Work Text:
These woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
The frozen ground crunches beneath Dean’s feet as he walks up the slope of the hill next to the bunker. His breath puffs in smoky white clouds in the crisp December air and he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He should have put on a warmer coat, but Dean had left in warm interior of the bunker quickly and he had not thought about how cold it would be once he was outside. Sam is still inside poring over books, trying to find some clue that will lead them in the right direction – in any direction, really – towards finding Amara.
They had been sitting among piles of books for hours; Sam furiously scribbling notes whenever he thought he found something that could be useful. Dean flicked absently through a particularly thick volume, coughing at the dust that was kicked up from years of disuse, but his eyes slid over the pages without absorbing anything. The beginnings of a headache crept into Dean’s temples and his back ached from spending so long hunched over the table. His limbs felt heavy and his mind sluggish; all of a sudden it was so unbearably hot in the bunker. Dean tried to ignore it and the pounding in his head as he forced himself to concentrate. They could not afford to waste any time when they knew such a powerful force was out there – a force that they had let loose. The weight of this knowledge bore down on Dean and threatened to suffocate him. This was when he had shot up from his chair and mumbled to Sam about getting some air before escaping outside.
The chilled air is cool on Dean’s heated skin and helps to relieve some of the claustrophobia he had been feeling inside the bunker. Stumbling a bit over the uneven earth and snow-covered rocks, Dean makes his way to the top of the small hill and comes to rest at the edge of the woods that surround the bunker. Pulling his jacket tighter around his body, Dean looks up at the snow falling softly through the empty branches of the trees. They are not as beautiful as the thick evergreens that he and Sam have seen in other parts of the country, but there is a certain tranquility even to these sparse trees that settle the knots that have formed in Dean’s stomach. Out here, away from the lights of Lebanon proper, the sky is clearer and the stars shine brighter. It is such a sharp contrast to everything Dean is feeling; the guilt of setting free this primordial evil, the frantic need to stop it, the heavy weight of responsibility. Out here, under the vastness of the sky, Dean can pretend – if only for a moment – that none of it is real.
So lost is Dean in his thoughts that he doesn’t register the sound of approaching footsteps until he can feel the warmth of his brother standing at his side. Sam doesn’t say anything; he just nudges Dean carefully in the side and passes him a pair of mittens. Dean gives a brief nod of thanks but remains silent, looking again into the trees as the snow begins falling heavier.
“You’ll freeze if you stay out here too long, Dean.” The silence is broken and threatens to pull Dean back into reality but he clings to the peaceful nothingness of the woods.
“I’ll be fine, Sammy. You don’t need to worry about me.” Dean’s reply is brief but not unkind.
Sam lets out a short laugh and it sounds too loud in the night air. “All we ever do is worry about each other. Or about some monster. Or an apocalypse.”
Dean smirks at this comment, but it dies on his lips almost as soon as it's born. He scrubs a mittened hand over his face and sighs, blinking back his frustration.
“What is it?” Sam asks, turning towards his brother.
“Nothin’… I just…” Dean can’t quite find the words to explain. “I just want it to stop, y’know, all of it to stop.”
Sam raises his eyebrows curiously. “Yeah, that’s what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to stop Amara.”
Dean lets out a huff of frustration at his seeming inability to articulate to his brother exactly what he wants to say. “That’s not what I mean. I want to stop everything – looking for Amara, fighting the Darkness, all of it – just for a minute.”
Sam says nothing, shifting slightly to face the woods again and waiting for him to continue. Dean jams his hands back into his pockets, but finds his voice again and continues to speak.
“It’s on us, Sammy, all of it’s on us. And I’m so tired of fighting and losing. I just want to stop and be a person again, a normal person.” Dean’s words are coming faster now. “I want to enjoy the snow and the woods and things that normal people get to do. People who don’t have to worry about the end of the world. Just for a moment, I want to breathe.”
Sam nods. “These woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s from a poem.” Sam digs the toe of his boot into the ground.
Dean makes a sound of annoyance. “I try telling you how I’m feeling and you go all poetry-nerd on me? Thanks, Sammy. Thanks a lot for killing our moment.”
Sam smiles slightly and claps his brother on the shoulder before turning around and heading back down to the bunker. Dean hesitates only for a moment before following, picking his way carefully down the snowy hill. He wants to stay outside and pretend that the weight of the world doesn’t rest on his and Sam’s shoulders. He wants to do a million things that he can't do. As much as he wants to hit pause and be still, if only for a little while, he knows that they can’t afford more than a brief respite. They have promises to keep and miles to go before they sleep.
And miles to go before they sleep.