If Ever (Sam/Dean)
Title: If Ever
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warnings: Jealous!Dean.
Summary: Maybe he was desperate, needy, and wanting for thinking that he was something permanent in Sam's life.
He says her name’s Jen, or Jane, or something. And Dean doesn’t like the way Sam’s eyes expand a little as he goes off on tangents about her. He sits across from Dean, counting off thing after thing about her. Dean wonders if he can see the cunning disinterest on his face. Sam scratches the side of his head and begins, “Yeah, Jess and I…”
Jess.
Her name’s Jess.
Dean rolls his eyes.
He says she’s got blond hair, bright green eyes, and full lips. She’s got an athletic body and little freckles on her face that she tries to cover up. She’s got a witty personality, not easily swayed and apparently, forever faithful.
And Dean can’t help but think that this sounds all too familiar.
He wants so smile. More than anything he does. But he can’t bring himself to; because he’s caught somewhere between being under and over-satisfied.
“Are you even listening to me?” Sam blurts, eyebrows furrowing just as the light in his eyes simmers to a dull roar. He tilts his head on an angle just a little and it takes Dean a moment or so to catch his words.
He nods first, follows up with a, “Of course I’m listening.”, and ends with a slight uprising of his lips that was meant to be a smile. He’s not sure how well that worked out.
Sam huffs just like he always does, shakes his head a little, but he opens his mouth to continue. Dean cuts him off with a, “- so what makes his girl so special, Sammy?”
He can tell he’s caught Sam off guard, and it takes him two seconds too long to even begin to answer. And Dean wants to tell him that he’s already out. If this was a game, he would’ve lost. But maybe this is a game. A twisted game of cat-and-mouse, because it damn sure feels like Dean’s chasing after Sam, but he just keeps running and running…
Or maybe it’s a game of bait-fish. Like Sam’s dangling pretty little Jess in front of Dean’s eyes and waiting to see how long it takes him to pounce. How harsh his words will be. Like daggers and knives striking her. But Dean’s no Flounder, he’s a Great White. And if he bites into Jess, verbally, emotionally, or physically, it’d be damn near fatal. Both he and Sam know that.
“She makes me happy,” Sam answers, and it’s poor excuse for convincing.
There’s a lot of things that make you happy, Dean thinks. Happy, like singing your favorite song, that I’m sure she doesn’t know a word to. Or cooking your favorite food, that she probably doesn’t even know the first ingredient to. Or your favorite lullaby as a kid, that she can’t recite. Or the first day you learned to drive, that she doesn’t have a memory of. Happy, like sneaking out when dad was home, just to get away. Happy, like hearing me tell you everything’s gonna be alright.
She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t have that. Not like me, Sam. Not like me.
But Dean just nods. He looks away, though, and he wonders if Sam can see the change in his mood.
Of course he can.
He always can.
Sam shrugs, “And she understands me, Dean -”
“Understands you?” Dean asks, stressing the words. He’s so angry he could almost laugh. But nothing’s funny. Not even in a sick, remote way.
And Dean wants to scream. Scream until his face turns blood-shot red and his eyes are bulging and he can’t breathe. Scream until his lungs, and Sam, are begging for mercy. He wants to scream until Sam gets the point loud and clear that no one can understand him like Dean does. And the fact that it’s not dangerously apparent to Sam hits Dean harder than he’d admit.
Dean just doesn’t understand how he and Sam could go through what they went through, say all the things they’ve said, done all the things they’ve done and Sam can say that. To his face. Dean can’t wrap his head around the fact that they’ve seen each other in their rawest form: vulnerable and open, exposed and defenseless, and Sam can still be looking for someone to ‘understand’ him.
Maybe Dean was out of line, overstepping whatever invisible boundary there was between he and Sam. Maybe he was out of place thinking that giving his all to Sam was enough, and more. Maybe he was delusional, imagining all the things he and Sam had. Maybe he was desperate, needy, and wanting for thinking that he was something permanent in Sam’s life.
Dean raises his eyebrows, mouths, ‘Wow’, and nods. He forces out a ,“That’s great, Sammy. I‘m really happy for you.”
