final stretch [spn][one-shot]
May. 7th, 2010 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimblexwimbleI'm trying to kill my writer's block by... forcing myself to write? So, um. This might be crap.
Title: Final Stretch
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Summary: “You know I’m gonna ask you not to do this, right?” says Dean.
Notes: Tag to 5.21 Two Minutes to Midnight.
Sam’s lying on his bed watching the ceiling fan spin when Dean walks in.
He takes off his jacket and peels back his sleeves. He goes over to his duffle bag and picks it up, sets it on his bed. He rummages around in it for a moment, and then stops. Takes the handles in his hands. Stares into its depths like it’s God’s Magic 8-Ball and if he just waits long enough he’ll get an answer.
He’s still looking down at his bag when he says, “You’re all I’ve got.”
Sam looks at him then. “I know,” he says and it’s true. It’s never been something he can forget, no matter how bad things get between them.
Dean purses his lips. “I—”
Sam sits up. He doesn’t need Dean to say anything, he really doesn’t, but if he knows anything about Dean, it’s that whatever this is, Dean needs it.
Dean shakes his head and takes a breath. “I don’t know how to say this. The right way to say this,” he says, and he looks up finally, looks at Sam. “Or, I don’t even know if there is a right way to say this. And I’m just – I know I’m grasping straws, and it’s not that I’m afraid that.” He stops. Fidgets and doesn’t go on.
“That I’ll screw up?” Sam supplies. There’s no heat behind his words, though there could be. It’s a fact. He could screw up. He has before, and this time, he’s gambling with a spilt-second of control. That’s nothing. Less than nothing. Sam’s not an idiot. He’s doesn’t think this will work any more than Bobby or Castiel or Dean do.
“Yeah,” says Dean quietly. “That’s not what I’m afraid of. That’s not the point. That’s not even close to the point. I know it’s not fair of me to say this, Sammy, not now, not after… I just – I can’t do this without you. I really can’t. And I don’t want to find out what’ll happen if I have to. Or when I have to.” Dean shrugs. “Because—”
“There’s no way I’m coming back from this,” Sam says.
Dean lets out a laugh, a small unhappy sound. He walks around his bed and sits down on it. He and Sam are knee to knee. Dean rubs his palms up and down his thighs.
“There’s no other way,” Sam says.
“I know,” says Dean. He scratches behind his ear and then adds, “Plus I kinda promised Death I’d let you do this and God knows what happens if you screw over Death. He’d probably shish-kebab the planet on principle.”
Sam feels the corners of his mouth tug up.
“You know I’m gonna ask you not to do this, right?” says Dean.
“I know.”
“So don’t Sam. Okay? Don’t.”
“And what if the world ends?”
“What if it ends anyway?”
“Well,” says Sam. “At least we’ll have tried something. At least we won’t spend the rest of our time wondering if we could have stopped it.”
Dean sighs. Runs a hand over his face and flops back onto his mattress. “Remember when we used to just hunt Wendigos?” he says to the ceiling. “How simple things were?"
Sam laughs. He can’t help it. “Yeah, actually. I do.”
There’s a moment of silence. Dean brings his hands up to his chest, laces his fingers together.
The sound of Bobby clomping around the house in his boots rises through the floorboards.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me,” Sam says. His fingers work on a loose thread in the sheets.
“Sammy,” says Dean. His voice isn’t behind it; it’s more of a whisper, this side of tears. He doesn’t sit up.
“I started this,” Sam says. “Maybe I can stop it.”
“Well,” says Dean quietly. “If there’s anyone who could.”
Sam gets off his bed and sits down on Dean’s. Lies back with him, both of them staring at the ceiling, their legs hanging off the mattress, their feet on the ground.
“On the upside, no more pain-in-the-ass little brother,” Sam says, nudging Dean with his elbow. As soon as it’s out of his mouth he wants to take it back. It’s not really that funny.
“Hmm,” Dean says. His hand moves off his chest and his finger pokes into Sam’s pocket. “Well. If it were up to me, I’d take the pain-in-the-ass brother. Any day.”
“Yeah? No lie?”
