sulwen | Fic: 5x02 Coda

It's been a while since I wrote anything, so I feel like this is a bit clunky. Gotta start somewhere, though.

Title: Untitled 5x02 Coda
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 486
Summary: Dean goes on. Tries.

Dean sat at the picnic table for a long while, staring down the road until the setting sun began to hurt his eyes, forcing him to look away. He stood, stretched, felt the ache that had set into his back from sitting so long in one position. With that sensation came more awareness - hunger (had he eaten today? He couldn't quite remember), the pervading scent of the pine forest, a deep tiredness born of more than too little sleep. Rubbing his fingers into his eyes, he made his way to the Impala and started to drive.

He was all right in the car, his motions as familiar as breathing, the small pleasure of the cool evening breeze soothing his raw nerves. The radio was unbearable, though, and he turned it off after only a few notes.

He would have driven all night, losing himself in the road, if he hadn't been about to fall asleep at the wheel. As it was, he stopped at the first motel he saw and slumped into whatever room he'd been handed. Here, too, his body knew what to do without help from his brain. Bag tossed on a chair, jacket over the back. Shotgun by the bed, in easy reach. Bathroom, only bothering to swing the door halfway shut. Splash of cold water on his face after, careful not to catch too long a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Same as ever. Same as always.

Dean came out of the bathroom and sat down on the end of a bed. He could feel the numbness slipping away and braced himself for what came next, all too familiar with the process. He'd been through it four times before and survived - barely. The memories flashed through his head quickly, each one bearing its own dull pain.

Stanford.

Meg, the first time.

Death, however temporary.

Just days ago, lying on the floor hardly able to speak.

He'd never been able to keep Sam from leaving. There was no point in trying anymore. He was beginning to think that it was just part of what Sam was made of, something just as ingrained and unchangeable as having brown hair or being tall. They were like opposing forces, the two of them. He could see it clearly now, for the first time - Dean ever pulling them together, Sam ever straining to get away. Finally, now, after so many times refusing to learn the lesson, Dean couldn't keep fighting it. He knew he could never truly let go of Sam - even now, every instinct in his body screamed at him to get up, go, bring him back - but he could make one last sacrifice for his brother. The hardest one. He could simply stop chasing after him.

He raised his eyes and looked around. Empty bed, stark and cold. Bare table, void of books and papers and an ever-present white laptop. Worst of all: horrible, crushing silence.

He found himself reaching for his neck, hand searching for something to hold on to, something that had been nearly a part of his body all these years, a symbol even in the darkest times of the bond that had once been. But there was nothing, nothing but smooth shirt and hot skin, and his hand fell to his side, empty. Defeated.

Dean lay down on the bed, curling into himself like a child, and let his tears fall.