[SPN] almost there, but not quite
This was originally from the Reversebang fic I was writing, but then I lost inspiration for this idea and pummelled out a whole new fic instead. So, uh. Yeah. Have this weird little oneshot.
Title: almost there, but not quite
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam. (No Cas for once, I AM SHOCKED.)
Warning: Uhhh angst. Yeah.
Notes: Pretty much an episode tag to 'A Very Supernatural Christmas'. Title of fic comes from 31_days, with the prompt for 17th December 2010.
almost there, but not quite
1036 words oneshot.
The football game has long since ended (now it’s some weird office comedy they’re watching) and Dean doesn’t even know what time it is-it could be midnight, could be early morning-but he really doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. Not with Sam at ease and laughing next to him for the first time in what seems to be a very long time. It’s only been months ever since that showdown with Azazel at Wyoming, but somehow it feels as if it’s been years since all of this-since he’s had the chance to hear his baby brother laugh like that. It’s a rare sound, and its one Dean hopes he can hear more often before the hellhounds come for him and drag him down to Hell.
That thought brings up a new wave of guilt within him, the guilt that he was going to leave Sammy behind like this and the reality of what he did is settling on him. He’s going down to Hell and go through only god-knows-what; he doesn’t want to think about the possibilities of what Hell would and could do to him. Either way, he’s going to end up there somehow, even if it’s not because of the deal that he made. A guy like him would never have a place in Heaven, if that even exists.
He can’t bring himself to concentrate on the show, only watching his brother as he laughs and sips more of his eggnog, letting himself indulge on the Christmas spirit as long as he’s able to. He’s somewhat drunk, Dean can tell-his face is red and Sammy’s letting out the chuckles slip out from him far too easily. It’s something Sam would have never really done when he’s sober and straight. But still, he’s not going to say no to this Sam either; Dean’s well-versed in all forms of Sam, even if sometimes he feels as if he’s losing his little brother in little bits and ways that slip between his fingers like the wind.
In the past, perhaps, Dean would have worried about that and tried to update himself in the language of Sam-but now with his death looming in the near-future, Dean wonders if it’s even worth it to keep himself updated. He’s going to die anyway, so why is he even going to bother trying to have something that he’s going to lose anyway? It’s a selfish, stupid line of thought, but all the same it’s one that’s rooted in his brain like a parasite and refuses to leave him no matter how many times Dean banishes the thoughts in his head.
He’s banishing them now again when Sam turns to look at him, trying to ignore the wrenching in his heart when he sees the happy gleam in his brother’s eyes as he speaks. “Hey, Dean.”
It takes a lot more effort than it should, making himself smile back in return as he responds. “Yeah, Sammy?”
Sam’s smile goes sad now as he looks away, and the guilt washes over him again as he watches his baby brother quietly mumble out his next words. “This is a good Christmas.”
Dean can feel the lump that’s formed at the back of his throat, hard and painful and guilty and-fuck, what was going to happen to his brother after he’s gone? Who would take care of him? He knows Sammy’s a big boy now and he doesn’t need people to mother-hen him but-fuck, Dean can’t help but worry. Sam’s never been just his baby brother to him, after all. He grew up taking care of Sam, attending to almost all of his needs. He’s like Sam’s father in many ways that their dad could never have been to them, and Dean doesn’t even know how things will be once he’s gone and Sam’s alone here. There’s Bobby, but-yeah, there’s only so much Bobby can do as well.
Fuck, he doesn’t need to think about this.
“Yeah,” Dean manages to get himself to say, swallowing down the lump in his throat the best he can. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
“Never had one like this since…” Sam’s the one with the lump in his throat now, although Dean doesn’t even need to guess to know where his brother’s mind is going to. Back to Stanford, to Jess, to the life he once had before Dean forcibly took in away from him on that one hunt where everything changed. Looking back now it’s hard to believe how things have ended up like this, but well-there’s no point crying over spilt milk. What’s happened already happened, and nothing can change the choices that they’ve made, both Sam and him. They’ll have to deal with the consequences one way or another.
Sam’s quiet sniffling brings Dean back to reality again, and he watches his little brother down the rest of his eggnog before attempting to get up from the couch. Dean’s himself already up and reaching out to Sam before the other can even start to sway, and Sam grabs him by the shoulder to steady himself when it does happen.
“Gotta go easy there, Sammy,” Dean starts, the corner of his lips twitching just a little when he quietly muses at how easily his baby brother gets drunk. “Next time, I’m holding back on the eggnog.”
Sam manages to show his displeasure at that fact at least, tightening his grip on Dean as he mutters out a “Jerk” just loud enough for Dean to hear.
“Bitch,” he returns, easy as always as he moves around to support Sam by his giant waist and starts leading him towards the bed. The distance is not so far at least, and in two minutes he’s got his giant of a baby brother flopped across the bed, Sam himself already knocked out to the world. Dean can’t help but let out a small snort at the fact before he goes to clean up the glasses and turn off the TV, making sure that everything’s well and secure before he allows himself to crash in the bed next to Sam’s.
