The Slow Steady Descent Into Hell
Title: The Slow, Steady Descent Into Hell
Authoress: Hunters_Retreat
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: There was never any moment where he realized he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be undone, no moment of rationality about what was happening.
Word Count: 1695
The Slow Steady Descent into Hell
The slow steady descent into hell was just that. Slow and steady. There was never any moment where he realized he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be undone, no moment of rationality about what was happening.
Looking back, he could see it, the small moments that had amounted to this. He remembered being on a hunt and sitting at the motel as Sammy patched him up. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Sammy finished the stitches and gripped his shoulder tightly in sympathy. It hurt like hellfire but as Sammy held on, their eyes met and for a few moments there was nothing but those eyes staring at him.
A brusque, “No chick flick moments Sammy.” had brought about the appropriate response.
“It’s Sam.”
“Whatever. Bitch.”
“Jerk.” It came out with a smile and dean had laid back then, letting himself try to relax against the pain. Moment passed without a single recognition of the first step that was sure to end in fire and brimstone.
The next time it had happened, they’d been driving. He couldn’t remember what had brought about the conversation, but they’d been talking about Dad and one of those early times when he’d left Dean and Sam alone when he’d gone on a hunt. He wasn’t sure what made Sam look at him like that, but suddenly Sammy’s hand was on his knee, squeezing. A little tighter than needed, but he hadn’t minded. Sammy did that sometimes, needed reassurance at the same time he was trying to reassure.
He couldn’t remember a time when reassurance hadn’t meant touch to him. His earliest memories were of holding Sammy to calm him down. Dad had always had to pick Sammy up to get him to stop fussing, but Dean had been able to do it with a single touch of fingers to cheek more often than not. When he’d been too small to really hold or carry Sammy, he’d just sat on the floor and Sammy would curl up next to him and he’d caress his hair or tickle his tummy to get him to smile again. It always worked.
Still did, he thought as he realized that while Sammy’s hand was still clutching his knee he had moved his hand along the back of the seat until he was lightly touching the nape of Sammy’s neck. Sammy closed his eyes and his grip relaxed, allowing himself to be lulled into oblivious sleep by the feel of his big brother’s skin against his.
Somehow the slight touches exchanged never seemed to end. There was always something that needed conveyed, some sense of reassurance they needed from one another. He wasn’t even sure when the dull ache had begun.
It had been there in his teenage years he was pretty sure. He knew for sure that it had been there for Sammy’s. There had been times when Dean had doubted his sanity, doubted his ability to love or live a normal life, back before he’d accepted the life he had. It had been his need to keep Sammy safe that had grounded him, made him certain that he could be anything, so long as it kept Sammy close and happy.
When Sammy had been a teenager the ache had been an awful, never ending presence in his life. When Sammy and Dad were in the same room, the ache was simply to be away and out of the middle of it all but whenever Sammy was criticized or Dean could see him preparing for a fight, the ache turned to gut wrenching guilt that Dad was going to hurt Sammy about something stupid. Like Sammy’s skill at knife throwing not being as good as Dean’s, no matter the age difference. Or how Sammy would concentrate for hours on a school project but couldn’t be bothered to help research a hunt. Dad pushed him too hard and as inevitably happened, Sammy would walk away and Dad would turn on him, telling him he was overprotective of Sam and how he needed to back off and make Sam take on more responsibility.
Worse than that guilt though was anytime Sammy was away from him. Even when they were both in the same school he felt anxiety whenever Sammy wasn’t close by. It had been his fierce protectiveness that had let him know that he still had the capacity to love on the nights when the hunts became too much and he felt darkness filling him as it had their father. His love for Sammy was what kept him from turning into the obsessed man that John Winchester had become.
Dean had almost turned into that man when Sammy went off to Stanford, but when the inky jet of night touched his soul, he’d look at his cell phone and see the missed calls, missed only because they had rung only once and hung up. He’d see the times Sammy had called and lost the nerve and he’d close his eyes and remember how much Sammy needed him and how someday he’d realize it and come home to the only place that had ever been home for them both. Each other.
