Summary: Trapped in the bunker, Dean makes one last phone call before coming to terms with his fate. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 750 Warnings: Feels, very little dialogue. Possibly spoilers; takes place directly after 12x21.
A/N: This is my contribution to @mrswhozeewhatsis‘s Louden Swain Mini-Bang. My chosen song is St. Louis. I don’t know why I had such a hard time putting what was in my brain onto the page; I was trying to go with the spirit of the song. Michelle, if you feel like this doesn’t fit very well, feel free to exclude it from what you give Rob!
While Sam and Toni wasted oxygen arguing about who had caused
their current predicament and came up with useless ideas on how to free them
from this tomb, Dean meandered away from the war room and to his bedroom.
He went straight for the note on his nightstand, the one
that he hadn’t touched or moved since he set it down after reading it the first
I love you, but you’re
wrong. About them. The Brits will kill you and Sam, and I can’t stand back and
watch it happen. I’m sorry.
She had left while he was gone. Had made excuses about staying
back to research, and when Dean returned, before Ketch and not-Mary came and
locked them in this “tomb” to die, she had made her escape. This place that he had called home – and when
she had come along, it felt complete.
The argument they had before she left had been a big one.
Dean let the angry images flow through his mind while he meandered to the
closet and ran his fingers over the few items of clothing she had left hanging
there. They had both said things they shouldn’t have, even if they meant them.
Hell, they had always been so alike in that aspect: meant every single word,
whether those words should have been spoken or not.
They yelled, she shoved chairs, Dean punched a wall. It was
over all of this; she had been so sure that the British Men of Letters were playing
all of them. Dean sided with Sam and Mary, and that’s what had started the
They’re my family.
Honestly, it had been a heated argument up until Dean said
that. Sam and Mary were his family, yes, but so was she. She accepted him for
the way he was and loved him anyway. Even after dancing around it for years,
after trying to stay away from each other, they had finally given up and
accepted that they couldn’t be apart – that they didn’t want to be apart.
But then Dean had said that.
He moved on from the closet to the vinyls he kept in his
room. He selected one and let it drop softly on the player. The opening notes
of “The Rain Song” by Led Zeppelin played soon after. It was their song, one
she had pretended to hate every time he played it, claiming that the song was
far too long. Despite her protests, she would hold his hand and lean against
his chest and let Dean sway her back and forth in the privacy of his room.
He had tried to apologize. He played their song and took her
hand and tried to tell her everything would be fine. In turn, she withdrew her
hand and got into the bed. Shaking her head and mumbling something about him
spending time with his family while he could.
Dean’s normal MO was to push all of this away. To deal with
it tomorrow. He snorted, thinking
about how many times he had attempted to push feelings away until tomorrow.
He had run out of tomorrows.
Finding his phone, Dean dialed a familiar number. The call
went directly to voicemail, as he expected it would. He wasn’t sure what he was
going to say, but when the beep sounded, the words just poured out of him.
“Hey, it’s me. I – you were right. About the Brits. Ketch has brainwashed my mom, Lady Toni what’s-her-face and Sam are arguing in the
war room – oh, we’re trapped in the bunker, by the way. They’ve locked
everything from the outside, they’ve stopped the air pumps. This is it. I’m
going to die in here, and we could have stopped this. We could have prevented
this. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t. And I’m sorry for
what I said. You are family. I know you and me, we say things we mean, even if
we shouldn’t say it, but that was one thing I did not mean. You’re – you’re everything.
When I get off the phone, I’m going back out there with Sammy and that bitchy
Brit, and I’m gonna try to find a way out of this. But in case I don’t – well,
there are some things we don’t say out loud, right?”
He started the record player again, set his phone next to
it, and left the room. Whatever there was left to say, he’d have to let Zeppelin say it for him.
so ive been in saint louis for a week doing housing & urban policy research on institutions between 1896 and the 2014 execution of Mike Brown in Ferguson, for a stage/multimedia project and
i guess I’ll start off by saying I dined and drank with Michael Brown Sr., who through a random connection came over to our airbnb and talked about how he’s been and his entourage talked revolution with us and like
it was probably one of the most important conversations I’ll ever have??
to be looking someone who lost their son and had his narrative taken and blown up in media that led to a popular uprising - a series of events that I watched from Japan - to be sharing a bottle of rosé with him and just chit chatting. we’ve actually formally interviewed TONS of people (artists, activists, policy officials, historians, residents) - but he was the only we put down the camera and just talked with.
it’s just been overwhelming. all of this on top of spending 24/7 with other grad students and a professor. I’m glad I got to see @thisclosetodiscourse beforehand so I could recharge.
I think I’ll wait until I’m back home in North Carolina, safe in my room, where I’ll cry about this trip.