WHERE ARE ALL MY FICS SET IN THE SHOOTING RANGE IN THE BUNKER WHERE?!
I wanted Dean/Cas, but I’ll take Sam practicing as he works on beating the effects of the trials. I’ll take Charlie popping by to use the place to vent her frustration over bad work days in.
And I’ll take Dean changing all the blank paper dummies so they have faces of people he’s mad at on - like Crowley, which is riddled with holes, mostly in his face; Naomi, who has a few, but Dean finds himself only shooting to maim and not kill, because he’s not sure yet if he wants her dead or on side; the one dummy that he stuck a derpy photo of Sam’s face on as a surprise for the next time Sam uses the place.
…and then there’s the dummy that Dean, in it fit of frustration after another restless night of unanswered prayer, drew a blue tie on and and tapped over with an image of Cas’ face he nabbed from copies of CCTV footage when Cas was still suffering from delusions of godhood. Just in case, right? Just in case Cas goes off the rails again, or Naomi gets her claws back into him… or in case Naomi was telling the truth… in case Cas really doesn’t care about him, really is perfectly willing to kill him without emotion. In case Cas really is the enemy. Again.
Because if that’s true, then Dean needs to be emotionless right back, doesn’t he? He needs to train himself to fight back, to kill if he has to, like he was prepared to when they called on Death… except… just raising his gun at the image brings Dean out in a cold sweat, and tightening his finger round the trigger makes his hand shake. He pushes through though, because he has to, he needs to… he needs to beat this… only when he finally squeezes down, he closes his eyes at the vital moment and when he opens them again the shots have gone wide, worse than Sammy’s when they were helping Charlie, not even close to the target. And this practicing with a weapon he knows can’t even hurt an angel! And fuck it, the target doesn’t even LOOK like Cas anyway, the picture all grainy and pixilated and washed yellow.
Work with that, he thinks as he sucks it up and tries again, imagine it’s not Cas. A Cas that’s not Cas. But when he lifts his arm again his heartrate doubles and his breath catches in his throat. Because even if Cas isn’t himself, Dean’s seen, over and again now, that the real Cas, the Cas he knows, can still be appealed to, is still in there somewhere. And as long as that’s true. As long as there’s even a glimmer of hope of getting Cas back, he can’t do this. He just… can’t.
So he rips the dummy up, making sure to separate it from the photo first, and burns both pieces until their nothing but ash in the bathroom sink. Then he grabs one of the beers from the war room and heads to his room to pray some more instead.
(or you know… something like that…)