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Fic: Peace, Brother (What Are We Fighting For)
Peace, Brother (What Are We Fighting For)
Gen | PG | 500 words
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iamtinkerbean's prompt purple, sunsets, a cat.
Gen | PG | 500 words
Written for
iamtinkerbean's prompt purple, sunsets, a cat. The sky is turning a dark purple-pink over the roof of the run down farm, the night’s chill setting in. Sam swats absently at a mosquito, watching the last rays of sunshine fade.
“Do you think Dad would have been happy?” he asks, quietly because Dean can sometimes still be jumpy.
After a pause, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Sam starts, hesitant, “us being here and everything. He said he wanted you to have a home.”
Dean cuts a sharp look at him, hands gripping the wood fence they’re both sitting on. “He also said he wanted you to go back to school and have a normal life,” he replies, short and clipped. “You never thought about what he wanted when you made that decision.”
Despite himself, Sam digs his nails into his thighs. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight, Dean.”
“You’re never trying to start a fight, are you?” Dean says, facing Sam now. His eyes are dark, lips turned up at the corner in a humorless smirk. “That’s just the problem. You always talk about Dad, about what he would have wanted, but did you really ever know, Sam? You spent years and years hating him, thinking he never wanted to see you again.”
Sam stays quiet, watching his fingers turn bone-white.
“Even five minutes before he died, you didn’t trust his judgment. You were always too busy accusing him of things and riding your high, moral horse,” Dean continues, relentless. “He died for me. Dad died for me.”
“I—” Sam swallows, hard. “He loved you. He did it because he loved you, Dean.”
Dean looks off to the left, stubbing the toe of his boot in the dirt. The muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Dad wanted you to have a good life, Dean,” Sam says, emboldened. “You know—”
He pauses, looking down at his feet, which are very enthusiastically being mauled by a tiny black kitten.
“Dean?”
His brother turns, clearly ready to say something insulting, and stops short. “That’s a cat,” he says.
“Congratulations, you have eyes.” Sam leans down and tries to grab the fur ball without getting his hands cut up. The kitten rears back and hisses at him, and even that is high and cute-sounding. “Dude, you attacked me first,” he mumbles at it, offended.
“You are such a loser,” Dean groans, sweeping the cat effortlessly into his arms. The little monster settles down immediately, purring and butting its head against Dean’s hand.
Sam tries very hard not to look put out. “Why does it like you?”
“Animal magnetism,” Dean says easily, rubbing his finger between the cat’s eyes and smiling. The cat’s purring fit to burst and Dean looks happier than he did five minutes ago.
“I think we should name him J,” Sam says.
Dean looks startled for a minute, all wide green eyes and softened mouth. Then he smiles, bright and sweet. “That sounds good.”
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