sjames_centre | May. 19th, 2009

Not quite a double drabble. Supernatural, gen.
For Kimberly.

There were always things that Dean wouldn’t do. Gank a kid, fuck a witch, cry.

He made a list once – back when it seemed like they still had choices. They picked their battles then – a holy war constructed like papier-mâché from the pages of small town papers. Fucking busy work, Sam accused his father that last summer. And then he was gone.

His list was shorter now – over the last year, the number of won’ts, can’ts, shouldn’ts – had fallen as quickly as the seals. But if Dean had learned nothing else from his time with Alastair, it was that almost everything was negotiable. Hell had made him pragmatic.

So when there was only one seal left, and the line between whom he had become and who he needed to be was as blurred as the allegiance of the angels, the list – a single sentence – became his incantation, his penance for everything that came before.

Never leave Sam.