righteoushunter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteoushunter) wrote2013-09-27 04:22 pm
righteoushunter) wrote2013-09-27 04:22 pm
Entry tags:
there's slaughter in the air (for hunter_returns)
Getting through the funeral had to be the most unreal part of it all. He wasn't sure how to act, wasn't sure if he even really felt it yet or if he would. What he did feel was this sensation of being lost, not knowing what their next move should be. John Winchester had taught them everything he knew from the moment their house burned down right along with their mother.
He'd taught them how to fight, how to stay safe, and what to look for in a demon. Taught them how they weren't supposed to kill anyone who didn't fit the criteria... Dean was thankful for that everyday. he liked the strict rules. Wasn't sure where he'd be without them.
Whether Sam felt the same or not, he wasn't always sure, but this method worked. You didn't kill innocent people or you weren't any better than the things they hunted, plain and simple.
But none of that felt important right now.
Dean was on auto-pilot. He came home to the apartment he shared with Sam - having a permanent address and blending in with everyone normal as well as they could kept people off their backs - and he went to shower and change. It felt like he needed it.
When he came back out, clad in his boxers and a worn out old Metallica shirt, he found Sam on the couch and hesitated only a moment. Ugh, couldn't leave him there, alone. Dean had never been good at that. He still felt responsible for him, no matter how old he got.
"Hey, Sammy," he murmured as he settled beside him, shoulder to shoulder, eyes falling tot he floor. "You okay?"
He'd taught them how to fight, how to stay safe, and what to look for in a demon. Taught them how they weren't supposed to kill anyone who didn't fit the criteria... Dean was thankful for that everyday. he liked the strict rules. Wasn't sure where he'd be without them.
Whether Sam felt the same or not, he wasn't always sure, but this method worked. You didn't kill innocent people or you weren't any better than the things they hunted, plain and simple.
But none of that felt important right now.
Dean was on auto-pilot. He came home to the apartment he shared with Sam - having a permanent address and blending in with everyone normal as well as they could kept people off their backs - and he went to shower and change. It felt like he needed it.
When he came back out, clad in his boxers and a worn out old Metallica shirt, he found Sam on the couch and hesitated only a moment. Ugh, couldn't leave him there, alone. Dean had never been good at that. He still felt responsible for him, no matter how old he got.
"Hey, Sammy," he murmured as he settled beside him, shoulder to shoulder, eyes falling tot he floor. "You okay?"