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Sam Winchester ([info]_bitch) wrote,
@ 2009-11-13 12:53:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Current location:Some crappy motel
Current mood: annoyed
Entry tags:character:dean, character:sam, time:prestanford, type:scene

Well wait, what's today's date? There's plenty of time left to procrastinate - or plan my escape;

As far as papers go, even Sam thinks this one is stupid. He’s supposed to argue a point he doesn’t even agree with, which is annoying and stupid in the first place, and makes the actual writing of it feel like pulling teeth, or stitching a wound, or some other tedious and painful task. And then he's had Dad bugging him about everything up until he left yesterday, and Dean being Dean and acting like Sam accomplishing good grades is pointless and stupid, or like he just doesn’t get that Sam can’t think while his brother is acting like a bored six year old (how he managed to be the mature one of the two of them is beyond him; you'd think Dean being older would actually mean something other than that he thinks it's his brotherly duty to make Sam miserable). And this is a huge chunk of his grade on top of that, and if his GPA drops much, he won’t be able to keep his scholarships, and he needs those. This paper's been assigned for a week, it's due tomorrow, and he's only just managed to get it started today.

So he's not exactly in the best of moods right now.

But still, he’s gotten a few minutes while Dean went out for food (knowing his brother, he’s going to come back with something grease laden and completely unhealthy, and he’ll have conveniently forgotten that Sam asked for a salad, and Sam will have to end up eating whatever he brings because he’s not going to waste the time to go get something he actually wants to eat, never mind that getting the credit card they’re using this month from Dean would be impossibly hard), and he's going to make the best of it - he’s ready to kick this paper’s ass. Seriously. As soon as he figures out how he’s supposed to give reasons why this stupid opinion is valid when he doesn’t really think it is, anyway.

He’s gotten maybe two hundred of the required thousand words done when the motel room door swings open, loud creak of hinges and then the slam of it hitting the wall, and his brother comes inside, door banged closed after him. Sam sighs and glares in his direction at the interruption.

“Could you maybe try to be a little louder? I don’t think the entire complex knows you’re here yet.”

(Post a new comment)


[info]_jerk
2009-11-13 07:00 pm UTC (link)
This motel sucks.

And they've stayed in some pretty sucky motels, but this one? Seriously sucks. Sucks that it's been raining since they arrived, which makes being stuck in the crappy room with Sam even more dreary than usual – it's not even one of the painfully kitsch rooms he could gleefully take the piss out of: this one seems to have been decorated in shades of baby-puke, with damp stains that look like Jesus or Abraham Lincoln or someone 'pleasuring' a donkey dependent on which way you look at them and cigarette burns on the mattress like someone who read too much Lovecraft or watched too many of those weird Japanese cartoons with the schoolgirls and the tentacles has been trying to make join-the-dot puzzles. Sucks that all the chicks (if they can even be called that) are in the blue-rinse and false teeth stage (and while he's got no problem with cougars there are lines a dude doesn't cross) which means he can't even go out and practice for the day Dad decides he'd be more use on the hunt itself than babysitting Sammy in case one of the old biddies has a heart attack. And major-ly, royally sucks that even though they've been here the better part of a week – more than long enough for him to explain to the glassy-eyed 'Grill Chef' (who Dean seriously wishes would turn out to be a zombie rather than just a moron, because he'd like nothing better than to smoke the idjit - remove the head, destroy the brain) the proper method – the burgers are still shit.

So yeah, maybe the door gets the brunt of his displeasure. And maybe Sam's order (or, um, what Dean ordered for him, because the kid's not going to grow up big and strong on salad; that he's turning into a lanky sasquatch off the back of Dean's culinary expertise is proof positive the diet can't be doing him any harm) is lobbed at him with a little more force than strictly necessary. “Shut up and eat your breakfast, Sammy. 's getting cold.”

He skulks – there's not really any other way to describe the movement, the way he's fuming rounding his shoulders, making him seem smaller and broader than he is – over to his bed, sits heavily on the end of it, dropping his own breakfast on the bed next to him – and starts unlacing his boots with one hand while rummaging in the take-out bag and unwrapping the substandard burger with the other.

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[info]_bitch
2009-11-13 07:28 pm UTC (link)
Sam barely catches the flying burger, as he’s a little occupied with trying to glare a hole in the monitor of the laptop while he tries to figure out words, but he does (because if he didn’t Dean would probably tell Dad he was slipping, and when Dad comes back he’d have to go spend hours catching freaking knives or something in a field, because all their training is something unsafe and ridiculous like that), and he gives the wrapped food a distasteful look.

>“Shut up and eat your breakfast, Sammy. 's getting cold.”

Yeah, because noon is a valid time for breakfast, never mind that burgers aren’t breakfast food anyway. He doesn’t mention that, because he’s spent his whole life like this, and he gets that it doesn’t matter to Dean (or Dad), so saying anything about normal mealtimes and normal meals is just ignored or mocked.

He slides the laptop back a little and sits up, unwrapping the burger and staring at it. It looks crappier than normal burgers do, even. He looks over at his brother with what probably looks like a nauseated look.

“Dude, I asked for a salad,” he says. He doesn’t expect that Dean’s going to take well to his annoyance, because it’s pretty obvious Dean’s not in the best mood ever, either... but he doesn’t care. He’s not in the mood to just sit by quietly right now. He hasn’t been for a while, actually - which is probably part of the reason they got left out of this hunt (not that he minds, but Dean’s pissy about that) even though it’s supposed to be an easy one. Because Dad thinks he’s going to mouth off in the middle of a dangerous situation and get them all killed, or that he’s a five year old who needs Dean here to keep an eye on him.

