FIC - Supernatural - Sam/Dean
Title: Just Surviving
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Chapter Word Count: 1,500
Rating: R
Beta: quickmanifyouloveme
Summary: The end of their current case leaves Sam unsettled about his life. Their new mystery? A string of violent murders in a house where a serial killer used to take his victims in 1956.
Warnings: Slow-building.
Chapter One
“You’re not killing my wife.”
Sam’s grip tightened on his gun as sweat made a hot trail down his neck. The stranger before him held a pistol of his very own, aiming at Sam’s forehead. They were each others’ mutual targets, braced for even the slightest sign of movement. Sam was motionless, careful not to give the adrenaline-fueled husband any reason to fire. When you’re the last thing standing between a hunter and your bed-ridden, immortal spouse, nerves tended to make your trigger finger itch.
“She’s not your wife anymore, Martin,” Sam reasoned, sounding harsher than he meant to, “Not after all the spells and hexes you cast to keep her alive this long.”
“Shut up!” Martin spat, cocking his weapon.
With the clicks of a hammer being pulled back into place, the stakes rose that much higher. Sam kept his breathing under control while he remembered the original plan.
Keep him talking, and I’ll swoop in all heroic-like and knock him out when I get there with the cure.
Sometimes Dean’s ideas didn’t work out.
Having both spouses cornered but no brother in sight, Sam needed to buy some time. His eyes flickered to the woman lying semi-conscious in the bed behind Martin. She was charred, literally burned from the black magic that had been unleashed on her body. The stench of cooked flesh hung in the air, turning his stomach with every breath. The lengths people went to for the safety of loved ones barely surprised him anymore, but this was particularly brutal.
Sam re-focused on his target with sincere empathy. “I get why you did this, okay? Believe me, I understand. But look at her. Look at Amanda. That’s not life. She deserves better than this.”
“Get out before I shoot,” Martin warned, hands shaking.
“I can’t do that, not until the spells are lifted.”
“She’s not hurting anyone!”
“There’s no telling what she’ll turn into,” Sam insisted. “You bought those spells from a demon. You could be turning her into a monster without even knowing it.”
Martin emptied a round into the ceiling. There would be no talking like that here. Sam didn’t flinch, but he did get quiet. He’d already pushed the guy farther than he intended.
“Out.” Martin ordered. “Now.”
Just beyond the husband was the doorway leading out into the hall. Sam couldn’t afford to put the only exit in Martin’s line of sight, not when he was expecting back up any second, but he was quickly running out of options.
He kept his weapon while raising his hands in a sign of surrender. “All right. Okay. I’m going.” He inched forward. “But you’ll have to let me pass.”
“No, dammit, stay away!” Martin barked. Panic was quickly reducing him to an incoherent mess of frenetic energy and perspiration.
Then Dean Winchester slipped into the room, causing a floorboard to groan under his weight.
Martin spun around and fired wildly, the bullet splintering a chunk of the door frame and forcing Dean to duck out into the hall. Sam shot next, and Martin’s forehead exploded in a mess of blood and brain. He slumped to the ground, face forever marred by an exit wound of truly disgusting proportions.
In three simple seconds the situation had been diffused. Sam reveled in the abrupt shift and the wave of calm that came with it. He let out a stiff exhale before locking eyes with his brother as he came back into the room. It was the fastest way for them to make sure they were both okay after a confrontation.
Sam didn’t have much trouble seeming relatively unaffected at the moment; this was hardly the toughest thing he’d ever had to do. Still, that didn’t stop Dean’s reassuring stare from granting a little more peace than he otherwise would have allowed himself. The hint of mischief in his brother’s eyes was another issue entirely.
“I thought the plan was to keep him talking?” Dean teased with a straight face.
Sam put away his gun. “He was in the middle of a ritual when I got here and he freaked out, I didn’t exactly have a choice. Not the greatest plan you’ve ever had.”
“It was a good plan.”
“Bad plan.”
“Good plan.”
“Dean,” Sam urged, motioning to the suffering woman not six feet away.
