gavemea_45 | (no subject)

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Ruby's gone off to recover from her ordeal. He'd asked her to call later; maybe she will, maybe she won't. If she doesn't, he will-- eventually.

Castiel and Uriel are gone. Sam can't say he thinks that's much of a loss.

Anna's gone too, though, and that feels like it may be more of one.

Sam stares out the window at the road ahead of them, then casts a sideways look at Dean, trying to get a feel for how he's doing.

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"But Dean, you were only gone for four months--"

Even as he's saying it, he finds it's simple to do the math.

Four months. Forty years. Ten years for each month.

"... oh, my God."

Sam's voice is soft with horror.

He catches his breath, short and sharp.

This is the worst part. The worst part of everything. (Almost.)

"I should've stayed there, should've -- but I -- "

He closes his eyes, keeping the dampness in.

"I got off that rack, there at the end, and I started putting souls on. Strapping 'em in, ripping them to shreds, a new way every day. A new tool every week. There was always -- "

He bites his lip hard, falling silent.

"I see that every night, now. In my dreams."

And every day, too. Funny how little difference time makes.

The numbness of shock washes over him in a wave, chilling his skin and sinking into his bones.

Not his brother. Not Dean.

And yet, even while he's stunned by the admission, a part of him flashes back to the night when they'd first met Gordon Walker, and the way Dean had coldly brought the saw down on that vampire--

"When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.... every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all."
"Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters."
"That's 'cause you're a pain in my ass."
"Guess I'm gonna have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then."

But he hadn't been there; not when it counted.

Sam forces the words through the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Thirty years... look, Dean, you can't-- you held out longer than anyone could. Anyone."

"Bullshit."

It's harsh and cutting and entirely self-directed.

"That last ten years -- "

He licks his lips, eyes closing again.

God, but he doesn't want to say this out loud.

"I still can't take it. I can't -- God. Anna just wanted to feel more human. I -- I don't want to feel anything at all."

"Dean..."

The attempt trails off into awkward silence.

Sam doesn't know what to say; doesn't know if there's even anything to say.

"Anyway," Dean says after a long silence, scrubbing one hand across his face.

"That's what happened."

In a nutshell.

"And now you know."

He turns the key in the ignition again, letting the engine warm up.

He's got to get out of here.

Now.

"Yeah."

I wish I didn't, he thinks, still numb. Oh god, I wish I didn't.

Sam doesn't say anything else as Dean steps on the gas and the Impala swerves back onto the asphalt.

The roar of the engine would make it hard to hear either of them talking, anyway.

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