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mangacat201) wrote2009-03-21 01:28 pm
Hope Against Heaven; Dean, G, Season 4, 1/1
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Spoilers: All of season 4, especially 4.15/16
Status/word count: Oneshot/1010
Summary: Dean's once again confined to a hospital bed and has time to think
Disclaimer: Well, if Kripke didn't want me to channel Dean's thoughts, he should stop piling the boy. As it is... I fear that he will go on and I'll not even get paid for the thoughts... not even a penny..
Warning: Insight...
Hope Against Heaven
He’d told Tessa that there had been a hole inside him that had been filled with her presence and the memory of her task. But he hadn’t told his fear that reprieve for him the way she could give it was no longer an option. He wouldn’t die a warrior’s death.
He’d told Uriel that he was tired of being tossed around in the game played by God and the Devil and whoever else cared about it, but he hadn’t let on that he really didn’t care anymore about who tossed which dice in what direction.
He’d told Sam that there was a hole that would never fill up, no matter how many of those memories he tried to shove down there, shove back to hell where they belonged, to cut off this part of him that stayed there… the better part for sure.
He’d told Castiel, that the world was too heavy to carry for him and in all honesty he didn’t even want to try anymore. He’d never had faith because even the visible proof for the presence of a higher power that wasn’t out to raise Hell on earth hadn’t exactly send a memo around on the price tag.
One soul was enough to sell for the first time, but you couldn’t sell shreds.
That was what he felt like… threadbare and see-through in places, torn and scabbed to scars - thick and unrecognizable in others. So the angels had set out to conquer hell and save him, but they hadn’t come for his father that way. He’d been there much longer than him and he wondered how they’d know that man wouldn’t break.
But he did, he had and he would again and again and again until his very core was depleted by all the powers that held the universe and battled over mere humans, like chess pieces that were thrown away after they’d been taken.
But he hadn’t had that kind of luck did he, he’d been the king bowed in check mate, lying there for the field to turn, for the colours to change; to become king and triumph to the other side. Lying there, unmoving and unmoved, he wondered how many times the table had already turned and how many times it still would.
He watched the strong young man nodding in the chair by his side, pondering the bond they’d shared from the very moment of the little one’s first breath and when had it turned into a burden, a weight made of lead, when all he had ever tried was to do right by his brother, to save him, to raise him, to let him find his place in the world…
He remembered daintily how some parting words spoken not long ago about doing the right thing meant leaving everything in shreds;
For whatever had taunted him in the silent moments between wake and sleep in the deep hours of the night, one thing had never held any doubt for him.
Saving people. Hunting things.
Doing whatever had to be done to make things right with all the evil in the world. Balance the scales that would tip if they didn’t do what noone else would, what noone else could.
Every hunter had a story that led them into this world where rules didn’t apply the same way for humanity and acceptance was the only thing that kept a man going.
He wasn’t sure anymore if there was a truth out there he could actually accept and he had the feeling the world left him behind to mend the rifts in his soul that stretched out for aeons without waiting for him to make the time.
He looked into the face of the man on the other side of his bed who hadn’t left in a breeze for the first time since they’d met after making sure everything was going to be as alright as it was going to get. The once blank and inhumane features showed vestiges of grief, of despair, of anxiety and worst of all hope.
Hope was the most deceitful and most glorious of all emotions to feel when you felt for the very first time.
His whole life consisted of hope and its aftermath.
Hoping that daddy came home alive and save and that Sammy would hold out until then.
Hoping that maybe the man he’d worshipped most of all would for once swoop down and hug him first instead of asking a daunting question.
Hoping that his brother would become strong enough to find his way.
Hoping that his brother would not turn his back on this life again.
Hoping that his brother would find a destiny that didn’t end in blood and pain and tears.
Hoping that his brother would find a way to stay the same even without him.
Hoping that leaving Sammy alone wouldn’t break him beyond repair.
Hoping that he would be welcomed back despite the big holes in the fabric of his very existence.
Hoping that change would pass them by.
He hadn’t lied about dreaming in hell, but he hadn’t even considered wasting his dreams on fighting for closure. Dreams had never rung true, not even in the own stillness of his mind and closure was not something in stock for him.
The only thing left was saving the world and after that, he’d put his hopes up for the last time, speak one prayer, offer one plea to whoever answered for the other side.
Prayed that heaven… would be nothing.
END
So, this is what happens when all those moments for Dean focus on one point in my head and then turn blank. After watching the latest episode, it didn’t feel fit to write anything in my ongoing stories, so I just let this pour out how it wanted. I wrote it in one go and I didn’t think anything while doing it. So I hope you can recognize your own impressions in some of it. But the Dean in my head just wanted out, so he dug his way.
Cat
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*collapse*
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Thanks for commenting!!
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*props head on elbow and admires*
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