Work Text:
Title: Covered in darkness
Recipient:
Rating: PG13
Word Count : 1200
Author's Notes: Written for 
kcscribbler for the 
spn_summergen fic exchange
Summary: The Darkness traps the boys inside the Impala with their demons. Set at the and of the Season 10 finale.
The Darkness enveloped the Impala like a blanket; if that blanket was an immense inky black glowing cloud thingy that had existed since the Big Bang farted the Universe into existence.
Sammy? You okay?
Sam was okay – minus extensive facial soft tissue injuries from the beating Dean had just given him, the remnants of the spike of fear-driven adrenaline from thinking he was about to die, and the usually underlying morass of self-doubt, discomfort with how tall he was and an urgent need to pee.
Pretty much. You?
Near enough.
The exchange pretty much summed up the last three decades of Winchester-- minus the deaths, violence, dozens of bitter arguments, two years of silence when Sam was at Stanford, and that weird thing that had happened between them in 2007 in Butte, Montana.
I guess we know why Death called this the Darkness.
Dean was still trying to catch his breath, but he nodded in agreement, forgetting that Sam couldn't see him. Darkness was an accurate yet entirely abstruse description. What was this? A being? A force of nature? A metaphor for the human condition made manifest? Whatever, thought Dean, it was, inarguably, dark.
What did Death tell you about it?
Not much. It's older than everything. Destructive. God and the archangels fought it and locked it away. The Mark was what kept it contained.
It's really gone then? The Mark?
Sam reached out across the seat, and Dean pulled his arm away as he felt Sam's fingers start to stroke down over his forearm. There was nothing left behind for Sam to feel, although Dean sensed something left behind by the Mark – an ache, an echo of that evil.
Seems to be. I figure that's down to you and Cas and that codex. You didn't stop did you? Even after I told you to shut it down. And now we've got this to deal with!
Dean slammed his hand against the windscreen, and to his surprise the blackness outside swirled almost as if in response. He could see, now that his eyes had adjusted, that it wasn't solid black. Some parts of it seemed to glow with a dark incandescence and when it moved it reminded him of gasoline in water. Dean reckoned he even smelled something like gas – acrid but slightly intoxicating.
Well Sam? What has this cost? I mean besides Charlie's life and letting loose the ultimate evil on the world? How is any of this fucking worth it?
Sammy looked over at Dean. Or where he knew Dean was sitting – eleven and a half inches to his left, exactly where he had been sitting for most of Sam's life. He took in a deep breath, tasted at the back of his throat the tang of the same thing Dean had smelled. Or maybe it was just the taste of regret and sadness.
It's impossible, Dean. All the things we have to decide; the choices we have to make. Do you remember, all those years ago, just after Stanford and… Jess? You told me what kept you going was helping others. Saving people. Hunting things.
Yeah – shoulda printed that on a bumper sticker.
You made it sound so simple. And it was, I guess. Until we found out that we didn't always know what we should hunt and who we should save. That we'd make decisions that lead to things we could never have forseen. I've done things have had terrible, horrible consequences. People have died. Lives have been ruined.
Preaching to the choir Sam. And we can spin it, and tell ourselves we meant well, we tried to do good, but how can we believe that anymore? That line –between us and evil - it's gone.
Sam twisted around in the seat to face Dean. Maybe it was pointless to be having this argument now with the end of days literally tapping on the window. But maybe it was the perfect time. Sam grabbed Dean's hand. Possibly to make sure neither of them started punching each other again.
With all we've seen – Heaven and Hell and gods and demons. All the people we know who were full of so much courage and goodness – Charlie and Kevin and Garth and Jody and Bobby and Ellen and Jo. Amelia. Lisa. Mom and Dad. All the lore I've read. I still don’t know what any of it means. What we're meant to do. How we are meant to live.
Sam had a tight grip on Dean's hand. It reminded Dean of when they were kids, and their Dad hadn't been home in a few days. How Sammy wouldn’t say he was sacred but as they sat watching TV and trying to ignore the sounds outside the motel or apartment in the night that might just be drunks but could be monsters, Sam would hold his hand tight. Dean never knew whether it was to comfort himself or comfort Dean.
You always seem to be clear about things, Dean. Even when I think you're wrong, you seem so sure of things. But most of the time I feel like I'm drowning in uncertainty. It's not even whether what I do is right or wrong, but just the burden of deciding.
Dean wrenched his hand from Sam's. He traced a finger over the window and it seemed that the Darkness followed along with it.
Doesn't matter Sam - what we feel. Why should our feelings matter? It's what we do that counts. And what we do is bad.
NO.
Sam's voice boomed loud in the car and in response the Darkness to agitate in tight inky black whirlpools against the glass.
We are not evil Dean. We are flawed and weak and we fuck up and make bad choices.
And yeah, maybe there is red in our ledger, but our intentions matter. You always want to do good Dean. And so do I - I learned it from you. I figure if everything I do comes from that place – from wanting to do good, from caring for you – then that's okay. I'm good with that.
For moments neither of them spoke. Dean reached out and found Sam's hand in the dark and squeezed it. The car mightn't be moving but this was their journey. Arguing about the meaning of life, trying to work out how to live in the world, live for each other in the world.
Did you just quote Avengers at me?