endoftheverse | Deerington Inbox.

[Dean lets out a long, low sigh as he listens. He owes Sam that much, at least. To listen to him. He physically winces when he explains that, without Ruby, he would have likely died; that possibility hits him right in the gut, even as he also knows that, were their positions reversed, he would find himself in the same situation. (Hell, he thinks to himself, look what did happen when their positions reversed; a crossroads demon, a shitty bargain, Hellhounds, and all the fire and all the brimstone scorched into his damned soul.)

He lets out a bitter, choked out sort of laughter.] They always say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

[I thought I was at least a good monster, Sam says, and damn if that doesn't crash into Dean like a freight truck. Sam's always been the more open-minded of the two of them; Sam has always been the more empathetic, the more compassionate. And Dean loves him for it; loves his brother for being the kind of good Dean could never be, can never be, now, after Hell. He always worried about Sam getting himself into trouble because of it, and, now, here they are.

Dean closes his eyes and opens them. He doesn't really have any good answers to give; all he has is Sam here with him, and the chance to move forward, even if all it ends up being is moving forward stuck in the same old mess. But damn it if Dean isn't going to let the past dictate how he reacts.]

I don't have any answers for you Sam. Not easy ones, at least. This is all so fucked, even for us.

[He lets out another low breath.] After everything, I'm the last person who should be judging anyone on who they're better than or not. Maybe, at the end of the day, we're all just fucked up messes, trying to make it through the day without fucking up too badly.

[He turns to face Sam, to watch him, refusing to let his memory of his recent conversation with Lucifer taint him getting to talk with his baby brother.] I would never let myself throw you in a ditch, Sam. You're my brother and I will always fight for you, Hell or highwater. Literally, in this case.

[He tries to crack something of a smile, to at least attempt to lighten the mood, somewhat.]

[Sam's smile is weak, but he does it for his brother, because he can't bring himself to fail him anymore than he has.]

... It goes both ways. I'll fight for you, too.

I know I, uh... I suck at succeeding. At helping you when you need it most. But I promise, I've always tried. I'll always try to make it all up to you. For Hell, and for the mistakes I've made... for making anything harder than it needed to be.

I know it's a little too late to be a better brother back home, but. It's not too late in your time. And it's not too late here. So...

I'll try to be around more, as long as I'm — safe to be around, I mean.

[Boy, they sure are sappy today.]

[This might be the most open Dean has been with Sam for...Christ. Since before he got dragged to Hell, really. Possibly even longer, if he's being technical about it. He would laugh, just to break up the sappiness, but even Dean's too exhausted to try propping up his own usual bullshit today.

He's just grateful to get to connect to Sam without the devil between them in the wake of that last dream he had.] Deerington's got it's share of faults, but this ain't one of them.

You look out for me, I'll look out for you works for me.

Feel like grabbing a bite to eat? I feel like coffee or something. Walking just makes me want to stuff my face more.

[It's an olive branch, a chance to move past the nightmare of Lucifer's continued presence in Sam. It's not going to fix anything but they can at least enjoy themselves, if only for a minute.]

[Sam blinks up at him, and there's an obvious hesitation that paints the way his gaze flicks away.]

... I've been trying to stay away from the town. I mean, I don't know if I'm safe to be around.

[But. But coffee and food sounds nice, for once. He's been pretty bad at actually keeping himself fed, especially when he's still getting used to having to eat on his own again, and... and it sounds normal. Like something they'd have done before everything went to literal Hell.]

Deerington Inbox.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject