(no subject)
Title: Slowly Failing Upward
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam
--
Here's what I know:
Dean has three cracked ribs, a concussion and a severely sprained ankle.
I can't move him right now.
I'm sure that I have broken all the fingers in my left hand.
We're fucked.
Here's what I propose I do:
Scream really loudly. Until I go hoarse.
Lay here. Until we freeze to death.
Lay here. Until I can make my feet work under our combined weights.
Try to talk to the car like it's actually KITT.
Here's what I wish Dean would say:
Suck it up, Sammy. Rub some dirt in it. We gotta get back out there.
You okay, little brother? Good. Let's go kill some evil sons a bitches.
Sam? Sammy? Are you hurt? (Complete with concerned, crinkly eyes)
Hey, let's go get some beers and pick up easy chicks.
You want the last Hot Pocket?
Here's what I'll never admit to Dean or anyone else:
I like it when he calls me Sammy. It means he's really paying attention to me. Usually by trying to piss me off. It's cute.
I don't want to do this anymore. I just want to go home. Memphis sounds good. Ghost free. Except Elvis.
That picket fence dream? It's bullshit. I don't want that. Maybe a townhome. With art deco furniture.
When we're stuck like this, I catalog all the injuries I've ever received doing this job. My first was the hand-shaped, third-degree burn of some harpie trying to take me from Dad. My latest before this episode was a knife in the back.
I don't miss Jessica anymore. I haven't for a while. I still feel guilty as hell that she died because I loved her.
When we get out of here, I'm going to see that new movie based on that Jane Austen novel. And eat a whole peach pie.
I wish I had a Carebear. Or something. I like sleeping cuddled up next to something soft and warm.
I'm really good at this violence stuff. Like scary good. And sometimes it doesn't scare me.
Here's how the situation has changed:
Dean is coming to. Still can't walk yet.
I have been sitting here Uma Thurman-ing my hand to work, dammit. It's almost there.
Killing this thing will be so very much fun. After I go to the hospital.
I'm invested in seeing something burn.
When we get out of here, I want to fuck the hot nurse.
Here's how the situation still sucks balls:
Dean is coming to. He'll try to walk. The bastard.
I have a giant hole in the side of my favorite maroon polo.
The thing we're hunting? I've lost track of it.
I'm really hungry. And I'm sure that I lost my wallet somewhere back in the woods.
Oh, and my hand is still broken.
We're fucked sideways.
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam
--
Here's what I know:
Dean has three cracked ribs, a concussion and a severely sprained ankle.
I can't move him right now.
I'm sure that I have broken all the fingers in my left hand.
We're fucked.
Here's what I propose I do:
Scream really loudly. Until I go hoarse.
Lay here. Until we freeze to death.
Lay here. Until I can make my feet work under our combined weights.
Try to talk to the car like it's actually KITT.
Here's what I wish Dean would say:
Suck it up, Sammy. Rub some dirt in it. We gotta get back out there.
You okay, little brother? Good. Let's go kill some evil sons a bitches.
Sam? Sammy? Are you hurt? (Complete with concerned, crinkly eyes)
Hey, let's go get some beers and pick up easy chicks.
You want the last Hot Pocket?
Here's what I'll never admit to Dean or anyone else:
I like it when he calls me Sammy. It means he's really paying attention to me. Usually by trying to piss me off. It's cute.
I don't want to do this anymore. I just want to go home. Memphis sounds good. Ghost free. Except Elvis.
That picket fence dream? It's bullshit. I don't want that. Maybe a townhome. With art deco furniture.
When we're stuck like this, I catalog all the injuries I've ever received doing this job. My first was the hand-shaped, third-degree burn of some harpie trying to take me from Dad. My latest before this episode was a knife in the back.
I don't miss Jessica anymore. I haven't for a while. I still feel guilty as hell that she died because I loved her.
When we get out of here, I'm going to see that new movie based on that Jane Austen novel. And eat a whole peach pie.
I wish I had a Carebear. Or something. I like sleeping cuddled up next to something soft and warm.
I'm really good at this violence stuff. Like scary good. And sometimes it doesn't scare me.
Here's how the situation has changed:
Dean is coming to. Still can't walk yet.
I have been sitting here Uma Thurman-ing my hand to work, dammit. It's almost there.
Killing this thing will be so very much fun. After I go to the hospital.
I'm invested in seeing something burn.
When we get out of here, I want to fuck the hot nurse.
Here's how the situation still sucks balls:
Dean is coming to. He'll try to walk. The bastard.
I have a giant hole in the side of my favorite maroon polo.
The thing we're hunting? I've lost track of it.
I'm really hungry. And I'm sure that I lost my wallet somewhere back in the woods.
Oh, and my hand is still broken.
We're fucked sideways.