I still belong, don't get me wrong [And you can speak your mind]
[Turn the tables with our unity // They neither moral nor majority]
Dean is sitting on the bed across from him, his back curved and resting against the cheap laminate headboard of the motel bed. Back to the Future flickers on the TV, Doc Brown is giving Marty the run down on his experiment but Dean isn’t paying any attention to it and Sam is too busy watching Dean. Last year, Dean would have yelled at him, made some sort of rude comment with incredibly inappropriate homosexual overtones and Sam would have looked away. This year, he doesn’t say a word; his eyes don’t meet Sam’s stare.
Sam’s world is cracked wide open. It’s still there but he can’t look at Dean the same. He knows everything about his big brother. He’s grown up less than six feet away from him for the majority of his life and he can’t make what he knows about Dean fit with the things he’s just learned.
Dean tortured people and enjoyed it.
His brother tortured people and enjoyed it.
The thought made his breath stick in his throat, chest burning and throat aching. He swallows past it, trying not to gasp for air without much success. The first gasp makes Dean’s head snap in his direction.
“Sammy, you okay?”
His words break the dam blocking all that air and Sam can breathe again. He nods, a grin just tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sam doesn’t know who that person, that demon, that thing in Hell that enjoyed torturing people was. But he does know that it wasn’t his brother. That’s not who Dean is. Not here.
Sam gets up and moves over to Dean’s bed. He sits down, his shoulder bumping Dean’s. Dean looks at him, one eyebrow quirking up.
“Sammich, I know Doc Brown’s hair is scary but you’re 26 years old. I think you’ll be alright.”
Sam shakes his head, a real laugh bubbling through his lips. “Nah, I can see the TV better from here.”
“Bitch,” Dean mutters.
“Jerk,” Sam says in response as he settles in to watch a movie he’s seen a dozen times.
Dean is sitting on the bed across from him, his back curved and resting against the cheap laminate headboard of the motel bed. Back to the Future flickers on the TV, Doc Brown is giving Marty the run down on his experiment but Dean isn’t paying any attention to it and Sam is too busy watching Dean. Last year, Dean would have yelled at him, made some sort of rude comment with incredibly inappropriate homosexual overtones and Sam would have looked away. This year, he doesn’t say a word; his eyes don’t meet Sam’s stare.
Sam’s world is cracked wide open. It’s still there but he can’t look at Dean the same. He knows everything about his big brother. He’s grown up less than six feet away from him for the majority of his life and he can’t make what he knows about Dean fit with the things he’s just learned.
Dean tortured people and enjoyed it.
His brother tortured people and enjoyed it.
The thought made his breath stick in his throat, chest burning and throat aching. He swallows past it, trying not to gasp for air without much success. The first gasp makes Dean’s head snap in his direction.
“Sammy, you okay?”
His words break the dam blocking all that air and Sam can breathe again. He nods, a grin just tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sam doesn’t know who that person, that demon, that thing in Hell that enjoyed torturing people was. But he does know that it wasn’t his brother. That’s not who Dean is. Not here.
Sam gets up and moves over to Dean’s bed. He sits down, his shoulder bumping Dean’s. Dean looks at him, one eyebrow quirking up.
“Sammich, I know Doc Brown’s hair is scary but you’re 26 years old. I think you’ll be alright.”
Sam shakes his head, a real laugh bubbling through his lips. “Nah, I can see the TV better from here.”
“Bitch,” Dean mutters.
“Jerk,” Sam says in response as he settles in to watch a movie he’s seen a dozen times.