Supernatural fic: Leaving
Title: Leaving
Author: Shealynn
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, but oh, how I wish they were…
Summary: (AU) Sam can’t stay anymore
Pairings: Sam/Dean (AU, not related) SLASH
Author’s Note: I read a lot of Wincest, and enjoy it…but I can’t get myself to write it. So, I changed their history a little bit. Not brothers-best friends… Sequel to Secrets(1) and Restless(2).
Thanks: Wouldn’t be possible without my wonderful beta, cadi_b.
For: reilael who apparently has ESP. Or she just thinks WAY too much like me, which could be scary.
Sam shifted the overcooked eggs with his fork, one side of the plate to the other, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Cold dread curled through his stomach at the thought of telling Dean he was leaving.
The night before, sharing a bed…he couldn’t do that again. If Dean found out how he felt, he’d throw him out anyway. It was better this way, to leave now, on his own terms.
Somehow, that didn’t make it any easier.
Dean’s voice made his head snap up. “Sammy, just eat already! We have to get moving.” He tapped his fingers against a rolled newspaper. “Got a mauling to check out.”
Sam looked back at his plate, the words he wanted to say lodged behind the lump in his throat. “I’m not going,” he said at last.
Dean’s eyes drilled into him. “What?”
Sam looked up and wished he hadn’t. Fury flickered over Dean’s face. Sam swallowed hard and continued. “I’m not going. I have to get back to school.” He looked away. “Summer term starts in a few weeks, and I can’t afford to miss it.”
Dean looked stunned. “You’re leaving again? After dad? After Jess? You’re just going back to pretending you’re normal? Sammy, are you mental? We have a mission, here!”
Sam stood stiffly, trying to ignore the burn of disbelief and disappointment in Dean’s voice. The pounding of his heart filled his ears and threatened to drown out what he needed to say. “We’re not doing enough out here. I need to…I need to accomplish something, Dean. We’re fighting a losing battle.” The fury on Dean’s face never wavered, and Sam was suddenly desperate to escape that unblinking gaze. Nausea threatened as he turned his back and blindly threw a handful of bills on the table. He hunched his shoulders in misery as he walked out the door, feeling cold and numb.
Sam almost made it a block before an ankle hooked around his and a well placed shove sent him sprawling onto the uneven sidewalk. Before Sam could react, Dean had flipped him on his back and straddled him, effortlessly pinning his arms to the ground with bony knees. His hands slapped the ground on both sides of Sam’s head and his face hovered inches away, a mask of fury.
“What is with this attitude?” Dean hissed, his breath warming Sam’s face.
Sam thrashed ineffectually, wanting desperately to melt into the sidewalk, to run away, anything to escape the look on Dean’s face.
There had been a time when they were evenly matched, before Sam went to Stanford and let himself go, before the academic life blunted his muscles and his instinct. Dean was the stronger of them, now, and Sam was at his mercy.
“You can’t keep me here!” Sam protested weakly.
“Didn’t you learn anything when you were hunting? It takes time! Finding them takes time. Hunting them takes time. You’re acting like a child, Sam! For God’s sake, grow up!”
The words echoed back through the years, Dean’s mantra whenever he and Sam had argued. He’d said it when Sam had decided to leave for Stanford, when Sam had told Dean’s father about the girls Dean was sneaking in, when he’d scared the hell out of both the Winchesters by going out alone one night and nearly getting himself killed. The jibe echoed with the pain of every incident, every time they argued, every time he didn’t live up to Dean’s expectations. Sam closed his eyes against the resounding fury of the words, and felt Dean lean closer, heard the hiss of angry breath.
Dean had always thrived on confrontation. It didn’t matter what guise. It was what drove him and motivated him, whether it was when they argued or when they hunted. He’d always hated it when Sam had turned away from a fight and it was no different now.
“Look at me, Sammy,” Dean demanded as he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Sam’s head back.
The pain ignited something warm and frightening, a low coil of desire fueled by Dean’s breath on his lips and the sudden feeling of complete helplessness, so closely akin to surrender. A gasp of not-quite-pain escaped Sam’s lips and his eyes flew open in fear. He was suddenly still, desperate to keep Dean from discovering his body’s sudden betrayal, the painful thickness pressed against the inside of his jeans.
