Drabble challenge for toughgirljo
Prompt: All The Things She Said by T.a.T.u.
Requested By: toughgirljo
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, mentions of Jo Harvelle
Timeline/Verse: sixwordstories verse, several weeks ago
Word count: 1038. Yeah, this stopped being a drabble at some point.
Disclaimer: Kripke and co. own Supernatural, not me. Sam is getyourownpie and the Jos referenced are toughgirljo and canon-season 5!Jo. The two former are used with permission and much, much love. For some reason, this ended up being way easier to write from Sam's POV to really get what I was going for, so... here you go. My one and only horrible attempt at writing from Sam's perspective.
Still accepting requests here!
I can try to pretend, I can try to forget
But it's driving me mad, going out of my head
All the things she said
All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough
Sam heard the hotel door slam from the other room, and concern knotted his brow when Dean didn't even pop his head in, or shout out some kind of insulting remark about what Sam had been doing with his evening by way of hello. It seemed to be the new norm for him to just get back, say nothing, go grab a shower, then a beer before maybe watching some TV. He'd grant Sam a good night, or give him a few jibes now and again, but he'd always find a way to avoid even a semblance of real conversation at this hour. Not that Dean was ever a master of conversation, but this was different.
Something was up.
He was fine during the day, all jokes and machismo and easily bruised ego over drinking contests with Claire. So where the hell was he going every night, anyways? If he was out with a chick, he'd be gone until who knew when in the morning, not coming back around one or one thirty. Sam pushed his chair back, the squeal of the legs against the hotel floor giving Dean some advance warning that he was coming, and he wandered into the next room, casually folding his arms as he watched his brother digging through the mini-fridge.
"Where have you been, anyway?" he asked, trying to keep it from sounding accusatory. Just an innocent question.
"Out," was Dean's ever-so-gracious reply as he shut the fridge with a leg, a sandwich already in his mouth, and a bottle of beer tucked under his arm. "We need more beer."
"Maybe you could pick up some tomorrow night. I mean, you are going out tomorrow night, too, right?" Sam asked, arching a brow. Dean glanced over at him, as he set in methodically devouring the sandwich.
"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know, dude."
"Ok, man, seriously," Sam said, his patience shorted out immediately by Dean's total indifference. "What's going on?"
Dean shot him a look that clearly said what the hell are you talking about, but Sam just stared him down until he gave some sort of actual response.
"I was over talkin' to Jo," Dean said, with a shrug, cracking the lid of his beer. "No big deal."
"... Seriously?" Sam asked, and his train of thought was probably written clearly over his features. Dean frowned with apparent frustration and shook his head.
"Dude, it's not like that," he said, almost testily. "Just forget it."
"So what is it, Dean?" Sam asked. "You're over there at Jo's new... roadhouse or whatever, every night this week, you're inviting her along to the concert, you're acting weird man, I mean, after everything that hap--"
"Can we not talk about this?" The cut-off was so sharp, so charged with something, that it took Sam by surprise.
"I guess. But maybe you should," Sam said, earning a glare from his brother over the rim of his bottle.
Avoiding Sam's gaze, Dean set his sandwich on the table beside him.
"Since when do I do what I should, anyways?" he said, with a half-smile that didn't reach his averted eyes.
"Maybe it's a good day to start," Sam offered.
Dean released something bordering on a sigh edged with a grunt, as he took another drink, and then flicked his eyes back over to Sam's, measuring exactly how much Sam was willing to press this issue, and whether it was worth it.
He must have decided this was a fight he wasn't in the mood for. He spoke flatly, practically directing the speech into his beer.
"Look. You know what you said right. About how maybe this Jo's ... different. On a different path. Different life. How maybe we can stop it."
'It', he said, though Sam knew exactly what he meant. Stop her from dying. Prevent her death.
"Yeah, I remember," he said, cautiously. Dean's forehead scrunched, as if he had hoped that saying that much would be enough.
"I don't know, dude," Dean admitted slowly, "it just... seeing her like that... seeing her alive and not knowing, not even knowin' what happened to her. Happens to her. Whatever. It's like it..."
"Like it didn't happen...?" Sam offered. The look Dean shot him in response was in stark contrast to the frustration he'd been stewing in. It wasn't angry. It was haunted.
"No, man," Dean said, "It's like it... reminds me... what I did wrong. What we lost when we lost her. What I gotta do."
It took Sam a minute to form a response to that. "You didn't do anything wrong, Dean. Don't tell me you're blaming yourself for Jo's death, there were hell hounds, dude--"
"You think you gotta remind of that fact, Sammy?" There was something foreboding in Dean's eyes as he lowered his gaze at him.
"No. I just... Dean, listen. This Jo's alive. Yeah, it's weird, but it's what matters. She's not dead. And we won't let her die."
"You're damn right we won't," Dean said curtly, turning his back to Sam, to set the bottle in the sink.
"But," Sam continued, unabated, "you can't do this to yourself. You can't save everyone, Dean."
He saw his brother's hands clench against the side of the counter, saw the tightening in his shoulders as he leaned against it.
"She chose to do what she did to save us," Sam finished, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean's expression, but he remained resolutely where he was, back turned towards him.
"I know." The words came out of his brother in a strangely hoarse tone. "Believe me, Sammy."
"I know exactly what she did."
At that, Dean pushed himself off the counter, and swung past Sam without so much as meeting his eyes once.
"I'm takin' a shower," were his last words, and with that, he pulled the bathroom door shut behind him with a bang.
Sam stared at the door for a long moment, a pained expression on his face, before he shook his head, and headed back towards his desk.
It turned out to be the last night for a long time that Dean went looking for Jo. Sam noticed, but he kept his mouth shut.
