gavemea_45 | (no subject)

(no subject)

They'd found out the hard way that the seven deadly sins weren't just vices, but actual demons. Demons that had been released through the gate in Wyoming. Sam can't stop wondering about what that means in terms of what else might be out there waiting for them.

It had been a hell of a fight and a hell of a mess to clean up, but between the four of them, they'd managed it.

(Five, actually, counting the mysterious blonde girl with the demon-killing knife, whose name Sam never did get. He can't stop wondering about that, either.)

In any case, now Tamara's gone on her way, Bobby's headed back to his place, and it's just the two of them left.

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"The Council Library." Sam repeats. "Remember it? More books than -- I don't even have any idea how many books they've got, and all on the kinds of stuff we could use right now."

He's turned to face Dean head-on, unconsciously bracing himself as he argues,

"Maybe not all or even much of it works here -- we've found that out already -- but something's got to cross over--"

"Yeah? You sure of that?"

Something in Dean's face cracks -- but only a little.

"Maybe you'd be better off putting up a sign. Could take an ad out in the paper, even. Lilly or not, I bet someone'd sell you the ad space."

Pissed?

Oh hell yeah.

Sam stares at him in surprise.

"What the-- what are you talking about?"

"Loose lips, Sammy. If you're gonna start tellin' everybody, you may as well fucking start telling everybody."

Because that's just what Dean needs.

And it's just the sort of shit you want to let bad guys know about.

(Milliways definitely ain't safe. Safer, sometimes, but not safe.)

"Except you're not gonna. Because I'm sayin' no."

"Except that I didn't tell anyone, Dean!"

Both hands clench into fists at his sides as he stalks a couple of steps closer to his brother, glaring now.

"I said we had a lot of demons to figure out how to handle after the fucking gate opened, yeah, but I didn't say a word about the stupid goddamn deal you made!"

"You shut your goddamn mouth."

It comes out faster and harder than it should, and he knows it, and he doesn't even try to take it back.

Or crack a joke.

But --

"You're not gonna find anything. And I don't want you to waste your time lookin'. Your time or mine."

"... you don't mean that."

He looks as shaken as he sounds.

"Dean, you can't mean that."

"Why not?"

There's an edge to it, but it's mostly for show.

(The edge that's not desperation, that is.)

"Why can't I mean that? You wanna tell me?"

"Because if we don't get you out of this, you're gonna die!" Sam lashes back.

"Don't ask me to stand by and let that happen, because I won't. I won't do it. I can't."

"You think I don't know that?"

Sure he doesn't think about it a lot, but he knows.

"But you're gonna have to. That's just -- "

He doesn't bite his lip.

"You're gonna have to."

That's all there is to it.

"Why?" he demands.

"You tell me why. Give me one good reason."

"You don't, you die."

It's cold and blunt and harsh, and it makes Dean's stomach turn to hear it out loud.

But it's the truth.

"Those're the terms, Sam. Don't -- "

His voice doesn't break. It doesn't.

He just doesn't want to talk anymore. That's all.

"What?"

Blankly said. He can't possibly have heard that right.

"Dean? What terms?"

"What the hell terms do you think, college boy?"

Don't make him say it, Sam.

Don't.

It's slowly starting to sink in, although he doesn't want it to.

"... if you break the deal, the demon takes it back."

Takes me back.

"Undoes what it gave. Is that it? Is that what you mean?"

"Got it in one."

Any other time and Dean would sound smug.

Christ.

His stomach twists into a cold knot at the confirmation.

It's all he can do not to be sick.

"How could you do it?"

How could he not?

"It's my job, Sam."

What's Dean supposed to do without him?

"It's what I do."

"Not like this!"

He can't stand still, not any longer. Sam turns around and stalks a few steps away, then kicks a rock as hard as he can and whirls back to face him.

"Not like this," he says again. "It's not worth it."

"Don't you say that to me," Dean says.

"Don't you dare."

Is this what Dad felt? Or would have felt? If --

That thought gets shoved away, too. Too far to ever see the light of day again.

He shakes his head, looking helpless.

"How can I not? What, you expect me to go on living and just let you die in my place?"

"Yeah, Sam."

Dean, for this second of time, sounds old.

"Because you and I both know you're the one that can."

Sam's jaw drops.

"You're unbelievable."

Anger rises in a welcome flood, replacing the numb shock.

"You're seriously telling me that you think-- never mind. You know what? Just never mind."

Beat.

"But I'll tell you one thing. This isn't over, Dean."

"Yeah, Sam," Dean repeats.

"It is."

Or at least this part of the conversation about it is over.

But Sam's always been persistent.

When he was seven it was even kinda cute.

As it stands now --

Now Dean punctuates his statement by slamming the trunk of the Impala and yanking open the driver's side door.

"So let's get a move on. The latest crop of creepy crawlies aren't gonna wait for us all nice and polite."

"Fine. Whatever."

Sam stalks around to the other side of the car, jerks his own door open, and drops into the passenger seat.

He gives Dean one last hard look, then stares ahead through the windshield, his jaw set.

It's not over. I'll find a way. Somehow.

"Okay. Let's go."

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