Fic: Do You Know What That's Worth?
Title: Do You Know What That’s Worth?
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: found_fic_spn 046
Disclaimer: Kripke own’s the Winchesters and I, sadly, do not. Title, cut and lyrics from Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth."
Summary: Tag to 4.07. Sam’s sick of heaven.
“He threatened me,” Sam mutters loudly over throbbing base on the radio. The words make him feel like he’s five-years-old again, siccing his big brother on some playground bully, but it’s too late to take them back now.
Dean dials down the volume abruptly. “Who threatened you?” he demands in the familiar growl that always meant trouble for anyone stupid enough to mess with Dean’s little brother.
“Uriel,” Sam says and instead of the usual announcements of an impending ass-kicking Dean is silent. Sam supposes even he’s not dumb enough to promise to beat up an angel, let alone a specialist.
Dean’s hands tighten spastically on the steering wheel. “What did he say?” he asks quietly.
Anger boils in Sam’s stomach. “That I’d been warned.” He doesn’t bother to contain the bitterness in his voice. “That as soon as I stopped being useful he’d smite me or something.”
“Jesus...Sam,” Dean whispers, his voice hollow. “I...,” he begins but trails off.
I what, Sam wonders. I’m sorry? I told you so? The pronoun hangs there over the quite hum of the radio and the anticipation’s killing him.
“I wont let him hurt you,” Dean finally declares, but Sam snorts and turns from his brother’s promise to watch the guard-rail fly by his window in a long ribbon of metal. He knows Dean means it, will do anything to keep it, but he also knows Dean’s a little too short to box with God. They both are and Sam’s a lot taller.
The only other car in sight turns off at the exit and Dean pours on the speed like getting them away from there will make it all go away. “It’s just,” Sam tells the rushing scenery, “it’s just”-Sam turns back to his brother, he voice breaking a little-“I’ve prayed. My whole life, ya know? Through Jess, through dad, through you. And then you came back, an angel brought you back, and I thought that was it. That was the payoff. Proof that he was really listening.” He swallows hard at the lump in his throat. “But they hate me. I haven’t even done anything and they hate me.”
“Okay, first off” Dean says angrily, like he can’t stand anyone talking smack about his kid brother, even if it is his kid brother, “they don’t hate you. Just because Uriel’s a dick who likes to shoot his mouth off doesn’t mean that-”
“Dean,” Sam interrupts. “Your angel wouldn’t even shake hands with me.” The unfairness of it all chokes him like all his fights with dad times a billion. He’s a good man, helps people, prays, doesn’t ditch girls, hustle pool or commit too much credit card fraud and they still like Dean better. It’s not like Sam can help having demon blood. How dare they blame him for trying to spin his crappy “gifts” into gold.
Dean just shakes his head. “You can’t take that shit personally, Sam. I mean” -he shoots his brother an amused smile- “Cas isn’t exactly rocking the social skills.” He’s clearly gearing up for another platitude about how baseball is beautiful and Sam should keep his faith, but there must be something in Sam’s face because he stops and turns back to the road. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispers to the steering wheel like its his heart the angels have broken. “I’m sorry.”
On the radio Belinda Carlisle is singing. “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?” she asks. “Ooh, heaven is a-”
Sam flicks the radio off with enough force to make the dial creak. He’s sick of heaven right now.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: found_fic_spn 046
Disclaimer: Kripke own’s the Winchesters and I, sadly, do not. Title, cut and lyrics from Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth."
Summary: Tag to 4.07. Sam’s sick of heaven.
“He threatened me,” Sam mutters loudly over throbbing base on the radio. The words make him feel like he’s five-years-old again, siccing his big brother on some playground bully, but it’s too late to take them back now.
Dean dials down the volume abruptly. “Who threatened you?” he demands in the familiar growl that always meant trouble for anyone stupid enough to mess with Dean’s little brother.
“Uriel,” Sam says and instead of the usual announcements of an impending ass-kicking Dean is silent. Sam supposes even he’s not dumb enough to promise to beat up an angel, let alone a specialist.
Dean’s hands tighten spastically on the steering wheel. “What did he say?” he asks quietly.
Anger boils in Sam’s stomach. “That I’d been warned.” He doesn’t bother to contain the bitterness in his voice. “That as soon as I stopped being useful he’d smite me or something.”
“Jesus...Sam,” Dean whispers, his voice hollow. “I...,” he begins but trails off.
I what, Sam wonders. I’m sorry? I told you so? The pronoun hangs there over the quite hum of the radio and the anticipation’s killing him.
“I wont let him hurt you,” Dean finally declares, but Sam snorts and turns from his brother’s promise to watch the guard-rail fly by his window in a long ribbon of metal. He knows Dean means it, will do anything to keep it, but he also knows Dean’s a little too short to box with God. They both are and Sam’s a lot taller.
The only other car in sight turns off at the exit and Dean pours on the speed like getting them away from there will make it all go away. “It’s just,” Sam tells the rushing scenery, “it’s just”-Sam turns back to his brother, he voice breaking a little-“I’ve prayed. My whole life, ya know? Through Jess, through dad, through you. And then you came back, an angel brought you back, and I thought that was it. That was the payoff. Proof that he was really listening.” He swallows hard at the lump in his throat. “But they hate me. I haven’t even done anything and they hate me.”
“Okay, first off” Dean says angrily, like he can’t stand anyone talking smack about his kid brother, even if it is his kid brother, “they don’t hate you. Just because Uriel’s a dick who likes to shoot his mouth off doesn’t mean that-”
“Dean,” Sam interrupts. “Your angel wouldn’t even shake hands with me.” The unfairness of it all chokes him like all his fights with dad times a billion. He’s a good man, helps people, prays, doesn’t ditch girls, hustle pool or commit too much credit card fraud and they still like Dean better. It’s not like Sam can help having demon blood. How dare they blame him for trying to spin his crappy “gifts” into gold.
Dean just shakes his head. “You can’t take that shit personally, Sam. I mean” -he shoots his brother an amused smile- “Cas isn’t exactly rocking the social skills.” He’s clearly gearing up for another platitude about how baseball is beautiful and Sam should keep his faith, but there must be something in Sam’s face because he stops and turns back to the road. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispers to the steering wheel like its his heart the angels have broken. “I’m sorry.”
On the radio Belinda Carlisle is singing. “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?” she asks. “Ooh, heaven is a-”
Sam flicks the radio off with enough force to make the dial creak. He’s sick of heaven right now.