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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"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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