Sammy had almost died the first time he’d pulled his brother into a too tight embrace. He’d closed his eyes and breathed in Sammy’s scent as if it were the only air left worth breathing. He’d turned his head into Sammy’s neck and he’d heard the soft sigh from his brother’s lips. “It’s OK Dean.” He said in a shaky voice. “I’m OK.”
He didn’t let go or even look up. “Shut up Sammy.”
Sammy had listened and Dean had no idea how long they’d stood there like that, him breathing in Sammy’s scent and Sammy’s cheek softly rubbing in his hair. Sammy’s legs had almost given out on them and Dean caught him, pulling his arm around his shoulder to help him back to the car and away from the latest nightmare.
It hadn’t seemed strange when Sammy had woken from another nightmare and Dean had moved across the small space between the two beds and gently rubbed circles against Sammy’s naked back and whispered stupid consolations that meant nothing. Only when dean said things like “I have you Sammy,” and “Not gonna let anything hurt you Sammy,” his brother believed him and began to relax into the lazy circles that were working up and down the tight muscles. When Sammy began to lay down Dean started to stand up, but Sammy had simply held onto one hand and pulled Dean down into the bed to lie against his back. Dean had needed the reassurance as much as Sammy. Sammy believed Dean would keep him safe and Dean had ever intention of making that promise come true. No matter what it took.
Tonight had begun like any other, too many hunts gone bad in too short a time, too many injuries and too many hurts and words that stung and broke and gave them both whiplash at the speed and ferocity of the impact. They’d both drank a few beers before tossing themselves into fitful sleep. It hadn't surprised Dean at all when the nightmare came. In fact he felt like he’d been half awake all night waiting for it. Perhaps because he needed the reassurance as much as Sammy tonight, or perhaps he’d developed an empathy with his brother in their recent time together to know what would set him off. He didn’t know, but he stumbled almost blindly to the other bed, not bothering to sit on the edge of the bed. He simply slid in behind Sammy and wrapped an arm around his waist.
“Got you Sammy.” He whispered in his little brother’s ear. “Got you and nothing is gonna change that Sammy.” As much as Sam protested the nickname, late at night, when they were like this, he shivered whenever Dean said it, like it was salvation as long as Dean would still see his Sammy instead of the monster so many people were beginning to fear Sam would become.
Only tonight, Sammy turned over and looked at him, one hand coming to rest between them over Dean’s heart. “Too close man.” He’d said in that whisper that seemed to drive a stake straight into Dean’s heart. “Too many times, too close. I can’t lose you Dean. You’re all I’ve got.”
Dean took a deep breath, trying to understand what Sammy was trying to say. It’d always been like this with Sammy. He over thought too many things, made simple things complicated and twisted things inside himself until they became too big to hold in. It frustrated Dean to no end to see him do it, but he loved it anyway because it was part of what made Sammy who he was. He was doing that now and Dean shook his head, looking down at Sammy who had squirmed until he was able to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. He ran a hand through that hair, pushing it slightly aside as he placed a kiss on Sammy’s temple.
“Dean …” It was a question and an answer and Dean understood then.
Sammy’s face lifted up to look Dean in the eye, searching for his own answers. Dean let his hand fall away from Sammy’s hair and begin to travel down his brother’s back, slow reassuring circles to let his brother know that whatever Sammy needed, so did he. It was the way they had always been, the way they would always be. As messed up as their childhood had been, their father had ensured this one thing. They were only ever complete when together.
As Sammy lifted his lips to Dean’s for the first tentative kiss, Dean knew what it was like to burn. The slow steady descent into hell was just that. Slow and steady as Sammy’s tongue tasted him, his hands began exploring and Dean let himself fall into the sensation of reassurance and love and being the entire world to someone. It was surely the slow and steady descent into hell, and what a way to go.
