[fic] 7s_prompts - We're lost, aren't we? I knew we should've taken that last right.
Prompt from 7s_prompts
"We're lost, aren't we? I knew we should've taken that last right."
[The Sam mentioned is lost_myshoe , stolen with... sort of permission. *smirk* No Cas in particular, but it's open for tagging if anybody's interested.]
-x-
"We're lost, aren't we? I knew we should've taken that last right."
Dean rolled his eyes, fingers tightening around the familiar curves of the steering wheel, sparing a second to shoot his brother a look. "Nobody likes a backseat driver."
"Uh, Dean? I'm not sitting in the backseat."
"Shut up, Sam." He actually loosened his grip around the steering wheel this time to smack Sam in the arm, wondering why the hell he'd decided to indulge his brother's request of going to find some advocaat for the eggnog. He had to admit, though, the guy made eggnog that could have you on your ass in seconds. That part of Christmas he liked.
The car went quiet, the only sound the low rumble of the engine, tyres rolling smoothly over the tarmac as they searched for a gas station. Dean could hear the cogs of Sam's brain turning, could hear that the silence was going to be broken sooner rather than later. This was the first time they'd been spared five seconds to go and do something that wasn't directly related to fighting the damn Apocalypse. And it was Christmas, again. He'd always figured he wouldn't have to suffer through another one.
"Hey, Dean?" The eldest Winchester brother was almost patting himself on the back for knowing his brother couldn't stay quiet for long. He knew that tone, too. This was the exact reason he'd had reservations over their little reconnaissance trip in the first place. He didn't want to talk. He never wanted to talk.
"Fresh outta Kleenex, man. Save it."
The car was plunged into silence again, broken by a sigh from his brother, frustrated and disappointed. Dean hated that sigh. He always had. He looked across the space in the car, expecting to see one of Sam's many bitchfaces, faced instead with a lost look of sadness.
"Man, c'mon. We're goin' to buy some liquor for your Sam Winchester Eggnog Special." He stopped, not really meaning for his own words to be an invitation for more conversation on the subject. He already knew what Sam wanted to say, what he wanted to talk about. Seemed to him it was something they didn't need to talk about. What happened... they couldn't change it. They couldn't bring people back. That wasn't one of the perks of the damn job.
"I just..." Apparently Sam couldn't take the hint, and Dean knew this was purposeful as opposed to ignorance. Forcing the issue like this, it made him want to stop the damn car and run the hell away, but Sam continued regardless of what he wanted, "I just want one Christmas where we're not mourning people."
"Sam..." The warning was clear, obvious, and Dean couldn't make it anymore disapproving if he tried. Hell, he might aswell have a flashing neon sign around his neck pointing the fact out - he wasn't okay with this.
"No, Dean. Every year we act like Christmas doesn't hurt more than last time. We act like it's going to be our last, and you know what? Sometimes I can see you're wishing it really was." Sam was looking as upset as he sounded, his words forcing Dean's eyebrows to knit together across his forehead.
Dean said nothing, eyes fixed to the road, though he did shift uncomfortably in his seat, and apparently that was answer enough for his brother.
"Dean, I know Christmas has never been normal, I do. Even when Dad was alive-"
"You have no friggin' idea what Christmas was really like when Dad was still alive." Later, Dean might have been more annoyed at being lured into the conversation, but apparently he just couldn't sit on what he was thinking, couldn't just listen, drive and get the damn alcohol.
"Sam, we're not doin' this." He looked across at his brother again, green eyes cool despite the storm in his chest and the tightening in his throat. "We're not havin' this conversation."
"But I need-"
"What you need and what I need are two completely different things. Stop forcin' me to give you your goddamn peace or whatever the hell it is you're after." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stamp down on them, and before he had a chance to not sound defensive, angry, hurt... to not sound emotional.
"Jo and Ellen are gone. And whether you like it or not, no amount of you and I talkin' about it is going to bring them the hell back." He trailed off only for breath, seeing Sam open his mouth to speak and cutting him off with his next sentence.
"You know what I want for Christmas, Sam? More than gettin' the hell out of this shit storm we're caught up in? I want you, and Bobby and Cas to just shut the hell up and stop actin' like we have a friggin' hope in hell of winning this. I want you to stop actin' like we don't have a hope in hell of winning this. I just want to stop talkin' about it, stop thinkin' about it... stop freakin' breathin' for it. This Christmas? I'd like to give the hell up, kick back and drink myself into a place I really don't care about it." His fingers were tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white as he looked out his window with a frown, reflection staring back at him, and damned if he could pretend he didn't see the the goddamn failure written all across his face.
Sam looked upset, hurt, looked like Dean had stamped all over his Christmas toys and pissed on them, just for fun. But this is what Sam had wanted. No sugar-coating, no big brother mode. No pulling punches and pretending like things weren't as bad as they were. This year they were just further up shit creek than they'd been last year. This year wasn't any better or worse than last, they just had a face and a name to pin all their problems on again.
