Space_goat
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Summary
It’s—God, everything is so—Dean’s supposed to be this all-knowing guy. This gifted savior come to fix all that got screwed over before. But the longer he’s allowed to make choices and the longer he squeezes himself into this body that doesn’t fit him anymore, the more he feels like he’s just not cut out for it.
He's not smart enough for this. Not creative or artistic enough—if the past were made out of clay, vulnerable to whatever shape Dean’s hands are capable of making, then he thinks the past might take the shape of a gun. He imagines the timeline crumpling in his hands to the metaphorical barrel end of it, a dark tunnel waiting for the inevitable explosion to go off by his calloused fingers.
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Or: During the rapture, in a moment of hopelessness, Jack sends Dean back to 2015 on a mission: Kill God. Only, he gets the day wrong and Dean pops up in 2008, freshly out of hell with too much baggage and not a clue how to stop Chuck. He also struggles with accountability (or lack thereof). But what else is new.
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Dean shifts his feet as he waits, conjuring up expectations on the few details he’s been given. His mind produces the image of a frail old man, maybe with a dark sailor’s cap and pipe in his mouth like the old cartoons he watched as a kid.
A man answers the door, though he is unlike anything he’s been described. A man answers, and he is no older than 30, with thick dark hair that curls around his ears and studious pale blue eyes.
They remind Dean of the horizon line right before a hurricane.
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Is there any logical way he could justify this once they pull apart? Probably not. But the glaringly easy solution to that is just to never move. Dean could stay like this for a while he thinks. Especially if it got him out of the consequences of his actions.
He wonders if he could play it off as some weird human tradition that Cas just wouldn't understand. He reckons he could swing that pretty easily.
He's still got a bone to pick with whoever told Cas that eating Nutella straight out of the jar wasn't a customary Tuesday night occurrence.
It was probably Sam.
Fucking Sam.
Series
- Part 2 of The Migraine Chronicles