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[personal profile] brosedshield
 Here, have MORE fic, courtesy of the Barcelona bus ride. 


Title: You Remember Being Dead
Disclaimer: If anyone owns anything in this relationship, Supernatural owns my heart.
Characters:
Samuel Campbell, mentions of everyone else
Warnings:
Samuel is a jerk, but he has his reasons. But it does mean he doesn't have very much family solidarity.
Rating:
PG-13
Word count:
450
Spoilers:
through about the middle of S6
Summary:
Samuel Campbell doesn't much like his grandsons, but then again, he's never met them.
Author notes:
[livejournal.com profile] lavinialavender also read this one, but I think I'm posting it before any actual beta-ing took place.  Be warned! The idea that Samuel Campbell really never met the Winchesters when they weren't completely messed up has been in my head since we found out what Sam's problem was. Granddad Campbell is not a nice man, but, much like John Winchester, he does have justification for the jerkface things he does...

You remember being dead.

Well, not death precisely—not heaven—but when you open your eyes to see that limey, black-eyed bastard grinning down at you, you know you died in Mary's arms.

You hate Crowley instantly—and on multiple levels—but he tells you your little girl is dead and gives you a choice.

Really, it’s not much different than hunting used to be, and pretty soon you even have family around you. They're not Mary or Deanna, but they're Campbells and that's good enough.

You find out, quietly, everything you can about Mary's death. You don’t know what’s harder to believe, that she married that pretty, clean-cut Winchester whelp or that he became a serious hunter after her death.

And then you meet Sam. He’s the best hunter you’ve ever met and also a heartless, emotionless, amoral manipulative bastard, and all you can think is “Mary died for this?”

You know now why hunting contacts warned you about Sam Winchester, not knowing he was your grandson. You can see this bastard drinking demon blood, loosing the gates of hell and starting the Apocalypse without a twinge of regret.

The only thing you can’t understand is why anyone would care about this soulless sonofabitch. Sure, Sam’s good on a hunt, but you’ve been warned about the Winchesters—from Crowley, from other hunters, even from a couple Campbells—how the Winchesters are almost scarily codependent. Dean sold his soul for Sam, while sometimes you think about putting a bullet in the bastard's head before he starts killing things without bother to check to see if it’s a monster.

Then you meet Dean. Sure, he's a better person than his brother—though that's like saying he smells better than shifter-slough, not a very high bar—but like there’s something missing in Sam, there's something that’s been worn out of Dean. Also, you frankly don’t understand how someone could give up the life.

Even discounting saving people, the good that hunting does, there’s the adrenaline, the honor, the respect.

Dammit these things killed your mother, and you can just walk away?

At least Sam's useful. Dean’s become a civilian and there’s something about that that disgusts you. And he still cares about the pleasant sociopath he claims as brother.

In the end it’s easy to throw both of them to the monsters, abandon them to Crowley’s plan—which you don’t want to know, so you don’t ask and care. Dean abandoned the family, gave up the life, betrayed his mother’s memory. Sam’s the closest thing you can get to a monster without leaving human behind.

And as far as you’re concerned, neither one is a grandson of yours.
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