him not to listen to that demon bitch, that Sam… was gone.
In his place was a man who, at the end of the day, couldn’t be trusted to watch Dean’s back. Sam was right; he was in no shape to be hunting. He was dangerous and separating was probably the best thing for everyone, the world included.
The lost look Sam had worn when he apologized again had ripped Dean’s heart out. The need to wipe that look from Sammy’s face was instinctive, but, he couldn’t help admit – even if just to himself – that he was a little bit relieved to finally be on his own.
Master Post | Part One
AN: Cannon through the end of 5.03. Goes AU from there. This story is based on a combination of two prompts from
spnkink_meme (Here and Here).Prologue
Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel and he gritted his teeth against the silence that had descended as soon as they’d gotten in the car. The music wasn’t enough to fill the space, and he abruptly turned it off. He cast a sidelong look at Sam when his brother didn’t react.
Sam was still looking out the window – had been ever since they’d gotten on the road – eyes riveted on the passing scenery. The awkward silence stretched on, Sam’s long, heavy sigh the only break in the oppressive stillness.
The memory of Sam looking at the blood covered knife with longing hit Dean in the gut for the fiftieth time that day. He couldn’t get past the image, and Sam wasn’t talking about it. Or at least, his little brother seemed to think that blanket apologies should wipe out everything that had happened between them. Sam seemed to think that Dean should somehow just trust that Sam wasn’t going to slip back into his addiction now, but it wasn’t like they could retire and Sam could go into an AA program and talk about his feelings. Sam was supposed to be the smart one. He knew what he was risking, but kept doing it anyway.
Misery radiated off of Sam as he moved restlessly in his seat.
Dean got it, got that Sam felt guilty for his colossal fuck-up, got that Sam needed someone to give him absolution, but Dean’s shoulders were already carrying too fucking much. When did he get to put his foot down and say, for once, ‘you’re going to have to carry this one on your own for a while, Sam?’
He loved his brother. That wasn’t even a question. His first instinct would always be to protect Sam, and, when that wasn’t enough, to fix it when things went wrong. It was just… Dean didn’t think fixing Sam’s mistake would really help this time. In fact, maybe the heart of the problem was that Dean always fixed Sam’s mistakes, and that’s what allowed Ruby to get her claws into Sam in the first place. Maybe at this point, his determination to protect his brother was more weakness than strength.
Sam shifted once more, this time casually pressing a hand against his crotch. Dean smirked to himself – kid had to pee and was stubbornly not saying anything because he didn’t want to be the first to break the silence. Bullheaded to the point of self-destruction – that was his brother.
A rest stop was coming up on the right, so he took pity on Sam and pulled into it. As soon as he put the car in park, Sam slipped out, casting Dean a pensive look before slinking off to the restrooms.
Fuck. Sam was going to make them have another road-side chat. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It never did any good anyway. All it did was stir stuff up that didn’t have any chance of being fixed.
Whatever Sam needed, it was becoming increasingly obvious to Dean that he just didn’t have it to give anymore. Maybe he was different before hell; maybe Cas hadn’t actually been able to pull all of him back. Dean wasn’t sure, but the person he’d been 40 years ago was a pretty distant memory. He knew he’d thought at the time that the sacrifice would be worth it, but he was beginning to think he’d been just a little bit naive.
Dean watched him go and then got out of the car, walking a circuit around the area to stretch his legs. Halfway around, and obscured by the restrooms, he paused by a tree and leaned against it, listening to the soothing sound of traffic speeding by on the highway.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Motor oil and gasoline mingled with the smell of pine supplied by the lightly wooded area. Smelled like home. Dean knew he was being hard on his brother, but, what did Sam expect? He’d always put Sam first. Always. He pulled out his flask and took a long swig, not enough to effect his driving, but enough to take the edge off his emotional fatigue.
There really wasn’t anything to discuss. Unless Sam was willing to admit that he needed help, serious help – not just forgiveness – Dean was going to have to watch him like a hawk to make sure he didn’t slip up. Sam was way more liability than back-up at this point. Somehow, Dean was going to have to pick up the slack, and find a way to stop the apocalypse at the same time. No fucking problem. With a heavy sigh of his own, he slipped his flask back into his pocket and headed back towards the parking lot.
Sam was sitting at one of the tables by the time Dean made his way back, and he slid onto the bench opposite. He pulled out War’s ring, wondering what they should do next. “So,” he started casually, “pit stop at Mount Doom?”
Sam was clearly still in brood mode. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, “Dean…”
“Sam,” Dean interrupted, “Let’s not.” Rehashing the same things over and over really wasn’t going to help anybody. The only thing it was likely to do was make it harder for Dean to keep sticking around.
“No, listen. This is important. I know you don't trust me.”
