DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to their respective creators.
ARCHIVE: No
The following short story is based on characters
created for the television series SUPERNATURAL & DARK ANGEL, and is set in an indeterminate time frame. -- author's note
Seriously, there are some things I need to work out, especially regarding you, Dean -- and writing them down (for me) is great therapy. I just have to make sure you never gets your hands on this little journal or there will be an ass kicking. (That shapeshifter dude was right about at least one thing -- you always could beat the crap out of me.)
First off, I love my brother.
Dean, you’d never let me hear the end of it if I said that out loud to you, but it’s true -- and you know it. It’s just that you don’t go in for all that “chick flick” stuff and it would embarrass you if I said it to you straight out. How much do I love you? That’s where I kind of get worried. I loved Jess, too -- in a different way of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re my mate. You’re my partner. Big difference. Nor is there any ... What I’m trying to say is that you and I have one or two needs we can’t meet with each other, but for the most part we’re pretty autonomous, the two of us ... especially you, big bro, with your “fuck the world” attitude so long as baby brother’s there to talk you down and keep you sane at the end of the day.
But back to Jess ... I really wanted (make that “want”) a wife and children someday. But you ... the white picket fence life was never on your agenda. With you it’s always been about first me, then Dad, and then yourself and Max, Brac, and your other elusive Manticore kin ... no room for commitments or relationships of a normal kind. And that’s sad. I feel sorry for you, Dean, because you’re probably never going to know the kind of love I had with Jess, not even with Max. Thanks to what you’ve been through ... the way Dad and Lydecker raised you ... you’re too much of an antisocial loner to ever settle into a long term relationship. I’m “it” for you in that department. And I can’t take that away from you. I see that now. Just give you your beer, a good steak, a pool or poker game, a one-night-stand with a hot blonde waitress, Max somewhere in the peripheral, and you’re happy. Give you your car, that part biker/part beach bum wardrobe of yours and you smile, content, not wanting more. Have your little brother by your side to protect and you’ve got your party ... you purpose in life ... a reason to live. I know that Dean ... how much your life revolves around me right now.
Yeah, we had a big fight when I left to go to college, and another one two years ago when you showed up at Stanford and tried to talk me into goin’ back into the “family business.” But it was the anger that let me break away from you and Dad ... anger that’s not there any longer (except at the thing that killed Jess). So, I’ve got you pegged, Dean, but where does that leave me?
Did I miss my brother over those years I was at school? Honestly, I tried not to think about you, but in the back of my mind I always knew you were there for me somewhere, even if it was thousands of miles away. I always knew that it would only take a phone call for you to tear halfway around the world to help me if I needed you.
Dean ... you’ve always been my anchor in life, holding me in bed at night when I was a kid -- even though I know that was as much a comfort for you as for me -- for that matter holding me in bed at night still, now that I’m having nightmares. Well, admittedly, the fact that the heat in this two-bit hotel room isn’t working is also part of the reason we’re sharing a bunk tonight. But your warmth next to me feels unbelievably good. I’m just thankful you don’t snore ... much.
If I’d stayed with Jess ... if she hadn’t died ... Sometimes I wonder what would have happened between you and me then. Honestly, I was so mad when I left you and Dad I might not even have told the two of you I was getting married, although Jess probably would have bugged me about not inviting my family to the nuptials. She knew about you, Dean, at least a little. I mean, I told her I had a father and brother. I just didn’t go into details about the “business.” She knew your name ... But I don’t think you two would have gotten along. You’d have flirted with her (you wouldn’t be Dean if you didn’t) and Jess would have been embarrassed and not known how to take it and--
I’ve got to stop talking about Jess. This is supposed to be about you ... my brother (who just rolled over and his elbow is now poking me in the ribs). You look so innocent right now, with those predatory, cat-green eyes closed, although admittedly you’ve got a couple of lines on your face that weren’t there a few years back. But then again, you’re pushin’ 30, bro, You’re not a kid any more ... not 17 .... Neither am I ... not really.
