& fic
title: a falling through
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
warnings: SPOILERS for 4x14.
rating: adult
character: Dean
word count: 392
notes: many thanks to Kripke for being an awesome fucker and ray lamontagne for writing such a fucking awesome song which i totally stole borrowed the title of, ha! (2/6: did a little editing as some stuff needed...tinkering with)
Dean nearly chokes. He can end this right now. Lay all his cards on the table.
He doesn't.
Looks at Sam and he just, he can't. Won't. Opens his mouth and the only thing that comes out is what he's supposed to say - like some fucking part written in a script. And it's a lie, every bit of it. But there's nothing else for him to say except:
Yeah, we're good.
The words are bitter in his mouth. His throat works, feels like he's swallowing razors. He wants to take it back. Erase the words and the last few days...the last few years. Nothing is like it's supposed to be. Except, for them, that's nothing new. Dean should've learned by now. Hell, it's not like he hasn't had enough lessons.
There's nothing good about them. Winchesters never get breaks. Winchesters just get broke.
It's just, somehow this is different. Worse. The two of them have never been less okay than they are now. Not after Rockford, not after Meg. Not even after Dad.
They've never been perfect. Dean isn't that naive. He's scared, he's needy, everybody leaves him. Sam's got demon blood, all his girlfriends die. Dean went to Hell. He's scared Sam's going to end up there. They're all wrapped up in a fragile, ugly mess of secret phone calls and liquor. Nightmares and insomnia and a million other little things that neither one of them wants to look at too closely. They've been bending over backwards for months now. Pretending. Lying.
The two of them were getting good at the lies. Dean's never been ashamed of it until now. Nick - no, the fucking siren - tore into them without even trying. Found every single weak spot and used the truth to rip them apart.
Dean remembers the weight of the ax handle in his hand. The slick feel of the wood and his brother's wide, wide eyes. No, they're not good. They're not going to be okay any time soon.
But Dean nods and he smiles and he says they are. After all, that's what he - what the two of them - do all the time now. Sam stares at him and Dean knows, knows, Sam can see right through him, but that's okay. Dean doesn't want Sam to believe him; Sam shouldn't. He doesn't believe himself.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
warnings: SPOILERS for 4x14.
rating: adult
character: Dean
word count: 392
notes: many thanks to Kripke for being an awesome fucker and ray lamontagne for writing such a fucking awesome song which i totally stole borrowed the title of, ha! (2/6: did a little editing as some stuff needed...tinkering with)
Dean nearly chokes. He can end this right now. Lay all his cards on the table.
He doesn't.
Looks at Sam and he just, he can't. Won't. Opens his mouth and the only thing that comes out is what he's supposed to say - like some fucking part written in a script. And it's a lie, every bit of it. But there's nothing else for him to say except:
Yeah, we're good.
The words are bitter in his mouth. His throat works, feels like he's swallowing razors. He wants to take it back. Erase the words and the last few days...the last few years. Nothing is like it's supposed to be. Except, for them, that's nothing new. Dean should've learned by now. Hell, it's not like he hasn't had enough lessons.
There's nothing good about them. Winchesters never get breaks. Winchesters just get broke.
It's just, somehow this is different. Worse. The two of them have never been less okay than they are now. Not after Rockford, not after Meg. Not even after Dad.
They've never been perfect. Dean isn't that naive. He's scared, he's needy, everybody leaves him. Sam's got demon blood, all his girlfriends die. Dean went to Hell. He's scared Sam's going to end up there. They're all wrapped up in a fragile, ugly mess of secret phone calls and liquor. Nightmares and insomnia and a million other little things that neither one of them wants to look at too closely. They've been bending over backwards for months now. Pretending. Lying.
The two of them were getting good at the lies. Dean's never been ashamed of it until now. Nick - no, the fucking siren - tore into them without even trying. Found every single weak spot and used the truth to rip them apart.
Dean remembers the weight of the ax handle in his hand. The slick feel of the wood and his brother's wide, wide eyes. No, they're not good. They're not going to be okay any time soon.
But Dean nods and he smiles and he says they are. After all, that's what he - what the two of them - do all the time now. Sam stares at him and Dean knows, knows, Sam can see right through him, but that's okay. Dean doesn't want Sam to believe him; Sam shouldn't. He doesn't believe himself.
- end