Sam fought to feel something, anything but desire, and found a flare of anger he fanned desperately into a righteous fire. “I was grown up, before you yanked me backward! I had a normal life, was looking at a damn future before you pulled me back into this shit! Look, I want to find your dad as much as you do, I want to find what killed Jess…but we’re not getting anywhere!”
Dean’s face twisted and he gave Sam’s hair another tug before letting him go. “So, you’re just going to leave again, is that it? What we did for you doesn’t matter anymore, now that things are getting a little slow, a little tough?” Dean gritted his teeth, his jaw jutting forward in anger. “Nice to know how much we mean, Sammy. Thanks.” He released Sam in one quick motion and rose smoothly, then turned away without another word.
It was a low blow. Sam had never forgotten how much he owed Dean and his father. That was a large part of why he had to leave-to be true to people who had considered him family. The best thing Sam could do now was go. Get back to school, leave Dean alone. Let him think that Sam was ungrateful. Anything but the truth. Sam got up slowly, unable to look away from the injured pride in Dean’s gait as he stalked away.
He tried to turn away, telling himself it was right…but he didn't have the strength to leave this way. Sam didn’t want to be enemies again. It had been bad when he’d left for college. He couldn’t bear to make the same mistake again. Somehow, he had to make Dean understand…something. Not the truth, but some version of it that he could accept.
Sam jogged to catch up. “Dean.”
Dean kept walking.
“Dean!” Sam said insistently as he grabbed his friend’s shoulder.
Dean spun around. “Go ahead, Sammy. I don’t need your help. Go back to your god-damn comfort zone.” He turned back toward the diner, but not before Sam saw the sheen of unshed tears in his friend’s eyes.
Fuck. He had to make him understand. “Dean.” His voice was softer now. “I’m sorry. Maybe…maybe I’m just not cut out for this. You’ll find someone to help you. Someone better.”
Dean stopped dead and slowly turned toward him. “Better? Sam, you’ve been trained to this since you were eleven. You know what you’re up against. You know how lonely this life can be, how hard and brutal. Do you have any idea…” he shook his head. “No, it’s obvious you don’t,” he said, his expression bleak as he looked away.
“Dean, please,” Sam managed, his chest aching.
Dean’s face hardened as he met Sam’s eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I missed you, man!” His jaw worked furiously. “You’re the only person who has any clue of what I face on a regular basis, why I can’t stay in one place. You’re the only person who knows what happened to my mom. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Doesn’t our friendship mean anything? We were like brothers, Sammy, and you just threw that away when you left. I thought…” He swallowed hard, and Sam fought the urge to touch him, hold him. Dean’s voice was rough with painful revelation. “I thought you were back with me. But you never were, were you? You were just running away again, in a different direction.” His expression was fluid as anger warred with grief.
No, no, no…it’s not like that, Sam protested silently. I just want it too much. You. Us.
But Sam was all Dean had, now. He'd been so caught up in his guilt that he hadn't thought about how Dean must feel with his father gone. He'd let himself be fooled by the cocky, carefree mask that Dean showed the world, a mask Sam hadn't seen under since he'd left for school. He knew how wounded Dean must have been to let it slip, even for a moment.
Sam’s shoulders fell in defeat as his conviction to leave slid away.
It was selfishness to leave Dean to hunt alone. He was right, they had been friends for too long. And if Sam couldn’t have anything more…well, he’d just have to deal with that.
Dean had missed him. As a friend. As a brother.
Dean needed him. It would have to be enough.
“I’ll stay,” Sam said quietly.
“What?” Dean demanded incredulously.
Sam kept his voice low. “You’re right. I was being a baby. Let’s go find your dad. Let’s get the fucker that killed Jess.”
Dean looked stunned for a moment, then covered it with terse words. “You’re a jackass." He turned toward the lot where the Impala was parked.
Sam felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips at the jibe, that small indication that things could go back to normal. Sam was relieved to see the tension leave Dean’s shoulders as Sam followed him.
This could work. He could do this.