Predatory ... interesting choice of word I used just now. But that’s what you are, Dean ... a predator ... a hunter. Says so in a file somewhere I imagine. So am I supposedly ... or at least you keep telling me I am ... that I’m just like you ... a “freak” ‘cause of the way we were created and raised, and the things we do. But are you reminding me of this because it’s true, or ‘cause you want it to be true -- that we’re both supposedly so much alike? I know you’re scared to death of bein’ alone, bro. When Dad disappeared it really scared you (even though it took that shapeshifter to clue me in on just how much) which is why you came running looking for me. And no, no matter what you think, I don’t really blame you for Jess’ death. She’d have died even if you hadn’t shown up that night and taken me on the road. I know she would have. Those dreams don’t lie.
But I’m getting off track again. Dean ... you’re the best human (make that mostly human) fighter I’ve ever known except maybe for Dad. You can beat any man with any weapon be it guns, knives, a big old stick, or your fists. You don’t back down from anyone, and other than you bein’ so scared of flying, not much throws you either. About that ... the flying thing ... I’m actually glad you’ve got a weak spot, bro ... your “kryptonite” so to speak. I’m glad you sometimes really do need me to do the hero thing because it would be kind of tough ... lovin’ someone who’s invincible.
But Dean, what am I gonna do with you, man, in the long run? Like I said, I don’t intend to live this life forever like you seem to want me to. You’re content to hunt things that go bump in the night for the rest of eternity ... always seeking revenge for what killed Mom ... never looking back or putting down roots anywhere ... drifting from town to town like one of those ghosts we keep putting out of its misery. Like it or not, I’m different, Dean, but I fucking can’t exactly leave you now, can I? If I did you’d get your ass killed. You need someone you can trust at your back ... someone to clean up the blood when you get hurt ... someone to keep you warm when the heat doesn’t work ...
And right now, so do I. But with me, I can see light at the end of the tunnel. We’ll find Dad. We’ll find and destroy the thing that killed Mom and Jess, and then we’ll be done so far as I’m concerned. I’ll go back to school, get my degree, become a lawyer, probably find another girl to marry, and you’ll--
You’ll end up dead, or in jail, or worse. There’s not a whole lot holding you back, is there bro? Keeping you from sliding over that fine line from antisocial to sociopath to psychopath. I mostly blame Dad for that, even more than the military ... for the burden he put on a 5-year-old boy that night ... for the times he went on drinking binges and left a baby in the care of another child ... for the times Dad hit you.
You didn’t think I knew, did you, Dean? That I’d seen that happen ... Dad backhanding you when he thought you were defying him. Of course Dad was drunk at the time, and you used that as an excuse. And later -- when you were a grown man and not a kid -- you could have taken him down ... but you didn’t. You just stood there with your head hanging and your lip bleeding and took it. After all, Dad’s your idol. But you know what they say about idols with feet of clay? Dad tried to shape you in his own image, Dean, and then Manticore tried to break you, and in some ways they both succeeded. But I see a lot more in you. I see the REAL you ... the love in you that died in Dad that night in 1983, the soul Manticore couldn't destroy. You love me. If nothing else, that proves you’re capable of the emotion. Don’t ever lose that, Dean ... your ability to love ...
Damn it, Dean, you’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days. I can feel it. Either eviscerated by some demon, shot by the cops, or knifed to death by a jealous boyfriend who’s girl you’ve just fucked. Call it a premonition if you want, but it scares the hell out of me to think of a world without you in it. I know ... for four years I did just fine without you. But like I said, you were still ... there. Somewhere. Like you’re here now, beside me in bed, keeping me from shivering with your warmth, your breathing as comforting as an angel’s.
An angel’s ... that’s rich ... funny. You’d laugh yourself silly if you read that.
I shouldn’t sleep. I know what’s going to happen. But I also know that when I wake up screaming your arms will be around me and I’ll quickly know that I’m safe. It’s just that, for now, you’re keeping me warm ...
