4.22 Lucifer Rising tag
You're Still My Brother…Always My Brother
When the world's fate rests on the precipice, perched precariously, just as likely to slide into the apocalypse as stay the course, when everything you do matters as if your life depended on it…that's when you most realize what's important.
As the minutes ticked down, Dean found himself willing to look beyond the hurt if he could only see his brother one last time. Past mistakes and transgressions still stung, still twisted his gut into painfully tight contortions, but this was Sam…his brother, and if this fight turned into his last, if he was to sacrifice all to his duty, then he wanted one thing in return. One final request. One last need fulfilled.
He needed to see Sam.
He'd been furious with his brother, deadly serious when he'd issued the ultimatum, steeled to his decision when he'd finally turned his back on his brother…after Sam turned his back on him. But that was then and this was now.
Dean Winchester wasn't the kind to blindly forgive and forget, not for something this massive. He'd finally found his line, purposely digging in as Sam walked out of his life. Finally doing what he should have done years ago…letting his brother go. He wasn't even sure he was his brother. Sam now a stranger, cracked out on demon blood and so far off the reservation he no longer recognized him. Dean was too hurt and broken to continue following Sam around, forcing him into a life he hated, holding him to the straight and narrow.
He'd finally had enough.
But as he awaited the final battle, secure in his gilded white prison, he paced. Zachariah had him on lock down…sequestered and protected and he was furious, festering within the raw wounds. He hated the wait, the 'not knowing'. He was antsy, preferring to just get it on instead of cooling his heels in the company of mooks in the guise of angels.
They were dicks, now more than ever.
Offers of virgins or sluts, of Ginger and Mary Ann, the catering of his favorite burgers along with chilled bottles of his preferred beer, did nothing to calm him. He wanted answers. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. He wanted to be involved in the planning and the tactics.
They had reduced him to simply being the hammer, a mindless tool in the service of God and his guys. A meat suit, useful for his body but unimportant in mind.
That is not how Dean Winchester operates.
When he engaged in battle it was with purpose and determination, his family by his side, fighting the good fight their way…Dad's way. Their training as children further refined and perfected as they grew into their own men, settling into their own unique partnership, engaging in that specialized Winchester brand of combat. They approached each conflict confident in the knowledge that they had each others back, secure in the knowledge that together they could face anything, even the freaking apocalypse, and emerge victorious.
This was just one more fight, one more battle waged against insurmountable odds.
But this was a fight he had no control over, not while he stayed in the company of angels. This was a fight where he was being lied to and deceived, a fight with more questions than answers.
He needed to see Sam. To set things right between them, to see with his own eyes that Sam was okay…to say good-bye.
Just in case.
If he fell, if he failed in his duty, if the world was destined to end tonight, then he needed to take back those final words, replace them with words that truly expressed what he was feeling.
He was not his father.
He wasn't going to push Sam away or just let him walk out that door. He could never give up so easily…he was going to fight for Sam…he was going to fight for them.
Distance and time had managed to settle his rage and focus his love, bringing him back to who he truly was: the big brother.
As he reached out and dialed Sam's cell, he sucked down a heavy breath, his heart hammering in his chest as he awaited the welcome sound of his brother's voice.
He needed to hear Sam's voice…
And he desperately hoped Sam needed to hear his.
Even the rings sounded distant, echoing for too long over too vast a distance before voice mail finally picked up.
He left his message, barely a fraction of what he wanted or needed to say. He took too long, lingering within his desire until what he most wanted Sam to hear was cut off as the phone disconnected.
You're still my brother… caught in his throat, choked back down with all his regrets as time for regrets ended.
He willed the words to him, hoping their brotherly psychic thing or common sense or just knowing would bring Sam some peace, the knowledge that it was never too late for brothers, never the end…that nothing was ever irreversible or irredeemable.
You're still my brother…always my brother.
All standard disclaimers apply.
Thanks for reading, B.J.