mellaithwen

Title: Don't Look Back
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nope. Spoilers for Pilot I guess.
Summary: Set during Pilot. Why did Dean go back to the apartment?

Lyrics belong to Oasis and Supernatural belongs to Kripke :) Tried to fix spacing, not sure if it worked or not...

The radio crackled and in his stupor he hadn’t the energy to lean over and grab a tape from the small box on the passenger side, instead he turned the knob to the left and then to the right, settling on anything that wasn’t static.

He loved the ‘mullet-rock’ as his brother had called it, and never longed for any other song. He was comfortable with what he knew, with the lyrics he knew off by heart, and maybe that was why he loved the songs so much, because the lyrics made more sense to him than some teenage pop song singing about heart-break again.

For someone who was constantly driving, Highway to Hell was a clear choice to crank up the volume and tap your fingers to, while Unforgiven by Metallica was something he had ensured not to play around Sam. Though his brother, the quiet type, would most likely have overlooked the overly-poignant lyrics that he seemed to absorb with ease, Dean didn’t want to risk the cocky look that would shoot his way ‘This whipping boy done wrong deprived of all his thoughts; the young man struggles on and on he’s known’

“Dean,” Sam muttered, annoyed by his brother’s fiddling when it came to the radio, so Dean left it, and let his arm stray back to the steering wheel as they pulled into the street. Sam stopped the breath of relief as they did so, he had wanted to return more than anything, he had missed Jess, but he had missed being away from hunting just as much.

He stole a glance at his brother’s taught jaw, and suddenly doubted his own wants. Maybe he didn’t like hunting that much, but he had enjoyed the time spent with his brother. He hated Jess thinking that he and Dean weren’t close, because not too long ago they had been inseparable. Dean refused to be away from Sam, and Sam hated being away from Dean. He had let her assume that they weren’t close because it was easier. He didn’t have to go into details as to why he was so vague. He didn’t want her to try and reconcile them, which he knew her good heart would make her do.

He needed space, time away, his own independence, but there was something so soothing about being in honest company, or as close to honest as he could get. He couldn’t get the crestfallen face out of his mind. “You’re not going...” He said, admitting what he needed to accept.

“The interviews in like ten hours, I gotta be there.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll take you home.” And since then, the sweet music of AC/DC had stopped the thick tension from exploding in their faces and calmed any anger that was consequence of Sam’s dismissal.

“You’ll call me if you find him?” He asked, exiting the car, and then peering through the open window of the Impala, making a mental note to always answer his brother’s calls from now on, and his face simply showed the doubt that Sam would pick up as his cell phone rang and the small message appeared saying ‘Dean’ or maybe ‘Jackass’...

“Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” He was trying to make amends with something that was already out of control, and Dean abandoned his silence, “Yeah, all right.” And Sam made no move to hide his sympathy for leaving Dean once more. He hit the car in a signal that it was time to leave, and walked away, hearing the car’s engine splutter to life, and then his brother’s voice, “Sam,” Dean called, having made the decision that there was no reason not to say it.

“You know we made a hell of a team back there.” It was praise mixed with the calling for Sam to reconsider his attempt at leading his apple-pie lifestyle, and to rejoin in the family business. “Yeah,” Sam replied nodding, unable to think of more to say, and Dean faced forward once more, nodding to himself that it was better to have said it now, than regret not saying so later.

And now as he sat, sighing repeatedly, having driven the car until the end of the street, fully intending to continue driving, to push himself to arrive at his father’s cryptic destination, before he returned, making a U-Turn, and parked the car only a few steps from where he had just bid his brother farewell. He wasn’t sure why, and he was half-wondering if he should knock on the door, and despite the crude hour, ask if he could stay for dinner, or maybe borrow the couch for the night.

Instead, he found himself listening to the foreign tune making its way into his head. The track was fairly old, and relatively un-played to his ears, the song being something he wouldn’t normally have listened to. Hell, he never would have listened to it as it clearly didn’t fit into to his preferred genre, but he found himself listening for an entirely different reason. His brain quickly read the lyrics as though they were laid out in front of him, and he felt the last few bitter thoughts at his brother’s departure ebb away as the singer, with his Manchester drawl, sang.

You said that you've never been
But all the things that you've seen
They slowly fade away

He grinned. All of the things he’d seen, and battled at least, had faded away, the spirits had their bones burnt, and they were sent back to wherever they were avoiding be it heaven or hell, and the few big-time demons they had faced had been vanquished too. Seldom did the Winchesters allow prey to escape. Because if anything escaped, they would only have to fight it again, and the next time they might not be so lucky to have back-up of some kind.

Dean hated doing jobs on his own, sure he was old enough, and more than competent, but it was everything that lead up to the battle he despised. Loneliness was never something he craved, in fact, loathed would describe it perfectly. His father knew they would cover more ground if they separated, and he trusted Dean enough to do that, but-

Dean would never argue against his father because he saw how torn up the man got whenever he finished arguing with his youngest, and it was Dean that picked up the pieces. The pieces of his father’s heart, and the man’s broken beer bottles as they smashed on the floor once he had fallen too deep into an alcohol induced slumber to keep a hold of them.

Take me to the place where you go
Where nobody knows if it's night or day
Please don't put your life in the hands
Of a rock and roll band

He’d been on the road for most of his life, he vaguely recalled having a home, a true home, once, but ever since John had made the decision to begin hunting, Dean chose not to think back to those memories, as distorted and old as they may be. He even went as far to swearing he would never set foot there again. He followed his father blindly, into both hoaxes and great peril, with not a thought by himself but rather for the rest of his family, especially little Sammy, who hadn’t been little since puberty.

