This is the End

[collegedropout]

The end of the world just happens. 

 

Well, something like that. Sam isn't really very keen on where it began, other than when the Croatoan virus suddenly hit big in parts of the United States and burned outward in every direction; at this point, Sam had already said his goodbyes to Dean, had picked a hemisphere (non-literally, because he's not so sure he could forge plane tickets to China right this moment), started to try to correct his life. There were dreams, yeah, some Lucifer here and there to intrude on his privacy. But he was managing. Until, y'know. Shit hit the fan. In the end, phones went down, electricity, running water supplies. Places shut down. Boarded up. Humanity, trying to thrive. Lucifer, celebrating in his nightmares.

Sam never did speak to Dean again, after their final goodbye. Now he doesn't know if his brother is alive or dead out there. 

Maybe he'll never know 'til it's too late. Or until he's dead. Sam's a pretty lucky guy, all things... considered. He's immune. Been bitten more than once even (covered by his jacket, because if people saw... well, he's not about to get mistaken for infected, even if they're only scar tissue now), though most of it was born out of a sick sense of penance. He's hardly afraid to go barreling into a horde of insane viral carriers if it means maybe saving one life who can't handle getting infected. He can go on supply runs for people, too. The more the world eroded away, the more he finds himself wandering from place to place, directionless and distraught.

This is all his fault. It's all on him. 

He should have never let the devil out. 

He should have never believed a demon could be anything but a twisted, ugly demon.

He should have... Should have done something different. 

Bobby isn't in his home, Jo and Ellen are MIA, no signs of life from anyone he knows. No Dean. Just more people to help. Mouths to feed. Croats to kill. By the time he reaches a little place in California, he's exhausted, seeking out an abandoned building to rest up there. He uses his pack as a pillow and listens for any sounds of the infected. Or survivors. It's not like he can deny someone in need of help, in a mess he made. There's probably some big issue just around the corner. Danger. Right now, his only concern is actually getting a few hours of rest before the Devil comes to poke around inside his noggin.

Comments

[ramble_on]

Dean raises his eyebrows — it's a nice haul, which makes for a good note for them to leave on. He digs through the pile approvingly, then stands to all the stuff to his little collection in the corner of the room. It's all packed and ready to be transported.

"Good," is all Dean says in reply to Sam's initial statements.

"Figure we'll go north to see if we can pick up the group's trail, but they're probably long-dead by now." Spoken factually — why else wouldn't they have returned? "If we don't find anything, we'll head back to my camp."

Dean needs to drop off the supplies and make sure everything is still going smoothly there. And see if anyone there has gotten any news about the Colt.

He walks back to his bed and takes a seat, nodding at Sam's ice pack. "Things get bad out there?" he asks.

[collegedropout]

He snorts, leaning his head back a little more, squirming to get comfortable in his pillow. "Sort of bad. Nobody died or got infected, though, so I think it's a win. Guy I helped seems kind of fuming about me having to help him out, though." Which is weird, because people usually thank you for rescuing him. But then, Dean didn't, so he's not that surprised in hindsight. Still kind of weird to make a sort-of-enemy in the camp off something like saving a life.

A shrug.

"Thrown face-first into a wall. Been a while since that's happened to me." He was used to it hunting. Ghosts did that shit a lot. "You should get some sleep then. We can eat and go in the afternoon, if you want some daylight."

He's kinda sad about leaving, really. He'll have to say bye to Polly and the kids. Thank Billy for being so open. He has a feeling tomorrow's going to be bittersweet. Saying goodbyes, they're never completely easy for Sam.

[ramble_on]

"He probably wanted to play hero," Dean replies, thinking that it's pretty damn stupid that people still get hung up about that kind of thing. Playing hero is tiresome. Dean still does it — it's why he's looking for the Colt — but only because someone has to.

"Good that it happened again, then." Not that Dean, even with the way he is these days, would hope for Sam to get hurt. Rather: "You gotta keep sharp somehow." It's important, in Dean's opinion, to be accustomed to getting thrown around and having to react quickly.