He forces down a bite of the burger, focuses on the good aspects and not on the way he can practically feel the grease seeping in, attacking his skin and clogging his arteries... it's totally not working. Not even a little. He wonders if refusing to eat unless it’s something he wants will still work - he hasn’t tried it since he was a kid, and it never worked on Dad but it was like his secret weapon with Dean.

He’s not sure it’s even pretending to refuse, though, at this point. There’s not even lettuce on here. He sets the burger down and makes a face.

“This is gross.”

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[info]_jerk
2009-11-13 08:05 pm UTC (link)
< Dude, I asked for a salad

“There's salad in burgers.” Dean shoots back, yanking one of the boots off forcefully and turning his attention to the burger, apparently forgetting that the other boot's still on because, dude, food. Much more important. It probably looks ridiculous: huge great combat boot on one side, the hilt of a knife sticking out above the top, and sock that probably used to have some stupid design on but is now a dull grey on the other, one of his toes poking through the beginnings of a hole. “Gherkins and onions and shit.”

He regards his own 'breakfast' sceptically, lifting the top half of the bun off and poking at the contents - seriously, what the hell? How many times has he ordered extra onions? That kid's definitely a zombie. Or a retard. Either way, deserves to be put out of his misery – but, being Dean, even seeing how lacklustre an offering the pathetic excuse for a burger is isn't enough to put him off it. Food's food, and eating what you're given comes more naturally to him than it ever did Sam, who's never had a younger brother demand the less burned slice of toast or the bigger half of the Hersheys bar you'd been saving and had to palm it off as not being all that hungry anyway, or had to skip supper so said younger sibling won't know the money's run out.

Doesn't mean he enjoys it, though. Which means (and he steels himself for an argument the way he's found himself having to do more than ever of late: seems both Sam and Dad are pushing for a fight most of the time these days, sometimes with him but more usually with each other) in 3... 2... 1...

< This is gross

… yeah, there it is. And while he wants to ask what Sam expects him to do about it, but with the patience of the long-suffering just grits his teeth, tries to keep the angry edge out of his tone with mixed success - “Fine, if you don't want it...”- and leans over and snatches up the burger almost as soon as Sam's set it down.

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[info]_bitch
2009-11-13 08:47 pm UTC (link)
“It’s not salad just because it happens to have miniscule amounts of vegetables,” he retorts, “Especially when they’re coated in burger grease.” He looks over at his brother, who is apparently contentedly eating with one boot off and the other on, and frowns, “You look stupid like that.”

Probably he’s being a little harsh, but it’s Dean’s fault, anyway. His fault he looks stupid, his fault the food sucks, his fault Sam’s behind on writing this stupid paper - being all distracting and annoying and frustrating. Sometimes Sam wishes he would just go with Dad on his hunts and leave him alone (and sometimes he’s glad Dean doesn’t go, because seeing his brother hurt is something he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to, doesn’t want to have to get used to). He’s not a baby, he can take care of himself.

Dean snags up the burger, and Sam doesn’t bother to even try to keep him from it, just makes a show of rolling his eyes and shifting back on the bed, back to the headboard and laptop on his legs, eyes going back to the screen. “Knock yourself out.” He really doesn’t want it, anyway. The one bite he’d taken has now turned to a weird almost-sour aftertaste in his mouth, and he wishes there was at least something to drink that wasn’t crappy tap water that tastes like iron.

He doesn’t get it. If they’re living on stolen credit anyway, why not at least go for something better than a dumpy motel in the bad part of town, and crappy dollar burgers? Even a half decent room and moderately healthy food aren’t that much to ask for, right? Apparently it is if you’re asking John Winchester, though, and Dean’s just following his rules like he always does.

Even when he’s gone, it’s like he’s still here, his presence looming like he used to do before Sam grew, left behind with them in his orders and his rules Dean (mostly) enforces and his stupid music Dean always plays too loudly. Like Dean thinks being Dad is going to help anything.

All it’s going to do is get him killed.

And all this thinking is really not helping with his paper. Focus, Sam.

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[info]_jerk
2009-11-13 09:25 pm UTC (link)
“Eat me.” Dean retorts, around a mouthful of burger, in response to Sam's assessment of his appearance. “Bitch.”

Once he's done with the burgers (it's better to eat them quickly: that way they're just lukewarm and greasy. Giving yourself time to taste the actual ingredients is a mistake) he sloughs the boot off with his free foot, kicking it across the room where it lies on its side looking slightly forlorn given the overall lack of clutter (Sam's obviously tidied up, despite Dean's protests that he likes his side of the room that way) and sprawls back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in the hope it will prove more interesting than his whiny bitch of a brother. It doesn't, and there's a weird sour taste from the burgers (didn't swallow fast enough, then) and... yeah, this sucks.

Frowning, he sets about making things less sucky. Which means turning on the radio, and fiddling with the knobs until it's bye-bye freaky-ass hallelujah fire-and-brimstone nonsense and hello semi-decent classic rock, and then heading to the bathroom to retrieve one of the beers - fine, two of them. Not that Sam deserves one; they can't afford a room with a refrigerator, of course, so he's using the bath as a makeshift cooler. Things could be worse, and he's a resourceful bastard because he's had to be. He doesn't think about why they spend money on beer rather than supplementing their diets with something other than fast food, or why he's listening to music that's probably older than he is. It's the way they've always done things, and he's a creature of habit. Even if those habits are less his and more John's.