And Dean never complained, he might grumble the odd cuss under his breath, or mutter about the joy’s of life, but never in a verbal assault, especially not on another Winchester, but that was yet another trait his brother had failed to follow his footsteps in. It was right up there with law-breaking and hustling pool, instead he preferred to run.

Throw it all away…

Dean could practically hear his brother correcting him in his head “I was just going to college, it was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone.” And then his silent sarcastic retort of “Sure, Sammy.”

Don’t look back in anger I heard you say

“Easier said than done, dude.” Dean muttered in the direction of the stereo. He was brought up to accept vengeance whenever it came along, hell, John Winchester was no hypocrite and if he made it seem okay to be bitter and hold grudges, then his children weren’t going to be raised any differently.

The side effect John hadn’t comprehended was Dean’s ability to bottle up his emotions for years at a time. The oldest of the two sons, he had managed only one or two major blow-ups, both of which their father had accounted to the rather difficult hunt of the time, and Dean hadn’t the courage to tell him otherwise.

Don’t look back in anger

He sighed, clutching the steering wheel of the impala, letting the grooves dig into his palms as he held tighter, trying to calm himself down, to forget Sammy and drive away, but the more he though about his brother, the more confused he became, his head was dark like his night-time surroundings, and he felt something, akin to anticipation, only he didn’t want to know what was going to happen, he just knew something was going to happen. Bound to happen.

You’re just freaking out. Don’t look back, Dean. Don’t look back.

At least not today

To hell with it. I’m looking back, I’m going back. Something’s wrong, I can feel it and I just let Sam walk back in there.

Something isn’t right, and he knows it. He can feel it as he sits, tense and alert. He closes his eyes, debating whether or not he dares disrupt his brother’s quest for normality, but it has to be done. He hears a low rumble, and then a cry. Sam’s cry. He leaves the car, ignoring the sudden skipping of the song as the DJ began to apologise before he became nothing more than static in the background. He bolts to the door, slamming it open, crying out in search of his brother. Ever the adamant protector. The rumble only gets louder, and a muffled growl of something inhumane is hidden in its flaming depths

“Sam! Sam!” The flames of their nightmares are all around the brothers, but Sam stays on the bed, his hands in both defence and an attempt to block out the images, Dean paused in the doorway, his mouth suddenly dry as he saw everything play out in front of him as the flames ate away at the last of Jessica’s body and Sam kept shouting throughout.

He dragged his brother out, resorting to pushing and placing himself in harms way of the flames if it would only allow safety on Sam’s part. The flames made a break for its prey but Dean was too fast, too strong as he steered Sam away. All the while the youngest was screaming, crying out for his girlfriend, and as they finally reached the fire escape, it seemed Sam had gone numb, and he didn’t push away his brother’s helpful arms as they held him and led him away.

The authorities were called, both by Dean and other residents who had seen the beginnings of the inferno, and giving a statement that neither gave way to lying or the complete truth, Sam was left alone with Dean. For a moment, a fleeting second Sam wanted to grab his brother and be held, to cry into the leather of the older man’s jacket until he could no longer stand, but the second passed and he turned away, a sure signal that he wanted to be left alone.

Dean made to go forward, taking a step, but unable to ignore his brothers silent plea for his absence. He swallowed any lame advice, and chose to move away, staying close to the passers by, trying to ignore their whispers of gossip, sympathy and wrong accusations.

The flashing lights of the trucks left reds dancing around them, and in the background the Winchesters could hear voices over the firemen’s radios. Dean stayed still, watching among the nosey neighbours as the smoke billowed into the sky, before turning, and heading back towards his brother, the nearly ten minute break being all he would allow for fear of his brother bolting away into the night.

As he walked back to his car, he could hear a gun cocking, and out of habit his eyebrows lifted in surprise at both the actions themselves and Sam’s complete disregard for exposure. Then again, he had been through a lot...

He stole a glance at the contents of the trunk, having always been rather touchy when someone tried to re-arrange his equipment but found to his relief, that Sam had only been checking ammunition and filling any empty guns with rounds. He looked back at his brother, and the two made eye contact, Dean’s orbs wondering what Sam might do next, while his brother’s were filled with anguish and he turned back to his task, taking a breath, and cocking the gun once more before throwing it back into the trunk.

“We got work to do.” Sam said, with a hint of anger as he slammed the trunk closed and headed back around to the car’s front, getting in, and sitting himself facing the passenger side window. The creaks of the driver-side door echoed for a moment, before falling silent once Dean closed it and set the keys in the ignition, effectively waking up the car. The radio began its low hum and through the static and buzzing someone’s apologising for the lack of tunes and signal, and then the music is back, playing as it should have long before.

Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
'Cause you ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

Dean switched the radio station with a click, and a turn of the nozzle, surprised that the song was still playing, unaware of its length and previous problems. He looked at his little brother for a moment, the silence casting a shroud over them both.

Sam hadn’t heard it, the accursed word ‘burn’ but Dean half wondered if his brother would hear anything anymore. He looked so hurt, so detached, and yet so angry. He sighed and put the car into gear, his beloved car, and sped off down the road and away from normalcy, or at least, what Sam had hoped had once been, normalcy.

After a cheesy introduction to the revved-up cover of an old tune by an easily excitable but bored DJ, music blared through the speakers, welcomed by both parties who had no intention on dragging out any uncomfortable silences.

‘It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, for me’ and the drum solo kicked in mercilessly as the singer continued to keep his notes throughout and the rocking increased as the base deepened and Dean was glad that the song, though ironic in lyrics was somewhat more up his alley.

Sam was right, they had work to do.

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