(no subject)
Title: Beautiful Mistake
fandom: Dean/Sam
category: Angst
summary: after 'Home' fic. Sam feels guilty about his life after looking into his mother's eyes and Dean watches.
He practically throws himself from the car. You watch as he kneels and crawls through the grass, his body shaking. He doesn't once turn around to look at you. He wouldn't look at you in the car, his back to you, eyes peeled out the window. Except when you looked over you couldn't see a reflection. But you knew. You knew to pull over and watch as he tumbled from his seat, fumbling over now useless limbs that didn't quite fit right or work like they were supposed to even though he was 22 years old now.
You got out and closed your door, not touching his side. If this were your room growing up, you didn't dare touch his things. But you stand against the car and watch. Watch as he leans forward and vomits. Vomits hard, so hard he's shaking. You think he's pushing his body so hard, he's bound to have thrown up birthday cake from his fifth birthday. Part of you wishes you could do that, just rid yourself of demons by pushing on a part of your throat or trying to flex the muscles in your stomach.
He crawls back and his head lulls back against the edge of the wheel. There's dirt on his knuckles from grabbing so hard at the grass, trying to will his body to at least keep the vital organs in his body. In the blink of an eye his stomach was empty, and his throat was burning and had gone to dry heaves.You want to lean down and you want to press your hand to his forehead, your lips to neck and mutter it'll be okay. Parts of you are scared, actually. Because the one time he looks up, there's fire. There's fire and anger and guilt.
You want to shake him. Hiss and yell that you were there too. You saw her, and you feel just as weird and guilty. But not ashamed. Of course your mind wanders to if she watched over you two when he cried and your lips slid over his body, trying anything you could to soothe him. Even leaving teeth marks on the curve of his hips. The thought of your mother watching makes you queasy. you sink down beside him, your body doesn't touch the dirt, leaning down against your knees,your head lowered.
His eyes shoot open, nostrils flaring like he's trying to take in all the scents. You can recognize him by the sound of his breath, the tap of his foot in a long hall without looking, why couldn't he know you're dangerously closer to him than you were before. You look up in time to catch his wide eyes, and god, he's angry. He's angry and his eyes are yelling at you he's so mad. Part of you wishes you knew where his voice had gone, because hearing it would have been better than this silent treatment. His eyes are dark and brooding and angry and sad and disgusted. There's a slight mental congratulations when you don't see shame. There's no shame or regret.
You made him promise. You made him promise, you shook him, lips quivering so close to his, but not touching that night. You made him promise, wouldn't touch him until he uttered the words back to you. Now you think maybe he was just humoring you, mimicking your true concern. You never wanted this. His eyes scan your face and you realize you can smell him, too. You can smell aftershave and conditioner and dirt and grass and trees and that coffee you spilled and cussed about for about at least half a mile. You can smell acid and vomit and tears, and he's crying. He's crying, his hand is sprawled out at his side. You close your eyes, everything all at once making you dizzy.
YOu wonder if you miss something. If maybe you really are stupid, or you were just too shocked that her figure was there in front of you, and that was her voice in your ear. You wonder what it was that Sam saw that's made him so upset, and you want to hit him. You want to hit him hard, so he can maybe feel what this feels like. The air leaves your chest and your hands never leave the gravel but your finger tip brushes against his, and he pulls away. You would yell if you could. You would yell that he made the choice too, it's not fair to put this all on your shoulders. You want to yell that you should have seen it to. It was your lips around your baby brother's cock as he whimpered. It was your tongue intertwined with his. You want to get into his face and hold his chin in your fist and tell him you didn't do anything to deserve this.
He's making small wounded animal noises. He's sniffling and fighting back tears and he can't hide the fact his heart is broken. Or the fact he's maybe a little disappointed you're sitting right beside him and you're not trying to make it better.You should. You used to tell him over and over before that night that it was your job to protect him. And when he arched up against your mouth and cried out as his body tensed and your throat was slick with come, he told you he didn't need your protection. He didn't need a big brother anymore. He needed you. Just you. You'd given anything for those noises, the groans and growls from deep down in his chest, from the base of his throat. Not the squeaks and whimpers coming from beside you. He looks over and this time you catch his eye. And he doesn't speak. He doesn't have to.
"I'm sorry". Your eyes are wide and your voice squeaked and you're surprised how shaky it sounds when it finally hits your ears and out into the night air. You close your eyes and want the wind to take it away. Take it far away so he never has to hear that you're scared and weak and nauseous and just lost. You're lost and for two seconds there back in the old house, you thought you had been saved. You would wake up from this horrible nightmare you call your life and your brother is going to be in the room next to you, and you're off to college. Before Sam can reply you've taken off, fumbling and falling down the patch of grass where your brother had be writhing, clutching your stomach.
This time he presses his hand against your forehead and kisses the side of your neck. He tells you he's always going to be here for you, no matter what. Your stomach turns and cramps harder, punishing you for making your brother lie to you through his teeth. It had to have hurt him to say that, but you believe it. You want to as acid pours from your lips, and you vow to yourself you'll quit drinking coffee, because this is like hell. This has to be hell, with your brother so close to you and pressed into your back as you lean over to vomit up the demons you thought you had locked up deep deep in your heart.
fandom: Dean/Sam
category: Angst
summary: after 'Home' fic. Sam feels guilty about his life after looking into his mother's eyes and Dean watches.
