[WaM!] 012 - Sort of Man I Am.
Apr. 16th, 2008 06:06 pmThe silence is good he figures. No muffled sound of Sammy sighing over dramatically over something he read that he wasn't too pleased with reading. No purr of the engine of the Impala meaning they're headed onto another hunt that isn't going to do anything but fill another gap of time. The silence is what he wants. Shutting his eyes his fingers trace along the steering wheel settling at the bottom of the wheel so his elbows rest nearly in his lap.
He's going to die.
Part of him laughs that of all the years to strike a deal with a demon he at least had the brains to do it on a leap year. One frigging extra day to tag onto the count. Three hundred and sixty six, which the double six doesn't really get as big of a grin as it could've had it tacked on another one for kicks. Breathing in deep, deeper than he knows his lungs can hold, he takes in the smell of old leather and oil. The scents he grew up around, and practically lived off of as a kid. The hint of exhaust and a twinge of sulfur that came with the job more than the car. The smoke of gunshot residue on his sleeves that hits his nose each time he swipes dirt away from his cheek, pulls him home. Reminds him of the job. Of the family business. Of what he's supposed to be out there doing.
That he's supposed to live. Which almost feels like a joke of a statement this late in the game. He knows the date. He's got all the days already marked off on the calendar in his head and seeing the way his brother is letting it cut into him deeper and deeper pains him.
The silence is good.
The quiet around him is the way it was before his brother even came with him. When his dad was missing and the hunt was just his own burden. When the lives he saved would pale in comparison to the ones he'd saved with his brother at his side. Now his brother is going to have to do it alone. Now his brother will be the one in the driver's seat, and the silence will swallow him whole.
Dean knows it, and he can feel it in the silence. He can feel the pain and frustration and anger that his brother has toward him for being the way he is. But it had been too quiet after Sam died. So quiet Dean could actually hear himself cry. That wasn't a silence he could live with. There was no way he'd just let that body be salted and burned. No way in hell.
Which was ironic now considering where he was headed toward in a month.
The door creaked beside him and even as his eyes were still shut he could feel the shift of the car on shocks that had seen better days as Sam took up residence in the passenger seat. The door shut and Dean's eyes flickered open pressing his fingers to the keys resting in the ignition. Before starting the car he glanced to Sam, "Get directions?"
"Yeah..." There's a pause in his brother's sentence and he's already cursing himself for allowing those thoughts to come into his head while he was alone. The questions are already forming in his brother's head and he can see it in his eyes. "You okay?"
"For a dying man Sammy? I'm freakin' wonderful." The glare that Dean got in return evened the tone in the car. It pushed it back to the annoyed air that Dean was more comfortable with these days. He didn't need the pity or the pissed off puppy looks. He needed his brother, and he needed him to become the man that he couldn't be when it counted.
He needed him to be the kind of man that could move on without his brother.
The silence was going to be rough.
He's going to die.
Part of him laughs that of all the years to strike a deal with a demon he at least had the brains to do it on a leap year. One frigging extra day to tag onto the count. Three hundred and sixty six, which the double six doesn't really get as big of a grin as it could've had it tacked on another one for kicks. Breathing in deep, deeper than he knows his lungs can hold, he takes in the smell of old leather and oil. The scents he grew up around, and practically lived off of as a kid. The hint of exhaust and a twinge of sulfur that came with the job more than the car. The smoke of gunshot residue on his sleeves that hits his nose each time he swipes dirt away from his cheek, pulls him home. Reminds him of the job. Of the family business. Of what he's supposed to be out there doing.
That he's supposed to live. Which almost feels like a joke of a statement this late in the game. He knows the date. He's got all the days already marked off on the calendar in his head and seeing the way his brother is letting it cut into him deeper and deeper pains him.
The silence is good.
The quiet around him is the way it was before his brother even came with him. When his dad was missing and the hunt was just his own burden. When the lives he saved would pale in comparison to the ones he'd saved with his brother at his side. Now his brother is going to have to do it alone. Now his brother will be the one in the driver's seat, and the silence will swallow him whole.
Dean knows it, and he can feel it in the silence. He can feel the pain and frustration and anger that his brother has toward him for being the way he is. But it had been too quiet after Sam died. So quiet Dean could actually hear himself cry. That wasn't a silence he could live with. There was no way he'd just let that body be salted and burned. No way in hell.
Which was ironic now considering where he was headed toward in a month.
The door creaked beside him and even as his eyes were still shut he could feel the shift of the car on shocks that had seen better days as Sam took up residence in the passenger seat. The door shut and Dean's eyes flickered open pressing his fingers to the keys resting in the ignition. Before starting the car he glanced to Sam, "Get directions?"
"Yeah..." There's a pause in his brother's sentence and he's already cursing himself for allowing those thoughts to come into his head while he was alone. The questions are already forming in his brother's head and he can see it in his eyes. "You okay?"
"For a dying man Sammy? I'm freakin' wonderful." The glare that Dean got in return evened the tone in the car. It pushed it back to the annoyed air that Dean was more comfortable with these days. He didn't need the pity or the pissed off puppy looks. He needed his brother, and he needed him to become the man that he couldn't be when it counted.
He needed him to be the kind of man that could move on without his brother.
The silence was going to be rough.