“No lie.” He tugs at Sam’s jeans a little. Sam sees his lips curve, ever so slightly, in his periphery.
The ceiling fan clicks.
“So where to now?” asks Dean after a while. His fingers are warm in Sam’s pocket.
Sam doesn’t say anything. They both know the answer – wherever the road takes them. They’ve never really known anything different.
He thinks, maybe, he should be more scared, with what he’s planning to do and all. It’s the Apocalypse and Lucifer and the only thing standing between the end of the world and the devil is him – which is to say, not much at all. Even less if you consider his previous track record. But here he is, suggesting it, thinking about it, this ridiculous, crazy plan that probably won’t work.
In the end, Sam supposes, this is a life he’s never going to stop giving something to. For better – or for worse. He’s made a certain sort of peace with that. And, well… if it’s a choice between giving up the people he cares about and giving up something no one’s really going to miss, Sam’s always going to pick the latter. Even on the off chance that it won’t work.
Dean’s quiet. He’s probably imagining it. What might happen next. What might not. In a minute he’ll get up to get a beer and he’ll bring Sam one back and they’ll drink themselves into a soft haze, nothing sleep won’t get rid of, and they’ll wait for tomorrow.
“I guess,” says Dean out of nowhere, “what I was trying to say was – I’m not just going to let you go. I mean. I’m gonna fight. For you. Till it’s over. I’m not just going to stop.”
The room is dark. Dean’s words stick to the air. The curtain billows gently in the breeze.
Sam’s hand creeps down towards his pocket. Their palms meet.
That’s all there is to it.
-
Title: Final Stretch
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Summary: “You know I’m gonna ask you not to do this, right?” says Dean.
Notes: Tag to 5.21 Two Minutes to Midnight.
Sam’s lying on his bed watching the ceiling fan spin when Dean walks in.
He takes off his jacket and peels back his sleeves. He goes over to his duffle bag and picks it up, sets it on his bed. He rummages around in it for a moment, and then stops. Takes the handles in his hands. Stares into its depths like it’s God’s Magic 8-Ball and if he just waits long enough he’ll get an answer.
He’s still looking down at his bag when he says, “You’re all I’ve got.”
Sam looks at him then. “I know,” he says and it’s true. It’s never been something he can forget, no matter how bad things get between them.
Dean purses his lips. “I—”
Sam sits up. He doesn’t need Dean to say anything, he really doesn’t, but if he knows anything about Dean, it’s that whatever this is, Dean needs it.
Dean shakes his head and takes a breath. “I don’t know how to say this. The right way to say this,” he says, and he looks up finally, looks at Sam. “Or, I don’t even know if there is a right way to say this. And I’m just – I know I’m grasping straws, and it’s not that I’m afraid that.” He stops. Fidgets and doesn’t go on.
“That I’ll screw up?” Sam supplies. There’s no heat behind his words, though there could be. It’s a fact. He could screw up. He has before, and this time, he’s gambling with a spilt-second of control. That’s nothing. Less than nothing. Sam’s not an idiot. He’s doesn’t think this will work any more than Bobby or Castiel or Dean do.
“Yeah,” says Dean quietly. “That’s not what I’m afraid of. That’s not the point. That’s not even close to the point. I know it’s not fair of me to say this, Sammy, not now, not after… I just – I can’t do this without you. I really can’t. And I don’t want to find out what’ll happen if I have to. Or when I have to.” Dean shrugs. “Because—”
“There’s no way I’m coming back from this,” Sam says.
Dean lets out a laugh, a small unhappy sound. He walks around his bed and sits down on it. He and Sam are knee to knee. Dean rubs his palms up and down his thighs.
“There’s no other way,” Sam says.
“I know,” says Dean. He scratches behind his ear and then adds, “Plus I kinda promised Death I’d let you do this and God knows what happens if you screw over Death. He’d probably shish-kebab the planet on principle.”
Sam feels the corners of his mouth tug up.
“You know I’m gonna ask you not to do this, right?” says Dean.
“I know.”
“So don’t Sam. Okay? Don’t.”
“And what if the world ends?”
“What if it ends anyway?”
