There was once, long ago when things were not complicated. Hundreds or perhaps thousands of years, Dean and did not remember, because that time in his mind was covered in shadows and yet knew existed.
When I looked at the schedule or the date on his cell phone he realized that it was not so long ago, no matter what appears in his mind. It was only last two or three years, nothing more.
Two or three years of life, did not know at what point it became a shit, shit bigger, much bigger than it had ever been. As if it had not previously been sufficient. As if all this had not been before so damn enough.
There were no more departures at night to drink a few beers and flirting with the first waitress who finds. There were the desire to do so, either. That was what he had left, disappointed. The desire to hunt, the desire to drink, make jokes, to keep on living simply. The desire he had been watered (a little) to pieces in the hell, those damn four months or forty years, he had vanished (another bit) when he saw Sammy, Sammy exorcise his demons with his mind and he would each day, each time while Sam was away, they go away for a demon son of a bitch.
Now did not feel anything. He sat in another seedy motel God knows what town or city, with a beer in hand and another on the ground, feeling that I had no strength to fight.
Once long ago, things were simple. Not anymore. And Dean wanted to flee, all the time.
What was fantasizing about stupid things, for example, that mom does not die and that there was no yellow-eyed bastard, no demon that hunt, he and Sam grew up, like any normal person, united at the beginning and left at the same time growing . And he was a fireman or a workshop and had married a pretty girl who would nurse or a reporter and had two children. A simple life without complications.
When I finished laughing at himself. A simple life, Dean? "No demons, no fighters? How a woman waiting at home to get the job? Yes, of course man, if it is so easy to achieve, as easy as avoiding the sun stops.
They had things simple, all you had was a mountain of shit that could not care, but could not carry. God's plan (whatever), Lucifer resurrect prevent and as you do, too, make sure that his younger brother (the only family that is cursed) does not become a demon in the process.
No one could blame Dean of surrender, never. He had taken his mother and gone, swallowed the pain. He had been removed and that his father had almost broken, but still, choked with pain in the throat and making it hunts down to base, thirst for revenge and you can not Dean, Sam needs you, you have to save Sam (and truth, in those days, Sam had saved many more times only for being there.)
Now Dean wanted to surrender, surrender and never did, leaving everything to his fate. Why Because he had to be him? They had more billions on the planet Why him?
It was just the beer in his hand and stretches his arm to catch the other. Sam is in bed, covered with savanna up to her neck, her back. Dean knows that Sam is awake, he expects to be sleeping to get up, walk quietly and then leave, get away to see that dog Ruby. Dean knows that Sam knows that he knows, and yet both pretend to ignore it. Not better, not worse. Why is a Sammy? throbbing in the temples, as an intense headache. Why? He could wait a betrayal of anyone, anyone to go away, all but Sam and it was he who went up, damn it, who betrayed him.
Dean never, ever hated Sam. Not when they were children and stopped eating cereal to eat Sam, because the idiot did not want spaghetti. Not when Sam fought with his father and it was he who paid the blame, who had to go to the media. Not when he went to college (was disappointed, yes.) He had never hated her brother for having a life that he could not have. A life with friends, girlfriend.
At that time, Dean hated Sam. Because Dean did not have girlfriends (Cassie, but look as I finish), had lovers could not even remember the name and was sure not remember yours. He had had no opportunity to have a life. All I had was the game and his brother. And yet, Sam betrayed him, no matter how many times you save your ass, you care as a child, to be forgetting that Dean could be Sam Sam. Selfish and ungrateful bastard.
The second beer was gone and before felt so much anger for his brother, Dean would prefer to fantasizing about his simple life. Instead it is about Sam's bed. Sam pretending to sleep, the bastard. Involuntarily his hand travels to the gun he carried always with him and a momentum that is beginning to be familiar will invade. One shot, one and goodbye to Sam (bet a few would be happy up there with that). Dean sits on his bed, gun in hand, pointing to Sam's neck.
One shot, one. And no matter how strong the urge is not triggered, it can not. Because hell is Sam, his Sammy. Because it's the only damn thing that is the end of the day, when they finish work on duty when the angels come and disappear the faces of unknown women. Because it is your starting point and destination, all in all, the only stable. Sammy does not exist because if there is anyone else. There are no more family, no friends who call friends, nothing. Because it was the only good thing that resulted from the web of their lives and that by God, we belonged. He'd grown more than his father (no disrespect to his father).
Dean is still sitting on the bed, and there is no weapon, only a shaky hand is about Sam's hair and stays there, inches from touching. If Sam does pretend to wake up and say "What about Dean?" or presses the lips and continue pretending to sleep. The second is more likely to happen.
And again, Dean reaffirmed what he already knows and has always known. It will not kill Sam, hell, even become Lucifer himself and destroy the world. I will save, it will be to return to his side, so have to make up the strength and desire which can not be invented, because no matter what their fantasies (with a girl and children, being a firefighter) is a simple life has had, which is the only one who knows. And it is Sam, sitting in the passenger seat of the car going to and fro across the country.
And while lying (she knows that Sam will just close your eyes) wants nothing more than a hunt like before, no angels involved, no apocalypse. A simple and flat hunting discover where the bad, and would eliminate the sunset on the Impala would be listening to classic rock and Sam and Dean and anything else.
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