...And Dean


November 2006

Disclaimer: Owned by Kripke, Singer and the CW, lucky bastards!

The Impala growled in protest as Dean left the interstate and reduced his speed to one that nearly complied with the posted limit. He patted the dash in equal parts consolation and commiseration at the injustice of it all as he bit back his own disconsolate sound upon getting a good look at the town that matched the coordinates that his dad had text messaged him the night before along with one word—banshee. Great.

So here Dean was in yet another small town in the ass end of Nowheresville, Middle America, which contained yet another cheap motel and greasy spoon complete with the ubiquitous vapid blonde trailer trash waitress looking at him like he was today’s blue plate special. The sad and pathetic story of his life, just a string of one night stands and back alley fucks in between hunting in order to help dull the pain of being completely hollowed out inside thanks to the one that ran away.

At least it gave him something to do and kept him distracted. He’d finally started working his own gigs, like the job he was here for. His dad had been sending him on more and more of these solo assignments. Maybe it was John’s way of showing he trusted his eldest son to get the job done right without him. Then again, maybe it was just that Dad was sick and fucking tired of Dean still being a miserable and moody son of a bitch despite the fact that it had been over six months since Sam had left.

Six long fucking months since his brother, best friend, and partner had walked out on the Winchester family to go to college. Six months since he’d walked out on Dean. Even now Dean’s first reaction was to check for Sammy, to make sure he was safe and close by. Dean still turned to share some caustic aside or private joke only to realize that Sam was no longer standing there, next to him, like he’d always had in the past. Dean would reach out in the middle of the night only to find a cold and empty spot where his lover, all warm and sleep soft, should have been, a frosty barren wasteland that had migrated into his chest and taken up residence in his heart.

Dean had to face the fact that he was no longer part of the amalgam that was "Sam and Dean". It cut each and every time he thought about the loneliness that was eating him up inside. It was like the ghost pain that remained after a limb had been amputated. He was only half a person now, no longer whole because he no longer had the prerequisite "Sam"; he was simply "and Dean" now, completely on his own.

God, he was being a whiney, chick flick bitch. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe it was time for him to move on and forget about Sam just like Sam had so obviously forgotten about him.

Well, fuck him. Fuck everyone and everything. He was Dean fucking Winchester, badass hunter of the supernatural with as much attitude as his beloved muscle car. It was about damned time he stopped acting like a freakin’ prom queen who’d been stood up on date night and started doing what he did best. It was time to get back to kicking ass and taking home every attractive person he came across in order to fuck them blind.

It was time to move on.



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