“Well,” says Sam. “At least we’ll have tried something. At least we won’t spend the rest of our time wondering if we could have stopped it.”
Dean sighs. Runs a hand over his face and flops back onto his mattress. “Remember when we used to just hunt Wendigos?” he says to the ceiling. “How simple things were?"
Sam laughs. He can’t help it. “Yeah, actually. I do.”
There’s a moment of silence. Dean brings his hands up to his chest, laces his fingers together.
The sound of Bobby clomping around the house in his boots rises through the floorboards.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me,” Sam says. His fingers work on a loose thread in the sheets.
“Sammy,” says Dean. His voice isn’t behind it; it’s more of a whisper, this side of tears. He doesn’t sit up.
“I started this,” Sam says. “Maybe I can stop it.”
“Well,” says Dean quietly. “If there’s anyone who could.”
Sam gets off his bed and sits down on Dean’s. Lies back with him, both of them staring at the ceiling, their legs hanging off the mattress, their feet on the ground.
“On the upside, no more pain-in-the-ass little brother,” Sam says, nudging Dean with his elbow. As soon as it’s out of his mouth he wants to take it back. It’s not really that funny.
“Hmm,” Dean says. His hand moves off his chest and his finger pokes into Sam’s pocket. “Well. If it were up to me, I’d take the pain-in-the-ass brother. Any day.”
“Yeah? No lie?”
“No lie.” He tugs at Sam’s jeans a little. Sam sees his lips curve, ever so slightly, in his periphery.
The ceiling fan clicks.
“So where to now?” asks Dean after a while. His fingers are warm in Sam’s pocket.
Sam doesn’t say anything. They both know the answer – wherever the road takes them. They’ve never really known anything different.
He thinks, maybe, he should be more scared, with what he’s planning to do and all. It’s the Apocalypse and Lucifer and the only thing standing between the end of the world and the devil is him – which is to say, not much at all. Even less if you consider his previous track record. But here he is, suggesting it, thinking about it, this ridiculous, crazy plan that probably won’t work.
In the end, Sam supposes, this is a life he’s never going to stop giving something to. For better – or for worse. He’s made a certain sort of peace with that. And, well… if it’s a choice between giving up the people he cares about and giving up something no one’s really going to miss, Sam’s always going to pick the latter. Even on the off chance that it won’t work.
Dean’s quiet. He’s probably imagining it. What might happen next. What might not. In a minute he’ll get up to get a beer and he’ll bring Sam one back and they’ll drink themselves into a soft haze, nothing sleep won’t get rid of, and they’ll wait for tomorrow.
“I guess,” says Dean out of nowhere, “what I was trying to say was – I’m not just going to let you go. I mean. I’m gonna fight. For you. Till it’s over. I’m not just going to stop.”
The room is dark. Dean’s words stick to the air. The curtain billows gently in the breeze.
Sam’s hand creeps down towards his pocket. Their palms meet.
That’s all there is to it.
-
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-07 08:28 pm (UTC)Oh, boys.
Stop making me cry, damn you!
Quick typo spot: He’d probably shish-kebab the planet on principal. I think you meant "principle." :)
no subject
Date: 2010-05-07 08:42 pm (UTC)This line, I think, effectively summed up how f***ed-up their life is.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-07 09:00 pm (UTC)Next week is going to kill me.
Thank you for this beautiful scene - it's perfect, exactly what should happen, and I hope there's some equivalent on the show...but even if there isn't, at least I have this. It's so hard to pull off an IC moment of the boys touching, but this works.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-07 11:14 pm (UTC)Oh, god. He really is gonna do it, isn't he? He really is.
*clings to them both*
no subject
Date: 2010-05-08 12:43 am (UTC)(You don't know me -- I just emerged from lurkerdom to get an actual account, but I've been reading your work for a while. I have just about forgiven you for KILLING me with Ten Thousand Miles. In a good way.)
no subject
Date: 2010-05-08 03:43 am (UTC)This week is going to KILL MY HEART. ♥ Thank you for this :) just what I needed ♥
no subject
Date: 2010-05-12 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-01 02:33 pm (UTC)