Little hit of S6 Sam!
Title: Chase
Characters: Sam, Dean, Hallucifer
Genre/pairing: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for a little bit of blood
Word-count: 1036
Summary: Somebody here is really, really crazy. But who?
Warnings: Some cutting, but hopefully not in a trigger-y way
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Beta's by the extremely wonderful xdarlingnickyx!
“Yeah, yeah-ok, Dean. Just-I need a minute.”
**
Sam drives with his foot pressed to the floor, pushing the little Neon as fast as it will go. His arms are rigid, his back hard against the seat, as though the sheer urgency in his frame could encourage the beat-up little car faster. The tension in Sam's jaw is such that he can feel his teeth throbbing, protesting. There's no way that this car can outrace the equally beat-up Mustang following them close behind; Sam knew that, hadn't been thinking clearly when he'd left the hotel room with a measured stride and trembling fingers. He'd hot-wired the first car he found around the corner, out of sight of their room and hoping fervently that Dean wasn't watching him. Of course, of course that hope was in vain. He could feel the heat of his brother's eyes even if he was afraid to look in them. He didn't want to see the madness, the bloodlust. He just needed to escape, to lie low until Dean was himself again.
**
“Dean, no. No! What's wrong with you, are you fucking nuts?”
**
Lucifer laughed, cranking down the window so that he could stick his head out and fist-pump and howl into the wind. He waved his middle finger at Dean, and Sam wanted to jerk the wheel to throw him off balance, make him shut up and behave, but he couldn't, he just couldn't.
“Shut up! Shut up!” he finally screamed at his childish passenger, making Lucifer grin and pulled his head back in.
“Come on, Sam! You've gotta learn to live a little. Take your fun where you can get it. That's what Dean does, isn't it? Just enjoys himself, any way he wants. He and I, we're not that much different,in actually.” Lucifer sticks his finger in Sam's ear, pushes and digs the sharp nail in so hard that Sam actually does swerve, missing an oncoming car by a few inches. Lucifer laughs all the harder, the sound darker with true amusement.
**
“Come on, Sam. Let me. I'll do it, I just-” the desperation, the need is clear in Dean's voice.
**
Sam rubs his ear as he jerks back into his proper lane. He jams his foot into the pedal again, trying to make up the distance lost when his foot slipped. Too late. A blue Mustang with a dirty white racing strip pulls up alongside, the driver clearly shouting and gesticulating for Sam to slow down, to pull over. Sam clenches his jaw and floors it, trying to keep his eyes trained on the road. He can't help it, though; his eyes darting to track Dean's movements. His heart, already beating fast from the fear and adrenaline, stops and then bounds back into motion like a faulty jackhammer when a red light flares on the dashboard, and a high dinging noise signals that he's nearly out of gas.
“What now?” Lucifer taunts, “Great car choice. Now Dean's gonna get you, show you everything he learned in Hell.” And Sam just can't let that happen. He's crazy, but not insane. He's already been to Hell once, and he's not looking for a repeat. He's seen Dean torture, seen the usually open eyes go flat and hateful and *demonic*. He won't line up to be under Dean's knives and hooks, no matter how much Dean apparently needs it. It makes Sam sick; he'd been so sure that Dean hated the pain, hated the hot blood flowing over his hands. Sam had thought that Dean would only ever do it again when there was no other option. He and Bobby, they'd been so careful, trying to keep Dean's hands clean
Sam had never imagined kneeling on the floor of their motel room, with Dean's hand holding Sam's forearm in an iron grip and a Bowie knife clutched in his other hand, mumbling pleas and false reassurances that he had it under control, just to trust him.
Sam had looked into his eyes, and seen the flame.
Here and now, though, Sam had to out-manouvre his brother on an empty tank of gas. He slammed on the brakes, ignoring the engine's scream as he wrenched the car to the side of the highway. He bolts into the woods, feeling the burn in muscles that had cramped and locked in the tiny car. Lucifer runs beside him-behind him?-alternately encouraging him forward and baying for blood at his heels. He hears shouted curses from the direction of the road, and his name being called. Terror lends new wings to his tired feet, but blinds him to the log in his path. There is disorientation as the world is swept out from under him, and Lucifer flickers and disappears. Dean is there moments later, his hands spread out is a classic “look, I'm harmless” pose. There's nothing but fear and concern in his eyes as he kneels cautiously beside Sam and begins checking him for signs of injury.
**
The coffees drop out of Dean's hands as he takes in the sight of Sam crouched between the beds, feverishly scoring his hand with a hunting knife. He leaps across the room, wresting the knife from Sam's hand as Sam scream in shock and then begs for it back.
“Dean, Dean it's the only thing, it's not working anymore, he won't leave! I just need a new... Just a little cut...”
Dean stares in revulsion at the bloody mess Sam has made of his hand. It's bad, but he knows what Sam is trying to say. Lucifer, or a little pain-it's a clear choice, but Dean can see what Sam doesn't. Sam can't be trusted to do it safely, on his own.
“Okay, Sam, it's gonna be okay,” Dean shakes his brother by the arm to get his attention. “But you can't do this anymore. Let me help you, I'll do it for you, just let me...”
