samndean drabble - gen wot
Apr. 14th, 2009 12:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: Bloodstain on the Ground
Pairing: Gen, actually. Sam, Dean IKR?
Rating: PG-13, for language mostly
Words: 778
When Sam leaves, not forever, just long enough to freak Dean out, he takes Dean's car. He tells himself its because Dean won't be able to track him down as easily if he doesn't have his car, but that's not it. Sam takes Dean car because he's just that fucking mad. He's sick of Dean always siding with Dad, never sticking up for him, even when he knows its important to him. Sam knows exactly when the the imaginary line is drawn each time, and each time he watches painfully as Dean steps over it onto Dad's side. It hurts so much and so deep, and Sam just can't stand feeling like that anymore. So he doesn't take Dean's car because he knows it'll slow Dean down because it won't, Dean will just steal a different one. He steals Dean's car because he knows when Dean realizes its gone, he'll get that same feeling. Sam wants him to know what it feels like, when your blood runs cold and you feel like your breathing cement and you just want to hit something. Dean loves the Impala more than anything, Sam thinks as he pulls out of the motel parking lot. He wishes he could see the look on Dean's face when he wakes up and realizes its gone. He wonders what he'll care about more, the car or him.
Sam rolls in the motel parking lot around nine the next morning. He can see the curtains in their room peeled back slightly and his pulse starts to speed up a bit, running the scene through his head, what Dean will say when he finally steps back inside the room. He stuffs the keys in his pocket and grabs the drink carrier with both of their coffees in it; its not a peace offering or anything, Dean's just helpless. He lets himself in, not like he expected Dean to be standing there with the door wide open and his hand on his hip (just where have you been, mister?) or anything like that, and walks in the room, sitting the drink carrier on the flimsy table next to the kitchenette. Dean's sitting with his back against the headboard, flipping through channels on the tv. He settles on The Price is Right, the volume turned almost completely down.
Sam clears his throat, the abrupt sound startling even himself in the empty silence of the room. "I'm back," he murmurs, pouring three sugar packets into Dean's coffee. He turns around and Dean's fist slams right into his jaw, sending him stumbling until his back runs into the wall, his head hitting a framed picture of the town they're in, knocking it off the wall. There's hot blood pooling on his tongue and Sam spits it on the carpet rather than swallowing it. He looks up at Dean, narrowing his eyes.
"I didn't do anything to your stupid car," He snaps, pursing his mouth. "You can stop worrying."
Dean just stares at Sam for a moment, like he can't quite decide how to react to that, then begins to shake his head. "You think..." Dean's voice trails off and he turns his back to Sam, walking to the other side of the room. He looks out the window, down at the Impala, still shaking his head. "I thought you were gone, Sammy. Gone."
And all of Sam's anger, all of that greedy hunger for revenge, to make Dean feel the same way he felt, was suddenly this horrible lead weight in the pit of his stomach. "Dean," He says, sort of strangled, because that's how he feels now, like he can't breathe, like there's a noose around his neck, but he can't get it loose. He touches Dean's shoulder, but Dean's shrugs him away.
"Don't," he says, but Sam can't leave it at that. He drops his hand lower, curling his fingers around Dean's forearm and tries to get him to turn around. "I said don't." But at least Dean's sort of facing him now and Sam's pleading him with those big, brown eyes. He tries to tug Dean closer and Dean's pulls away, but Sam won't give it up. He keeps tugging, keeps grabbing at Dean's shirt, c'mere, please, Dean, until Dean shoves him. He hits the wall again, damn cracker box of motel room, then Dean's in his personal space, and Sam can't quite make out the expression on his face.
"You ever pull that shit again, Sammy," He threatens, but his voice quakes a little, like it's not so much a threat as it is a plea.
"Yeah," Sam sighs, leaning his forehead against Dean's. "Yeah, I know."
Pairing: Gen, actually. Sam, Dean IKR?