Some things you just couldn't talk about.
Requested By: toughgirljo
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, mentions of Jo Harvelle
Timeline/Verse: sixwordstories verse, several weeks ago
Word count: 1038. Yeah, this stopped being a drabble at some point.
Disclaimer: Kripke and co. own Supernatural, not me. Sam is getyourownpie and the Jos referenced are toughgirljo and canon-season 5!Jo. The two former are used with permission and much, much love. For some reason, this ended up being way easier to write from Sam's POV to really get what I was going for, so... here you go. My one and only horrible attempt at writing from Sam's perspective.
Still accepting requests here!
I can try to pretend, I can try to forget
But it's driving me mad, going out of my head
All the things she said
All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough
Sam heard the hotel door slam from the other room, and concern knotted his brow when Dean didn't even pop his head in, or shout out some kind of insulting remark about what Sam had been doing with his evening by way of hello. It seemed to be the new norm for him to just get back, say nothing, go grab a shower, then a beer before maybe watching some TV. He'd grant Sam a good night, or give him a few jibes now and again, but he'd always find a way to avoid even a semblance of real conversation at this hour. Not that Dean was ever a master of conversation, but this was different.
Something was up.
He was fine during the day, all jokes and machismo and easily bruised ego over drinking contests with Claire. So where the hell was he going every night, anyways? If he was out with a chick, he'd be gone until who knew when in the morning, not coming back around one or one thirty. Sam pushed his chair back, the squeal of the legs against the hotel floor giving Dean some advance warning that he was coming, and he wandered into the next room, casually folding his arms as he watched his brother digging through the mini-fridge.
"Where have you been, anyway?" he asked, trying to keep it from sounding accusatory. Just an innocent question.
"Out," was Dean's ever-so-gracious reply as he shut the fridge with a leg, a sandwich already in his mouth, and a bottle of beer tucked under his arm. "We need more beer."
"Maybe you could pick up some tomorrow night. I mean, you are going out tomorrow night, too, right?" Sam asked, arching a brow. Dean glanced over at him, as he set in methodically devouring the sandwich.
"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know, dude."
"Ok, man, seriously," Sam said, his patience shorted out immediately by Dean's total indifference. "What's going on?"
Dean shot him a look that clearly said what the hell are you talking about, but Sam just stared him down until he gave some sort of actual response.
"I was over talkin' to Jo," Dean said, with a shrug, cracking the lid of his beer. "No big deal."
"... Seriously?" Sam asked, and his train of thought was probably written clearly over his features. Dean frowned with apparent frustration and shook his head.
"Dude, it's not like that," he said, almost testily. "Just forget it."
"So what is it, Dean?" Sam asked. "You're over there at Jo's new... roadhouse or whatever, every night this week, you're inviting her along to the concert, you're acting weird man, I mean, after everything that hap--"
"Can we not talk about this?" The cut-off was so sharp, so charged with something, that it took Sam by surprise.
"I guess. But maybe you should," Sam said, earning a glare from his brother over the rim of his bottle.
Avoiding Sam's gaze, Dean set his sandwich on the table beside him.
"Since when do I do what I should, anyways?" he said, with a half-smile that didn't reach his averted eyes.
"Maybe it's a good day to start," Sam offered.
Dean released something bordering on a sigh edged with a grunt, as he took another drink, and then flicked his eyes back over to Sam's, measuring exactly how much Sam was willing to press this issue, and whether it was worth it.
He must have decided this was a fight he wasn't in the mood for. He spoke flatly, practically directing the speech into his beer.
"Look. You know what you said right. About how maybe this Jo's ... different. On a different path. Different life. How maybe we can stop it."
'It', he said, though Sam knew exactly what he meant. Stop her from dying. Prevent her death.
"Yeah, I remember," he said, cautiously. Dean's forehead scrunched, as if he had hoped that saying that much would be enough.
"I don't know, dude," Dean admitted slowly, "it just... seeing her like that... seeing her alive and not knowing, not even knowin' what happened to her. Happens to her. Whatever. It's like it..."
"Like it didn't happen...?" Sam offered. The look Dean shot him in response was in stark contrast to the frustration he'd been stewing in. It wasn't angry. It was haunted.
"No, man," Dean said, "It's like it... reminds me... what I did wrong. What we lost when we lost her. What I gotta do."
It took Sam a minute to form a response to that. "You didn't do anything wrong, Dean. Don't tell me you're blaming yourself for Jo's death, there were hell hounds, dude--"
"You think you gotta remind of that fact, Sammy?" There was something foreboding in Dean's eyes as he lowered his gaze at him.
"No. I just... Dean, listen. This Jo's alive. Yeah, it's weird, but it's what matters. She's not dead. And we won't let her die."
"You're damn right we won't," Dean said curtly, turning his back to Sam, to set the bottle in the sink.
"But," Sam continued, unabated, "you can't do this to yourself. You can't save everyone, Dean."
He saw his brother's hands clench against the side of the counter, saw the tightening in his shoulders as he leaned against it.
"She chose to do what she did to save us," Sam finished, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean's expression, but he remained resolutely where he was, back turned towards him.
"I know." The words came out of his brother in a strangely hoarse tone. "Believe me, Sammy."
"I know exactly what she did."
At that, Dean pushed himself off the counter, and swung past Sam without so much as meeting his eyes once.
"I'm takin' a shower," were his last words, and with that, he pulled the bathroom door shut behind him with a bang.
Sam stared at the door for a long moment, a pained expression on his face, before he shook his head, and headed back towards his desk.
It turned out to be the last night for a long time that Dean went looking for Jo. Sam noticed, but he kept his mouth shut.
Some things you just couldn't talk about.