Dean is eager to get on the road, but one last good meal wouldn't hurt, since it'll be a while before they get another good one in. "We'll go after breakfast," he tells Sam. "I'll give you an extra half hour to say your goodbyes, since I know you're gonna be sappy about 'em. Only half an hour, though."

Better that than to spend half an hour arguing over why Sam shouldn't be such a damn girl about leaving a camp where they don't really belong, anyway.

here we goooooooooooooo

[collegedropout]

Sam scoffs.

"Playing hero is my job, isn't it?"

But he gets it. He nods at the offer of half an hour, and for a moment he's kind of awed that they're... talking like this. It's so fucking different from that night they met, and Sam is cautious and unsure about it all, because they're almost talking like they did before Sam and Dean parted ways. It's not... This isn't supposed to end up like this. It makes his stomach flip, really. He gets to see old faces, soon. He'll be... with Dean, which is awful, because Dean is so much worse now. So much colder.

Best not look a gift horse in the mouth.

He lays down and sleeps.

In the morning, he does say goodbye, to a lot of people. Emel sort of shoves past him in the breakfast line - what is his problem? - but other than that, everyone's warm and welcoming. Hell, to end on a relatively good note, the hunters from before actually get back. Empty-handed save for rations, mind, but still. Staying alive is good. There's sort of a weird hostility about them, though. Mostly toward Sam. They don't... look at him very nicely. What did he do? Did he piss off Emel's group?

He reunites with Dean for just a bit to discuss plans, but he's back off pretty quickly. Polly is happy and beaming alongside two of the older kids; they said they have a goodbye surprise for him, so he follows without question. Maybe Sam should worry. Maybe he's too fucking gullible. Maybe. Because they lead him to a field out in the more forested area, and there's a group of men there, waiting. Armed. The bats and pipes aren't fucking friendly.

Polly and the two children seem just as confused as he is, which is oddly relieving.

"Howdy, Sammy boy," Tim says. Tim.

From before the Croats.

Sam's mouth goes dry, and no attempt to flee gets him away fast enough for the first bat to take his knee out. As Polly runs screaming with the other two for help, Emel and Tim oversee a flurry of kicks, punches. "I saw your bite scars, you fucker," Emel says, "Tim told me what you did. We know what you did."

Blood drips down Sam's face.

[ramble_on]

It's getting close to time to leave. While Sam is out saying his goodbyes, Dean makes sure that everything is good to go. A few people find out from Sam that they are leaving, and they decide to pay Dean a visit — to say goodbye to him too, because even if Dean hasn't been the most friendly guy around, they still appreciate his help.

He hears that the hunters come back and talks to them briefly, but they don't seem all that interested in speaking with him. They mostly brush him off, which is fine by Dean, because if they don't have information on the Colt, then that's all that Dean needs to know.

Deciding to go ahead and pack the van while Sam finishes up, Dean walks toward his building — when Polly and a couple of kids run up to him.

"You gotta help Tommy!" Polly yells, frantic — crying.

"Sammy, they called him Sammy," one of the other kids says — Dean doesn't know his name, but it doesn't matter.

"Where?" Right now, that's the most important question. The details — he can get those when he gets there. But he needs to know where to go first.

"In the field — come on," Polly cries, and takes off. Dean takes out his pistol and immediately follows, without question or hesitation. There's no room for that in this world — and Sam is in trouble.

Freaking Sam. Dean has done just fine over the past few years not thinking about him, not worrying about him, being fine without him, but now here he is, in his life again.

Making Dean worry.

Dean follows Polly out to the field, and when he sees the other hunters, Dean's inclination is to just start shooting. He wants to, so badly his trigger finger aches, but there are too many of them. If Dean shoots, they can easily kill Sam and then turn around and kill him too. As much as Dean just wants to end this, he can't just go in shooting.

"Hey!" he calls out as he runs up to the group. "What the hell is going on here?"

Dean finally gets close enough to see Sam, and it doesn't matter how many years are between them and how different their relationship is now, Dean gets pissed right the fuck off and all he wants is to take Sam away from the god damn camp.

He should have freaking known better than to trust this camp — should have left a long time ago.