When he returns it's with less of a cacophony because he hooks the door shut with a foot rather than slamming it, hands full of beer, and he drops into a seat on Sam's bed rather than his own, tilting one of the bottles towards his brother. “So. What'cha doing?”

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[info]_bitch
2009-11-13 09:53 pm UTC (link)
Sam just makes a face at Dean’s retort (and does he have to talk with food in his mouth? Seriously? It’s disgusting, and he doesn’t think he did it when he was little, so seriously, come on), doesn’t bother with the usual jerk comeback because he’s not in the mood for games.

There’s about a minute of quiet (if quiet includes Dean chewing and making sick slimy noises while he practically inhales his food and Sam’s, but around here, yeah, that’s relatively quiet), and he’s gotten his mind back on what he’s supposed to be doing, and then there’s the sound of the radio, a burst of noise and voices and static that predictably turns into classic rock in a few moments, and he lets his head fall back against the headboard in frustration.

Dean leaves the room then, and he contemplates turning it off, but he dismisses the idea before it’s really a fully-formed idea at all, because all that’s going to do is make Dean turn it back on louder than it is now, and probably piss him off. Better to try to ignore it, or talk some sense into him if he wants to deal with bickering about it for forever.

Dean comes back then, sits on Sam’s bed, and he shoots his brother a mildly annoyed look that fades slightly when he notices that Dean’s brought out two beers. While Dad’s around, drinking alcohol is reserved for special occasions or if they’re patching up his injuries and he needs to be slightly less aware of his surroundings for a while. When Dad’s gone, though, it’s one of the few rules that gets broken.

>“So. What'cha doing?”

Sam takes the offered bottle and points vaguely in the direction of the laptop screen. “Working on a paper for school that’s due tomorrow.”

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[info]_jerk
2009-11-14 01:20 am UTC (link)
School. As taboo words go, it's just about the most ridiculous he's come across – most families would plump for 'sex', or something, he knows because he's seen 'normal' parents on TV – but it's the one the Winchester have opted for (because really, when have they ever been normal?), and so his lip curls involuntarily in that little half-smirk that means he's really not amused in the slightest even as he's trying to stop himself sounding pissed off, and despite that effort he can't keep the gravelly edge that usually precedes an argument out of his voice.

“Sam, dude, you're not going to be in school tomorrow; dad finishes this job, we'll be moving on somewhere else. You know how it works.”

Of all the parts that make up this job – the one he's been doing without thinking about it, not the one dad's training them both for – it's this bit which grates the most, having to be the one who continually breaks Sam's bubble about things like this. Dad just puts his foot down and that's that, but Dean's the one who has to do the explaining, has to deal with Sam when starts asking awkward questions. He takes a mouthful of the beer – it's not exactly cold, but it's wet and okay-ish tasting as cheap beers go – swallows hard, and tries to move the conversation on. It's only a mixed success.

“Aren't you meant to be researching something, anyway? Jeekey-neekey-somethin' or others?”

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[info]_bitch
2009-11-14 01:40 am UTC (link)
Opening the beer, he takes a small sip from it, makes a face. It’s better than burger aftertaste, a little better anyway, but it’s still not the best thing ever.

He almost know it’s coming before Dean says it, because he hears it all the time, and he gets it. He does. Staying in one place is one of the things he’s never going to get, never going to have, not as long as he’s doing this. As long as he’s with them.

>“Sam, dude, you're not going to be in school tomorrow; dad finishes this job, we'll be moving on somewhere else. You know how it works.”

“Yeah, I know.” Resigned, and halfway snarled, because he does know how it works, he gets it, he does. But it’d be nice if there was a little more warning before he’s going to be uprooted. A week, at least, to be prepared.

And, yeah, this was supposed to be an easy job, but still, that’s not the same as a direct warning that his time in this school or that one is going to end. No time to get his information transferred to wherever they’re going next, or set up correspondence courses. Things like that take time, and no one ever gives him enough.

It’s not Dean’s fault - he knows that, too. But Dean’s the only one here, and he’s the one telling him this again, always. Dean’s the one following Dad’s stupid orders mindlessly, not standing up for him to make them stay somewhere very long anymore.

So, yeah, Sam’s mad at him, whether it’s ultimately his fault or not.

>“Aren't you meant to be researching something, anyway? Jeekey-neekey-somethin' or others?”

“Jikininki,” he corrects absently, “And why don’t you do it? Or Dad? When we get wherever we’re going next, I’ll still probably have homework to do, more important things to do.” He knows that’s not going to go over well, because Dean’s like Dad as far as thinking the hunting is the most important thing ever, but he honestly doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to spend his free moments reading about monsters, to make his nightmares worse. More true-to-life.

So now when he dreams of things tearing him and his family apart limb from limb, he'll know what it looks like and the way it moves and the sounds it makes. No thank you.

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[info]_jerk
2009-11-14 03:29 am UTC (link)
< Yeah, I know

Sam's snarl takes him aback (though it really shouldn't, because he's been like a bear with a sore head these last few jobs - pissy enough that Dad's noticed, even, which worries Dean more because he doesn't get why it doesn't matter to Sam whether Dad notices or not any more) and things escalate the way they inevitably do between siblings, so he hardly notices that his response isn't exactly the careful neutral he's supposed to be going for. More the weary exasperation of someone who's fed up making the same damn point every turn-around only to find that it's still failed to sink in.