Authoress: Hunters_Retreat
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: There was never any moment where he realized he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be undone, no moment of rationality about what was happening.
Word Count: 1695
The Slow Steady Descent into Hell
The slow steady descent into hell was just that. Slow and steady. There was never any moment where he realized he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be undone, no moment of rationality about what was happening.
Looking back, he could see it, the small moments that had amounted to this. He remembered being on a hunt and sitting at the motel as Sammy patched him up. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Sammy finished the stitches and gripped his shoulder tightly in sympathy. It hurt like hellfire but as Sammy held on, their eyes met and for a few moments there was nothing but those eyes staring at him.
A brusque, “No chick flick moments Sammy.” had brought about the appropriate response.
“It’s Sam.”
“Whatever. Bitch.”
“Jerk.” It came out with a smile and dean had laid back then, letting himself try to relax against the pain. Moment passed without a single recognition of the first step that was sure to end in fire and brimstone.
The next time it had happened, they’d been driving. He couldn’t remember what had brought about the conversation, but they’d been talking about Dad and one of those early times when he’d left Dean and Sam alone when he’d gone on a hunt. He wasn’t sure what made Sam look at him like that, but suddenly Sammy’s hand was on his knee, squeezing. A little tighter than needed, but he hadn’t minded. Sammy did that sometimes, needed reassurance at the same time he was trying to reassure.
He couldn’t remember a time when reassurance hadn’t meant touch to him. His earliest memories were of holding Sammy to calm him down. Dad had always had to pick Sammy up to get him to stop fussing, but Dean had been able to do it with a single touch of fingers to cheek more often than not. When he’d been too small to really hold or carry Sammy, he’d just sat on the floor and Sammy would curl up next to him and he’d caress his hair or tickle his tummy to get him to smile again. It always worked.
Still did, he thought as he realized that while Sammy’s hand was still clutching his knee he had moved his hand along the back of the seat until he was lightly touching the nape of Sammy’s neck. Sammy closed his eyes and his grip relaxed, allowing himself to be lulled into oblivious sleep by the feel of his big brother’s skin against his.
Somehow the slight touches exchanged never seemed to end. There was always something that needed conveyed, some sense of reassurance they needed from one another. He wasn’t even sure when the dull ache had begun.
It had been there in his teenage years he was pretty sure. He knew for sure that it had been there for Sammy’s. There had been times when Dean had doubted his sanity, doubted his ability to love or live a normal life, back before he’d accepted the life he had. It had been his need to keep Sammy safe that had grounded him, made him certain that he could be anything, so long as it kept Sammy close and happy.
When Sammy had been a teenager the ache had been an awful, never ending presence in his life. When Sammy and Dad were in the same room, the ache was simply to be away and out of the middle of it all but whenever Sammy was criticized or Dean could see him preparing for a fight, the ache turned to gut wrenching guilt that Dad was going to hurt Sammy about something stupid. Like Sammy’s skill at knife throwing not being as good as Dean’s, no matter the age difference. Or how Sammy would concentrate for hours on a school project but couldn’t be bothered to help research a hunt. Dad pushed him too hard and as inevitably happened, Sammy would walk away and Dad would turn on him, telling him he was overprotective of Sam and how he needed to back off and make Sam take on more responsibility.
Worse than that guilt though was anytime Sammy was away from him. Even when they were both in the same school he felt anxiety whenever Sammy wasn’t close by. It had been his fierce protectiveness that had let him know that he still had the capacity to love on the nights when the hunts became too much and he felt darkness filling him as it had their father. His love for Sammy was what kept him from turning into the obsessed man that John Winchester had become.
Dean had almost turned into that man when Sammy went off to Stanford, but when the inky jet of night touched his soul, he’d look at his cell phone and see the missed calls, missed only because they had rung only once and hung up. He’d see the times Sammy had called and lost the nerve and he’d close his eyes and remember how much Sammy needed him and how someday he’d realize it and come home to the only place that had ever been home for them both. Each other.