"Grab him," one of the men says, and Dean hears Polly yell, "No!" as one of the guys takes a pipe and hits Dean's arm with it. Dean drops his pistol, when the guy proceeds to pick up. Another guy grabs Dean's arms. Dean struggles and tries to wrench away, but the guy holding his pistol hits him with it — once, and then seeing that Dean is still struggling, a second and third time, too.

Dean manages to stay conscious, barely. His vision blurs for a moment, and when it clears again, he realizes they've let him go and have resumed beating on Sam. Dean pushes himself off the ground, trying to stand back up to intervene again.

[collegedropout]

Sam scrabbles for the hunter's legs, but they pull away and kick harder, stomp down on his fingers, on his back, and his ribs. "Deaaan," he groans, voice strangled and clipped; for a moment, he's not sure where he is. Not sure what is happening. Something in his side snaps, and he screams, eyes bloodshot and cheek and eyelid and lip swollen big. Another stomp. More sharp fire in his body. He crawls toward Dean for a moment, tears of pain leaking with blood.

"Don't - hurt him," he slurs. A bat smashes into his eye, knocking his head to the side. Something there breaks. Somehow, he's conscious, the left side of his upper face bowing disturbingly. Somewhere in the mess of blood is an eye.

"Piece of shit," one of them says harshly, spitting on him. "He fucking did this. He let the world turn into this; why the fuck you defending him, Dean?! Because he's your brother? Guy is barely human!" A few of the other hunters look unsure. A bit horrified. They scream at Polly to leave, because she seems to not have heard them the first time. As Sam lay choking on blood, twitching, Tim wanders over to Dean and grabs his shoulder, forcing him steady to watch while the children rush away.

"See now, your brother? He had a chance to help me and my group a while back against demons. Before the Croats. But he didn't - wanted to play civilian, and my boys died. The son of a bitch wouldn't even drink down demon blood for us. Booted us out."

Sam's body shudders, and he tries again to crawl toward Dean, head sagging and blood and tears dribbling out of his eye. "Dean," he breathes, because he can't remember what he's supposed to really say. His lung is full of something. He coughs. His brother needs his help. Sam needs his brother. "Dean..."

He's sorry. He can't remember why, but he's so sorry. Emel bends down, snaking his hand into Sam's hair and jerking his head up roughly. Sam's good eye rolls, trying to focus. "You killed my family," Emel hisses.

"Don't take it wrong, Dean, but this is divine retribution," Tim says. He nods to Emel, and Emel puts his gun to the base of Sam's spine, right on the button there on his neck. Sam flails one arm, trying to grab blindly for the hand holding him up. He is barely there.

"De-" he gurgles, and then Emel shoots Sam execution-style, and Sam crumples bonelessly into the bloody grass, eye closed. Everything goes very still. A lot of the hunters step back, as if Sam were even a threat now. Or maybe they're ashamed and afraid of what they have done. Emel still looks ready to fight something.

"God save his soul," Tim says.

Emel kicks the corpse hard again, and another rib snaps.

[ramble_on]

It turns out that old instincts die hard.

Dean thought he was hardened past the point of getting caught up in emotions, of caring about what Sam does with his life, of having any kind of attachments in a world where attachments just get you killed. He thought he had successfully moved beyond that unrelenting need to save Sammy that has existed within him for as long as he can remember. Dean wanted to believe that he no longer cared.

Kneeling there, trying to get to his feet, likely concussed and fighting to hold on to consciousness - grabbed by Tim and forced to watch - all those old feelings come back. Dean tries to wrench his shoulder out of Tim's grip - wants to beat him with anything available, wants to put a bullet in his head and burn this camp to the ground - but his head is still reeling and Tim just clenches him even harder.

Dean watches. That's all he can do. He watches as they beat Sam and Sam calls out to him and dies. And all Dean can do is slur out, helplessly, "Sammy," and hope that it ends quickly so that Sam doesn't suffer.

Something has been broken in Dean for a long time. Sam could see it - called him out on it more than once - but now? Now it isn't merely broken. It's dead.

It's too late now, but Dean still makes an oath to never, ever let anyone lull him into any sense of security like he did in this camp. He knew it was a bad idea, and he still did it - and now Sam is dead.