And everything Dean said was a lie. They both knew that much.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warnings: Jealous!Dean.
Summary: Maybe he was desperate, needy, and wanting for thinking that he was something permanent in Sam's life.
He says her name’s Jen, or Jane, or something. And Dean doesn’t like the way Sam’s eyes expand a little as he goes off on tangents about her. He sits across from Dean, counting off thing after thing about her. Dean wonders if he can see the cunning disinterest on his face. Sam scratches the side of his head and begins, “Yeah, Jess and I…”
Jess.
Her name’s Jess.
Dean rolls his eyes.
He says she’s got blond hair, bright green eyes, and full lips. She’s got an athletic body and little freckles on her face that she tries to cover up. She’s got a witty personality, not easily swayed and apparently, forever faithful.
And Dean can’t help but think that this sounds all too familiar.
He wants so smile. More than anything he does. But he can’t bring himself to; because he’s caught somewhere between being under and over-satisfied.
“Are you even listening to me?” Sam blurts, eyebrows furrowing just as the light in his eyes simmers to a dull roar. He tilts his head on an angle just a little and it takes Dean a moment or so to catch his words.
He nods first, follows up with a, “Of course I’m listening.”, and ends with a slight uprising of his lips that was meant to be a smile. He’s not sure how well that worked out.
Sam huffs just like he always does, shakes his head a little, but he opens his mouth to continue. Dean cuts him off with a, “- so what makes his girl so special, Sammy?”
He can tell he’s caught Sam off guard, and it takes him two seconds too long to even begin to answer. And Dean wants to tell him that he’s already out. If this was a game, he would’ve lost. But maybe this is a game. A twisted game of cat-and-mouse, because it damn sure feels like Dean’s chasing after Sam, but he just keeps running and running…
Or maybe it’s a game of bait-fish. Like Sam’s dangling pretty little Jess in front of Dean’s eyes and waiting to see how long it takes him to pounce. How harsh his words will be. Like daggers and knives striking her. But Dean’s no Flounder, he’s a Great White. And if he bites into Jess, verbally, emotionally, or physically, it’d be damn near fatal. Both he and Sam know that.
“She makes me happy,” Sam answers, and it’s poor excuse for convincing.
There’s a lot of things that make you happy, Dean thinks. Happy, like singing your favorite song, that I’m sure she doesn’t know a word to. Or cooking your favorite food, that she probably doesn’t even know the first ingredient to. Or your favorite lullaby as a kid, that she can’t recite. Or the first day you learned to drive, that she doesn’t have a memory of. Happy, like sneaking out when dad was home, just to get away. Happy, like hearing me tell you everything’s gonna be alright.
She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t have that. Not like me, Sam. Not like me.
But Dean just nods. He looks away, though, and he wonders if Sam can see the change in his mood.
Of course he can.
He always can.
Sam shrugs, “And she understands me, Dean -”
“Understands you?” Dean asks, stressing the words. He’s so angry he could almost laugh. But nothing’s funny. Not even in a sick, remote way.
And Dean wants to scream. Scream until his face turns blood-shot red and his eyes are bulging and he can’t breathe. Scream until his lungs, and Sam, are begging for mercy. He wants to scream until Sam gets the point loud and clear that no one can understand him like Dean does. And the fact that it’s not dangerously apparent to Sam hits Dean harder than he’d admit.
Dean just doesn’t understand how he and Sam could go through what they went through, say all the things they’ve said, done all the things they’ve done and Sam can say that. To his face. Dean can’t wrap his head around the fact that they’ve seen each other in their rawest form: vulnerable and open, exposed and defenseless, and Sam can still be looking for someone to ‘understand’ him.
Maybe Dean was out of line, overstepping whatever invisible boundary there was between he and Sam. Maybe he was out of place thinking that giving his all to Sam was enough, and more. Maybe he was delusional, imagining all the things he and Sam had. Maybe he was desperate, needy, and wanting for thinking that he was something permanent in Sam’s life.
Dean raises his eyebrows, mouths, ‘Wow’, and nods. He forces out a ,“That’s great, Sammy. I‘m really happy for you.”
And everything Dean said was a lie. They both knew that much.