Work Text:
Dean knew he had watched the weapon in his hand strike through Death, he knew he had watched him fall into a pile of dust, but it wasn’t until Sam was asking him if he was okay and the words “I think I just killed Death” came from his mouth that he realized just what that might mean. Though, he didn’t have time to consider it further.
“That sound right to you?” he yelled over the unrecognizable thundering that sounded like it was headed towards them from outside.
The effects of the Mark didn’t get zapped away as suddenly as the Mark itself. Everything that happened in the moments that followed was like a fog, as if the thing left residue that clung to every dark part of Dean it could. It wasn’t until Sam was ushering him out onto the patio of the old building by his elbow that he started to feel a clarity he hadn’t felt in over a year. His chest loosened like he’d been breathing with a clogged filter for all that time, and he could swear that the colors of things around him were a bit more vibrant than before. He blinked as they stepped outside, his eyes unpracticed at seeing things in this way.
“This is good Dean…” Sam said. Dean knew he meant his tone to sound encouraging but it came out like he was pleading. He looked at his brother’s face, broken and bleeding, bruises already forming from where Dean’s own fists had landed over and over. “The Mark’s off your arm, nothing crazy happened–” Sam returned Dean’s look. His eyes were pleading. “You get your baby back.” He handed the car keys back to Dean.
Dean loved his car. Anyone who had ever met him could tell you that. But as Dean took the keys into his hand, it didn’t have the effect it seemed Sam hoped it would have. It wasn’t cheering his brother up like it had in the past. In fact, it looked like it made him more upset. Sam watched Dean’s expression expectantly, uneasiness creeping onto his furrowed brow.
“Nothing crazy happened?” Dean repeated back to him. Sam opened his mouth then closed it again without a sound. For a restless moment, the boys just stared. “Sam. Do you remember why I called you here?”
Sam’s gaze fell to the ground.
“Man, I called you here with the full intent to kill you… And this isn’t even the first time this year I’ve–”
“Dean, it doesn’t matter,” Sam interjected. “That’s over now. It wasn’t you–”
“It does. It matters.” Dean felt the weight of the last year and a half hit him square in the face as he saw clearly for the first time just how worn down Sam looked. He was like a different person, strained and stretched too thin. “And it should matter to you. Sammy, I’m so–”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I get it. I know what it’s like to have something take over and–”
Dean held his hand up. “No!” he insisted, shaking his head. “No, Sam. I do have to. That… what I did, what I put you through–”
“Really. It doesn’t matter, Dean.”
“Sam!” Pain was etched across Dean’s face. He tried to hold it together, but it was like the entire time the Mark had been on him it had worked to squeeze all the sentimentality out of him, leaving him with only bitterness and spite towards Sam. Now with it gone, his emotions were rushing back in, spilling through his veins and pushing out at every corner of himself in order to overcompensate, and Sam’s insistence that Dean’s two attempted fratricides in the past year didn’t matter disturbed him greatly. “Of course it matters, how could it not matter?” He searched Sam’s face but started back before he could answer. “I’m glad the car is okay. I’m glad the Mark is gone. But what I’m most glad about is that you’re okay. And, I’m sorry. For all the shit that got us here.”
Sam nodded in reply.
“You believe me, don’t you, Sammy?” He gripped his brother’s shoulder.
Sam hesitated, his eyes falling to the ground again. Maybe there was no way for Sam to believe him after everything he had gone through. Maybe it was too much to ask of him, but when Sam brought his eyes back to Dean’s they were glassy and sincere. “Thanks,” was all he said.