Characters: Sam, Dean, Hallucifer
Genre/pairing: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for a little bit of blood
Word-count: 1036
Summary: Somebody here is really, really crazy. But who?
Warnings: Some cutting, but hopefully not in a trigger-y way
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Beta's by the extremely wonderful xdarlingnickyx!
“Yeah, yeah-ok, Dean. Just-I need a minute.”
**
Sam drives with his foot pressed to the floor, pushing the little Neon as fast as it will go. His arms are rigid, his back hard against the seat, as though the sheer urgency in his frame could encourage the beat-up little car faster. The tension in Sam's jaw is such that he can feel his teeth throbbing, protesting. There's no way that this car can outrace the equally beat-up Mustang following them close behind; Sam knew that, hadn't been thinking clearly when he'd left the hotel room with a measured stride and trembling fingers. He'd hot-wired the first car he found around the corner, out of sight of their room and hoping fervently that Dean wasn't watching him. Of course, of course that hope was in vain. He could feel the heat of his brother's eyes even if he was afraid to look in them. He didn't want to see the madness, the bloodlust. He just needed to escape, to lie low until Dean was himself again.
**
“Dean, no. No! What's wrong with you, are you fucking nuts?”
**
Lucifer laughed, cranking down the window so that he could stick his head out and fist-pump and howl into the wind. He waved his middle finger at Dean, and Sam wanted to jerk the wheel to throw him off balance, make him shut up and behave, but he couldn't, he just couldn't.
“Shut up! Shut up!” he finally screamed at his childish passenger, making Lucifer grin and pulled his head back in.
“Come on, Sam! You've gotta learn to live a little. Take your fun where you can get it. That's what Dean does, isn't it? Just enjoys himself, any way he wants. He and I, we're not that much different,in actually.” Lucifer sticks his finger in Sam's ear, pushes and digs the sharp nail in so hard that Sam actually does swerve, missing an oncoming car by a few inches. Lucifer laughs all the harder, the sound darker with true amusement.
**
“Come on, Sam. Let me. I'll do it, I just-” the desperation, the need is clear in Dean's voice.
**
Sam rubs his ear as he jerks back into his proper lane. He jams his foot into the pedal again, trying to make up the distance lost when his foot slipped. Too late. A blue Mustang with a dirty white racing strip pulls up alongside, the driver clearly shouting and gesticulating for Sam to slow down, to pull over. Sam clenches his jaw and floors it, trying to keep his eyes trained on the road. He can't help it, though; his eyes darting to track Dean's movements. His heart, already beating fast from the fear and adrenaline, stops and then bounds back into motion like a faulty jackhammer when a red light flares on the dashboard, and a high dinging noise signals that he's nearly out of gas.
“What now?” Lucifer taunts, “Great car choice. Now Dean's gonna get you, show you everything he learned in Hell.” And Sam just can't let that happen. He's crazy, but not insane. He's already been to Hell once, and he's not looking for a repeat. He's seen Dean torture, seen the usually open eyes go flat and hateful and *demonic*. He won't line up to be under Dean's knives and hooks, no matter how much Dean apparently needs it. It makes Sam sick; he'd been so sure that Dean hated the pain, hated the hot blood flowing over his hands. Sam had thought that Dean would only ever do it again when there was no other option. He and Bobby, they'd been so careful, trying to keep Dean's hands clean
Sam had never imagined kneeling on the floor of their motel room, with Dean's hand holding Sam's forearm in an iron grip and a Bowie knife clutched in his other hand, mumbling pleas and false reassurances that he had it under control, just to trust him.
Sam had looked into his eyes, and seen the flame.
Here and now, though, Sam had to out-manouvre his brother on an empty tank of gas. He slammed on the brakes, ignoring the engine's scream as he wrenched the car to the side of the highway. He bolts into the woods, feeling the burn in muscles that had cramped and locked in the tiny car. Lucifer runs beside him-behind him?-alternately encouraging him forward and baying for blood at his heels. He hears shouted curses from the direction of the road, and his name being called. Terror lends new wings to his tired feet, but blinds him to the log in his path. There is disorientation as the world is swept out from under him, and Lucifer flickers and disappears. Dean is there moments later, his hands spread out is a classic “look, I'm harmless” pose. There's nothing but fear and concern in his eyes as he kneels cautiously beside Sam and begins checking him for signs of injury.
**
The coffees drop out of Dean's hands as he takes in the sight of Sam crouched between the beds, feverishly scoring his hand with a hunting knife. He leaps across the room, wresting the knife from Sam's hand as Sam scream in shock and then begs for it back.
“Dean, Dean it's the only thing, it's not working anymore, he won't leave! I just need a new... Just a little cut...”
Dean stares in revulsion at the bloody mess Sam has made of his hand. It's bad, but he knows what Sam is trying to say. Lucifer, or a little pain-it's a clear choice, but Dean can see what Sam doesn't. Sam can't be trusted to do it safely, on his own.
“Okay, Sam, it's gonna be okay,” Dean shakes his brother by the arm to get his attention. “But you can't do this anymore. Let me help you, I'll do it for you, just let me...”