It’s not a bad Christmas, really. Too bad it’s just his last one.
Title: almost there, but not quite
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam. (No Cas for once, I AM SHOCKED.)
Warning: Uhhh angst. Yeah.
Notes: Pretty much an episode tag to 'A Very Supernatural Christmas'. Title of fic comes from 31_days, with the prompt for 17th December 2010.
almost there, but not quite
1036 words oneshot.
The football game has long since ended (now it’s some weird office comedy they’re watching) and Dean doesn’t even know what time it is-it could be midnight, could be early morning-but he really doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. Not with Sam at ease and laughing next to him for the first time in what seems to be a very long time. It’s only been months ever since that showdown with Azazel at Wyoming, but somehow it feels as if it’s been years since all of this-since he’s had the chance to hear his baby brother laugh like that. It’s a rare sound, and its one Dean hopes he can hear more often before the hellhounds come for him and drag him down to Hell.
That thought brings up a new wave of guilt within him, the guilt that he was going to leave Sammy behind like this and the reality of what he did is settling on him. He’s going down to Hell and go through only god-knows-what; he doesn’t want to think about the possibilities of what Hell would and could do to him. Either way, he’s going to end up there somehow, even if it’s not because of the deal that he made. A guy like him would never have a place in Heaven, if that even exists.
He can’t bring himself to concentrate on the show, only watching his brother as he laughs and sips more of his eggnog, letting himself indulge on the Christmas spirit as long as he’s able to. He’s somewhat drunk, Dean can tell-his face is red and Sammy’s letting out the chuckles slip out from him far too easily. It’s something Sam would have never really done when he’s sober and straight. But still, he’s not going to say no to this Sam either; Dean’s well-versed in all forms of Sam, even if sometimes he feels as if he’s losing his little brother in little bits and ways that slip between his fingers like the wind.
In the past, perhaps, Dean would have worried about that and tried to update himself in the language of Sam-but now with his death looming in the near-future, Dean wonders if it’s even worth it to keep himself updated. He’s going to die anyway, so why is he even going to bother trying to have something that he’s going to lose anyway? It’s a selfish, stupid line of thought, but all the same it’s one that’s rooted in his brain like a parasite and refuses to leave him no matter how many times Dean banishes the thoughts in his head.
He’s banishing them now again when Sam turns to look at him, trying to ignore the wrenching in his heart when he sees the happy gleam in his brother’s eyes as he speaks. “Hey, Dean.”
It takes a lot more effort than it should, making himself smile back in return as he responds. “Yeah, Sammy?”
Sam’s smile goes sad now as he looks away, and the guilt washes over him again as he watches his baby brother quietly mumble out his next words. “This is a good Christmas.”
Dean can feel the lump that’s formed at the back of his throat, hard and painful and guilty and-fuck, what was going to happen to his brother after he’s gone? Who would take care of him? He knows Sammy’s a big boy now and he doesn’t need people to mother-hen him but-fuck, Dean can’t help but worry. Sam’s never been just his baby brother to him, after all. He grew up taking care of Sam, attending to almost all of his needs. He’s like Sam’s father in many ways that their dad could never have been to them, and Dean doesn’t even know how things will be once he’s gone and Sam’s alone here. There’s Bobby, but-yeah, there’s only so much Bobby can do as well.
Fuck, he doesn’t need to think about this.
“Yeah,” Dean manages to get himself to say, swallowing down the lump in his throat the best he can. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
“Never had one like this since…” Sam’s the one with the lump in his throat now, although Dean doesn’t even need to guess to know where his brother’s mind is going to. Back to Stanford, to Jess, to the life he once had before Dean forcibly took in away from him on that one hunt where everything changed. Looking back now it’s hard to believe how things have ended up like this, but well-there’s no point crying over spilt milk. What’s happened already happened, and nothing can change the choices that they’ve made, both Sam and him. They’ll have to deal with the consequences one way or another.
Sam’s quiet sniffling brings Dean back to reality again, and he watches his little brother down the rest of his eggnog before attempting to get up from the couch. Dean’s himself already up and reaching out to Sam before the other can even start to sway, and Sam grabs him by the shoulder to steady himself when it does happen.
“Gotta go easy there, Sammy,” Dean starts, the corner of his lips twitching just a little when he quietly muses at how easily his baby brother gets drunk. “Next time, I’m holding back on the eggnog.”
Sam manages to show his displeasure at that fact at least, tightening his grip on Dean as he mutters out a “Jerk” just loud enough for Dean to hear.
“Bitch,” he returns, easy as always as he moves around to support Sam by his giant waist and starts leading him towards the bed. The distance is not so far at least, and in two minutes he’s got his giant of a baby brother flopped across the bed, Sam himself already knocked out to the world. Dean can’t help but let out a small snort at the fact before he goes to clean up the glasses and turn off the TV, making sure that everything’s well and secure before he allows himself to crash in the bed next to Sam’s.
It’s not a bad Christmas, really. Too bad it’s just his last one.