Tim lets go of his shoulder and walks over to look at Sam's body. One of the guys from the hunting group - Dean doesn't know his name - comes to help Dean to his feet, refusing to meet his eyes. Dean shoves him away as best he can and gets shakily to his feet by himself.

Everyone turns to look at him.

"My gun." Dean puts out his hand for it, voice hoarse but devoid of emotion.

Silent hesitation. No one moves.

"My gun," Dean repeats, stronger in tone this time.

Billy walks up to the group in that moment. Sees Dean standing there, waiting with his hand out. He looks - upset. Conflicted. Sad. Polly isn't around - Dean doesn't know if Billy is aware that Polly witnessed part of the display. Dean doesn't know. And he truly doesn't give a fuck, either.

"Give him his gun," Billy tells the hunter who's holding it.

"You try anything and we'll kill you, too," Tim tells him. "There's only one of you now."

"That's enough, Tim," Billy warns. "You've done enough."

Dean is given his gun. He holds it and thinks about shooting everyone, seeing as far as he can get before he's taken down. He's a quick shot. He estimates he can get four of them, maybe five, if he can move quick enough, before he winds up killed.

But as much as Dean wants to do it, as little as he cares about what happens to him, he still needs to kill Lucifer. Someone has to do it, and Dean wants to be that someone. He wants to shoot Lucifer with the Colt and watch him die before he takes his own last breath, because then, at least, he'll have killed the one responsible for all of this.

So Dean slips his gun away and starts walking back toward the camp.

They all watch. Billy comes up behind him. "Dean, if I had known your brother -"

"Put his body in my van," Dean interrupts with that same empty tone.

"Dean -"

"Do it."

He'll give Sam a hunter's funeral. Burn his body, just in case Lucifer gets any ideas. Make sure Sam gets sent off right.

Sam was going to do it for him.

Billy stops walking, and ultimately turns to go get some of the guys to load the body.

Dean heads to his room, grabs the few sacks of supplies he's kept there. Starts carrying them to the van.

Polly runs up to him, crying. "I'm sorry," she tells him. "I'm sorry." She grabs him in an awkward hug, since Dean's hands are full and he isn't in the mood to talk to the kid, and repeats it over and over again.

"You did what you could," is all Dean tells her before he detangles himself from her arms. To himself, he thinks, But it wasn't enough.. It never is, anymore - not in this world.

Dean brings the supplies to the van and loads them up once Sam has been placed in the back.

The guys stand around the van, once again unsure. Dean looks at them - settles at looking at Billy. "You better hope I never come back here," he states evenly.

But if he manages to survive killing the devil, Dean will be back.

He gets in the van and drives, feeling devoid of anything beyond the intention to burn Sam's body.

[collegedropout]

Dean drives for an hour, and in that time Sam's ribs reposition. His skull corrects itself, lungs clear out, heal -- the hole in the back of his neck heals. The thick, lumped wounds on his face recede, just enough, and he's recognizable even with the fat lip and bruising and crusted swollen brow. He tries to open both eyes, manages just one. The other hurts. Can't open it, but it's throbbing in time with his blood. There's a sheet over his face. He feels so tired, he's not sure for a moment he can sit up.

But he does. Silently, like a stiff old man, he sits up in the back seat, putting his heavy arm over the backrest. He sits like this for a long moment, mouth rancid with blood and bile tastes, eyes red-rimmed.

He remembers a little. A lot soon follows. "Dean?" He croaks, voice like sandpaper. He doesn't look over at Dean, just stares at the passing scenery - shell-shocked into silence, until the numbness in his head goes away. He remembers being ice cold, and the Devil whispering, sad and sympathetic.

He reaches into his mouth, pulls a tooth from the side where they had knocked it out. Stares at it like he's not sure how it got there.

Yeah, he's in shock.

[ramble_on]

Dean doesn't hear Sam sit up — doesn't look in his rear view mirror right away. He's too focused on the task ahead, scanning areas to find a safe place to burn Sam's body.

Then he hears his name.

Dean doesn't jump. He doesn't react with surprise or jerk the vehicle to a stop. Instead, he calmly looks in the rear view mirror, sees Sam, and then pulls over.

Nothing surprises him anymore.

