[Dean snaps this, because for a moment, for one white hot, painfully sharp moment, he hates Stiles. He hates that there are people here working towards the same goals as he is, that he gets to have his friends, that there's someone else to share his load; Dean barely even remembers what that's like, barely remembers a time when he didn't have the fate of every human left alive crushing down on his shoulders, but he feels the absence of it every day. It is the one thing he's never found a way to cope with, and for that moment, he begrudges every single soul that has never had to try.
He never wanted this, either. He just wanted to be Dean Winchester, whoever the hell that was, and now they'll never know. Now he's the Righteous Man, Michael's Sword, and he wasn't strong enough for either. Dean snorts, shakes his head, and makes a decision.]
I'm not interested in playing guessing games. Of any kind. Read the file.
When you're done, if you haven't asked to be re-paired or the douchebag running the show hasn't allowed it, tell me where we're meeting.
[It would be different, he thinks, if there were only one copy of the file, if he could get hold of it or just kill Stiles and be able to bury it definitively. But there isn't, and so the only way he can see to take that particular leverage off the table is to stop caring about it. Does it really matter, anyway? Is there anything at all he's done in his life that it matters if anyone else knows about? Sure, he doesn't want to talk about it, but is Stiles knowing going to change that Dean made a deal for his brother that damned the world? Is it going to change that the apocalypse is his fault? Is it going to take away the blood on his hands, innocent or trusting or otherwise?
Is no one knowing about it going to make Dean a better, stronger, more worthy person? No. And maybe it'll get one person, at least, to leave him the hell alone.]
I don't care. [He hangs up, hopefully before Stiles can recognize the unexpected quaver of fear in his voice for what it is.]
[ Private : Voice ]
[Dean snaps this, because for a moment, for one white hot, painfully sharp moment, he hates Stiles. He hates that there are people here working towards the same goals as he is, that he gets to have his friends, that there's someone else to share his load; Dean barely even remembers what that's like, barely remembers a time when he didn't have the fate of every human left alive crushing down on his shoulders, but he feels the absence of it every day. It is the one thing he's never found a way to cope with, and for that moment, he begrudges every single soul that has never had to try.
He never wanted this, either. He just wanted to be Dean Winchester, whoever the hell that was, and now they'll never know. Now he's the Righteous Man, Michael's Sword, and he wasn't strong enough for either. Dean snorts, shakes his head, and makes a decision.]
I'm not interested in playing guessing games. Of any kind. Read the file.
When you're done, if you haven't asked to be re-paired or the douchebag running the show hasn't allowed it, tell me where we're meeting.
[It would be different, he thinks, if there were only one copy of the file, if he could get hold of it or just kill Stiles and be able to bury it definitively. But there isn't, and so the only way he can see to take that particular leverage off the table is to stop caring about it. Does it really matter, anyway? Is there anything at all he's done in his life that it matters if anyone else knows about? Sure, he doesn't want to talk about it, but is Stiles knowing going to change that Dean made a deal for his brother that damned the world? Is it going to change that the apocalypse is his fault? Is it going to take away the blood on his hands, innocent or trusting or otherwise?
Is no one knowing about it going to make Dean a better, stronger, more worthy person? No. And maybe it'll get one person, at least, to leave him the hell alone.]
I don't care. [He hangs up, hopefully before Stiles can recognize the unexpected quaver of fear in his voice for what it is.]