Sammy had almost died the first time he’d pulled his brother into a too tight embrace. He’d closed his eyes and breathed in Sammy’s scent as if it were the only air left worth breathing. He’d turned his head into Sammy’s neck and he’d heard the soft sigh from his brother’s lips. “It’s OK Dean.” He said in a shaky voice. “I’m OK.”
He didn’t let go or even look up. “Shut up Sammy.”
Sammy had listened and Dean had no idea how long they’d stood there like that, him breathing in Sammy’s scent and Sammy’s cheek softly rubbing in his hair. Sammy’s legs had almost given out on them and Dean caught him, pulling his arm around his shoulder to help him back to the car and away from the latest nightmare.
It hadn’t seemed strange when Sammy had woken from another nightmare and Dean had moved across the small space between the two beds and gently rubbed circles against Sammy’s naked back and whispered stupid consolations that meant nothing. Only when dean said things like “I have you Sammy,” and “Not gonna let anything hurt you Sammy,” his brother believed him and began to relax into the lazy circles that were working up and down the tight muscles. When Sammy began to lay down Dean started to stand up, but Sammy had simply held onto one hand and pulled Dean down into the bed to lie against his back. Dean had needed the reassurance as much as Sammy. Sammy believed Dean would keep him safe and Dean had ever intention of making that promise come true. No matter what it took.
Tonight had begun like any other, too many hunts gone bad in too short a time, too many injuries and too many hurts and words that stung and broke and gave them both whiplash at the speed and ferocity of the impact. They’d both drank a few beers before tossing themselves into fitful sleep. It hadn't surprised Dean at all when the nightmare came. In fact he felt like he’d been half awake all night waiting for it. Perhaps because he needed the reassurance as much as Sammy tonight, or perhaps he’d developed an empathy with his brother in their recent time together to know what would set him off. He didn’t know, but he stumbled almost blindly to the other bed, not bothering to sit on the edge of the bed. He simply slid in behind Sammy and wrapped an arm around his waist.
“Got you Sammy.” He whispered in his little brother’s ear. “Got you and nothing is gonna change that Sammy.” As much as Sam protested the nickname, late at night, when they were like this, he shivered whenever Dean said it, like it was salvation as long as Dean would still see his Sammy instead of the monster so many people were beginning to fear Sam would become.
Only tonight, Sammy turned over and looked at him, one hand coming to rest between them over Dean’s heart. “Too close man.” He’d said in that whisper that seemed to drive a stake straight into Dean’s heart. “Too many times, too close. I can’t lose you Dean. You’re all I’ve got.”
Dean took a deep breath, trying to understand what Sammy was trying to say. It’d always been like this with Sammy. He over thought too many things, made simple things complicated and twisted things inside himself until they became too big to hold in. It frustrated Dean to no end to see him do it, but he loved it anyway because it was part of what made Sammy who he was. He was doing that now and Dean shook his head, looking down at Sammy who had squirmed until he was able to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. He ran a hand through that hair, pushing it slightly aside as he placed a kiss on Sammy’s temple.
“Dean …” It was a question and an answer and Dean understood then.
Sammy’s face lifted up to look Dean in the eye, searching for his own answers. Dean let his hand fall away from Sammy’s hair and begin to travel down his brother’s back, slow reassuring circles to let his brother know that whatever Sammy needed, so did he. It was the way they had always been, the way they would always be. As messed up as their childhood had been, their father had ensured this one thing. They were only ever complete when together.
As Sammy lifted his lips to Dean’s for the first tentative kiss, Dean knew what it was like to burn. The slow steady descent into hell was just that. Slow and steady as Sammy’s tongue tasted him, his hands began exploring and Dean let himself fall into the sensation of reassurance and love and being the entire world to someone. It was surely the slow and steady descent into hell, and what a way to go.