Obviously, a bullet wasn't enough to keep Sam dead, so whether this is the Sam of an hour ago or something supernatural coming to mock Dean for being sentimental and hanging on to Sam's body long enough to give it a proper hunter's funeral — well, it doesn't matter. Either way, a gun isn't going to provide him with much defense.

Dean isn't a fan of going weaponless in situations like these, though, so he ultimately pulls out the pistol anyway. He doesn't aim it, though. Just holds it in his hand as he turns around to get a good look at Sam.

He doesn't feel anything. There's no relief, no shock, no grim sense of joy. Dean's fresh out of emotion, so he settles on saying: "You're really gonna make me ask?"

Because if Sam's going to wake up from the freaking dead, the least he can do is explain what the hell is going on.

Or offer up his arm so Dean can perform the necessary tests.

[collegedropout]

Sam still doesn't look at him. He stares at the molar in his hand, wondering how he's holding it when he still feels all of his teeth with his tongue. He blinks. "Ask what?" he says in a raw, low voice. Dropping the tooth, his hand hovers shakily to touch his sensitive face, and before he can really stop himself he's shivering violently where he sits.

"Lucifer said I'm not allowed to," he slurs. Dean's hollowed out. Sam wishes he could be. He curls up on himself, hands over his head, and cowers at the weights pressing down in his chest, crushing his lungs and heart. "M'sorry. Messed up your time to leave. I'm sorry."

He's scared. He's so fucking terrified, because he'll never die, and Lucifer will always be there to hear his 'no', until it's pleading and he's widdled down to nothing. And Dean will abandon him, because he's unwanted, because he tries too hard, lets his feelings ruin everything. Lets what he did ruin everything. "You didn't deserve that. M'sorry. It was supposed to just be me. It's my fault, so it's me."

[ramble_on]

"Shut up, Sam."

Dean gets out of the van and opens the sliding door. Climbs in back and takes a seat next to Sam, squinting at him in the dim van light.

"Alright. Lemme see your arm."

First things first, just to make sure that Lucifer isn't pulling some kind of stunt that Dean's going to buy into. He doesn't wait for Sam to respond. Takes his wrist, firmly, and pushes his jacket up to expose his arm. He pulls out a silver knife and uses it to slice the skin. Putting that away, he then uses the holy water he keeps under the driver's seat.

And of course, nothing happens. Dean didn't figure it would — Lucifer bringing Sam back makes sense, if he's been coveting Sam's body for years.

He reaches to the side, where the resources are packed, and rummages through the bags until he gets the first aid supplies out. He takes out two pain pills and holds them out to Sam.

"Take these."

They help Cas. Might help Sam get his shit together. Or at least shut him up until he's able to process what's going on.

Then maybe Dean'll have two junkies being a pain in his ass.

He then takes out a bandage for the wound he just created.

Motions — that's all they are. Dean is going through the motions established long ago: checking for humanity, tending wounds, being a hunter. That's about the extent of what he can do. He feels emotionally burnt out, like there's nothing left for him to use in reacting to the fact that Sam is still here.

[collegedropout]

Sam takes the pain pills in his hand, but doesn't take them.

"You shouldn't'f came. They were wrong to hurt you, but they weren't wrong to kill me. We both know that." Dean's already hinted enough, that if Sam hadn't been useful as bait, he would've been iced a while ago. If Dean had wanted to put a bullet between Sam's eyes, Sam would have accepted it, all things considered. Those men back there... they weren't robbers, or cold-blooded killers. They wanted to kill the man who ruined their lives.

Sam can't fault it. He hates that he involved the kids — they had no right.

But the rest...

He watches Dean treat the cut, his one green eye glancing up to Dean sparingly as he lets his arm hang limp in Dean's grip.

He's voice is almost inaudible, rough.

"Thank you for trying."

[ramble_on]

"What part of 'shut up' did you miss?" Dean asks, still looking down at Sam's arm as he finishes bandaging it. He lets go of Sam's arm and then looks at his face. There's nothing he can do about his eye - no way to acquire ice - so he'll just have to rest that one out.

"We've got work to do, remember? If you're dead, it's gonna be a hell of a lot harder for me to kill Lucifer."