Rating: PG-13, for language mostly
Words: 778
When Sam leaves, not forever, just long enough to freak Dean out, he takes Dean's car. He tells himself its because Dean won't be able to track him down as easily if he doesn't have his car, but that's not it. Sam takes Dean car because he's just that fucking mad. He's sick of Dean always siding with Dad, never sticking up for him, even when he knows its important to him. Sam knows exactly when the the imaginary line is drawn each time, and each time he watches painfully as Dean steps over it onto Dad's side. It hurts so much and so deep, and Sam just can't stand feeling like that anymore. So he doesn't take Dean's car because he knows it'll slow Dean down because it won't, Dean will just steal a different one. He steals Dean's car because he knows when Dean realizes its gone, he'll get that same feeling. Sam wants him to know what it feels like, when your blood runs cold and you feel like your breathing cement and you just want to hit something. Dean loves the Impala more than anything, Sam thinks as he pulls out of the motel parking lot. He wishes he could see the look on Dean's face when he wakes up and realizes its gone. He wonders what he'll care about more, the car or him.
Sam rolls in the motel parking lot around nine the next morning. He can see the curtains in their room peeled back slightly and his pulse starts to speed up a bit, running the scene through his head, what Dean will say when he finally steps back inside the room. He stuffs the keys in his pocket and grabs the drink carrier with both of their coffees in it; its not a peace offering or anything, Dean's just helpless. He lets himself in, not like he expected Dean to be standing there with the door wide open and his hand on his hip (just where have you been, mister?) or anything like that, and walks in the room, sitting the drink carrier on the flimsy table next to the kitchenette. Dean's sitting with his back against the headboard, flipping through channels on the tv. He settles on The Price is Right, the volume turned almost completely down.
Sam clears his throat, the abrupt sound startling even himself in the empty silence of the room. "I'm back," he murmurs, pouring three sugar packets into Dean's coffee. He turns around and Dean's fist slams right into his jaw, sending him stumbling until his back runs into the wall, his head hitting a framed picture of the town they're in, knocking it off the wall. There's hot blood pooling on his tongue and Sam spits it on the carpet rather than swallowing it. He looks up at Dean, narrowing his eyes.
"I didn't do anything to your stupid car," He snaps, pursing his mouth. "You can stop worrying."
Dean just stares at Sam for a moment, like he can't quite decide how to react to that, then begins to shake his head. "You think..." Dean's voice trails off and he turns his back to Sam, walking to the other side of the room. He looks out the window, down at the Impala, still shaking his head. "I thought you were gone, Sammy. Gone."
And all of Sam's anger, all of that greedy hunger for revenge, to make Dean feel the same way he felt, was suddenly this horrible lead weight in the pit of his stomach. "Dean," He says, sort of strangled, because that's how he feels now, like he can't breathe, like there's a noose around his neck, but he can't get it loose. He touches Dean's shoulder, but Dean's shrugs him away.
"Don't," he says, but Sam can't leave it at that. He drops his hand lower, curling his fingers around Dean's forearm and tries to get him to turn around. "I said don't." But at least Dean's sort of facing him now and Sam's pleading him with those big, brown eyes. He tries to tug Dean closer and Dean's pulls away, but Sam won't give it up. He keeps tugging, keeps grabbing at Dean's shirt, c'mere, please, Dean, until Dean shoves him. He hits the wall again, damn cracker box of motel room, then Dean's in his personal space, and Sam can't quite make out the expression on his face.
"You ever pull that shit again, Sammy," He threatens, but his voice quakes a little, like it's not so much a threat as it is a plea.
"Yeah," Sam sighs, leaning his forehead against Dean's. "Yeah, I know."
no subject
Date: 2009-04-14 08:45 pm (UTC)I don't know why this line makes me so happy, but every time I read it I can't keep myself from smiling. It's so perfectly Winchester.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-16 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-16 09:22 pm (UTC)Hehe Sam thought Dean was mad at him for the car but Dean was worried about him awwws!
Thanks for sharing hun!