madwomanwithabox

Title: Before My Time
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Spoilers: S2 season premiere IN MY TIME OF DYING
Summary: Sam and Dean deal with the ramifications of IN MY TIME OF DYING.
Warnings: Spoilers for premiere, character death

Timeline: takes place a week or two after the very end of IN MY TIME OF DYING

A/N: This is me coping with the season premiere. Because I have to. It's also unbeta'd, so blame me if it sucks. For my support group of last night, whom commiserated with me and conjured forth the Melissa George Demon. ;p

Disclaimer: Kripke-brand toys, I'm just borrowing for my own mental health.

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Salt and burn the remains...drummed into their heads since God knows when. It’s the only way.

“It’s like the old vampire story.” Sam sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “The seventh son of a seventh son...wife couldn’t bear to mutilate the corpse so she tied red ribbon around the throat, hands, and feet to keep him from rising again.”

“Yeah, but that bitch didn’t work.” Dean snapped. “And a whole town died...I know the story.”

“Why?”

Dean stopped pacing across their hotel room, turning to face Sam, mildly startled. “What?”

“Why didn’t you salt the remains?”

Dean fell silent, then shook his head. “You honestly need to ask me that question, Sam?”

Sighing, Sam nodded. “You’re right. I don’t.” He paused, looking away from Dean. “But...is this deliberate, you think?”

“Given the circumstances? I don’t know.” Dean replied honestly, finally walking over to where Sam sat. “I mean...it’s not exactly the only option, y’know?”

“But it makes the most sense...if he was *trying.*” Sam murmured, still staring at the center of the table in their room. “Anything else, we could destroy...”

“...but this, we won’t.” Dean finished, his gaze following Sam’s. “We can’t. And I think Dad knows that.”

Nodding, Sam finally tore his gaze away, glancing up at Dean. “So what do we do now?”

Dean’s gaze never wavered, even as the soft-spoken words filled with pain and confusion cut through him like a knife. Now it was his call...his choice, his job to get Dad’s revenge and keep Sammy safe. The family...the power, the choices, the darkness...it was all his now.

But Dean was a good soldier...not a good general. He didn’t know if he could do this.

And yet he had no other choice...but there was always a choice.

Taking a deep breath, his cheeks puffed out with the force of his exhalation as he circled around Sam’s chair, propping his hands on the edge of the table before reaching out towards the center, where Dad’s journal still sat.

Slowly drawing it towards him, Dean carefully closed the cover before moving his hand away.

“You heard him, Dad.” he murmured hoarsely. “What do we do now?”

For a moment there was silence...then a chill swept through the room, bone-deep and terrifying as the journal slammed open, pages flipping of their own accord until they finally lay still, open and waiting while Dean and Sam learned to breathe again.

For a long while, neither of them moved.

It was Dean that took the initiative, picking up the journal, eyes skimming the page. “Okay...let’s see what we got.”