Ergo: "They were wrong to kill you. They were morons. The first question they should've asked themselves when they found out who you are is, How can we use that? They're freaking hunters, not civilians." They should have thought like hunters, should have realized that Sam could be useful, instead of just jumping the gun to kill him. It was stupidity.

But most of all, they just plain shouldn't have killed Sam. End of story.

Dean puts the first aid supplies back in the sack.

[collegedropout]

Sam is quiet at that, slumped in the back seat. Everything kind of hurts now; on second thought, maybe numbness is way better. He shifts to glance at Dean, but doesn't say anything for a long moment, until Dean's back in the driver's seat.

"When you're done with me - when Lucifer's dead, if I'm still alive - send me back."

Fair's fair.

Lucifer fucked it up.

[ramble_on]

Dean starts driving and answers Sam without looking back.

"No."

Simple but firm.

"You can go be suicidal on someone else's watch."

Dean may not be feeling much of anything right now, but he knows damn well that he doesn't want to go through Sam dying a third time.

"If anyone's going back, it's me. Without you."

Because Dean already knows Sam wouldn't approve.

[collegedropout]

Sam squints, confused and frustrated. "Why? It's not they're fault that I'm a criminal to them. That's all you have to do. I won't be around to get you pissed off, or to lecture you, or to remind you of what a shitty person I was in your life. You get to wipe your hands clean. Hell, you got to until you found me."

He shakes his head, hair falling in his face. He's so tired. Tilts his head against the seat, sighing. "It's be worth it in the end, for everyone, " he says in a hopeful voice. "It's worth it."

[ramble_on]

"You don't have to be dead to quit lecturing me or pissing me off," Dean points out flatly, eyes still on the road.

He would be frustrated, if he felt as though he had the emotional stamina - not over the fact that Sam is so hell-bent on dying, but over the fact that it bothers Dean on some deep level that still exists within him. This whole event has done nothing but prove that Sam is a liability for him - he can already guess that it's going to get in the way of his plan to take down Lucifer - but Dean knows he's already screwed. Had he and Sam managed to avoid bumping into each other, they would have been just fine, but now Dean needs to grapple with the fact that he does actually, somewhere, care about what happens to his brother.

"You think that's the selfless thing to do? You think you'd be making it easier on everyone by offering yourself up to a camp filled with assholes who want to murder you? Sam the martyr." Though he says it with sarcasm, Dean's tone still retains an empty quality, as though he's emotionally divorced from the words he is speaking.

"Tell that to Bobby. To Cas. To everyone who's gonna be pretty damn glad to see you around again. Tell them and see how selfless they think you are."

A pause.

"Tell that to me again, and I'm just gonna tell you you're more of a selfish asshole than I am, and we both know I'm pretty bad off."

[collegedropout]

Sam laughs, clipped and slightly manic, smoothing a hand through his hair. It's stained with blood. He's covered in blood, head to toe, a morbid haunting in the back seat. He looks like a moving corpse.

"All Winchesters are assholes. That's the universal joke. I already know I'm the worst of all of us."

They have a long drive together. Sam lays back and tries to relax, having pocketed the pain pills. He doesn't get to do that, while people suffer. There's dirt all over him, grass stains.

"Sam the Martyr. I never wanted to be like that, back with Ruby. I just - wanted to do whatever killed Lilith and saved the world. Honestly, I just wanted to burn out doing something God might actually find worthy. Maybe he'd have let me in if I did something with the evil shit in me."

He shrugs.

"I was wrong. Should have never left that church, though. That's the point of all this, Dean. I should have never left the church."

It's a bit mumbled; he drifts off, hurt and dizzy and drained.

[ramble_on]

"God, huh?" Dean asks with a slight, humorless huff of a laugh. It's basically an unfunny joke to him now. Cas tried to find God — tried to believe — and came up with a whole bunch of nothing.

"God ain't worth your time. Never was."

He wasn't worth Castiel's time, either.

Dean makes a turn. Heads back to his base, because there's no point in following a lead that ended up being false.

"Maybe you shouldn't've left that church, Sam. But guess what? You did." He glances in the rear view mirror. "So how about you quit bitching about how you should be dead and just deal with being alive?"

