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Title: Never
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean
Genre: Drama, Angst
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Sam knows what he has to do.
A/N: Written spur of the moment last night. It's kinda ouch. Set somewhere in the fourth season.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Their lives would suck a lot less if I did. But it wouldn't have been no fun.
“Jesus, Sam! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean demanded, stalking into the motel room with his hands cupped around his mouth. Blood coated his teeth and had been steadily pouring from his mouth for almost twenty minutes now. His palms were full of blood and the liquid escaping from between his fingers was ensuring that blood spotted every surface he approached, despite his attempts to avoid that very thing.
Sam sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind them. “If it hadn't been me, Dean, it would have been those other guys. Trust me, it's better this way.”
“Better how?” Dean demanded, gesturing without thinking and splattering blood in a wide arc. Sam's nose wrinkled. “I'm bleeding like I ain't got nothing better to do, Sammy, and it hurts like a sonuvabitch. Not to mention this,” he said, jabbing a finger in the direction of his rapidly swelling eye.
Sam composed his face, trying to fight the twitch of a smile. “I had to make it look real, Dean.” As his brother stalked into the bathroom, muttering violent oaths, he shrugged and added, “Besides I've been waiting for an excuse to wail on you a little.”
Dean's head poked back out of the bathroom, the incredulous look on his face comical and a little bit grisly with the streaks of drying blood from his mouth. “You what?”
Sam shrugged again and then looked up, meeting his brother's gaze. “I've been dying for a chance to punch you in the mouth.”
“Excuse me?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Please, Dean. You haven't exactly been fun to live with lately, you know. You've been driving me up the wall.”
Dean stepped back into the room, forgetting about his face, disbelief written all over his features. “I've been driving you up the wall? So you figure the best way to deal with that is to beat the shit out of me the second you get an opportunity?”
Sam's face twitched in a shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Dean gaped at him for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing silently, his anger making it impossible for him to articulate. “Unbelievable,” he finally muttered and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
“You're welcome!” Sam called, the nasty sense of glee he felt clear in his voice.
“Fuck you!” Dean snarled.
Sam stared at the closed door for a long time before finally turning away and opening his laptop, his irritation and bitterness growing and coming out in his movements. Dean didn't get it, and he never would.
The old Dean never would have let his “little brother” kick his ass. He would have made Sam play the mark. But not anymore. Hell had crippled Dean, taken away the ferocity that made him who he was. Who he had been.
Which only made it that much clearer how important Sam's role was in all of this. His brother, his badass older brother was gone, stripped away.
And the old, weak Sam had died along with him.
It was up to him to save the world now, no matter what the cost.
The door to the bathroom opened and Dean stalked out, moving to grab his first aid kit out of his duffel. Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the poisonous looks sent in his direction until he vanished into the bathroom once again.
The old Dean was gone, and Sam had nothing left to lose.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean
Genre: Drama, Angst
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Sam knows what he has to do.
A/N: Written spur of the moment last night. It's kinda ouch. Set somewhere in the fourth season.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Their lives would suck a lot less if I did. But it wouldn't have been no fun.
“Jesus, Sam! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean demanded, stalking into the motel room with his hands cupped around his mouth. Blood coated his teeth and had been steadily pouring from his mouth for almost twenty minutes now. His palms were full of blood and the liquid escaping from between his fingers was ensuring that blood spotted every surface he approached, despite his attempts to avoid that very thing.
Sam sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind them. “If it hadn't been me, Dean, it would have been those other guys. Trust me, it's better this way.”
“Better how?” Dean demanded, gesturing without thinking and splattering blood in a wide arc. Sam's nose wrinkled. “I'm bleeding like I ain't got nothing better to do, Sammy, and it hurts like a sonuvabitch. Not to mention this,” he said, jabbing a finger in the direction of his rapidly swelling eye.
Sam composed his face, trying to fight the twitch of a smile. “I had to make it look real, Dean.” As his brother stalked into the bathroom, muttering violent oaths, he shrugged and added, “Besides I've been waiting for an excuse to wail on you a little.”
Dean's head poked back out of the bathroom, the incredulous look on his face comical and a little bit grisly with the streaks of drying blood from his mouth. “You what?”
Sam shrugged again and then looked up, meeting his brother's gaze. “I've been dying for a chance to punch you in the mouth.”
“Excuse me?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Please, Dean. You haven't exactly been fun to live with lately, you know. You've been driving me up the wall.”
Dean stepped back into the room, forgetting about his face, disbelief written all over his features. “I've been driving you up the wall? So you figure the best way to deal with that is to beat the shit out of me the second you get an opportunity?”
Sam's face twitched in a shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Dean gaped at him for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing silently, his anger making it impossible for him to articulate. “Unbelievable,” he finally muttered and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
“You're welcome!” Sam called, the nasty sense of glee he felt clear in his voice.
“Fuck you!” Dean snarled.
Sam stared at the closed door for a long time before finally turning away and opening his laptop, his irritation and bitterness growing and coming out in his movements. Dean didn't get it, and he never would.
The old Dean never would have let his “little brother” kick his ass. He would have made Sam play the mark. But not anymore. Hell had crippled Dean, taken away the ferocity that made him who he was. Who he had been.
Which only made it that much clearer how important Sam's role was in all of this. His brother, his badass older brother was gone, stripped away.
And the old, weak Sam had died along with him.
It was up to him to save the world now, no matter what the cost.
The door to the bathroom opened and Dean stalked out, moving to grab his first aid kit out of his duffel. Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the poisonous looks sent in his direction until he vanished into the bathroom once again.
The old Dean was gone, and Sam had nothing left to lose.
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Date: 2009-12-16 06:28 pm (UTC)And then I was all OMJ BROTHERFIGHTING! :D
AND THEN SAMMY WAS MEAN AND I WAS ALL ;_;.
Whyfore you haz to hurt me so, miWife?
...
The fact that it's friggin' perfect is just salt in the wound.
Bitch.