Waving him off, Dean reached in the pocket of his jacket and took out a small, thick book. They stepped over to the bed, faces contorting with disgust. Most of her skin was either black or peeling away, leaving only parts of her neck and forehead untouched. Their noses wrinkled from the overpowering smell of seared skin. Sam glanced sideways at Dean, whose features had darkened like he was starting to regret his light mood from seconds before.
“God, that’s awful,” Dean remarked, fighting back a dry heave.
Sam breathed through his mouth. “I’ve never seen magic do this, have you?”
“Nope, but Bobby’s contact had. She said it was magic so black the spells would literally burn into the victim like the fires of hell.”
“And there’s a way to counteract it?” Sam asked, nodding to the book.
“Not exactly.”
Dean flipped the book open to the middle. Pages had been cut out to make a hiding place just big enough for a hex bag or, in this case, a syringe filled with pale yellow liquid. He took out the needle and stuffed the book back into his jacket pocket.
“What’s in it?”
“I didn’t ask,” Dean replied. “She had some seriously skeevy crap in her kitchen.”
“It’s gonna save her though, right?”
Dean tossed him a grim, direct expression which Sam instantly understood. Neither Winchester said much after that.
And things had been going so well.
~
The Impala sailed down the isolated highway, engine purring like the sublime beast it was. Rolling hills and thick forests of the northeast flew by Sam’s window, though he hardly noticed. After five hours riding shotgun he always seemed to fixate on the scenery while somehow ignoring it at the same time. At this point in a long trip, if his mind wasn’t wandering wherever it wanted to, then he was fixating on one problem or another. Up until now he hadn’t needed to dwell on many real issues; these past few months back on the road with Dean had been as close to idyllic as anyone in their family could hope for. Steady work, challenging monsters and friendly bars were the staples of a normal hunter’s taxing, everyday life. For a hardworking pair like Sam and Dean, however, it may as well have been Heaven.
The only bumps in the road seemed to be when cases hit a little too close to home.
“Okay, what gives?”
Sam jolted out of his thoughts. “Huh?”
“You haven’t clammed up like this in months,” Dean pointed out.
“We drive without talking all the time.”
“Yeah, but there’s regular silence and there’s Sam Is Angsting Silence. I’ve known you for a while, I can tell the difference.” Sam tried to shrug it off, but Dean kept prodding. “Is it this last job?”
“Why are you bugging me about this?” Sam asked, unable to keep the mild irritation out of his tone.
Dean nodded knowingly. “Oh, it’s Huffy Sam today, okay. How about: because I’m bored and I give a damn. Sue me.”
Hesitating to relent, Sam shifted in his seat. “Yeah, it’s the last job,” he quietly admitted.
“I thought downer endings didn’t get to you like this anymore.”
“It’s not that we had to kill him,” Sam explained, “Or her, for that matter. I’m just having a hard time seeing the guy as completely crazy. ”
“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “You saw what he did to her. More importantly, you smelled what he did to her.”
“He had been alone all his life, and when his wife came along he didn’t want to let her go. In a screwed up way he was just trying to be happy. I envy that a little, I guess.”
“So, what, you’re not happy?”
Sam shook his head. “All I’m saying is I wish I had that kind of courage.”
“You’re not happy.” Dean stated matter-of-factly.
“Are you?”
Dean laughed under his breath. “We’re back on the road, Sammy. There’s no horsemen, no apocalypse, you have your soul, and neither of us are in hell. It’s just you, me, my baby and the occasional evil whatever that’s gotta be ganked. Now, I’m sorry, but I’m happy as a pig in shit.”
“So this is it,” Sam said, motioning around them, “This is all you could ever want?”
“All I know is I’m done asking for things. Every time I do, something wants to drag me to the pit. We’re here, we’re hunting, I’m happy.” Dean took his eyes off the road for a second to study his companion. “Why, what’s missing?”
Leaning his head back, Sam closed his eyes to hide from his brother’s scrutiny. “I don’t know. It was just a thought.”