[collegedropout]

Ha. He grins, self-deprecation strong.

"Deal with being alive long enough to use as satan bait?" He touches his eye, messing with the swollen area there. It hurts — hurts and hurts and hurts, like some annoying throbbing headache dedicated just to his socket. He sort of manages to get it pulled back a little, blinking. He couldn't... see out of it. It makes his stomach flip-flop. "Was Polly okay?"

More important things to talk about.

[ramble_on]

"Yeah, Sam," Dean answers, even though Sam has tried to change the subject. "Satan bait. We're still hunters and we still gotta kill Lucifer."

Dean rubs the bridge of his nose. His head still hurts, albeit not as much as it did earlier. But having this conversation with Sam hasn't done much to further ease his headache. He could use an hour or so of silence to process the clusterfuck that was Sam's death and eventual resurrection, but that's kind of hard to get when Sam is harping on his death wish.

"Polly's gonna grow up realizing that no one can be trusted," Dean finally replies to Sam's question. "It's a tough lesson to learn but it's better for her to figure that out now. Those kids are too sheltered in that camp."

They should be learning how to defend themselves - how to stay alive.

[collegedropout]

Sam just hums at that, unaffected by Dean's reply.

"Should let her know I ended up okay, someday. Hopefully she'll forget and move on with her life as usual." He hopes they never turn into Dean. Or get as vicious and angry as those hunters. He peels off the bloody jacket, revealing a bloody long sleeve. He leans back, sighing. "Don't throw yourself into danger like that again for me, though. I don't care how valuable I am as a satan baiting worm; you're supposed to be the hard-ass not risking himself for others, right?"

He breathes.

"I thought they were going to kill you, too."

[ramble_on]

"She'll be fine," Dean replies, thinking that Sam's desire to go back and let Polly know he's alive is a stupid one — of course. She's better off not knowing that Sam can't be killed, otherwise she, too, may wind up believing it's better for Sam to be dead, given that the supernatural is the only explanation for something like that. Plus, Dean truly believes that a little bit of horror in a kid's life is a good thing. It prepares them for their future — otherwise trying to survive in a Croat-infected world will be a shock when she's older and has to start being a productive member of her camp.

Dean shrugs, even though Sam can't see the motion through the seat. "I got my morals," Dean replies vaguely. "They ain't the same as yours, but I got 'em." He's not feeling this line of conversation, as it gets into territory that Dean isn't keen on exploring. It's bad enough that he's allowed Sam to become a liability in his life again — he doesn't need to admit to that weakness verbally.

Even though Sam has a point. He could have gotten himself killed. He may still get himself killed over Sam in the future. But they don't need to sit here and analyze that fact.

So he leaves it at that.

[collegedropout]

"Yeah, well, figure out if you're going to be popping morals when it's convenient — getting them just to die for me is a pain in the ass," he says, voice rough. He closes his good eye and is quiet for a long moment, drifting in his exhaustion. Of course, Lucifer can't leave him alone; he mumbles in his sleep, twitching, mostly incoherent; the best to get out of it is why didn't you let me die. When he opens his eye again, he finds the other still isn't cooperating. His face is smashed against the bottom seat cushion.

"Dean," his voice rumbles, nervous, "What are we going to do if the gun doesn't work?"

[ramble_on]

It's tempting to snap back at Sam, to return to bickering, but Dean ultimately lets silence stretch between them instead. He doesn't want to give Sam leeway to keep questioning, and he could use some time to think.

As he drives, he can hear Sam murmuring in his sleep. Dean ignores it — doesn't try to wake him up, since some sleep, however fitful, it better than none. He needs Sam to heal up some more, to watch his back on stops so they can make it back to the only safe camp out there.

In those quiet moments, Dean thinks about how Sam is still alive. Because of the freaking devil — but alive nonetheless. As is typical for Dean, especially these days, he attempts to quell any potential emotional reaction to that — Sam's still here, and they have a job to do. That's that.

It's bad enough that Dean lost his tightly kept control once already.

After Sam speaks, Dean answers, without any hesitation. "It'll work."

It has to work. It's their only chance.

"Or it'll be the end."

And that will be that.