Fic: Insurance Policy (1/1)
Title: Insurance Policy (1/1)
Author: irishka1205
Character: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: through 4.16
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything. They all belong to the evil genius that is Eric Kripke.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam makes sure there's a way to stop him.
Warning: Angst-galore
Author’s Note: Huge, gigantic thank you to muses_circle for being my beta and personal cheerleader when it comes to writing.
It’s quiet. The only sound is a slight snoring coming from the bed next to him. Dean, still dressed in jeans and shirt he was wearing hours earlier, passed out. An empty bottle of scotch laying on its side on the floor by the bed.
He watches Dean. He doesn’t know how much time passes. He should be going, time is of the essence now more than ever. But he just waits.
He watches as Dean stirs.
His eyes meet green ones. They‘re glazed and unfocused at first. Then he sees recognition flash in them.
“Where the hell did you go?” Dean asks as he sits up.
He doesn’t respond. Can’t.
“Sam?”
A hitch in Dean’s voice, a sense of concern makes something twinge inside of his chest. But he ignores it.
He takes out the gun from his pocket. He finds it strange that it’s not cold. When Ruby first gave it to him, it was ice cold. But now, it’s warm to the touch. And he wonders whether he’s the one who’s cold. He feels cold. Everything inside feels cold.
“Is that the colt?” Dean asks. Was that surprise in Dean’s voice? He’s not sure.
He stares down at the gun. For something so powerful, it feels small.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But it will get the job done.”
“What…”
“Kill anything,” he explains.
“Lilith?” Dean’s voice is but a whisper. Is that fear? Hope?
“No,” he shakes his head again, then raises his eyes to meet his brother‘s. “That’s on me.” He reaches out and places the gun on the bed stand, pushes it toward Dean. “This one’s on you.”
He waits. Reaction is almost instantaneous. Shock. Confusion. Mostly fear. Almost panic.
“What are you talking about? Sam?”
He stands. “It’s the only way, Dean.”
Dean stands as well. “The only way for what, Sam?”
The panic in Dean‘s voice slices something inside of him. Something that‘s trying to come out, trying to burst open. He pushes it back and locks the door. “The only way to stop me,” he says quietly, calmly. It shocks him. He doesn’t even recognize his voice anymore.
“Stop you from what?” Dean grabs his wrists and it burns. Dean’s touch burns his flesh like a hot poker.
He pulls away. He can’t stand the burning, the heat. Can’t stand the worry written on Dean’s face.
“You‘ll know what to do,” he says then walks to the door.
“Sam, don’t. Stop.” Dean pleads. “Stop!”
He turns around, but not to look at Dean. There’s someone else in the room. He feels him. Sees him.
“Watch out for him,” he says.
And then the angel‘s there, blue eyes staring back at him.
“You’ll make sure he’s ready?” he asks. He knows the answer, but has to ask anyway.
Castiel nods and he can see so much sorrow on the angel’s face, it makes his breath catch in his throat.
“Sam, whatever you’re planning to do, don’t. Just…let’s talk about it,” Dean pleads again.
He meets his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” He is. He’s sorry for so many things, there is not enough time in the world to list them all. But none of them matter now. He’s got one last job to do. And feelings are weakness. Lilith has no weaknesses. To beat her, he can’t have any.
With one last glance, he walks out the door.
“Sam!” Dean calls after him.
He pauses as he closes the door behind him.
“Sam!” Dean shouts. “SAMMY!”
The panic in Dean’s voice cuts through him, he can’t stop it.
His whole body is vibrating and he almost turns around to go back.
He closes his eyes.
Takes a deep breath in.
Slowly lets it out.
Sam’s gone.
Author: irishka1205
Character: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: through 4.16
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything. They all belong to the evil genius that is Eric Kripke.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam makes sure there's a way to stop him.
Warning: Angst-galore
Author’s Note: Huge, gigantic thank you to muses_circle for being my beta and personal cheerleader when it comes to writing.
It’s quiet. The only sound is a slight snoring coming from the bed next to him. Dean, still dressed in jeans and shirt he was wearing hours earlier, passed out. An empty bottle of scotch laying on its side on the floor by the bed.
He watches Dean. He doesn’t know how much time passes. He should be going, time is of the essence now more than ever. But he just waits.
He watches as Dean stirs.
His eyes meet green ones. They‘re glazed and unfocused at first. Then he sees recognition flash in them.
“Where the hell did you go?” Dean asks as he sits up.
He doesn’t respond. Can’t.
“Sam?”
A hitch in Dean’s voice, a sense of concern makes something twinge inside of his chest. But he ignores it.
He takes out the gun from his pocket. He finds it strange that it’s not cold. When Ruby first gave it to him, it was ice cold. But now, it’s warm to the touch. And he wonders whether he’s the one who’s cold. He feels cold. Everything inside feels cold.
“Is that the colt?” Dean asks. Was that surprise in Dean’s voice? He’s not sure.
He stares down at the gun. For something so powerful, it feels small.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But it will get the job done.”
“What…”
“Kill anything,” he explains.
“Lilith?” Dean’s voice is but a whisper. Is that fear? Hope?
“No,” he shakes his head again, then raises his eyes to meet his brother‘s. “That’s on me.” He reaches out and places the gun on the bed stand, pushes it toward Dean. “This one’s on you.”
He waits. Reaction is almost instantaneous. Shock. Confusion. Mostly fear. Almost panic.
“What are you talking about? Sam?”
He stands. “It’s the only way, Dean.”
Dean stands as well. “The only way for what, Sam?”
The panic in Dean‘s voice slices something inside of him. Something that‘s trying to come out, trying to burst open. He pushes it back and locks the door. “The only way to stop me,” he says quietly, calmly. It shocks him. He doesn’t even recognize his voice anymore.
“Stop you from what?” Dean grabs his wrists and it burns. Dean’s touch burns his flesh like a hot poker.
He pulls away. He can’t stand the burning, the heat. Can’t stand the worry written on Dean’s face.
“You‘ll know what to do,” he says then walks to the door.
“Sam, don’t. Stop.” Dean pleads. “Stop!”
He turns around, but not to look at Dean. There’s someone else in the room. He feels him. Sees him.
“Watch out for him,” he says.
And then the angel‘s there, blue eyes staring back at him.
“You’ll make sure he’s ready?” he asks. He knows the answer, but has to ask anyway.
Castiel nods and he can see so much sorrow on the angel’s face, it makes his breath catch in his throat.
“Sam, whatever you’re planning to do, don’t. Just…let’s talk about it,” Dean pleads again.
He meets his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” He is. He’s sorry for so many things, there is not enough time in the world to list them all. But none of them matter now. He’s got one last job to do. And feelings are weakness. Lilith has no weaknesses. To beat her, he can’t have any.
With one last glance, he walks out the door.
“Sam!” Dean calls after him.
He pauses as he closes the door behind him.
“Sam!” Dean shouts. “SAMMY!”
The panic in Dean’s voice cuts through him, he can’t stop it.
His whole body is vibrating and he almost turns around to go back.
He closes his eyes.
Takes a deep breath in.
Slowly lets it out.
Sam’s gone.