"So you're just going to give up?"
"Damn right I am. One day. Just one freakin' day that's mine." Dean cleared his throat, shook off the look in his own eyes fixed in his reflection and glanced back to the road, lights of a gas station finally pulling into view. "Not yours, not Cas's, not Bobby's, not Heaven's or Hell's. My day."
Silence filtered into the car again, Sam frowning, shaking his head to get his bangs out of his face, staring out of his own window as he thought about what Dean wanted. His brother had spent so many Christmases giving him the best day he could manage, and now, all he had to do to return the favour was shut up. He didn't know if he was strong enough.
"Dean, I..."
"Forget it, Sam." The lights were near now, the conversation due to be over the second they pulled up and opened the doors, and Dean knew this. He also knew it was beyond all of them to give him what he wanted. It was beyond him to give up, too. Giving up meant saying yes, and he wasn't a yes man. Michael would be waiting a long, long time to ride him ragged through the Apocalypse.
"I'll try." The words were simple, complicated, everything in between. They were the truth and a lie. They were a promise that Sam couldn't keep, and that Dean should have never demanded.
"Yeah, I know." In the seconds between the Impala turning off the road and into the gas station, Dean caught himself wishing for one thing only - that Sam wouldn't look at him like he was weak when he got as close as he could to giving up, drowning himself in as much alcohol as he could without killing himself, tempting as it was sometimes.
He only just caught the nod as Sam climbed awkwardly out of the car, straightening up from his stooped over position so he didn't hit his head, wound down his own window to poke his head out as his brother stepped across the headlights.
"Sam?"
Turning, Sam frowned back at his brother, shivering slightly in the cold, winter air, confusion decorating his features. The conversation should have ended already. "What?"
"Potato chips. 'm hungry." The second his mouth closed he cranked up the stereo, AC/DC filling the car that seemed to retain an awkward air, pushing it out the windows and leaving him to relax back into his seat, back to pretending that they could continue like always. He ignored the cell phone vibrating in his pocket, ignored the way the ringtone clashed with stereo, gave himself a minute as he watched Sam disappear out the corner of his eye and took a deep, shaky breath.
Slipping the cell from his pocket when the discordance bugged him enough, he managed the barest glance at the screen before flipping it open, phone pressed to his ear as he forced himself to drag all his walls back up, knowing those seconds he had to himself were over. They were gone, just like the rest of their night off.
"Cas."
"We're lost, aren't we? I knew we should've taken that last right."
[The Sam mentioned is lost_myshoe , stolen with... sort of permission. *smirk* No Cas in particular, but it's open for tagging if anybody's interested.]
-x-
"We're lost, aren't we? I knew we should've taken that last right."
Dean rolled his eyes, fingers tightening around the familiar curves of the steering wheel, sparing a second to shoot his brother a look. "Nobody likes a backseat driver."
"Uh, Dean? I'm not sitting in the backseat."
"Shut up, Sam." He actually loosened his grip around the steering wheel this time to smack Sam in the arm, wondering why the hell he'd decided to indulge his brother's request of going to find some advocaat for the eggnog. He had to admit, though, the guy made eggnog that could have you on your ass in seconds. That part of Christmas he liked.
The car went quiet, the only sound the low rumble of the engine, tyres rolling smoothly over the tarmac as they searched for a gas station. Dean could hear the cogs of Sam's brain turning, could hear that the silence was going to be broken sooner rather than later. This was the first time they'd been spared five seconds to go and do something that wasn't directly related to fighting the damn Apocalypse. And it was Christmas, again. He'd always figured he wouldn't have to suffer through another one.
"Hey, Dean?" The eldest Winchester brother was almost patting himself on the back for knowing his brother couldn't stay quiet for long. He knew that tone, too. This was the exact reason he'd had reservations over their little reconnaissance trip in the first place. He didn't want to talk. He never wanted to talk.
"Fresh outta Kleenex, man. Save it."
The car was plunged into silence again, broken by a sigh from his brother, frustrated and disappointed. Dean hated that sigh. He always had. He looked across the space in the car, expecting to see one of Sam's many bitchfaces, faced instead with a lost look of sadness.
"Man, c'mon. We're goin' to buy some liquor for your Sam Winchester Eggnog Special." He stopped, not really meaning for his own words to be an invitation for more conversation on the subject. He already knew what Sam wanted to say, what he wanted to talk about. Seemed to him it was something they didn't need to talk about. What happened... they couldn't change it. They couldn't bring people back. That wasn't one of the perks of the damn job.
"I just..." Apparently Sam couldn't take the hint, and Dean knew this was purposeful as opposed to ignorance. Forcing the issue like this, it made him want to stop the damn car and run the hell away, but Sam continued regardless of what he wanted, "I just want one Christmas where we're not mourning people."