“Yeah, well. I don't get why you waste your time on papers if you 'know', 's all. Sitting here sulking and doing homework you're never going to hand in? It's not healthy, Sam.”

It's pointless arguing, of course. But that doesn't mean that he's not going to, just that he's not going to sit here while Sam whines about being uprooted and wanting to be normal and blah blah freakin' blah. Dean gets to his feet, heads back over to his bed huffily, retrieving his .45 from the nightstand and disassembling it expertly. There's something comforting about the gun-cleaning routine, something that helps him get his mind straight. Maybe he can't put words together or keep up a decent GPA but he can do this, and on Planet Winchester it's probably far more useful. Sooner or later Sammy'll realise that.

< Jikininki

“Right.” Dean glances down the barrel of the semi-assembled Colt, framing up some imagined enemy to check the alignment is right (which it is, of course, because he could do this blindfolded, but checking is part of the routine and it's been drilled into him over the years with military precision). “Them. I only need to know one thing” (hell yes, he's quoting Aliens, because nothing breaks up moments of undue levity like movie references... and sure, Vasquez is a girl, but she's badass and smoking hot so it's okay) “Where they a-”

< Why don't you do it? Or Dad?

… dude, not cool. Interrupting him mid-flow. Especially to come out with a stupid suggestion like that. He looks at Sammy sidelong, across the dingy motel room, raising an eyebrow while keeping the rest of his face deadpan in an Are you seriously asking me that? way.

< ... more important things to do

... okay, that? Is freakin' hillarious, and his schooled sarcastic deadpan dissolves into a laugh.

"Yeah right. Good one, Sammy. 'More important things'. Hah... seriously. How do we kill them?"

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)


[info]_bitch
2009-11-18 10:43 pm UTC (link)
He gets that Dean’s tired of the constant argument that never seems to end (it stops, sometimes, or maybe pauses is a better word, because it always comes back, and maybe that’s his fault, but he isn’t ready to let it go until it’s resolved properly - and in this family, that’s never going to happen). He does. Same way he gets that Dean’s not going to change his mind about any of it, and Dad’s never going to change anything about the way they do things, and that both of them really do think his schooling is mostly pointless.

He gets it, but that doesn’t mean he has to accept it.

Maybe it’s stubbornness, maybe it’s some kind of wishful thinking that makes him keep trying, maybe it’s the financial aid and scholarship applications hiding in his book bag (in his AP Psychology book, because that’s one schoolbook he’s completely sure Dean isn’t going to ever look in - not that he’d look in the others, either, more likely than not, but Dean seems to have a natural aversion to anything Psychology related in the first place, and a class marked as AP is probably nothing he’s going to touch either) that he’s itching to fill out and send in, just to see what could happen...

>“Yeah, well. I don't get why you waste your time on papers if you 'know', 's all. Sitting here sulking and doing homework you're never going to hand in? It's not healthy, Sam.”

“Dad might not get back tomorrow,” he responds as evenly as he can manage, gritting his teeth and staring fixedly at the laptop screen, not really seeing it, distractedly listening to the sound of the weapon being taken apart, reassembled, metal on metal, solid and familiar, trying to pretend he can’t see it clearly in his mind as if he were doing it. Normal people can’t tell what parts of a gun are being removed or replaced by sound. Hell, most people don’t know how to do what Dean’s doing in the first place, or have ever even held a gun. One more normal thing he can’t ever have, because you can’t undo that sort of thing, can’t unlearn it once it’s in your head, once it’s become muscle memory.

“He may take longer to get the job done, stay the night over there... I could still go to class and get this turned in,” he continues, waves a hand at the laptop, “Could even get withdrawn from the school properly for once, maybe.”

Turns out, Sam picked up on withering sarcasm from his brother, and mastered his own version of their father’s stony expressions forever ago.

...continued in next post!

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[info]_bitch
2009-11-18 10:43 pm UTC (link)
>“Right. Them. I only need to know one thing... Where they a-”

Sam’s glad he cut that off, rolls his eyes even though Dean doesn’t ever get to finish, because, seriously? For all that his brother calls him a dork all the time, he’s the one making the stupid movie references all the time. At least the things Sam makes references to require half a brain to understand most of the time (and the ones that don’t are totally Dean’s fault anyway, ‘cause he’s a bad influence; Sam’s sort of grown up on crappy tv and stupid movies). He ignores the look shot his way - it’s not an unreasonable suggestion, not really. Sure, Dean sucks at sitting still long enough to do any sort of research thoroughly, but he’s not incapable. He just likes to make them think he is so he can get out of the work and pile it all on Sam. As if he doesn’t have enough to do.

Dean’s laughing at him, then, and, okay, that sort of pisses him off. It shouldn’t - he should know by now not to expect Dean to ever take him seriously about this sort of thing, about anything - "Yeah right. Good one, Sammy. 'More important things'. Hah,” - but it does, and he shuts the laptop with a little more force than necessary (though still being careful not to damage it, because they won’t get another one if it breaks, probably), sliding off the bed and unplugging the computer, shoving it in his book bag. The library’s still open for another three or four hours - and at least there he’ll have some peace and quiet, because there’s no way Dean’s going to follow him there just to bother him. Even if he tries, he’d have to be quiet, and he’d probably end up going stir crazy or being kicked out in five minutes flat.

>...seriously. How do we kill them?"

