Title: Us and Them
Word Count: 540
Pairing: Wincest if you squint. Dean's bitter.
A/N: Request was 'Dean hunting down the hunters who shot him and Sam in 'Dark Side of the Moon.''
Summary: Dean would settle for what revenge he could get.
Warnings: Spoilers for 5x16 Dark Side of the Moon.
Dean had been right. He came back fucking pissed.
There was a reason his first memory in Heaven was of Sam. Sam was everything. He was all Dean had left. He was living, breathing proof that Dean had done something right. From the moment baby Sammy was carefully placed in Dean's trembling hands, all big eyed and shaking, concentrating hard on Dean's face, Dean knew Sam would be his to protect. The fact that Sam was alive meant that through everything, every single thing that Dean had fucked up over the years, he'd kept Sam alive.
He didn't spend forty years in hell as a fucking vacation.
He was already raw, the feeling of betrayal at Sam's memories still lingering on the edge of everything even though Dean kept trying to block it out, and the memory of those two fucks having the balls to shoot them was the one thing in his life he could get some fucking vengeance about right now.
He can't get back at Sam. Hurt him like he hurt Dean. It'd still hurt just as much. And he couldn't find Zachariah and skin him like he desperately wanted. He couldn't get back at God for being such a fucking let down, so he'd settle for what he could do. He could find them, and maybe, just maybe, get rid of the helpless feeling that hadn't left since the bullets tore into his chest.
He leaves the hotel room without telling Sam where he's going. The less he says the better. Sam will think he's blowing off some steam, and, really, that's all he's doing. Dean's letting himself be… selfish. Sam expects him to be so unbreakable when all he's been doing is constantly fucking up these last few years.
Dean doesn't feel guilty at all, attacking other hunters in their sleep. Not these two. Roy and Wait are tied up back-to-back when they come to, duct tape over their mouths.
You can see in their eyes that they're terrified. The last they'd seen of him were gaping holes in his chest.
"Boys," Dean says, a thin smile in the dark, "hate to say I told you so."
Sam doesn't say anything when Dean walks back in. The lights are off and he's sitting on his bed, laptop screen illuminating his face.
Dean takes a shower. He had taken a shower before he left, blood running off of him and into the drain in swirls. There's nothing on him now, nothing but the sick, filmy feeling of doing wrong. When Dean's finished, he steps out, water dripping from his hair and towel loose around his hips.
"Where'd you go all night?" Sam asks, eyes darting over Dean's form.
"Just blew off some steam." Dean says, going through his duffle.
"Yeah, well, hope you're okay tomorrow, I think I found us a job."
Dean's dressed and slides under the covers, turning to face the wall. "Yeah, Sam, a job will make it all okay."
Sam's still too ashamed to say anything back.