Dean looked away and nodded slightly – understatement of the year.
“Just, now I realized something. I don't trust me either.”
Dean looked back at Sam, more than a little surprised that Sam was actually acknowledging the elephant in the room.
“From the minute I saw that blood, the only thought in my head...” Sam looked away, shaking his head self-consciously. “…and I tell myself it's for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it, it feels true, you know?”
Sam sounded so sincere in his self-delusion, Dean had to look away. A part of him didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want what he believed to be true so completely confirmed. It still ripped at his gut, left him sickened at everything they’d lost.
“But I think, underneath...I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby or...anything. The problem's me. How far I'll go. It's something that means...” Sam floundered with his words for a moment, and Dean almost had time to wonder if Sam was done before Sam went right back to his default – his tone implying that Dean needed to be the one to fix this, to play rescuer again. “It scares the hell out of me, Dean. In the last couple of days, I caught another glimpse...”
Dean finally managed to drag his eyes back to Sam’s. More words. He still wasn’t sure what Sam’s point was. “So, what are you saying?”
“That I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just...go our separate ways.”
It had crossed Dean’s mind, he had to admit that if he was honest with himself, even if he hadn’t truly voiced the idea to himself – he hadn’t been able to give himself permission for that but Sam had just... It was… this was hard, his eyes were stinging, and he could feel anxious sweat trickling down his back. Sam leaving, again, was never anything he had thought he would ever want, but… “Well, I think you're right.”
Sam looked a little floored, and Dean felt helpless anger prickle over his skin once more. Impotent rage seemed to be his constant companion as of late, at least when he wasn’t feeling numb. What the hell had Sam expected when he said what he did? He really seemed to think that Dean would always be here to fix his mistakes, protect him from the consequences of his actions.
“I was expecting a fight,” Sam replied softly, hurt and disappointment spilling from his eyes.
Dean forced himself to stay strong, to not crumble under the pressure of Sam’s needs this time. “The truth is, I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right. And I just, I can't afford that, you know? Not now.”
Sam looked away, nodded. It looked like his heart was being torn out, and Dean was halfway to taking his words back before he pulled himself up short. It was ingrained, this stupid, selfless need to take care of Sam, no matter what. He just… couldn’t do it anymore.
“I'm sorry, Dean,” Sam said, anguish painted clearly across his face.
Sam could say that another thousand times and it wouldn’t fix anything. “I know you are, Sam,” he responded gruffly.
Sam turned, started to pull his long legs free of the picnic table, and Dean was calling Sam back before he could stop himself, flailing for words. “Hey, do you, uh, wanna take the Impala?” He didn’t know why, but it seemed like the right thing to offer, even though his stomach twisted at the thought of Sam saying yes.
“It's okay,” Sam replied, and Dean was pretty sure he managed to keep his relief off his face.
Sam stood and took a few steps away before turning back with a heartfelt, “Take care of yourself, Dean.”
“Yeah, you too, Sammy.”
Dean watched Sam move swiftly to the Impala, grab his backpack out of the back seat, and walk over to a nearby pickup truck. Sam must have turned on the kicked-puppy look full force because almost immediately he was getting into the passenger side of the truck.
It was killing Dean, just sitting there and watching the truck drive off with his brother. Half of him wanted to make a mad dash to the Impala and chase his brother down like in one of those high-speed car chases he’d watched in countless late-night movies growing up. Of course, the hero’s car never came off so good in those things… but his baby could probably bring it.
“I don't trust me either.”
Sam’s words rang through Dean’s head like condemnation. Sam had finally admitted he had a problem, but that didn’t mean Sam’s addiction wasn’t Dean’s failure. He’d sworn to Bobby that he wouldn’t let Sam turn into a monster. Bang up job there, asshole…
“The problem's me. How far I'll go.”
Dean could feel an uncomfortable burn in his eyes, and he couldn’t just sit there anymore. He pushed himself away from the table, and his hand was on the handle of the Impala before he’d thought out what he was doing. Damn it. He slammed his hands on the roof and rested his head on them.
He wanted, needed Sam by his side, but Sam, the Sam that had been Dean’s constant source of strength when he’d been in hell, the one that had actually heard Dean when Dean pleaded with him not to listen to that demon bitch, that Sam… was gone.
In his place was a man who, at the end of the day, couldn’t be trusted to watch Dean’s back. Sam was right; he was in no shape to be hunting. He was dangerous and separating was probably the best thing for everyone, the world included.
The lost look Sam had worn when he apologized again had ripped Dean’s heart out. The need to wipe that look from Sammy’s face was instinctive, but, he couldn’t help admit – even if just to himself – that he was a little bit relieved to finally be on his own.
Master Post | Part One
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