look! I wrote fic!
Title: crash
Author: cosmic
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form.
Rating: PG-13 if not for the incest.
Spoilers: Nothing in particular.
Notes: Thanks to cynjen and tieleen for the betas.
Summary: Sometimes, Dean doesn't think they're a car crash.
crash
Dean feels a rush of excitement hit him every they're in danger, every time they're actually physically fighting something. He knows that's just adrenaline, urging him on, but he doesn't know what it is that happens later. When the monster is dead on the ground, and he looks up and sees Sam, his eyes dark with something, his breathing as heavy as Dean's.
Years ago, there was a film about a couple that got off on car crashes. Dean never saw it, but every now and then he wonders if he and Sam are that couple or maybe they're the crash itself.
*
Years ago, Dean carried Sam out of a burning house, and he knew with every fiber of his being that he would never let Sam go.
He did, eventually, but he didn't mean to, didn't want to. Sam wanted to go, so Dean let him.
That's what you were supposed to do, right?
*
Dean saved Sam from harm's way a hundred times, more or less, and punched him, seriously or not, at least as many times, when they were growing up.
Both of those things hurt, and not always in different ways.
Like Dean should do better, like he should keep things from hurting Sam before they had a chance to do so. Like he should always punch Sam first, so he'll know what it feels like before Dean teaches him to fight back, so he'll know to listen and follow orders and never, ever let himself get hurt.
And sometimes, just because that's what brothers do.
*
Sometimes, Dean doesn't think they're a car crash; they're the aftermath.
A car reduced to metal and glass, broken, useless. Blood on the windshield. Broken things and bodies. Rescue personnel, hysterics. Eventually, a clean up crew.
"Don't," his father said, smacking the back of his hand to stop him from rolling down the window, when Dean wanted a closer look.
Sometimes, Dean wishes he'd listened.
*
Sam kissed Dean, said "I love you" and wrapped his arms around Dean and held on so tight Dean had bruises the next day. Sam was eight years old to Dean's twelve, and his eyes were wet with tears over nightmares.
Sam did it again, ten years later, but it was different in every possible way. Dean's stomach lurched, because he could still see the eight-year-old there, beside him on the bed, recovering from nightmares, and the boy who didn't talk to anyone but Dean for almost a year, who held on to Dean's hand and didn't let go, because he didn't want Dean to go to school without him, and the baby he carried out of a burning house.
The thought of that boy, of violating that boy that Dean was supposed to protect, no matter what, made him shove Sam out of his bed.
He still remembers the look of hurt on Sam's face, so clear even in the relative darkness of the room, before Sam got up and left without saying another word.
At breakfast, Dean said good morning and Sam said good morning, and they didn't say anything more than that. Instead, Dean stared at the bruise Sam had caused with his not-so-little hands and felt like he was picking at a scab to see what's inside.
Sam left for Stanford three weeks later.
*
Sometimes, Dean thinks they're what happens right before the crash. Blinding lights, stepping on the brakes but it's too late and not enough, the loud screech and the spectacular finish. You don't have time to think in a situation like that, just act, just hope for reflexes to work and that everything would somehow come out all right.
*
Sam's lips on Dean's crush his protests, take away his power of reason and rational thought. All he hears is the crash, the squeal of the brakes, the sound of the Impala crumbling to bits like nothing more than cheap metal, Sam screaming, but then it gets drowned out by Sam's hands tugging at his hair, unbuckling the belt on his jeans, touching his cock.
Sam's hands on Dean, not letting go.
Sometimes, he thinks that's enough.
~fin
Author: cosmic
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form.
Rating: PG-13 if not for the incest.
Spoilers: Nothing in particular.
Notes: Thanks to cynjen and tieleen for the betas.
Summary: Sometimes, Dean doesn't think they're a car crash.
crash
Dean feels a rush of excitement hit him every they're in danger, every time they're actually physically fighting something. He knows that's just adrenaline, urging him on, but he doesn't know what it is that happens later. When the monster is dead on the ground, and he looks up and sees Sam, his eyes dark with something, his breathing as heavy as Dean's.
Years ago, there was a film about a couple that got off on car crashes. Dean never saw it, but every now and then he wonders if he and Sam are that couple or maybe they're the crash itself.
*
Years ago, Dean carried Sam out of a burning house, and he knew with every fiber of his being that he would never let Sam go.
He did, eventually, but he didn't mean to, didn't want to. Sam wanted to go, so Dean let him.
That's what you were supposed to do, right?
*
Dean saved Sam from harm's way a hundred times, more or less, and punched him, seriously or not, at least as many times, when they were growing up.
Both of those things hurt, and not always in different ways.
Like Dean should do better, like he should keep things from hurting Sam before they had a chance to do so. Like he should always punch Sam first, so he'll know what it feels like before Dean teaches him to fight back, so he'll know to listen and follow orders and never, ever let himself get hurt.
And sometimes, just because that's what brothers do.
*
Sometimes, Dean doesn't think they're a car crash; they're the aftermath.
A car reduced to metal and glass, broken, useless. Blood on the windshield. Broken things and bodies. Rescue personnel, hysterics. Eventually, a clean up crew.
"Don't," his father said, smacking the back of his hand to stop him from rolling down the window, when Dean wanted a closer look.
Sometimes, Dean wishes he'd listened.
*
Sam kissed Dean, said "I love you" and wrapped his arms around Dean and held on so tight Dean had bruises the next day. Sam was eight years old to Dean's twelve, and his eyes were wet with tears over nightmares.
Sam did it again, ten years later, but it was different in every possible way. Dean's stomach lurched, because he could still see the eight-year-old there, beside him on the bed, recovering from nightmares, and the boy who didn't talk to anyone but Dean for almost a year, who held on to Dean's hand and didn't let go, because he didn't want Dean to go to school without him, and the baby he carried out of a burning house.
The thought of that boy, of violating that boy that Dean was supposed to protect, no matter what, made him shove Sam out of his bed.
He still remembers the look of hurt on Sam's face, so clear even in the relative darkness of the room, before Sam got up and left without saying another word.
At breakfast, Dean said good morning and Sam said good morning, and they didn't say anything more than that. Instead, Dean stared at the bruise Sam had caused with his not-so-little hands and felt like he was picking at a scab to see what's inside.
Sam left for Stanford three weeks later.
*
Sometimes, Dean thinks they're what happens right before the crash. Blinding lights, stepping on the brakes but it's too late and not enough, the loud screech and the spectacular finish. You don't have time to think in a situation like that, just act, just hope for reflexes to work and that everything would somehow come out all right.
*
Sam's lips on Dean's crush his protests, take away his power of reason and rational thought. All he hears is the crash, the squeal of the brakes, the sound of the Impala crumbling to bits like nothing more than cheap metal, Sam screaming, but then it gets drowned out by Sam's hands tugging at his hair, unbuckling the belt on his jeans, touching his cock.
Sam's hands on Dean, not letting go.
Sometimes, he thinks that's enough.
~fin