He grabs his textbook and shoves it in the book bag, too. “I don’t know,” he lies (they can’t be killed, not really, it takes some kind of prayer ritual, an offering of some kind, by someone who hasn’t ever dishonored their family - that’s never going to be him, and he’s still not sure how screwed up they are that the fact that he values his academic career and his future more than shooting things in the face makes him the rebellious child, the one who’s ‘dishonorable’ in comparison), “And I don’t care.” That’s not a lie, not really. He doesn’t care - especially not right now.

Right now, he just wants out. Out of this room, out of this life, maybe even out of this family.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-03 08:48 pm UTC (link)
It's yet another thing he's never got, and is never going to; when exactly it was that Sam stopped being a little kid who was happy with his brother's answers and became a petulant teenager who asks too many questions and isn't ever satisfied. Maybe it had been building for months, years, whatever. Maybe it was inevitable – he vaguely remembers something in some weighty tome on 'single parenting' some vapid do-gooder had seen fit to lend John way back when, something about dealing with your little darling realising parents aren't gods and your word isn't gospel truth, but he'd flicked past it trying to get to the page on what to do when said darling sticks a pea up their nose or traps their finger in a door-hinge or any of the other million-and-one domestic dramas he'd been the nearest thing to a responsible adult for. Or maybe it just happened overnight. Whatever. Point is, not seeing it coming doesn't exactly make him any more enamoured of it because a good hunter's not supposed to let himself be taken by surprise. They're supposed to be prepared, and to know what to do in any eventuality, and not having some clear-cut plan of action on how to kill whatever's making Sam act this way's left him floundering.

There's also the possibility – which is looking far too close to certain for comfort, close enough that he knows full well he's deluding himself by still referring to it as possibility and not something definite – that it's not the result of some external influence but something that just is, something in Sam which he can't hope to change, and that's far scarier.

He finds himself wishing dad was here, because then at least it would just be Sam and John yelling at each other and he could turn the music up and pretend not to be listening, or put himself in the peacemaker role and let the pair of them say all the things he's thinking but not letting himself give voice to. Dad's much better at explaining why things have to be the way they are, after all, and it saves him having to come up with reasons why Sam can't do things like a 'normal kid' beyond that it's the way things are, and what they've been told – orders are orders, after all.

Besides, then he wouldn't have to deal with this selfish streak he's caught sneaking in, like a shadow that disappears when you spot it on the corner of your vision – the sense that he shouldn't have to deal with Sam when he's like this, that it's not a brother's responsibility. It's wrong, he knows, because he's only got the one job to do and it's much easier than fighting demons or chasing werewolves or whatever. All he has to do is keep Sam safe. It's a fair deal.

Then again, it's probably better dad isn't here, because then it would just become a fight again and it's tiring him the hell out trying to keep up with that. Swings and roundabouts.

< and I don't care

“Don't give me that crap, Sam.” The last few components of the gun are slid back into place a little more forcibly than necessary, Dean not even bothering to count to ten before responding the way he probably should because they've done this dance to death and he can slide into disapproving-and-so-totally-tired-of-this-whole-conversation like turning on a switch by now. “This thing's eating people, and.... wait, where do you think you're going?”

... yeah, this dance is getting boring.

"No. We're staying here, remember?"

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-03 09:13 pm UTC (link)
>“Don't give me that crap, Sam. This thing's eating people, and.... wait, where do you think you're going?”

Sam’s glad the subject has changed from whether Sam cares about a monster that’s eating people or not, because it makes his insides squirm a little to realize that he really, genuinely, doesn’t care right now, even though he knows he should, and knows he would most of the time, even in a passive way that still wished he didn’t have to be a part of it. He used to care, whether he wanted to or not. Now, he can’t remember the last time he really cared more than just arbitrarily, more than just because he was supposed to.

Sure, he feels bad that people are suffering. And, okay, he thinks someone should be taking care of it, yeah. Letting those things live isn’t an option. He gets that, he really does. But... why does it have to be their responsibility to save people from these things? Why does it have to be his? He never asked to do this, never asked for this life at all, and maybe none of them did, Dean or Dad or most hunters, but probably none of them ever asked to be let out, either, not like he has.

So, yeah, he’s glad Dean’s focusing in on his preparations to leave, even though ithat’s not going to end pretty, either, because Dean never wants him to go anywhere by himself - never mind that Sam’s practically an adult now, and that this town is safe, and that the library is close by. Never mind that it won’t be dark for a couple of hours, or that he’s got a knife and a gun and holy water and enough Latin bouncing around in his brain to keep him safe from almost anything, supernatural or otherwise.

>"No. We're staying here, remember?"

“You just went out.” Probably not the best way to get what he wants, snapping like that, zipping the bag closed like it’s personally offended him or something. He does that thing Dad always said they were supposed to do, deep breath and tries to calm down, and it sort of works. Mostly. Okay, no, it really doesn’t, but he at least has his tone under control when he speaks again, batting hair out of his eyes (it’s getting too long, but he won’t cut it on principle - yeah, okay, his rebellions are pathetic, he knows that already, thanks).

“We don’t have to stay in the room, Dean. Just... around.” He picks his bag up, slings it over one shoulder (it’s heavy, loaded down with practically everything academic-related that he owns, but it’s not too bad. He’s carried worse in training alone). “I’m just gonna go to the library for a while,” he doesn’t even think he needs to be telling Dean that much, but maybe if his brother knows what he’s planning (like he’d assume it was anything different anyway? Where else is there to go in this stupid town?), Dean will calm down and let him go.

He needs to get out.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-03 11:14 pm UTC (link)
“I went to get food because I don't need dad tearing strips off me when he comes home and finds you've starved to death. There's a difference between that and throwing all my toys out of the pram over some stupid piece of homework no one really gives a damn about.”