Read the next one: Driving
Author: Shealynn
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, but oh, how I wish they were…
Summary: (AU) Sam can’t stay anymore
Pairings: Sam/Dean (AU, not related) SLASH
Author’s Note: I read a lot of Wincest, and enjoy it…but I can’t get myself to write it. So, I changed their history a little bit. Not brothers-best friends… Sequel to Secrets(1) and Restless(2).
Thanks: Wouldn’t be possible without my wonderful beta, cadi_b.
For: reilael who apparently has ESP. Or she just thinks WAY too much like me, which could be scary.
Sam shifted the overcooked eggs with his fork, one side of the plate to the other, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Cold dread curled through his stomach at the thought of telling Dean he was leaving.
The night before, sharing a bed…he couldn’t do that again. If Dean found out how he felt, he’d throw him out anyway. It was better this way, to leave now, on his own terms.
Somehow, that didn’t make it any easier.
Dean’s voice made his head snap up. “Sammy, just eat already! We have to get moving.” He tapped his fingers against a rolled newspaper. “Got a mauling to check out.”
Sam looked back at his plate, the words he wanted to say lodged behind the lump in his throat. “I’m not going,” he said at last.
Dean’s eyes drilled into him. “What?”
Sam looked up and wished he hadn’t. Fury flickered over Dean’s face. Sam swallowed hard and continued. “I’m not going. I have to get back to school.” He looked away. “Summer term starts in a few weeks, and I can’t afford to miss it.”
Dean looked stunned. “You’re leaving again? After dad? After Jess? You’re just going back to pretending you’re normal? Sammy, are you mental? We have a mission, here!”
Sam stood stiffly, trying to ignore the burn of disbelief and disappointment in Dean’s voice. The pounding of his heart filled his ears and threatened to drown out what he needed to say. “We’re not doing enough out here. I need to…I need to accomplish something, Dean. We’re fighting a losing battle.” The fury on Dean’s face never wavered, and Sam was suddenly desperate to escape that unblinking gaze. Nausea threatened as he turned his back and blindly threw a handful of bills on the table. He hunched his shoulders in misery as he walked out the door, feeling cold and numb.
Sam almost made it a block before an ankle hooked around his and a well placed shove sent him sprawling onto the uneven sidewalk. Before Sam could react, Dean had flipped him on his back and straddled him, effortlessly pinning his arms to the ground with bony knees. His hands slapped the ground on both sides of Sam’s head and his face hovered inches away, a mask of fury.
“What is with this attitude?” Dean hissed, his breath warming Sam’s face.
Sam thrashed ineffectually, wanting desperately to melt into the sidewalk, to run away, anything to escape the look on Dean’s face.
There had been a time when they were evenly matched, before Sam went to Stanford and let himself go, before the academic life blunted his muscles and his instinct. Dean was the stronger of them, now, and Sam was at his mercy.
“You can’t keep me here!” Sam protested weakly.
“Didn’t you learn anything when you were hunting? It takes time! Finding them takes time. Hunting them takes time. You’re acting like a child, Sam! For God’s sake, grow up!”
The words echoed back through the years, Dean’s mantra whenever he and Sam had argued. He’d said it when Sam had decided to leave for Stanford, when Sam had told Dean’s father about the girls Dean was sneaking in, when he’d scared the hell out of both the Winchesters by going out alone one night and nearly getting himself killed. The jibe echoed with the pain of every incident, every time they argued, every time he didn’t live up to Dean’s expectations. Sam closed his eyes against the resounding fury of the words, and felt Dean lean closer, heard the hiss of angry breath.
Dean had always thrived on confrontation. It didn’t matter what guise. It was what drove him and motivated him, whether it was when they argued or when they hunted. He’d always hated it when Sam had turned away from a fight and it was no different now.
“Look at me, Sammy,” Dean demanded as he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Sam’s head back.
The pain ignited something warm and frightening, a low coil of desire fueled by Dean’s breath on his lips and the sudden feeling of complete helplessness, so closely akin to surrender. A gasp of not-quite-pain escaped Sam’s lips and his eyes flew open in fear. He was suddenly still, desperate to keep Dean from discovering his body’s sudden betrayal, the painful thickness pressed against the inside of his jeans.
