Dean deserves a Hug

1-Seventeen

fuck fuck fuck he knows how does he know how could he know jesus christ he knows he fucking knows

Dean digs deeper and deeper into the ground, shoveling dirt out above him. Digging one grave is hard enough, having to dig two with no help is practically murder. He can't stop, though. If he stops it'll give him an opportunity to get paranoid, and he doesn't have time to feed into his concerns even more.

Of all the versions of today that he had imagined, this one had not crossed his mind in any way, shape, or form. What he had thought of was quite pleasant, actually: in one scenario, Dean would wake up and be greeted by John making pancakes for the three of them, then he would let Dean drive them to the mall or the movies. Or maybe they would have a casual day, and then later go somewhere nice for dinner and ice cream. Or, and this was his favorite option, perhaps John had scraped up a bit of extra cash and bought him a present, something small and not incredibly expensive but still thoughtful, and Sam would give him a card he had made using printer paper and sharpie.  He realized now that none of those scenes were realistic.

Waking up this morning, it was as if it was any average day of the week. No pancakes, no movies, no ice cream, and definitely no presents. As a matter of fact, his dad and his brother didn't even wish him a happy birthday. Sam had been eating cereal in front of the t.v. when he walked out of their room, and his father was at the breakfast table looking through his notes for the hundredth time. Dean  had stood still for a second, then promptly realized neither of them cared and went on to making his own cereal, of which there was barely enough for half a bowl.

As soon as he sat down, John began laying it out for him. He had found a case at the towns church, the ghosts of two nuns had been terrorizing some of the members, said it would be "the perfect learning experience" for him. Dean had assumed he meant work experience, this being the first case he would work alone. However, after reading through the news articles and eyewitness accounts, he realized what his father had actually meant.

Dean had parked the impala in the lot for the church and started looking through the folder John had given him. He got halfway through the first article when he felt the wind get knocked out of him, like a sucker punch to the gut. According to the newspaper, the nuns had been excommunicated for being in a relationship. After that, they were all but run out of town by the residents. They ended up committing suicide together and were buried on the east side of the church, away from the rest of the cemetery, with only a cross in the ground to mark their graves.

Dean stared in shock, his mouth hanging open. His heart began to beat harder than it ever had before. He must've sat there for at least half an hour, doing nothing but staring at the page in his hand. He didn't know what else to do. Processing what he was reading, the situation became very clear. This wasn't a birthday gift or even just another milk run of a hunt. This was a test. A test to see his reaction, to see if he would follow orders and stay cool or if he would become anxious and run. John was watching, waiting for Dean to return home and be scared out of his mind, that way he could question him and try to trap him in his own words.

He knows.

The thought weighs down on him, dragging him under the surface.

fuck fuck fuck he knows

It's all he can think about when he finally gets out and grabs the shovel. He starts digging and digging and digging. It gets dark fast, but he has to finish. The small flashlight he keeps in his jacket comes out and he keeps digging, wondering where exactly had he slipped up, when had John begun to notice something different in him, and why was he now being forced to do twice the work all by himself.

because he knows. he knows and this is your punishment. this is what you deserve. just be glad he hasn't done more.

He reaches the coffin and throws the shovel onto level ground. His breathing is heavy and labored as he pulls the lid open, revealing the remains of one of the nuns. Slowly, he climbs out of the hole and makes his way over to the car, grabbing the salt and lighter fluid from the trunk.

fuck dad, he thinks to himself. fuck dad. fuck the nuns. fuck this bullshit hunt, fuck everything.

He stands at the edge of the graves, staring down into the two open and waiting coffins. All he has to do now is burn them. Just light em up and he can be done with it. Whatever fucked up lesson he knows this hunt is supposed to teach him can be shut out and he can return to the motel, where hopefully there's some leftovers waiting for him and not the end of a belt.

But something stops him. A voice in his head is saying somethings wrong, you have to fix it. He stands there staring for a long time, and something starts to rise up in his chest. It's almost like a pull, a longing that he can feel in his heart. He feels bad for them. They didn't do anything wrong, they didn't deserve to die. Although maybe this is better. Being here, being forced into this role, it made them miserable. All they wanted was to be happy together.

they got what was coming. just a couple of stupid fucking queers. they're gonna burn in hell, and so should you.

Dean fought the tears forming in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then lowered himself back into one of the graves. Carefully, he brought the bones out and carried them into the opposite coffin.

if they have to burn, at least let them be together.

After transferring all the bones, he coated them in salt and lighter fluid as quickly as possible. This was supposed to be in-and-out and he knew John would give him even more shit for taking his sweet time. As he struck the match, a distant memory came back to him. 13 years ago, sat at a dining room table, a smiling woman with blonde hair emerged from the kitchen, holding a cake. She was pretty. And her voice was soft and silky as she sang, her eyes filled with love and adoration. Dean threw the match into the coffin, igniting the fire around the remains of the two nuns.

Happy fuckin birthday.

He drove back to the motel in complete silence, not even tuning the radio in to whatever shitty local stations there were. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel the whole time, only relaxing when he pulled into the parking lot and turned the car off. The light was off in their room and when he found the door was unlocked he quietly slipped in and drop his bag on the floor.

"Dean ?"

He nearly jumped at the sound, turning his head towards the voice. He walked slowly towards the slightly ajar door and poked his head in, letting the lamp light up his face. His father was sitting on the side of the bed, clearly waiting for Dean to come home. Their eyes met, studying each other, and Dean could've sworn he saw a subtle smirk, almost condescending but not quite, for just a second.

"You alright, son ?"

Dean swallowed hard and gave a small nod, trying his hardest to not give in to whatever it was John was expecting.

"Can I assume you did alright, then ? No fuck up's or messes I'll have to clean ?"

Dean glanced down at the floor and immediately cursed himself for breaking first.

"No, sir", he said dully.

John grinned and nodded, keeping his eyes on his son. He stared at him silently for a few seconds before dismissing him from the room. Dean closed the door all the way, yet he hesitated for a moment before continuing to the other bedroom. Sam was asleep on his side of the bed, his legs tucked up to his chest and his arms wrapped around a pillow. Dean sat gingerly on the bed and took his boots off before laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wished to wake up and relive the day in the way he had envisioned it. He wished his father wasn't a major asshole, sending him passive aggressive messages in the form of religious trauma. Most importantly, he wished he was sat at the dining table, his brother smiling next to him, the blonde woman singing to him once again. Dean barely got any sleep that night.

The next morning was as ordinary as the last. They had packed their things and crammed them into the impala, ready to move on to the next town. The only sound audible was the hum of the engine and the low melody of whatever cassette John had in at the moment. On their way out, they passed by the church and Dean stared out the passenger window into the forest past the east side of the building. They never mentioned that day again, and he doubts Sam even remembers anything from that week.

But Dean remembers every second. And so does John.