#spn 13.02 coda

[wheniwrite28]

Cartoons and Knifes- 13.02 coda

He is sleeping in Cas's place, the same way. Dean doesn't know how not to stop and take rest. He needs to finish this journey as soon as possible. He needs to be alone, to not be around people, before the pain is too much to handle, too much to remain numb.

***

Sam asked him to take a break or he can drive. He needs control right now, he can't let baby also go. So he stops and they rent a room. Jack is watching cartoons with the same endearing expression that Cas had. He can't look at him, he just can't. He doesn't need this right now. He doesn't need reminders of Cas in front of him. It hurts too much.

Instead he chooses to combact hurt with hurt and makes Jack leave the room. They are eating later and Jack is mimicking Dean and he thinks that Dean would tether him to humanity but he can't, he has lost his soul along side Cas. He can't tether himself, how can he tether something else.

***

It is later, he is drinking, or at least a drink. He can't drink. It tastes like nothing, everything tastes the same, of sustenance and nothing. A big ol' nothing. Sam talks about rock bottom and how they come back. Dean doesn't say anything, internally he is shouting, "Sam this isn't the same. I don't feel the same. I can't come back, I don't even if I want to. Bounce back or anything."

But silence is the best answer, yes Sam has also people he loved but he has not lost the one he loved, one he longed for nine freaking years. He hasn't. So, Sam should shut up about loss, unless he wants to talk about Jess.

***

They save one more crises or something. They are back at the bunker. Dean is going towards his room and some more miserable night and nightmares when he hears Jack in the washroom. He is stabbing himself. Stabbing and healing. His tshirt looks like a mess and he sees the inocent hurt, he saw Cas what he was before Leviathans took over.

He tells he will kill Jack if he turned towards the dark side. He ha son forgiveness left, he doesn't believe that good things happen. He doesn't believe in one thing. Nothing, zilch, nada.

It should hurt less now, but he feels the same hurt, just a different day.

#13.02 coda #spn 13.02 coda #spn 13.02 #spn 13x02 #spn 13x02 coda #destiel #destiel ficlet #deancas ficlet #deanxcas ficlet #deanxcas #deancas

[speckledspout]

13.02 coda

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He doesn’t realized that he’s shaking until he’s back out in the hallway, his beer bottle in one hand, the knife, that knife that Jack had been plunging in and out of his body, trembling in his other hand.

He shouldn’t care. In fact, he’s tried to make it clear the past couple of days that he doesn't care. That he wants to keep Jack as far away from him as possible while also keeping him within arms reach so when he finally does figure out how to kill— it, he can. 

Except when he walked in on Jack and Jack turned to face him, his face looking up like him like the scared child that he was, Dean— he couldn’t—

Sam is still sitting at the spot in the kitchen that Dean had just left him in, reading something on his iPad and he startled when Dean rushed past him, the knife clattering against the metal of the kitchen sink.

Dean wasn’t even sure where Jack got the knife, how he got the knife without either brother noticing it because if Sam saw him with the knife, Sam would have snatched it away and Dean— he sighed heavily, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to clear his thoughts because he knew that if he saw Jack with the knife, he would have snatched it away too. I mean, what else was he supposed to do?

While he looked like an adult, he was only three days old, still learning how the world worked. You don’t just let an infant run around with a knife no matter how much you can’t stand to be them.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and forced his body around. Sam was staring down at him, looking past him to the knife in the sink. His lips were down turned in a frown that made Sam look older than he actually was.

“Oh my— Dean, what did you do? Are you... Did you...” Sam’s hands wrap around Dean’s wrist and yanked his arms away from his body, pushing up the sleeves as if he was looking for deep cuts made by the knife.

Dean snatched his arms back, pushing the sleeves back down as an attempt to shield himself from Sam, from his thoughts, from everything.

“It’s not my blood.” Dean snapped wanting to add some kind of insult but he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. He turned back to face the sink and he turned on the faucet, watching as the water turned red and pooled in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain.

“Dean.” Sam said again, realization of if this wasn’t Dean’s blood on the knife then it meant that it was the blood of the only other person in the Bunker, the same person who Dean seemingly despised. His voice was a little calmer than what it was when Dean first walked into the kitchen, not as urgent but the panic is still there. Dean would always be able to hear the tremble in Sam’s voice. “Dean, what did you do?”

“Nothing.” Dean snapped again, a little more violation in his voice than he meant but he couldn’t stop himself. The fact that Sam thought that Dean would actually try to do something to Jack, it meant— “I didn’t do anything, alright. I just walked in and he was— He had the knife and he was...” Dean grabbed the sponge that was in the bottom of the sink and started scrubbing at the knife, trying to clean away every last bit of blood.

“He was what, Dean?” Sam asked, turning to rest his hip against the edge of the sink to look at his brother but Dean was purposely not looking at Sam, hyper focused on the task at hand. 

Sam sighed lightly as he reached out and shut off the water, taking the knife from Dean’s hands and placed it on the counter. Still Dean didn’t look at Sam, wouldn’t look at him.

“Come on, man.” Sam said lightly, almost as if he was consoling a small, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?” Sam wasn’t going to mention the fact that there were barely there tears welling up in his eyes. “What’d he do?”

“He was stabbing himself.” Dean spit out, like if he didn’t say it right then, that quickly then he wasn’t ever going to say it. “He was stabbing himself over and over and over again.” A shuddery intake of breath and what Dean wanted was a fifth of whiskey and to be left alone but the hand that Sam had at some point placed on his shoulder was keeping him there in that kitchen. “The kid is barely a week old and he’s already suicidal, Sam. He’s...” Dean shook his head, taking a step away and breaking the physical contact with his brother, needing to get away.

“Dean...” Sam whispered, much much softer now as he took a step forward, wanting to reach out to his brother but Dean took another step backwards, eyes wide with fear and his face painting out a million emotions that Sam could read oh so clearly.

“I’ve gotta... I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Dean muttered, turning on his heel and walked out of the kitchen before Sam could say anything else.

This whole time, he’s seen Jack as nothing more than a monster that was dangerous, could level an entire city if he so much as sneezed and it was partially true. Only thing is, they’ve never really dealt with something like Jack. Sure, angels and demons, God and Amara and Lucifer, they were all powerful to an extent but Dean knew what to do with them. With Jack, he’s at a complete loss.

Even with the power that was coursed through Jack’s veins, he was nothing more than a child trying to navigate the world alone and scared and instead of trying to help the kid, Dean was pushing him away. Alienating him and calling him the monster because that’s what he should be.

Black and white never seemed to be so grey before.

Sam said that Jack was scared of him when it should be the other way around because Dean was terrified of the kid.

But what he was terrified of wasn’t the fact that Jack could kill him with a snap of his fingers, take him away from a world that doesn’t want to be saved. No, what Dean was terrified was that no matter how hard Dean tried to push the kid away, he still managed to work his away underneath Dean’s skin, crawl through the blood and muscle just to nestle up right next to his heart and stay rooted there.

The kid, even though he said that he hated Dean, looked up to him, tried to copy what he did. That whole moment back in the motel was evident of that and it was the last thing that Dean needed.

He didn’t need anyone to look up to him because every single last person that did, ended up getting killed because Dean wasn’t the person that they thought he was.

Dean didn’t need anymore blood on his hands when he already had oceans on them.

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