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Chapter Word Count: 1,500
Rating: R
Beta: quickmanifyouloveme
Summary: The end of their current case leaves Sam unsettled about his life. Their new mystery? A string of violent murders in a house where a serial killer used to take his victims in 1956.
Warnings: Slow-building.
Chapter One
“You’re not killing my wife.”
Sam’s grip tightened on his gun as sweat made a hot trail down his neck. The stranger before him held a pistol of his very own, aiming at Sam’s forehead. They were each others’ mutual targets, braced for even the slightest sign of movement. Sam was motionless, careful not to give the adrenaline-fueled husband any reason to fire. When you’re the last thing standing between a hunter and your bed-ridden, immortal spouse, nerves tended to make your trigger finger itch.
“She’s not your wife anymore, Martin,” Sam reasoned, sounding harsher than he meant to, “Not after all the spells and hexes you cast to keep her alive this long.”
“Shut up!” Martin spat, cocking his weapon.
With the clicks of a hammer being pulled back into place, the stakes rose that much higher. Sam kept his breathing under control while he remembered the original plan.
Keep him talking, and I’ll swoop in all heroic-like and knock him out when I get there with the cure.
Sometimes Dean’s ideas didn’t work out.
Having both spouses cornered but no brother in sight, Sam needed to buy some time. His eyes flickered to the woman lying semi-conscious in the bed behind Martin. She was charred, literally burned from the black magic that had been unleashed on her body. The stench of cooked flesh hung in the air, turning his stomach with every breath. The lengths people went to for the safety of loved ones barely surprised him anymore, but this was particularly brutal.
Sam re-focused on his target with sincere empathy. “I get why you did this, okay? Believe me, I understand. But look at her. Look at Amanda. That’s not life. She deserves better than this.”
“Get out before I shoot,” Martin warned, hands shaking.
“I can’t do that, not until the spells are lifted.”
“She’s not hurting anyone!”
“There’s no telling what she’ll turn into,” Sam insisted. “You bought those spells from a demon. You could be turning her into a monster without even knowing it.”
Martin emptied a round into the ceiling. There would be no talking like that here. Sam didn’t flinch, but he did get quiet. He’d already pushed the guy farther than he intended.
“Out.” Martin ordered. “Now.”
Just beyond the husband was the doorway leading out into the hall. Sam couldn’t afford to put the only exit in Martin’s line of sight, not when he was expecting back up any second, but he was quickly running out of options.
He kept his weapon while raising his hands in a sign of surrender. “All right. Okay. I’m going.” He inched forward. “But you’ll have to let me pass.”
“No, dammit, stay away!” Martin barked. Panic was quickly reducing him to an incoherent mess of frenetic energy and perspiration.
Then Dean Winchester slipped into the room, causing a floorboard to groan under his weight.
Martin spun around and fired wildly, the bullet splintering a chunk of the door frame and forcing Dean to duck out into the hall. Sam shot next, and Martin’s forehead exploded in a mess of blood and brain. He slumped to the ground, face forever marred by an exit wound of truly disgusting proportions.
In three simple seconds the situation had been diffused. Sam reveled in the abrupt shift and the wave of calm that came with it. He let out a stiff exhale before locking eyes with his brother as he came back into the room. It was the fastest way for them to make sure they were both okay after a confrontation.
Sam didn’t have much trouble seeming relatively unaffected at the moment; this was hardly the toughest thing he’d ever had to do. Still, that didn’t stop Dean’s reassuring stare from granting a little more peace than he otherwise would have allowed himself. The hint of mischief in his brother’s eyes was another issue entirely.
“I thought the plan was to keep him talking?” Dean teased with a straight face.
Sam put away his gun. “He was in the middle of a ritual when I got here and he freaked out, I didn’t exactly have a choice. Not the greatest plan you’ve ever had.”
“It was a good plan.”
“Bad plan.”
“Good plan.”
“Dean,” Sam urged, motioning to the suffering woman not six feet away.
