Ruby loved that car as much as Dean loves his own, and it gives Sam an odd sense of satisfaction to imagine bashing her brains out as the window shatters around the crowbar.
He can blame it on the demon blood, when this is all over.
He can feel his heartbeat jumping as he swings the crowbar up, then down with all his strength on the hood of the car. Gets both hands on it, feeling the burn in his muscles as he smashes his way through the hood, rips holes big enough that he can see the engine. He puts dents in the doors, shatters every window and mirror. The glass sprays out, crunches under his boots, the smaller shards cutting into his hands, but he keeps going until the noise fades out, until all he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears. Until all he can feel is the shuddery numbness of his fingers every time the crowbar slams into the metal.
When he stops, Dean's standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest, watching him with dark eyes. Sam's chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and he meets Dean's gaze, challenges him.
"What?" he said, bracing for a fight, remembering Dean's cutting words echoing through his head.
Dean shakes his head, a small smirk tilting the corners of his lips up, and he shrugs away from the porch to come and pry the crowbar away from Sam's bloody hands. It drops to the floor with a dull clang against the gravel, and it's only then that Sam registers the blood trickling down his wrists from where the glass cut him. Dean swears under his breath.
He drags Sam over the to steps and pushes him down, opens up the first aid kit. "You got it out of your system yet?" he asks, almost flippantly. Sam stiffens, and tries to jerk away, but Dean's fingers tighten around his wrists with a growled, "Stop it, Sammy."
"I'm fine," Sam says, and gives up struggling so that Dean can wash his hands with water and pick out all the shards. His hands are warm and steady as he bandages Sam's damp hands. Dean looks up, meets Sam's gaze with a small smile, offers it to him like a peace offering, and Sam's surprised to feel his own mouth tilting upwards in the first real grin he's given in a while.
"Hated that car anyway," says Dean. His hands are warm where they're cupping Sam's, just holding on to him.
"So did I," he says after a moment, and Dean's chuckle feels like sailing home into safe waters.
That was wonderful. So simple. Just to show Sam with this need to just destroy something, to take out all of his anger, and the ridiculous amount of understanding that Dean has. Great dynamic. Loved it! Kudos! -crazytook
He can blame it on the demon blood, when this is all over.
He can feel his heartbeat jumping as he swings the crowbar up, then down with all his strength on the hood of the car. Gets both hands on it, feeling the burn in his muscles as he smashes his way through the hood, rips holes big enough that he can see the engine. He puts dents in the doors, shatters every window and mirror. The glass sprays out, crunches under his boots, the smaller shards cutting into his hands, but he keeps going until the noise fades out, until all he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears. Until all he can feel is the shuddery numbness of his fingers every time the crowbar slams into the metal.
When he stops, Dean's standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest, watching him with dark eyes. Sam's chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and he meets Dean's gaze, challenges him.
"What?" he said, bracing for a fight, remembering Dean's cutting words echoing through his head.
Dean shakes his head, a small smirk tilting the corners of his lips up, and he shrugs away from the porch to come and pry the crowbar away from Sam's bloody hands. It drops to the floor with a dull clang against the gravel, and it's only then that Sam registers the blood trickling down his wrists from where the glass cut him. Dean swears under his breath.
He drags Sam over the to steps and pushes him down, opens up the first aid kit. "You got it out of your system yet?" he asks, almost flippantly. Sam stiffens, and tries to jerk away, but Dean's fingers tighten around his wrists with a growled, "Stop it, Sammy."
"I'm fine," Sam says, and gives up struggling so that Dean can wash his hands with water and pick out all the shards. His hands are warm and steady as he bandages Sam's damp hands. Dean looks up, meets Sam's gaze with a small smile, offers it to him like a peace offering, and Sam's surprised to feel his own mouth tilting upwards in the first real grin he's given in a while.
"Hated that car anyway," says Dean. His hands are warm where they're cupping Sam's, just holding on to him.
"So did I," he says after a moment, and Dean's chuckle feels like sailing home into safe waters.
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And, man, I'd give A LOT to actually see this scene! *__*
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Kudos!
-crazytook
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