(no subject)
Title: Who Are You To Make Me Feel Like I'm So Scared
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 337
Rating: PG, probably. Warnings for barely-there Wincest and character death.
Notes: Written after little sleep and Ghost of the Robot's 'Sounds Like A Personal Problem' on repeat for far too long. Not real impressed with it, but it's my first posted attempt at Supernatural fic, so hey, it's a start. Oh yeah, sparked by the 'broken' challenge over at kaz2y5.
Come on, Sammy, don’t do this.
Dean’s panicking in slow motion, his hands shaking too hard to get the buttons on Sam’s shirt open.
Not now. Not here. Not ever.
His breath is coming too fast, and he knows he’s going to start hyperventilating if he doesn’t get himself under control, but his brain is not catching up to everything else. What he’s doing with his body is ingrained, an automatic response. His brain is still stuck on, “Hey, there’s a bad guy,” and “Sam, get down!”
Don’t fuck this one up, Dean.
He leans over, squaring himself over Sam’s chest and interlacing his fingers over his heart. He starts to count it off as he does compressions, and he feels the ribs crack under his weight.
Goddammit, Sammy, breathe.
There wasn’t time to push him out of the path of the thing, whatever it was, that got away without a second glance from Dean, because hey, that’s his baby brother on the floor, not moving. Whatever it did to him, it did to him good, and there’s really no use in doing mouth-to-mouth, but a dark, oily voice in the back of Dean’s mind reminds him it’s probably the last time he’s going to get to taste his brother’s lips, to run his tongue over parts that are off-limits to everyone but him. Everyone, now. So he leans over, pinching Sam’s nose closed and sucking in a deep breath to push into Sam’s lungs.
Work. Work. Please work.
There’s no response, but Sam’s body automatically pushes out the borrowed air and for a second, his chest moves like he’s alive. Dean’s heart jumps like maybe he’s alive, too.
Come back, Sammy.
But Sam’s face stays slack, his eyes glassy and his skin cooling too fast. Dean sits up, looking at the dead body of his brother, and he must have used up all his air on Sam, because he forgets to breathe. His heart stutters out a weak attempt at a beat.
Don’t leave me alone.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 337
Rating: PG, probably. Warnings for barely-there Wincest and character death.
Notes: Written after little sleep and Ghost of the Robot's 'Sounds Like A Personal Problem' on repeat for far too long. Not real impressed with it, but it's my first posted attempt at Supernatural fic, so hey, it's a start. Oh yeah, sparked by the 'broken' challenge over at kaz2y5.
Come on, Sammy, don’t do this.
Dean’s panicking in slow motion, his hands shaking too hard to get the buttons on Sam’s shirt open.
Not now. Not here. Not ever.
His breath is coming too fast, and he knows he’s going to start hyperventilating if he doesn’t get himself under control, but his brain is not catching up to everything else. What he’s doing with his body is ingrained, an automatic response. His brain is still stuck on, “Hey, there’s a bad guy,” and “Sam, get down!”
Don’t fuck this one up, Dean.
He leans over, squaring himself over Sam’s chest and interlacing his fingers over his heart. He starts to count it off as he does compressions, and he feels the ribs crack under his weight.
Goddammit, Sammy, breathe.
There wasn’t time to push him out of the path of the thing, whatever it was, that got away without a second glance from Dean, because hey, that’s his baby brother on the floor, not moving. Whatever it did to him, it did to him good, and there’s really no use in doing mouth-to-mouth, but a dark, oily voice in the back of Dean’s mind reminds him it’s probably the last time he’s going to get to taste his brother’s lips, to run his tongue over parts that are off-limits to everyone but him. Everyone, now. So he leans over, pinching Sam’s nose closed and sucking in a deep breath to push into Sam’s lungs.
Work. Work. Please work.
There’s no response, but Sam’s body automatically pushes out the borrowed air and for a second, his chest moves like he’s alive. Dean’s heart jumps like maybe he’s alive, too.
Come back, Sammy.
But Sam’s face stays slack, his eyes glassy and his skin cooling too fast. Dean sits up, looking at the dead body of his brother, and he must have used up all his air on Sam, because he forgets to breathe. His heart stutters out a weak attempt at a beat.
Don’t leave me alone.