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Tags: fanfic supernatural sam/dean general
Published : 8 months, 1 week ago (Thu, 30 Oct 2008 16:51:42 PDT)
Searched: dean
http://fanficfanfare.livejournal.com/10590.html 1 links
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Title: From a whisper to a scream. [1/1]
Author: Rae
/>Rating: PG-13 for liberal use of the f-word.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, gen. Can be read with a Sam/Dean slant.
Warnings/Spoilers: Set in 4x04 but goes AU.
Disclaimer: This work is a piece of complete fiction, all characters are property of the CW and Kripke.
Summary: To be honest, Sam was a little more pissed than he said about Dean’s attitude about the demon exorcism revelation. Or was he?
Author’s notes: First Supernatural fiction written with my partner in squee, K ( ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) kateg123), in mind.
Word Count: 1,506
***
It was going to be one of those nights, Sam could tell. One where he’d be clutching at his beer bottle in a vain attempt not to tell his brother exactly what he thought of him, them, the whole fucked up situation. Dean just didn’t understand, what having these powers meant. For him it was something to fix, like if the impala blew a gasket, just tune it up and it would be good as new. Sam wouldn’t be new, he wouldn’t be fixed. Not now, maybe not ever.
“Geez, Sammy, who died?” Dean asked him, a cock sure grin spreading easily over familiar features. Sam didn’t even bother to reply as he watched Dean pull various things from his rucksack, clean shirt, clean jeans and… a box Sam didn’t even want to think about. “So you wanna grab something to eat tonight or are you going to pout some more?”
Sam shook his head, his mood darkening by the minute. Fuck this, fuck you Dean. “Sure, whatever.”
Dean nodded, “Okay…” Dean’s tone suggested that he wanted Sam to explain himself but Sam wasn’t about to give in.
“Yeah, I’ll be in the car.” Sam stood up, his body rigid and tense as he walked over to his side of the room to grab his jacket. Rolling his shoulders as he pulled the jacket over his arms, Sam felt a few kinks loosen in his tense shoulders. He could almost feel Dean’s eyes burning holes into his back but he shrugged them off.
Let him look. Sam turned, his body still stiff and now anger rolling off him in waves, “Hurry up, yeah.”
Another nod, more unspoken words that a Greek tragedy, Sam pulled the door open and slammed it closed. The cool air from the air conditioning blew lightly on his face, almost like a caress but it held no attraction for him as he stormed down the hallway towards the stairs. There was a roll of primal satisfaction for Sam as the people in the motel seemed to back away from Sam on his approach. They were scared, scared of the power he had.
Power that doesn’t mean anything to Dean. Truth was it meant a lot, it meant they were different, that they weren’t the same. Growing up the way they did, the two brothers were pretty much in each others back pocket for 95% of the time. It promoted their comfortable relationship in close quarters but it had bred a sort of discontent, at least for Sam. He had wanted more for his life, he had wanted normal. But it turns out that would be the only thing forever denied to him. Not the only thing. Sam didn’t go there, he liked his place of denial, no reason for him to seek the real source of his anger and intrepid moods.
Sam flexed his fingers, curling them and uncurling them, watching the veins move underneath his skin. He thought about Dean’s hands, one’s he knew as well as his own, but in his veins there was no poison. No demon blood determined to strip him of his humanity and oust him from the vague semblance of life he had. Then Sam thought about the hand print, seared into Dean’s skin where he had literally been touched by an angel. Why did Dean have to be the saviour? Didn’t God think Sam was good enough? Or was it Dean had something he didn’t. Sam cared more about the people they saved, tried to save, he put more effort into finding out the history of the things they hunted but still he was being shunned.
Working twice as hard to be fucked over twice as easy. Sam smiled darkly to himself as he could almost hear his brother’s words as if he stood next to him, You’re not even getting screwed in the sexy way.
“Is she hot?” Dean asked, interrupting Sam’s thoughts.
Sam glared, “What?”
