(no subject)
Title: How much do you love me, Dean?
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Angst. Oh the angst.
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam and Dean
Warnings: No spoilers really, unless you don't know that Sam left for Stanford, or Dean sold his soul.
--
"How much do you love me, Dean?"
Sam asks this question in the dark before they go to sleep. It's always dark when he asks. Dean always answers him. Ever since Sam started asking him the question a year ago when he turned seven.
Dean always answers him in geographic locations. He doesn't know how to say more than my life.
"All the way from ocean to ocean. Now get some sleep. We're leaving early for Alabama."
--
Dean can't breathe. Sam is hurt. Sam is too young to be hurt. Sam has to go to college and marry some pretty girl and be the respectable one. Dean pretends to breathe. He knows Sam isn't old enough to hunt yet. He just knows it. Sure, Dean has taught him everything he could think of, but Sam is just too nice to actually use any of his skill. Too nice will get you killed. Too nice is not something Dean can protect him from.
Dean forgets that he's supposed to breathe and almost falls over, but Sam asks in a broken voice, "How much do you love me, Dean?"
Dean's lungs drag in jagged air, and he expels, "All the way to the top of that mountain you were telling me about. All the way to the clouds, Sammy. Now get some rest. We'll be at the hospital soon."
Dean watches Sam drift out of consciousness and smooths Sam's hair back.
--
Sam is all packed. Dean knows that Sam has been ready to leave for three weeks. Dean can't even look at him. He knows this is what needs to happen. Sam needs to go and be that guy, but he can't make himself really understand that Sam is going to be gone and not just for donuts.
"Dean...I'm sor-"
"No. No, Sammy. You don't apologize for wanting to be who you are, be something better."
"I'll never be better than you, Dean. Not at anything. But I have to go. There is nothing for me here."
Nothing? Dean wants to asks. Then what am I? But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything and just leans on the door jamb waiting to watch his brother walk away.
Sam asks Dean the one thing he wasn't expecting, "How much do you love me, Dean?"
Dean hears the hesitancy, the little boy, in that question. He almost doesn't answer.
Dean nods, looks down and says, "All the way to Mars and around to Saturn, Sammy. But I don't like you much right now."
He watches Sam huff out a laugh and nod. And then he is walking away. Damn him.
--
Dean just stands there and lets Sam wail at him. He just takes it. It's something he feels like he deserves, anyway. When Sam clocks him hard under the chin, Dean almost falls sideways, but he stands back up and just stares at Sam.
"I can't say I'm sorry anymore than I have, Sam. And you know I haven't meant it. Not once have I been sorry that you're here. Now are you done hitting me? Can we just go and, and hell, just be us for a year?"
Dean watches Sam deflate and fold in on himself.
"I kind of hate you right now, Dean. And when you.." Sam's breath hitches, and Dean can barely look at him. Things shouldn't be this damn complicated. They just shouldn't.
"How much do you love me, Dean?" Dean hears Sam whisper sarcastically.
Dean ignores his tone in favor of his question. He hasn't heard it in too long, and he had no idea he misses it so much.
"All the way to hell and back, Sammy. All the way to hell and back."
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Angst. Oh the angst.
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam and Dean
Warnings: No spoilers really, unless you don't know that Sam left for Stanford, or Dean sold his soul.
--
"How much do you love me, Dean?"
Sam asks this question in the dark before they go to sleep. It's always dark when he asks. Dean always answers him. Ever since Sam started asking him the question a year ago when he turned seven.
Dean always answers him in geographic locations. He doesn't know how to say more than my life.
"All the way from ocean to ocean. Now get some sleep. We're leaving early for Alabama."
--
Dean can't breathe. Sam is hurt. Sam is too young to be hurt. Sam has to go to college and marry some pretty girl and be the respectable one. Dean pretends to breathe. He knows Sam isn't old enough to hunt yet. He just knows it. Sure, Dean has taught him everything he could think of, but Sam is just too nice to actually use any of his skill. Too nice will get you killed. Too nice is not something Dean can protect him from.
Dean forgets that he's supposed to breathe and almost falls over, but Sam asks in a broken voice, "How much do you love me, Dean?"
Dean's lungs drag in jagged air, and he expels, "All the way to the top of that mountain you were telling me about. All the way to the clouds, Sammy. Now get some rest. We'll be at the hospital soon."
Dean watches Sam drift out of consciousness and smooths Sam's hair back.
--
Sam is all packed. Dean knows that Sam has been ready to leave for three weeks. Dean can't even look at him. He knows this is what needs to happen. Sam needs to go and be that guy, but he can't make himself really understand that Sam is going to be gone and not just for donuts.
"Dean...I'm sor-"
"No. No, Sammy. You don't apologize for wanting to be who you are, be something better."
"I'll never be better than you, Dean. Not at anything. But I have to go. There is nothing for me here."
Nothing? Dean wants to asks. Then what am I? But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything and just leans on the door jamb waiting to watch his brother walk away.
Sam asks Dean the one thing he wasn't expecting, "How much do you love me, Dean?"
Dean hears the hesitancy, the little boy, in that question. He almost doesn't answer.
Dean nods, looks down and says, "All the way to Mars and around to Saturn, Sammy. But I don't like you much right now."
He watches Sam huff out a laugh and nod. And then he is walking away. Damn him.
--
Dean just stands there and lets Sam wail at him. He just takes it. It's something he feels like he deserves, anyway. When Sam clocks him hard under the chin, Dean almost falls sideways, but he stands back up and just stares at Sam.
"I can't say I'm sorry anymore than I have, Sam. And you know I haven't meant it. Not once have I been sorry that you're here. Now are you done hitting me? Can we just go and, and hell, just be us for a year?"
Dean watches Sam deflate and fold in on himself.
"I kind of hate you right now, Dean. And when you.." Sam's breath hitches, and Dean can barely look at him. Things shouldn't be this damn complicated. They just shouldn't.
"How much do you love me, Dean?" Dean hears Sam whisper sarcastically.
Dean ignores his tone in favor of his question. He hasn't heard it in too long, and he had no idea he misses it so much.
"All the way to hell and back, Sammy. All the way to hell and back."