{ Dean / Sam } ;; When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul? WHO: The Brothers Winchester WHAT: Attempting to cope with the goings-on. WHEN: Post Season 5 episode "Abandon All Hope" WHERE: On the road again. WARNINGS: Full-blooded, no holds-barred... angst!
Square one. That's where they were, with the Colt being so much chopped liver against Lucifer. At least when they were rushing fool-hardy into that plan, they had something to hold onto. Something to do. Now they were just driving. Dean thought there was inane errand they'd been sent off on in lieu of drowning in beer at Bobby's like he'd been planning, but he honestly couldn't even recall what it was. And since Sam hadn't piped up from the other seat to give him any directions, likely his brother wasn't feeling much different. Why should he. What had been their, admittedly crazy, but no less close-knit family was now so much ashes in an old fireplace. Women and children first...
He had been ready to die, because it was supposed to be this epic, final charge, takin' out of their general kind of thing. Instead, they'd lost people. Found out the Colt was a bust. Gotten their asses tossed, and turned tail. Better to live, right. Fight another day? What about when fighting felt like bullshit.
With a sudden twist of the wheel, Dean sent the Impala careening to the side of the road. Before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, he had flung the door open and stormed out. He couldn't keep going like this, couldn't drive, couldn't think. Before any thoughts could be articulated, he just looked like a lunatic, flinging arms in the air as he came around the front of the car. Another gesture was aborted halfway through, as he brought the hand to his mouth instead, dragging along a chin dotted by ignored stubble. Just when it seemed like he'd calmed himself down in this way, Dean jerked forward and brought an angry fist down on the Impala's hood. At first it didn't seem to make much of a difference, but the second and third hits started leaving noticeable bumps in the shiny black exterior while Dean's hands reddened from the impact.
"Why!" There was it - finally - after a fourth attack versus the car. "Why Jo, goddammit." Perhaps callous to not include Ellen, but that was different. Dean's heart ached for the fierce woman, and mother, but she'd made her choice. She'd had a choice. Or maybe she hadn't, not in the same way. Didn't matter because sweet, brave, stupid Jo...
It was a long time ago that hunting had ceased to be fun, or, hell, even very satisfying. But Jo. She had a kind of life about her. She had made it seem... well, not horrible. Screw it. Screw the day they'd ever met and gotten her into all this. Except, that wasn't true. For a while, it'd been great, huntin' like a whole family, trading stories, and watching those crazy Harvelle women keep pace... But who was he kidding. They'd trusted him, they all had - that this was what they had to do to survive and now they were dead and Dean wasn't. Not this time. Not yet.
Well, wasn't he just dependable. Real champion.
Just as quickly as he'd started punching, he stopped. Instead, his bruising hands groped about in his jacket and when he came out with the Colt, he never looked at anything with so much disgust as he did that gun now. Their shining ticket. And who had made it so? With a guttural shout, Dean swung back and then launched the Colt out into the green yonder. It flew in a swift arc then landed and scattered into a patch of tall grass.