Fic: It Could Always Be Worse [vamp!Dean, PG-13. for tehuberfangirl ♥]
title: It Could Always Be Worse
author: aseptictchnique
rating: PG-13ish for blood and a machete
characters: Dean, Sam
summary: Sam thought his life had gotten dark, but it wasn't until the accident that he realized it could get darker still. Set sometime in season 3.
warnings: angst, vampires
author's note: for tehuberfangirl, who requested vamp!Dean. Thanks for being my co-mod, making the comm all pretty, and making the icons I requested! I have been enjoying both of them thoroughly :)
Title is from an old Jewish folktale I heard multiple times when I was little, about a farmer whose house is too small and he goes to a rabbi for advice. Plot has absolutely nothing to do with the folktale, however! I tried not to let it get too angsty, but... not entirely sure I succeeded :|.
Dean's devil-may-care attitude since he made the deal was bound to get him in trouble eventually, but Sam had not expected something like this. He stared down at his brother, at the severed head not two feet away, its body nearby - and especially at the lingering blood on Dean's lip.
"It didn't get in, right?" Sam asked, numbly. "It's not in you."
It was because Dean didn't respond that Sam knew the answer. He dropped the machete in his hand, thoughts ringing as it clattered to the floor: too late, I was too late.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said. Sam knew he wasn't. He knew this feeling of dread way too well, it nearly made him sick every time he thought of what would happen when the year was up. It was like a bitter aftertaste to every happy moment he had with his brother, a thought that had been in the back of his mind since Jessica's death and grown more prevalent in the last months: everyone around me is dropping like flies, and I can't save them.
Dean must have known what he was thinking (maybe his ability to read Sam's mind has even gotten better since being turned), because he got to his feet and reached out to touch Sam's shoulder. He flinched back at the touch, however, and they stared at each other.
Dean's eyes flicked to the machete, then back up to Sam. Sam shook his head, kicking it away by the hilt. "No."
"Sammy..." Dean said, despair written all over his face.
"No," Sam said again, firmer this time. "No."
Dean sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to be distracted by the beating of his brother's heart. Sam must have been terrified, because the sound was nearly a steady thrum, a heart racing far faster than normal.
So I'm a dead, bloodthirsty monster. The thought wasn't very hard to wrap his mind around, not much of a leap from I sold my soul, and I'm going to hell. He wasn't even supposed to be alive, anyway.
"... Like the vampires in Montana," Sam was saying when Dean tuned in again. "Remember? They didn't feed on humans. It'll be fine."
Dean looked at him. The naked hope on Sam's face was even more frightening than the shock and fear that had been there a moment ago; it was the look Dean had never been able to resist, even when they were kids.
"I don't think you'll even notice any difference in my appetite," Dean managed, cracking a smile. "The size of it, anyway. Mm, cattle blood."
The joke fell flat, but he could tell that Sam appreciated the effort. Dean composed himself, straightened, and gave Sam a proper shoulder pat. "Come on, let's get out of here."
And as they walked out into the night, he thought: what a pair. A psychic would-be king of demons and his vampire guardian.
author: aseptictchnique
rating: PG-13ish for blood and a machete
characters: Dean, Sam
summary: Sam thought his life had gotten dark, but it wasn't until the accident that he realized it could get darker still. Set sometime in season 3.
warnings: angst, vampires
author's note: for tehuberfangirl, who requested vamp!Dean. Thanks for being my co-mod, making the comm all pretty, and making the icons I requested! I have been enjoying both of them thoroughly :)
Title is from an old Jewish folktale I heard multiple times when I was little, about a farmer whose house is too small and he goes to a rabbi for advice. Plot has absolutely nothing to do with the folktale, however! I tried not to let it get too angsty, but... not entirely sure I succeeded :|.
Dean's devil-may-care attitude since he made the deal was bound to get him in trouble eventually, but Sam had not expected something like this. He stared down at his brother, at the severed head not two feet away, its body nearby - and especially at the lingering blood on Dean's lip.
"It didn't get in, right?" Sam asked, numbly. "It's not in you."
It was because Dean didn't respond that Sam knew the answer. He dropped the machete in his hand, thoughts ringing as it clattered to the floor: too late, I was too late.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said. Sam knew he wasn't. He knew this feeling of dread way too well, it nearly made him sick every time he thought of what would happen when the year was up. It was like a bitter aftertaste to every happy moment he had with his brother, a thought that had been in the back of his mind since Jessica's death and grown more prevalent in the last months: everyone around me is dropping like flies, and I can't save them.
Dean must have known what he was thinking (maybe his ability to read Sam's mind has even gotten better since being turned), because he got to his feet and reached out to touch Sam's shoulder. He flinched back at the touch, however, and they stared at each other.
Dean's eyes flicked to the machete, then back up to Sam. Sam shook his head, kicking it away by the hilt. "No."
"Sammy..." Dean said, despair written all over his face.
"No," Sam said again, firmer this time. "No."
Dean sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to be distracted by the beating of his brother's heart. Sam must have been terrified, because the sound was nearly a steady thrum, a heart racing far faster than normal.
So I'm a dead, bloodthirsty monster. The thought wasn't very hard to wrap his mind around, not much of a leap from I sold my soul, and I'm going to hell. He wasn't even supposed to be alive, anyway.
"... Like the vampires in Montana," Sam was saying when Dean tuned in again. "Remember? They didn't feed on humans. It'll be fine."
Dean looked at him. The naked hope on Sam's face was even more frightening than the shock and fear that had been there a moment ago; it was the look Dean had never been able to resist, even when they were kids.
"I don't think you'll even notice any difference in my appetite," Dean managed, cracking a smile. "The size of it, anyway. Mm, cattle blood."
The joke fell flat, but he could tell that Sam appreciated the effort. Dean composed himself, straightened, and gave Sam a proper shoulder pat. "Come on, let's get out of here."
And as they walked out into the night, he thought: what a pair. A psychic would-be king of demons and his vampire guardian.