… well, that was quick. Things escalate, as they inevitably do, from pointed discussion to argument proper, Dean never having gotten the 'obey me, boy' voice quite right and so ends up firing accusations rather than orders (probably because he's trying to command Sam and rationalise with him at the same time instead of picking one or the other like he should, and not that it would do much good if he had mastered that tone, he suspects, because Sam doesn't respect that the way he's meant to - the way they've been raised to - anyway) and bristling because he doesn't understand why it has to be so difficult. They do what they're told, the job gets done, they move on. Sure, it's far from perfect – he hates sitting here waiting just as much as Sam, albeit for completely different reasons – but it's not their place to question.

"Dad said we're to stay here, so we're staying here... what the hell do you need more books for anyway?"

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-04 02:30 am UTC (link)
>“I went to get food because I don't need dad tearing strips off me when he comes home and finds you've starved to death. There's a difference between that and throwing all my toys out of the pram over some stupid piece of homework no one really gives a damn about.”

Sam wants to say several things there, things like that wasn’t even food or maybe my teachers, maybe I, give a damn about it or a million other things, but he can’t figure out how to make his voice work because he’s just that angry. And it’s different when he’s mad at Dean, because when it’s Dad he has so many things to be angry about, and with Dean all there is is the you’re doing what he tells you to and that means really it’s Dad’s fault, not Dean’s, so there’s no real way to express exactly what the problem is when the problem isn’t even here. So he just glares, instead, like he can maybe stare down his brother until he gets his own way (even though that never works, not with the glaring, anyway, not with Dean and not with Dad).

>"Dad said we're to stay here, so we're staying here...

“Then you stay here. I’m sick of this.” Of the stupid, stuffy motel rooms and the moving around so much, of the rules that never make sense, of the ongoing argument about it, of Dean’s insistence on following orders. Of all of it, everything.

>“...what the hell do you need more books for anyway?"

“For reading,” yeah, okay, obvious, “And learning. And maybe I could get more done if I'm somewhere that's quiet, instead of this,” and he waves a hand to encompass the whole room, with it’s buzzing air conditioner and it’s squeaking fan and the music playing and Dean, who’s apparently incapable of leaving him be for a freaking hour or two so he can write his stupid paper that he’ll probably never get to turn in.

He starts for the door, glare still in place and practically daring his brother to do something to prevent his exit.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-04 02:58 am UTC (link)
Sam's not the only one who can glare; once the words run out, as they inevitably do either due to his lack of eloquence or to neither of them wanting to make the transition from unspoken to direct there comes the staring contest. It's been this way since back in the dim distant days where Dean was the tall as well as the big brother – Sam crossing his arms and pouting, petulant and sulky and stopping just sort of saying something, Dean looking at him sidelong, wry and weary and daring him to go there. As he is now, having slid the gun into his trousers and gotten to his feet. Except back then he'd have ended up laughing and telling Sam to stop being an idiot and promising things would stop being lame, and now he's pretty damn sure grinning and promising his kid brother an ice-cream if he stops acting up isn't going to count for squat. So they'll stick to the glaring and let the argument keep simmering until one or other reaches boiling point.

… except today it's not just Sam who's sick of this, although Dean's 'this' is probably a different manner of beast. Because he's okay with the motel rooms and the moving around, with following orders and running scams and never going to college or holding down a job or anything solid. He's fine with that, because the things that matter stay the same. The bit that's wearing him thin is knowing that's going to change because Sam can't allow himself to be content with that. And so he's the one who backs down first, shaking his head, clearing his throat and gritting his teeth before speaking because he shouldn't have to ask; Dad's given him this one lousy job – hold the fort, keep Sam safe – and he can't even do that without having to ask for help. Pathetic, really. No wonder he's not allowed to go hunting yet.

“... seriously, would it kill you not to act like a whiny bitch for one freakin' day? I'm the one who's going to get it in the neck when this is all over and the old man finds out that you're disobeying orders again. Just... call it a personal favour or whatever. I'd appreciate it.”

He stops short of saying 'please', but doesn't feel any less gay for the ommission.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-04 03:31 am UTC (link)
Sam’s at the door when Dean speaks, ready to throw it open, storm outside, and slam it closed behind him (slamming doors is a very satisfying feeling, okay? It’s not his fault he’s been trained to be a slightly more violent than average person since even before his teenage years began), but he pauses to hear what his brother’s going to say, because maybe he’s itching for a fight, alright? Maybe he wants this to be something to turn the frustratingly stifled flame of anger into something more closely resembling a blaze so he can actually do something about it.

>“... seriously, would it kill you not to act like a whiny bitch for one freakin' day? I'm the one who's going to get it in the neck when this is all over and the old man finds out that you're disobeying orders again. Just... call it a personal favour or whatever. I'd appreciate it.”

“He won’t ever even know if you don’t say anything, anyway,” he growls automatically, turns to look at his brother, can tell it’s a last ditch effort to get him to stay, but he doesn’t understand why. Why Dean and Dad think he can’t be setting foot outside a motel room without supervision. He’s not a kid anymore, and he’s not helpless, and it’s not like millions of other people do it every day or anything. Very few end up victims of random supernatural attacks, and even the more mundane things out there aren’t that big a risk. Especially when you think about how every other person ever has to deal with these things.

But he’s not allowed to go anywhere, and it just sucks. So, no, he’s not going to calm down and accept Dean’s plea, and he’s not going to feel guilty about it, either (or maybe he will, but he’ll pretend he doesn’t).

