Word Count: 477
Warnings: Spoilers for 1x05 (hardly a warning)
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Based off the discussion generated from a recent post of mine.
Summary: Dean didn’t think of any of those people, he didn’t.
They were only 50 miles outside of Toledo when Dean heard Sam take an ominous breath. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to pretend that he hadn’t been expecting it.
“Dean,” Sam began – Sam had always begun that way, even the almost four year absence hadn’t changed that habit. Dean could write a Sammy to English dictionary and most of the words would be varying intonations of his name, all meaning different things. In this case, it meant that Sam was going to ask him something that Dean wasn’t going to like.
“Yeah?” Dean replied, wanting to pre-emptively turn up the music, wishing they were listening to something a little heavier.
“Your eyes bled too,” Sam stated. It wasn’t phrased like a question, true, but Sam was waiting for an answer all the same.
“My eyes are fine, Sammy” Dean replied, knowing that wasn’t the question Sam was asking. He hoped Sam would drop it, but then, when had Sam ever dropped anything? Kid was like a dog with a bone – yet another thing that hadn’t changed about his little brother.
“But why?” Sam asked, “who’d you kill?”
Dean sighed and he didn’t think of that little boy who had died because Dean was five seconds late in rescuing him – if he had leapt that wall instead of going around it, if he had jimmied the lock just a little faster, if he had put the clues together a little quicker – maybe that kid would still be alive if Dean was better at his job. He didn’t think of that woman, who died because Dean couldn’t find the right lie to get her to leave the house, couldn’t figure out how to get the woman away from the poltergeist long enough for him to get rid of it. He didn’t think of that guy in that bar fight in Portland, that bastard of a guy who had picked a fight with Dean when he lost his money. Dean didn’t remember the horrible twisting of his stomach when he realized that in the heat of the moment he had brought that pool cue down too hard on that guy’s head. He didn’t think of how he had run away before anyone could confirm what Dean feared. His Dad had taught him better than that, his Dad had taught him how to be quick, how to lie well, how to take someone down without killing them. So, Dean didn’t think of any of those people, he didn’t.
“Sam,” Dean said instead, and maybe Sam could write his own dictionary too, he thought absently. “Bloody Mary was a cornered animal in the end, just like most everything we hunt. I think she would’ve made Mother Theresa’s eyes bleed if it meant she could escape us.”
“You think?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, I do” Dean replied.