Sam fought to feel something, anything but desire, and found a flare of anger he fanned desperately into a righteous fire. “I was grown up, before you yanked me backward! I had a normal life, was looking at a damn future before you pulled me back into this shit! Look, I want to find your dad as much as you do, I want to find what killed Jess…but we’re not getting anywhere!”
Dean’s face twisted and he gave Sam’s hair another tug before letting him go. “So, you’re just going to leave again, is that it? What we did for you doesn’t matter anymore, now that things are getting a little slow, a little tough?” Dean gritted his teeth, his jaw jutting forward in anger. “Nice to know how much we mean, Sammy. Thanks.” He released Sam in one quick motion and rose smoothly, then turned away without another word.
It was a low blow. Sam had never forgotten how much he owed Dean and his father. That was a large part of why he had to leave-to be true to people who had considered him family. The best thing Sam could do now was go. Get back to school, leave Dean alone. Let him think that Sam was ungrateful. Anything but the truth. Sam got up slowly, unable to look away from the injured pride in Dean’s gait as he stalked away.
He tried to turn away, telling himself it was right…but he didn't have the strength to leave this way. Sam didn’t want to be enemies again. It had been bad when he’d left for college. He couldn’t bear to make the same mistake again. Somehow, he had to make Dean understand…something. Not the truth, but some version of it that he could accept.
Sam jogged to catch up. “Dean.”
Dean kept walking.
“Dean!” Sam said insistently as he grabbed his friend’s shoulder.
Dean spun around. “Go ahead, Sammy. I don’t need your help. Go back to your god-damn comfort zone.” He turned back toward the diner, but not before Sam saw the sheen of unshed tears in his friend’s eyes.
Fuck. He had to make him understand. “Dean.” His voice was softer now. “I’m sorry. Maybe…maybe I’m just not cut out for this. You’ll find someone to help you. Someone better.”
Dean stopped dead and slowly turned toward him. “Better? Sam, you’ve been trained to this since you were eleven. You know what you’re up against. You know how lonely this life can be, how hard and brutal. Do you have any idea…” he shook his head. “No, it’s obvious you don’t,” he said, his expression bleak as he looked away.
“Dean, please,” Sam managed, his chest aching.
Dean’s face hardened as he met Sam’s eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I missed you, man!” His jaw worked furiously. “You’re the only person who has any clue of what I face on a regular basis, why I can’t stay in one place. You’re the only person who knows what happened to my mom. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Doesn’t our friendship mean anything? We were like brothers, Sammy, and you just threw that away when you left. I thought…” He swallowed hard, and Sam fought the urge to touch him, hold him. Dean’s voice was rough with painful revelation. “I thought you were back with me. But you never were, were you? You were just running away again, in a different direction.” His expression was fluid as anger warred with grief.
No, no, no…it’s not like that, Sam protested silently. I just want it too much. You. Us.
But Sam was all Dean had, now. He'd been so caught up in his guilt that he hadn't thought about how Dean must feel with his father gone. He'd let himself be fooled by the cocky, carefree mask that Dean showed the world, a mask Sam hadn't seen under since he'd left for school. He knew how wounded Dean must have been to let it slip, even for a moment.
Sam’s shoulders fell in defeat as his conviction to leave slid away.
It was selfishness to leave Dean to hunt alone. He was right, they had been friends for too long. And if Sam couldn’t have anything more…well, he’d just have to deal with that.
Dean had missed him. As a friend. As a brother.
Dean needed him. It would have to be enough.
“I’ll stay,” Sam said quietly.
“What?” Dean demanded incredulously.
Sam kept his voice low. “You’re right. I was being a baby. Let’s go find your dad. Let’s get the fucker that killed Jess.”
Dean looked stunned for a moment, then covered it with terse words. “You’re a jackass." He turned toward the lot where the Impala was parked.
Sam felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips at the jibe, that small indication that things could go back to normal. Sam was relieved to see the tension leave Dean’s shoulders as Sam followed him.
This could work. He could do this.
Read the next one: Driving