“It’s just the library. It’s not like I’m going to get mauled to death between the bookshelves, Dean.” He pauses, shrugs his shoulders, "And I have my gun." And a knife, and knowledge, and he's seriously not helpless.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-04 05:33 pm UTC (link)
< “He won’t ever even know if you don’t say anything, anyway,”

“Oh, great. So you want me to lie to him now, is that it?”

In the grand scheme of things, sure, it's a tiny little white lie – hell, it shouldn't even be an issue, because what normal family gets this worked up over someone going to the library to study? - but it's still Lying To Dad. More pertinently, it's Playing Piggy-In-The-Middle again, being tugged in both directions at once and having to weigh up loyalties against each other. Which he shouldn't be having to do, right? They shouldn't be making him choose one or the other, his father or his kid brother. They're supposed to be one cohesive unit. That's what family is, after all.

And maybe he never actually expected the plea to work, because it was lame and Sam's got a point, he's old enough and ugly enough to look after himself (well, when it's something simple like this at least; walking to the library is one thing, their sphere of things another). But still. It's another thing that's worming its way under his skin about this whole affair, the fact that Sam's apparently stopped caring about doing things to give anyone other than himself an easy ride.

"Are you listening to yourself, Sam? Because... shit, man, you're being a dick."

Again, it's not exactly the greatest comeback ever, but whatever. Nothing about this situation - the way Sam's acting, the fact that he has to keep having this stupid fight, the stupid crummy motel room they're both stuck in - is anything other than lame anyway.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-04 06:43 pm UTC (link)
>“Oh, great. So you want me to lie to him now, is that it?”

“It’s not lying. It’s just not telling him everything. Which isn’t going to hurt anything, anyway!” Yes, Sam is well aware that he sounds like a stupid teenager right now, thanks. There’s really just no other way to go with this conversation right now, and maybe if they were more normal they wouldn’t even have to be having it, because it wouldn’t even be an issue.

Brothers are supposed to cover for each other; he’d cover for Dean if Dean would ever get over this whole creepy worship thing he’s got going on for Dad and just do something for once. Something Dad didn’t tell him to do, or, hell, maybe something Dad told him not to do. Just something that isn’t an order he has to follow. Because Sam’s tired of being the only one tired of following orders.

>"Are you listening to yourself, Sam? Because... shit, man, you're being a dick."

“At least I’m not just Dad’s puppet,” is probably the wrong response, there, because he’s not supposed to say things like that. He can think them, and he does, and he’s pretty sure he’s completely right in thinking it, but saying it is different, because he loves his brother, he does, but his words are never going to not be like daggers when he’s this pissed off.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-04 07:33 pm UTC (link)
“That's not the point!”

If Sam's sounding like a whiny teenager then Dean's not doing much better, because at least Sam's argument has something like logic, however biased, behind it. Dean's just running on loyalty and duty which, fair enough, serve him pretty well as fuel 99% of the time. Here in that other 1%, though, they leave him sounding equally stupid, though in an 'old and dogmatic' sort of way, and while ordinarily he'd be flattered to think he was turning out even a little bit like Dad? Right now, not so much.

< At least I'm not just Dad's puppet

… totally the wrong response, yeah. Because crossing that line flips the switch from just standing and yelling worn-out platitudes at each other; for a moment it's like Dean's just going to laugh it off and turn away, except that anyone who knows him would never be fooled by the hissing smirk and the way he shakes his head and turns away. Then it's a second or two later and he's barrelled across the room and set to giving Sam a hasty and vigorous introduction to the stretch of wall next to the door.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-04 08:12 pm UTC (link)
>“That's not the point!”

“Then what is the point, Dean?” He’s half just responding with whatever comes out, and half genuinely asking, because for the life of him, he has no idea what the point of this, of any of this, even is. From what he’s seen, none of it makes any sense at all. It’s just stupid.

And, yeah, he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut a few seconds longer, because as soon as the words are out he knows what they’re going to do, he knows coming. He knows his brother, and he’s tensed and waiting for the inevitable snap. It’s sort of rare that they ever come to blows over things (him and Dean, that is - he and Dad get to that point almost every time they’re together; every time Dean doesn’t step between them, that is), but it’s not completely unheard of.

Knowing it’s coming doesn’t mean it doesn’t startle him a little, or send his breath out in a “Hnnph,” sound at the impact with the wall, because he doesn’t dodge out of the way before his brother’s on him. He shoves at Dean with one hand as soon as his instincts kick back in, before he’s even actually caught his breath or thought about it, getting ready to throw a punch with the other hand because he’s still pissed off, sort of itching for a proper fight right now, and just because he said something stupid didn’t mean he didn’t mean it, and all of this is just getting to be too much to deal with.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-04 08:29 pm UTC (link)
It's true, they don't fight that often (training bouts don't count, because then it's all about technique and not about making your opponent admit they're in the wrong, and even if he can hear dad somewhere in the background yelling out advice on the proper technique, the optimum hold or the best place to connect with to send a man sprawling it's a different matter entirely). Maybe because they're both too damn good at it – it's not a case of flailing at each other for a while before giving up, the way most fights would be. There's tactics, and the fact they actually know what they're doing beyond just hitting each other. He lets the shove send him back a pace or two, almost stumble, before coming back in on a slightly different trajectory – Sam's height gives him too much of an advantage at arm's length, so it's much better to get in close where gangly-ness will make his accuracy suffer and rain in as many blows as possible from there – slamming one elbow upwards to try and pin his brother at the throat while the other hand concentrates on getting a good solid punch in on the ribs or guts.