Waving him off, Dean reached in the pocket of his jacket and took out a small, thick book. They stepped over to the bed, faces contorting with disgust. Most of her skin was either black or peeling away, leaving only parts of her neck and forehead untouched. Their noses wrinkled from the overpowering smell of seared skin. Sam glanced sideways at Dean, whose features had darkened like he was starting to regret his light mood from seconds before.
“God, that’s awful,” Dean remarked, fighting back a dry heave.
Sam breathed through his mouth. “I’ve never seen magic do this, have you?”
“Nope, but Bobby’s contact had. She said it was magic so black the spells would literally burn into the victim like the fires of hell.”
“And there’s a way to counteract it?” Sam asked, nodding to the book.
“Not exactly.”
Dean flipped the book open to the middle. Pages had been cut out to make a hiding place just big enough for a hex bag or, in this case, a syringe filled with pale yellow liquid. He took out the needle and stuffed the book back into his jacket pocket.
“What’s in it?”
“I didn’t ask,” Dean replied. “She had some seriously skeevy crap in her kitchen.”
“It’s gonna save her though, right?”
Dean tossed him a grim, direct expression which Sam instantly understood. Neither Winchester said much after that.
And things had been going so well.
~
The Impala sailed down the isolated highway, engine purring like the sublime beast it was. Rolling hills and thick forests of the northeast flew by Sam’s window, though he hardly noticed. After five hours riding shotgun he always seemed to fixate on the scenery while somehow ignoring it at the same time. At this point in a long trip, if his mind wasn’t wandering wherever it wanted to, then he was fixating on one problem or another. Up until now he hadn’t needed to dwell on many real issues; these past few months back on the road with Dean had been as close to idyllic as anyone in their family could hope for. Steady work, challenging monsters and friendly bars were the staples of a normal hunter’s taxing, everyday life. For a hardworking pair like Sam and Dean, however, it may as well have been Heaven.
The only bumps in the road seemed to be when cases hit a little too close to home.
“Okay, what gives?”
Sam jolted out of his thoughts. “Huh?”
“You haven’t clammed up like this in months,” Dean pointed out.
“We drive without talking all the time.”
“Yeah, but there’s regular silence and there’s Sam Is Angsting Silence. I’ve known you for a while, I can tell the difference.” Sam tried to shrug it off, but Dean kept prodding. “Is it this last job?”
“Why are you bugging me about this?” Sam asked, unable to keep the mild irritation out of his tone.
Dean nodded knowingly. “Oh, it’s Huffy Sam today, okay. How about: because I’m bored and I give a damn. Sue me.”
Hesitating to relent, Sam shifted in his seat. “Yeah, it’s the last job,” he quietly admitted.
“I thought downer endings didn’t get to you like this anymore.”
“It’s not that we had to kill him,” Sam explained, “Or her, for that matter. I’m just having a hard time seeing the guy as completely crazy. ”
“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “You saw what he did to her. More importantly, you smelled what he did to her.”
“He had been alone all his life, and when his wife came along he didn’t want to let her go. In a screwed up way he was just trying to be happy. I envy that a little, I guess.”
“So, what, you’re not happy?”
Sam shook his head. “All I’m saying is I wish I had that kind of courage.”
“You’re not happy.” Dean stated matter-of-factly.
“Are you?”
Dean laughed under his breath. “We’re back on the road, Sammy. There’s no horsemen, no apocalypse, you have your soul, and neither of us are in hell. It’s just you, me, my baby and the occasional evil whatever that’s gotta be ganked. Now, I’m sorry, but I’m happy as a pig in shit.”
“So this is it,” Sam said, motioning around them, “This is all you could ever want?”
“All I know is I’m done asking for things. Every time I do, something wants to drag me to the pit. We’re here, we’re hunting, I’m happy.” Dean took his eyes off the road for a second to study his companion. “Why, what’s missing?”
Leaning his head back, Sam closed his eyes to hide from his brother’s scrutiny. “I don’t know. It was just a thought.”