"Sam..." The warning was clear, obvious, and Dean couldn't make it anymore disapproving if he tried. Hell, he might aswell have a flashing neon sign around his neck pointing the fact out - he wasn't okay with this.
"No, Dean. Every year we act like Christmas doesn't hurt more than last time. We act like it's going to be our last, and you know what? Sometimes I can see you're wishing it really was." Sam was looking as upset as he sounded, his words forcing Dean's eyebrows to knit together across his forehead.
Dean said nothing, eyes fixed to the road, though he did shift uncomfortably in his seat, and apparently that was answer enough for his brother.
"Dean, I know Christmas has never been normal, I do. Even when Dad was alive-"
"You have no friggin' idea what Christmas was really like when Dad was still alive." Later, Dean might have been more annoyed at being lured into the conversation, but apparently he just couldn't sit on what he was thinking, couldn't just listen, drive and get the damn alcohol.
"Sam, we're not doin' this." He looked across at his brother again, green eyes cool despite the storm in his chest and the tightening in his throat. "We're not havin' this conversation."
"But I need-"
"What you need and what I need are two completely different things. Stop forcin' me to give you your goddamn peace or whatever the hell it is you're after." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stamp down on them, and before he had a chance to not sound defensive, angry, hurt... to not sound emotional.
"Jo and Ellen are gone. And whether you like it or not, no amount of you and I talkin' about it is going to bring them the hell back." He trailed off only for breath, seeing Sam open his mouth to speak and cutting him off with his next sentence.
"You know what I want for Christmas, Sam? More than gettin' the hell out of this shit storm we're caught up in? I want you, and Bobby and Cas to just shut the hell up and stop actin' like we have a friggin' hope in hell of winning this. I want you to stop actin' like we don't have a hope in hell of winning this. I just want to stop talkin' about it, stop thinkin' about it... stop freakin' breathin' for it. This Christmas? I'd like to give the hell up, kick back and drink myself into a place I really don't care about it." His fingers were tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white as he looked out his window with a frown, reflection staring back at him, and damned if he could pretend he didn't see the the goddamn failure written all across his face.
Sam looked upset, hurt, looked like Dean had stamped all over his Christmas toys and pissed on them, just for fun. But this is what Sam had wanted. No sugar-coating, no big brother mode. No pulling punches and pretending like things weren't as bad as they were. This year they were just further up shit creek than they'd been last year. This year wasn't any better or worse than last, they just had a face and a name to pin all their problems on again.
"So you're just going to give up?"
"Damn right I am. One day. Just one freakin' day that's mine." Dean cleared his throat, shook off the look in his own eyes fixed in his reflection and glanced back to the road, lights of a gas station finally pulling into view. "Not yours, not Cas's, not Bobby's, not Heaven's or Hell's. My day."
Silence filtered into the car again, Sam frowning, shaking his head to get his bangs out of his face, staring out of his own window as he thought about what Dean wanted. His brother had spent so many Christmases giving him the best day he could manage, and now, all he had to do to return the favour was shut up. He didn't know if he was strong enough.
"Dean, I..."
"Forget it, Sam." The lights were near now, the conversation due to be over the second they pulled up and opened the doors, and Dean knew this. He also knew it was beyond all of them to give him what he wanted. It was beyond him to give up, too. Giving up meant saying yes, and he wasn't a yes man. Michael would be waiting a long, long time to ride him ragged through the Apocalypse.
"I'll try." The words were simple, complicated, everything in between. They were the truth and a lie. They were a promise that Sam couldn't keep, and that Dean should have never demanded.
"Yeah, I know." In the seconds between the Impala turning off the road and into the gas station, Dean caught himself wishing for one thing only - that Sam wouldn't look at him like he was weak when he got as close as he could to giving up, drowning himself in as much alcohol as he could without killing himself, tempting as it was sometimes.
He only just caught the nod as Sam climbed awkwardly out of the car, straightening up from his stooped over position so he didn't hit his head, wound down his own window to poke his head out as his brother stepped across the headlights.
"Sam?"
Turning, Sam frowned back at his brother, shivering slightly in the cold, winter air, confusion decorating his features. The conversation should have ended already. "What?"
"Potato chips. 'm hungry." The second his mouth closed he cranked up the stereo, AC/DC filling the car that seemed to retain an awkward air, pushing it out the windows and leaving him to relax back into his seat, back to pretending that they could continue like always. He ignored the cell phone vibrating in his pocket, ignored the way the ringtone clashed with stereo, gave himself a minute as he watched Sam disappear out the corner of his eye and took a deep, shaky breath.
Slipping the cell from his pocket when the discordance bugged him enough, he managed the barest glance at the screen before flipping it open, phone pressed to his ear as he forced himself to drag all his walls back up, knowing those seconds he had to himself were over. They were gone, just like the rest of their night off.
"Cas."