Genre: gen, stream of consciousness, 11x01 tag
Word Count: ~900
Summary: except here's Sam, tugging at things and making sure no one gets left behind, not the monsters not Dean and Sam starts making his case against Winchester exceptionalism but by this point Dean’s pretty sure he’s not here because of some woeful privileged misjudgment on Sam's part he's here because Sam won’t give up on literally anything, not even the monsters
Part of him got left in that pothole back at Mexican Camp, but you know what, that’s fine, inertia’s all Dean’s got right now and whatever falls behind gets left behind except for the part where one of those things is Sam who’s starting up about god knows what, he’s probably not quite sure himself, but Dean knows Dean knows immediately because he’s the one who set him there he’s the one who left those bodies in the library and Rudy in that shack and all of those, all of those Stynes down South so when Sam starts in with all this heavy thinking it’s not really the zombie apocalypse that pinged him, or some wild and untamed affection for the sordid infected (except maybe it’s a little bit of that, but that’s probably Dean’s fault, too) it’s probably those bodies he left on Sam’s doorstep--headshots for everyone--like a sick rabid puppy digging up groundhogs.
But that’s yesterday’s news already, maybe a few days ago even, and a lot’s gone on. Dean did some stuff with his fists and some stuff with a scythe and Sam maybe did some stuff with Rowena and god knows what happened to Cas, but that’s all fine, it’s all adding to that white noise, not the charming kind people put on their bedside drippy fountain radio alarm clock what-have-yous, but whitefire whitewater that pure chaos Dean hated so much until he learned to like it so much and outright loved until he realized he didn’t like explaining it so much. The point is thank god for the white noise because you only gotta do so much, just keep your head above the rapids, when there’s white noise. There’s too much to process so you gotta just put your hands up--not surrender, never surrender--you gotta put your hands up and shove it the fuck back to make room for the road and the zombies on the road and that works for Dean. Because he’s kind of an obsessive person and not once has intimate focus on this or that ever got him anywhere good.
Except here’s Sam, tugging at things and making sure no one gets left behind, not the monsters not Dean and Sam starts making his case against Winchester exceptionalism but by this point Dean’s pretty sure he’s not here because of some woeful privileged misjudgment on Sam’s part he’s here because Sam won’t give up on literally anything, not even the monsters.
As far as Dean goes it’s inertia and there’s faculties he hasn’t tripped in a long time, probably like two years a long time, giving a crap about this baby and stitching Jenna up without wanting to dig deep and nick stomach lining just because, and that’s probably because with the release of The Darkness came the release of Dean, all those things about him that flatlined. But he doesn’t really feel them because they’re part of the scream, too, whitewater noise so mostly what Dean’s all about right now is go, go, go, get the kid to grandma’s, let Sam do his thing not because he has any idea what Sam’s talking about or because he agrees but because it’s the easiest thing on the table and inertia likes inertia and all Dean really knows is that he was doing some pretty wild things with scythes just hours ago and that means Sam can do whatever the hell he wants, at least for the next day or two.
Just go, go, go. And Dean’s thinking about white noise and black voids but he’s not actually saying they’re too different, even though Sam said stuff about good men and Death said stuff about something fucking called The Darkness, really he’s just riding, he’s running, because if you try to cheat momentum you end up with teeth full of gravel and grass. Your ribs separate. Your lungs shock still.
There’s a tripwire running widthwise, somewhere up ahead, and Dean knows he’s gonna hit it someday, but with all the shit he and Sam just knocked up it may actually be later than sooner. It’s sort of what they do--and oh they’ve come close, they’ve come damn close to having to look real hard at what it is they do, who it is they are (maybe Sam, in the library, with Dean’s groundhogs) and man, this year Dean has come really, really close, but that book’s closed now and there are about twelve new ones and that should be enough to keep ‘em busy for a good long while.
Maybe Dean’ll find enough momentum to make it up that hill. Out of the gully, out of the river, the muck.
Sam saw it in him, Sam says, with the baby. He saw it. Sam holds to that the way he holds to--well, anything he’s ever held to, about Dean.
But Sam didn’t have a meet-cute with The Darkness, see. Sam wasn’t told what Dean was told. Him and The Darkness, they helped each other. They’ll help each other. Fuck that deal and stick it where the sun don’t shine, maybe, but maybe not. It’s as good a reminder as any: Dean cannot trust himself.
Dean cannot be trusted.
That’s an old book, a book Dean’s read. Maybe that’s the glint of high-gauge wire up ahead. But Dean won’t stop until he’s forced to because whitewater, because currents. Hunting things, saving things. Second half of the bumper sticker.
Just get the baby to Grandma’s.