comment fic meme!
Following the results of the poll we took last month (don't make it easy on us or anything, guys, haha!), we've decided to hold a comment fic meme once every three months. This gives everyone time to write and prompt to their heart's content, and allows us mods to keep up with y'all. And we're starting right now!
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Weirdly enough, Sam jerks back out of Dean's hands. He promptly looks like he regrets moving so fast, but it doesn't stop the death glare this time. "Of course it wasn't my fault," he says, sounding more like Sam than he has since the wall came down. He gestures at Dean, irritation writ large all over him. "It was yours, you moron."
So. Definitely on the same page. Dean nods, no hesitating now. It takes the edge off Sam's anger, but that just gives that God-awful, miserable look Dean's been seeing for too long a chance to sneak in, and that's infinitely worse. He doesn't step away from Dean, but Dean can feel him withdrawing, after weeks and weeks of bringing him back. Dean grabs for him, like he might actually be trying to get away, wraps a hand around his shoulder and squeezes.
"You didn't--you didn't think it was really there," Sam says. "When I yelled at you, you didn't. That's why you didn't get out of the way in time."
"Maybe I'm just old and slow."
Sam doesn't smile, and Dean didn't expect him to. He can't even say Sam's entirely wrong, because, yeah, Sam's spent a lot of time recently freaking out about shit no one else can see, hell twisting up reality as efficiently as it does everything else. Dean would never have taken a job if Sam hadn't been doing better, but it should've been the kind of thing they could do in their sleep. A few overly active house sprites, that was all he had in mind. So when they'd cleared them out and Sam had started yelling about fiery spirits and axes, Dean had looked over his shoulder instead of moving. He's in one piece now only because Sam's weight crashing into him shoved him aside.
"I was an idiot," he says. It's a terrible apology, but it's no less true for that.
Sam shrugs, winces. "I don't blame you," he says, and the bitch of it is, he doesn't. "It's just. We'd just gotten to be--you know. Us again. If I'm not reliable, you can't hunt with me. It'd be--"
"Dangerous?" Dean says. "In the first place, a spirit on fire came at me with an axe tonight. Danger isn't a dealbreaker. In the second, you're getting better. In the third--" He stops. In the third place there's no one he trusts more than Sam; no one else he wants at his back. That's true no matter how messed up Sam is, and it's still not even the important thing. If Sam couldn't hunt, if he gave it up tomorrow to open a cattery, that'd be okay. Dean would deal; hunting isn't why he needs Sam with him.
Fuck if he's saying that out loud, though. This self-doubt thing Sam's got going is coming to an end, one way or another; Dean's going to make sure of that. He's got form for saving people, after all, and when Sam's gigantor ego is fully operational again, he's going to be insufferablly smug if Dean pledges undying devotion here and now.
"In the third place," he says, "I totally want you as an alternative target when I fuck up. You're bigger and slower. Like I'm letting that go."
Sam's smile takes its sweet time showing up, but it eventually does, spreading as Dean slides is other hand around the back of his neck and leans in. "You're so fucking stupid," Dean says, and maybe Sam's gonna get to be smug anyway, because when Dean kisses him, it's full of all the promises he's never stopped making.
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"You'd mention it, right? If you thought your lungs or something were falling out."
Great fill!
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Thank you for the lovely comment. I love it too when they are all bickery and insulting to avoid making their horrifically sappy declarations (in case you hadn't guessed. *g*), so I'm really glad it worked for you.
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