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Dean Winchester (_jerk) wrote,

It's yet another thing he's never got, and is never going to; when exactly it was that Sam stopped being a little kid who was happy with his brother's answers and became a petulant teenager who asks too many questions and isn't ever satisfied. Maybe it had been building for months, years, whatever. Maybe it was inevitable – he vaguely remembers something in some weighty tome on 'single parenting' some vapid do-gooder had seen fit to lend John way back when, something about dealing with your little darling realising parents aren't gods and your word isn't gospel truth, but he'd flicked past it trying to get to the page on what to do when said darling sticks a pea up their nose or traps their finger in a door-hinge or any of the other million-and-one domestic dramas he'd been the nearest thing to a responsible adult for. Or maybe it just happened overnight. Whatever. Point is, not seeing it coming doesn't exactly make him any more enamoured of it because a good hunter's not supposed to let himself be taken by surprise. They're supposed to be prepared, and to know what to do in any eventuality, and not having some clear-cut plan of action on how to kill whatever's making Sam act this way's left him floundering.

There's also the possibility – which is looking far too close to certain for comfort, close enough that he knows full well he's deluding himself by still referring to it as possibility and not something definite – that it's not the result of some external influence but something that just is, something in Sam which he can't hope to change, and that's far scarier.

He finds himself wishing dad was here, because then at least it would just be Sam and John yelling at each other and he could turn the music up and pretend not to be listening, or put himself in the peacemaker role and let the pair of them say all the things he's thinking but not letting himself give voice to. Dad's much better at explaining why things have to be the way they are, after all, and it saves him having to come up with reasons why Sam can't do things like a 'normal kid' beyond that it's the way things are, and what they've been told – orders are orders, after all.

Besides, then he wouldn't have to deal with this selfish streak he's caught sneaking in, like a shadow that disappears when you spot it on the corner of your vision – the sense that he shouldn't have to deal with Sam when he's like this, that it's not a brother's responsibility. It's wrong, he knows, because he's only got the one job to do and it's much easier than fighting demons or chasing werewolves or whatever. All he has to do is keep Sam safe. It's a fair deal.

Then again, it's probably better dad isn't here, because then it would just become a fight again and it's tiring him the hell out trying to keep up with that. Swings and roundabouts.

< and I don't care

“Don't give me that crap, Sam.” The last few components of the gun are slid back into place a little more forcibly than necessary, Dean not even bothering to count to ten before responding the way he probably should because they've done this dance to death and he can slide into disapproving-and-so-totally-tired-of-this-whole-conversation like turning on a switch by now. “This thing's eating people, and.... wait, where do you think you're going?”

... yeah, this dance is getting boring.

"No. We're staying here, remember?"