with a gun in my pocket and no identity
fandom: Supernatural
pairing: none
rating: J
summary: Dean's got dispair and he might be lost, but Sam anchors him.
title: with a gun in my pocket and no identity
Dean had mostly quit wondering what it was like for other people. From what he saw in movies and brief flashes of tv on a set that never came in quite clear regardless of what state the motel room was in, everyone else lived the same life anyhow: work, food, sleep, maybe a family, and Saturdays for despair.
Now everyday was for despair. Sam was starting to see it, but they'd both been feeling it for months as it was. Look for a chance, a change, a sign. Watch strangers living their hollow lives like a shadow theater or something, a sham because they weren't gonna face the reality that had bit Dean in the ass, literally, more than once.
Hell, the only reason he got to keep his baby was their FBI friend had changed the file on their vehicle - or someone had, anyhow - and the title wasn't listed as a Winchester anymore. That bit more than anything. At least before, he'd been someone. Not someone well-known or liked, but a Winchester, and it had meant something. Meant long days and longer nights, full of research, salt, and fire, questions, watching, waiting. He could be patient when he chose to.
"Dean!" At the urgent whisper and a sharp elbow to the ribcage from Sammy, he sat up straight and focused on watching for the latest spook. It was dark out, and from inside the car nobody was going to recognize him. Stake-outs sucked, but at least they got him out. The branches of the trees and bushes swayed and Dean's finger stroked the trigger like it was home. Something was getting killed tonight.
There wasn't anything to see yet; Sam was just jumpy, probably caught it from Dean. They were gonna sit here half the night, watch, and maybe one day they'd find out if their vigil had done any good anyhow. He hoped - wanted to hope - but sometimes it seemed like they couldn't be doing that much good. There were only a few dozen hunters, and hundreds of ghosts, legions of demons, and untold numbers of other dangers out there against them.
That was what Dean said to himself between hunts, but when it came time, he'd never thought "why bother?" and passed destroying a spirit or vanquishing a malicious hobgoblin or whatever. If the day ever came when he did, that's what he had Sam for. Sam would always be reason enough to keep fighting. Always. He was reason enough to start it.
Sam was lucky. He still got to be a Winchester, he had hope. He'd gotten away, gained the perspective Dean was afraid to let in. Dean would never change places with him, not for a second. There was responsibility in that. And Sam had his own troubles.
There- There in that spot so dark it seemed to suck black, movement. Cocking his gun as he tugged it from his jacket, Dean slipped from the Impala with a quick glance at Sam. Yeah, it was worth it.
pairing: none
rating: J
summary: Dean's got dispair and he might be lost, but Sam anchors him.
title: with a gun in my pocket and no identity
Dean had mostly quit wondering what it was like for other people. From what he saw in movies and brief flashes of tv on a set that never came in quite clear regardless of what state the motel room was in, everyone else lived the same life anyhow: work, food, sleep, maybe a family, and Saturdays for despair.
Now everyday was for despair. Sam was starting to see it, but they'd both been feeling it for months as it was. Look for a chance, a change, a sign. Watch strangers living their hollow lives like a shadow theater or something, a sham because they weren't gonna face the reality that had bit Dean in the ass, literally, more than once.
Hell, the only reason he got to keep his baby was their FBI friend had changed the file on their vehicle - or someone had, anyhow - and the title wasn't listed as a Winchester anymore. That bit more than anything. At least before, he'd been someone. Not someone well-known or liked, but a Winchester, and it had meant something. Meant long days and longer nights, full of research, salt, and fire, questions, watching, waiting. He could be patient when he chose to.
"Dean!" At the urgent whisper and a sharp elbow to the ribcage from Sammy, he sat up straight and focused on watching for the latest spook. It was dark out, and from inside the car nobody was going to recognize him. Stake-outs sucked, but at least they got him out. The branches of the trees and bushes swayed and Dean's finger stroked the trigger like it was home. Something was getting killed tonight.
There wasn't anything to see yet; Sam was just jumpy, probably caught it from Dean. They were gonna sit here half the night, watch, and maybe one day they'd find out if their vigil had done any good anyhow. He hoped - wanted to hope - but sometimes it seemed like they couldn't be doing that much good. There were only a few dozen hunters, and hundreds of ghosts, legions of demons, and untold numbers of other dangers out there against them.
That was what Dean said to himself between hunts, but when it came time, he'd never thought "why bother?" and passed destroying a spirit or vanquishing a malicious hobgoblin or whatever. If the day ever came when he did, that's what he had Sam for. Sam would always be reason enough to keep fighting. Always. He was reason enough to start it.
Sam was lucky. He still got to be a Winchester, he had hope. He'd gotten away, gained the perspective Dean was afraid to let in. Dean would never change places with him, not for a second. There was responsibility in that. And Sam had his own troubles.
There- There in that spot so dark it seemed to suck black, movement. Cocking his gun as he tugged it from his jacket, Dean slipped from the Impala with a quick glance at Sam. Yeah, it was worth it.