Still Us, Just Different: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

“I’m still not sure this feels right, Dean.”

Sam Winchester looked at his brother; worry lines swirling on his forehead.

“Dude, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but…” Sam chewed on his lip. “We know not all monsters are bad. We know some good ones out there; there must be more.”

“Yeah, sure, and most of the good ones we knew are long dead,” Dean shrugged. “Look man, I get it, but that question we keep asking, what if we could stop all the evil in the world, this is it, this is our chance. This is what we’re here to do, our purpose, or whatever, and neither of us has to die or sell our damn souls. This is a freakin’ gift. To us and humanity. Right?”

The brothers sat in the bunker, nursing a couple of whiskeys; a piece of parchment on the table between them. Sam turned the document to face him and looked at it.

“Could it be this easy? I mean. This seems too easy, Dean.”

Dean nodded. His brother was right, it seemed too easy, but they’d researched it every which way, and it came up good every time.

“Sammy, we’ve looked into it. You’ve gone through every angle, and I trust you. It’s legit. You know it, I know it. This is what we’ve wanted our whole lives, right?” he looked at Sam for reassurance as much as anything else.

“Yeah. It’s what we’ve always dreamed of, I guess.”

Sam and Dean sat in silence for a moment; the weight of their decision settling into their bones.

“It’s just,” Sam said. “What do we do then…”

That was it; what do they do then? Dean had been wondering exactly this for days, for weeks, ever since they found the spell locked in a box in an old shed. They’d been chasing down a demon making bad deals in a small town, when Dean literally tripped over the thing, spilling the contents across the dirt floor. It was Sam who realised it was something special. He spent sleepless nights translating it. They spent sleepless nights discussing it. They’d run the spell past the witch, Rowena and she said it was the real deal. She said she’d heard that such a spell may exist, but she always thought it was a fancy. Sam and Dean talked through the ethics of casting the spell; is it the right thing to do, is it taking what they do too far? For weeks they hashed it out over and over, always coming back to the same place; now they have it, how could they not use it? How many people would continue to die if they didn’t? How many lives could they save with just a few words of Latin.

But it wasn’t just a question of right or wrong that was keeping them awake at night, it was their mutual existential crisis; what would their lives be without this thing driving it? This thing that was their every, single day, their whole lives, their whole world, their constant. Everything they know, everything they were born to be, everything their father taught them. If that went away tomorrow, what then? Who were they if they weren’t hunters?

Dean drained his glass and reached for the bottle. “I dunno Sammy, I dunno what we’ll do when it all stops, but we’ll work it out together, like we always have.”

“I know we will,” Sam sighed. “And I know it’s right, I know it Dean. But all this…” he waved his hand around the bunker.

“This is our home, it’ll still be here, we’ll still be here, that’s not gunna change, what we’ve built that’s not going away, what we’ve achieved together, that’s always gunna be us. It’s just… It’ll be different…”

Years ago, Dean thought, if you’d have asked him or Sam if they had a chance to get out of the life, both of them would have jumped at it. But that was before they’d carved out a place for themselves, and understood their reason for being. That was before they accepted who they were, and were good with it. That was before they’d saved the world, twice.

“We keep saying there’s no cost to this spell, no deals, no downside,” Dean said. “But this is the cost, I guess. The world we built; our identities. We have to give part of that up for the greater good, and it ain’t gunna be easy. But it’s the job, man; just on a bigger scale, and it’s right.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, running a hand down his face. “And Kate, Garth, Mia are we sure they’ll be okay? They’re not just monsters, Dean. Are we sure we’ve looked after everyone?”

“Hopefully, Rowena’s spell will hold,” Dean said. “But we’ve warned them, that’s all we can do. It’s bigger than them, they know that. We’ve protected who we can the best we can. Sammy, I know you’re worried, but we can’t do any more.”

Sam nodded at his brother, before picking up his glass and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. Standing up, he grabbed the parchment from the table.

“Right. The longer we wait, the more people die. We got work to do.”

 

Sam and Dean stood in a grove of trees behind the bunker. A small fire burned in a circle, a bubbling pot suspended above it, the pungent aroma of herbs filling the chilled, night air. Dean held a piece of paper covered in glyphs. He turned to his brother.

“This is it, Sammy. We do this, it’s the end of everything we’ve ever known. You ready for that?”

“No,” Sam said. “But I know it’s right, and I know you and me, that doesn’t change.”

“No, it doesn’t, and it never will,” Dean said. He tossed the paper into the fire.

Sam held up the parchment and chanted the incantation, “Abominationes impietatis animalia quae non. Qui non ex simplici. Ad te ab abyssum irent. Ab hoc mundo. Et abierunt!”

He threw a small, leather pouch Rowena had prepared for them, into the flames. There was an explosion of white, blue light. Then silence.

“That it?” Dean said. “Every evil son of a bitch… gone?”

“That’s it, Dean…”

The brothers stood for a long time, should to shoulder, quietly watching the dying embers.

 

Dean woke up and stretched his back, wincing at the loud crack. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood with a groan. He grabbed a pair of discarded jeans off the chair in the corner of his room and pulled them on, before taking a clean, black t-shirt from a draw and slipping it over his head. He picked up a pair of socks off the floor, holding them to his nose, before tugging them onto his feet. Putting on his boots, he grabbed his Colt 911 from the nightstand and tucked it in his pants. Opening his bedroom door, he walked down the bunker hall. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, a steaming coffee mug in front of him, his laptop open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, heading directly to the coffee pot. “What’s happening in the world?” He slid onto the chair opposite his brother, pulling his Colt from his belt and setting on the table next to Sam’s gun.

“Usual crazy stuff.” Sam said.

“Our kind of crazy?” Dean said, eyeing his brother.

“Just normal, human crazy,” Sam said. He closed his laptop.

Dean nodded. “Good. So… What we doin’ today?”

“I still have a whole bunch of boxes of lore from the back room to go through and catalogue,” Sam said. “So, I might as well get into that. You?”

“Baby could do with a clean, might give a few of the other cars a once over too.”

Sam nodded. The pair sat, drinking their coffee, the occasional slurp echoing in the silence.

“Before I do that though,” Dean said. “I might run into town, pick up some supplies, this kitchen is getting a bit low on just about everything. Fancy going for a ride?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said.

Standing up they both reached for their guns.

“Wait,” Dean said, his hand hovering over the weapon. “Do we still need these?”

Sam looked at him.

“Probably not.”

They stared at each other across table.

“Nah,” Dean said, sliding the gun into the back of his belt.

Sam laughed and did the same.

“See Sammy, still us.”

“Yep Dean, still us.”

-FIN-

(c) Story by Amy Hutton based on characters created by Eric Kripke.
    Dedicated to Supernatural and the Supernatural fandom, after the
    announcement that Supernatural will finish after it's 15th season.
    More Supernatural Fan fiction by Amy can be found here

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