“You, you looked like you’re thinking about getting laid.” Dean raised his eyebrows as if to suggest…something. Then his face turned serious for a moment, “Oh wait I forgot this was you. How goes it in the nunnery?”
“You want to get something to eat or what?” Sam said, his teeth gritting as he forced himself to walk beside Dean, his back immediately up because of Dean’s teasing. Dean slapped his palm between Sam’s shoulder blades but pulled it back as if he had been burnt when Sam emitted a growl under his breath.
“Something bothering you?” Dean asked, almost tentative.
“No.”
Dean looked at Sam, incredulously, “Bullshit, little brother.”
Sam stopped dead in the hallway, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean mimicked and Sam gritted his teeth again.
“Fine, I don’t want to talk about it with you.” Sam corrected, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“What?”
Sam was on a roll, it felt good to be angry at Dean, to tell him exactly what he thought. “You heard me. Jesus, Dean I don’t have to share every goddamn thing with you.”
“You want to back it up there…” Dean bit out, his face darkening with the same kind of anger that seemed to be constant in Sam.
Sam threw up his hands and headed towards the elevator, “Forget this.”
Dean walked after him, grabbing his arm, Sam tried to shake it off, “You opened this can of worms, you fucking finish it.”
“Fuck. You.” Sam rarely swore. Dean did on occasion but Sam, it just wasn’t in his nature. The tension between the brothers was palpable, like one false move and the motel would be in flames. Maybe it really will, who knows, with my powers. But Sam was sick of walking around pretending he was okay with his brother’s attitude, his patronising tone, well, enough is enough.
Sam turned that same hand he was staring at previously into a fist that connected with a whack into Dean’s face. Dean pulled his head up, blood just beginning to seep out of his nose, and glared hard at Sam, his fingers dropping from Sam’s bicep. For a moment, Sam stood rigid again, almost waiting for Dean to retaliate, but nothing happened. Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a way of distracting himself from the silence that now deafened him. Sam was no stranger to the silent treatment, their father had employed it many times over the years, especially when Sam had finally decided to leave for Stanford. In a way it had helped him distance himself from his father and eventually because of it, Dean. But he couldn’t take it from Dean himself, he was so used to the inane little comments his brother would make for no reason other than to hear his own voice, without them his world seemed even more off kilter.
See -- see how every thing has changed. You’re fighting, Dean isn’t speaking to you. But you still won’t blame yourself for your own fuck ups.
Turning on his heel, Sam continued down the corridor silently, swinging open the door to the stairs. Now part of him screaming for Dean to come after him but he wouldn’t, maybe even couldn’t. The playing field between them was too different now, too altered by Sam’s abilities and Dean’s death and subsequent resurrection. Every part of Sam was telling him to leave, that both of them would be better off if they separated. You know what’s coming. You know you can’t fight it, so why let Dean fight it too? The answer was already in Sam’s mind, He’s my brother.
Getting as far as five stairs down, Sam made up his mind to go back to his room but instead hit the wall of his brother’s body. Sam let out an oomph, Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt to stop him from falling back on the stairs.
“Dean?” Sam said quickly, his hand grasping Dean’s forearm to stabilise himself but more for the comfort of his brother’s presence.
“I know, you’d die without me, Sammy but come on.” Dean’s wide grin belied what would be a large colourful bruise on his brother’s cheek.
Death? When what really happened was so much worse? Sam ignored the thought and returned his brother’s smile. “Yeah, whatever, no chick flick moments alright.”
“Me? Mr-Let’s-Hug.” Dean’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. Sam rolled his eyes, “Hey, Sammy…”
“Yeah?”
Dean‘s face changed, becoming sober, “Whatever that was…you’re over it?”
I wish, Sam sighed, That was just the beginning. “Yeah. Well I’d be less pissed if you picked up your own wet towels.”
“Oh you know you love it.” Dean’s hand pushed the back of Sam’s head forward in a playful gesture. Sam pushed Dean back out of his way as he walked back up the stairs.
From the hall, the maid had seen the whole exchange between the two brothers. Picking up her cell, flicking it open a simple text was sent. Got to try harder.
End.
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