A.N. I was tempted, so tempted. And for three weeks I have fought it, until now. I have finally had to give in and write my tag to S8 Ep13 because it's what I saw when I watched that scene. You know, the one where we see how Dean has personalised his bedroom.
Sam looked around, and there was Dean...
Sam stood a moment, quietly looking around Dean's room. The room that now was Dean. Within that space, his brother had finally revealed everything about himself. Here, starkly laid out in front of Sam, was the man who had raised him, watched out for him, looked after him, suffered for him, forgiven him, died for him. Everything that Dean's father, his life, his experiences had made of him; starting when he was a four year old child who's mother was slashed and burned by a demon from the depths of Hell.
Dean's bed, made with the military precision you would expect from a good soldier, the soldier that Dean was. Sam had hated the way his father moulded Dean, ignored the child, the individual. Intent instead on creating this model soldier, this weapon, who followed orders without question, who fought the general's battle because he was made to believe that it was his role, his duty, that he could not do anything else.
The walls, decorated not with prints or paintings, but with weapons. The tools of the soldier's trade. Nothing was hung haphazardly. Each weapon was hung with pride, hung neat, hung orderly, almost obsessively. And each weapon gleamed. The good soldier kept his weapons clean, in good order. His life depended on it. These were Dean Winchester's diploma's, his sports trophies, his awards, the things he treasured, the symbols of what he was good at. Dean had put on show, had surrounded himself with what his life meant, with his life's work. And his life, his work, meant death for those he believed deserved it. Here was what Dean had been, what he was, what he saw that he would always be, a killer. Slowly gazing around the first room that had belonged to Dean since he was a very small boy, Sam saw that John Winchester had managed to succeed in what he had set out to do to his eldest son. John Winchester had, in the end, managed to create the perfect weapon. Dean was nothing more than somebody else's tool, to be used and misused at will and, even worse, it was all that Dean believed he deserved.
But there was something else, a tiny flicker of light in that military dark, a spark, a point of brilliant white light, the glitter off a perfect diamond, a part not tarnished, not extinguished by another's driven need. And Sam, the younger brother, he saw it and he recognised it, he knew it, he had experienced it, trusted it, believed in it, treasured it. Amongst it all, one small, well worn photograph. Right there, next to the soldier's bed. There was Dean's soul...And it was beautiful.
So, that's what the room said to me. I'd love to hear from others about what you saw and how you interpreted it (if at all). Or even just an "I've read this, so here's a quick review." Either would be great, (I'm feeling lonely out here).
Be happy, be kind, be creative.