He practically throws himself from the car. You watch as he kneels and crawls through the grass, his body shaking. He doesn't once turn around to look at you. He wouldn't look at you in the car, his back to you, eyes peeled out the window. Except when you looked over you couldn't see a reflection. But you knew. You knew to pull over and watch as he tumbled from his seat, fumbling over now useless limbs that didn't quite fit right or work like they were supposed to even though he was 22 years old now.
You got out and closed your door, not touching his side. If this were your room growing up, you didn't dare touch his things. But you stand against the car and watch. Watch as he leans forward and vomits. Vomits hard, so hard he's shaking. You think he's pushing his body so hard, he's bound to have thrown up birthday cake from his fifth birthday. Part of you wishes you could do that, just rid yourself of demons by pushing on a part of your throat or trying to flex the muscles in your stomach.
He crawls back and his head lulls back against the edge of the wheel. There's dirt on his knuckles from grabbing so hard at the grass, trying to will his body to at least keep the vital organs in his body. In the blink of an eye his stomach was empty, and his throat was burning and had gone to dry heaves.You want to lean down and you want to press your hand to his forehead, your lips to neck and mutter it'll be okay. Parts of you are scared, actually. Because the one time he looks up, there's fire. There's fire and anger and guilt.
You want to shake him. Hiss and yell that you were there too. You saw her, and you feel just as weird and guilty. But not ashamed. Of course your mind wanders to if she watched over you two when he cried and your lips slid over his body, trying anything you could to soothe him. Even leaving teeth marks on the curve of his hips. The thought of your mother watching makes you queasy. you sink down beside him, your body doesn't touch the dirt, leaning down against your knees,your head lowered.
His eyes shoot open, nostrils flaring like he's trying to take in all the scents. You can recognize him by the sound of his breath, the tap of his foot in a long hall without looking, why couldn't he know you're dangerously closer to him than you were before. You look up in time to catch his wide eyes, and god, he's angry. He's angry and his eyes are yelling at you he's so mad. Part of you wishes you knew where his voice had gone, because hearing it would have been better than this silent treatment. His eyes are dark and brooding and angry and sad and disgusted. There's a slight mental congratulations when you don't see shame. There's no shame or regret.
You made him promise. You made him promise, you shook him, lips quivering so close to his, but not touching that night. You made him promise, wouldn't touch him until he uttered the words back to you. Now you think maybe he was just humoring you, mimicking your true concern. You never wanted this. His eyes scan your face and you realize you can smell him, too. You can smell aftershave and conditioner and dirt and grass and trees and that coffee you spilled and cussed about for about at least half a mile. You can smell acid and vomit and tears, and he's crying. He's crying, his hand is sprawled out at his side. You close your eyes, everything all at once making you dizzy.
YOu wonder if you miss something. If maybe you really are stupid, or you were just too shocked that her figure was there in front of you, and that was her voice in your ear. You wonder what it was that Sam saw that's made him so upset, and you want to hit him. You want to hit him hard, so he can maybe feel what this feels like. The air leaves your chest and your hands never leave the gravel but your finger tip brushes against his, and he pulls away. You would yell if you could. You would yell that he made the choice too, it's not fair to put this all on your shoulders. You want to yell that you should have seen it to. It was your lips around your baby brother's cock as he whimpered. It was your tongue intertwined with his. You want to get into his face and hold his chin in your fist and tell him you didn't do anything to deserve this.
He's making small wounded animal noises. He's sniffling and fighting back tears and he can't hide the fact his heart is broken. Or the fact he's maybe a little disappointed you're sitting right beside him and you're not trying to make it better.You should. You used to tell him over and over before that night that it was your job to protect him. And when he arched up against your mouth and cried out as his body tensed and your throat was slick with come, he told you he didn't need your protection. He didn't need a big brother anymore. He needed you. Just you. You'd given anything for those noises, the groans and growls from deep down in his chest, from the base of his throat. Not the squeaks and whimpers coming from beside you. He looks over and this time you catch his eye. And he doesn't speak. He doesn't have to.
"I'm sorry". Your eyes are wide and your voice squeaked and you're surprised how shaky it sounds when it finally hits your ears and out into the night air. You close your eyes and want the wind to take it away. Take it far away so he never has to hear that you're scared and weak and nauseous and just lost. You're lost and for two seconds there back in the old house, you thought you had been saved. You would wake up from this horrible nightmare you call your life and your brother is going to be in the room next to you, and you're off to college. Before Sam can reply you've taken off, fumbling and falling down the patch of grass where your brother had be writhing, clutching your stomach.
This time he presses his hand against your forehead and kisses the side of your neck. He tells you he's always going to be here for you, no matter what. Your stomach turns and cramps harder, punishing you for making your brother lie to you through his teeth. It had to have hurt him to say that, but you believe it. You want to as acid pours from your lips, and you vow to yourself you'll quit drinking coffee, because this is like hell. This has to be hell, with your brother so close to you and pressed into your back as you lean over to vomit up the demons you thought you had locked up deep deep in your heart.