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[info]_prophet
2009-12-04 09:50 pm UTC (link)
Dean’s elbow made impact sharply, sending the rest of Sam’s air out in a sputtering sound not unlike a dying engine

Chuck leans his head against the computer monitor for a second, making a face. He sort of really hates writing fight scenes - it’s easier to just sort of gloss over the whole deal, and tell what the end results are. Because, really, he doesn’t know the ins and outs of fighting, let alone when the fight is two well-trained hunters who are probably about evenly matched. And then there’s the whole thing about figuring out how to put it into words, which - he’ll be the first to admit that he’s not the best writer in the world...

He takes a drink from the bottle in front of him - beer, ‘cause it’s before lunch and he doesn’t drink the hard liqour until at least noon - and drums his fingers on the desk for a few minutes, opens a game of solitaire. Loses the game. Loses minesweeper a dozen times in the span of thirty seconds before he gives up on that, too. None of this is very productive.

“Screw it,” he mutters, opening the document back up. He’ll skim over the fight part - he’s got a deadline, and if he doesn’t meet it with at lest a rough draft, they’re gonna drop his contract and then he’ll have nothing, and have to get a job flipping burgers or paper or plastic? and he really doesn’t think he’d like that very much. Really, really wouldn’t like that.

So, that in mind, he makes a note - [NOTE: Finish fight scene. Dean wins. They go back to glaring and using words.] - and skips down the page a few lines, and then keeps going.

Sam stepped back, putting space between them. The fighting was over, but he wasn’t entirely sure Dean wasn’t still pissed off enough to throw another punch...

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-05 04:05 am UTC (link)
Sam steps away, a couple of paces back from Dean. He hopes his brother isn’t just feigning truce only to come at him when he doesn’t expect it, because Dean’s not exactly one for a clean fight, or playing by the rules (except for when he is, which is what’s got them in this mess in the first place, but that’s completely different) - and if he is, he’s going to be at least a little safer if he’s not in arm’s reach.

His throat is throbbing from where Dean’s elbow hit, probably will hurt worse once the adrenaline wears off and he starts to think about it more. He’s pretty sure it’s going to bruise pretty bad, which... is not going to be easy to explain at school tomorrow. If he gets to go. Which, at this point he almost hopes he can’t (almost, but not quite, not really, because he likes school and he hates the alternative), because his paper isn’t done and he’s a little worse for the wear, and hiding bruises is annoying.

But if he doesn’t go, that’s also like giving in, and Sam’s nothing if not stubborn.

He rubs at his throat, swallows a little, breaks the quiet that’s otherwise only broken by the sound of their breathing while they glare at each other. “You didn’t have to hit me so hard, you know,” he whines (yeah, no use pretending that’s anything but a whine), and his voice sounds all funny. He clears his throat. “Friggin' jerk.”

It’s half an apology and request for a proper truce between them, and half genuine name-calling, because even if he’s still pissed, he doesn’t really want to keep fighting right now, either. Especially not like that.

...He still wants to get out of this stupid room, though. The sooner the better.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-05 05:18 am UTC (link)
Dean also backs off, though he keeps the side that's not aching quite so much weighted towards Sam as he waits for his breathing to even out, staying round-shouldered and compact and bouncing on his heels a little, primed for round two if things should go that way. Not that he's eager for them to do so; in the strictest sense of the word, sure, he's won that bout, but he's probably going to have some epic bruises in the morning because Sam's all thin and hard and bony, all elbows and knees, and even when he should give in gracefully he squirms and fights back.

“Yeah, well.” he says, and his voice sounds weird too, all bassy and gravelly, and he swallows hard, flexing his fingers experimentally; closing them into a fist is... interesting. Maybe he shouldn't have punched quite so hard, because in the apparently increasingly unlikely event that he's actually called upon to do something other than babysit his punching will be marginally less efficient, and that's probably unacceptable. “Someone has to knock some sense into you.”

“Bitch” comes fairly naturally afterwards, recognising the request for a truce and conceding to it with as near to good grace as this is ever going to get, though he gives Sam a halfassed shove with the good shoulder as he pushes past and heads back to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and flopping back with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhales. Even if he did win the fight he's going to lose the argument, because he's never really been able to say no to Sam and mean it, and Sam knows that, he's sure. He's a smart kid, so he's got to have figured it out from all the times Dean gave in when they were young.

When he speaks again it's lower, the words coming hard and fast as if that way it's like he's not really said them. “I'll tell him I got myself banned from the diner and you had to take over the supply runs.”

He doesn't expect a 'thank you', or anything, because he never gets one, and that's cool. Sam can repay him by not being an asshole when he gets back...

... hey, a guy can dream, right?

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-08 04:56 pm UTC (link)
>“Yeah, well... Someone has to knock some sense into you. Bitch.”

Small half-smile, slight cringe when Dean jostles at him, makes the soreness in his ribs flare back up as if the pain thinks maybe he forgot it was there already, and Sam just stays where he is while Dean goes over and drops down onto one of the beds.

He wonders if he could get away with just going. He’s between Dean and the door, and by the time his brother realized he was escaping, he’d already be outside, at least... but his bag got tossed down during the scuffle, and it’s over there near Dean’s bed, and so he’d have to go all the way over there and then to the door, and Dean would notice that. And Sam isn’t really up for the inevitable Round Two that would probably cause, right now.

He’s trying to figure out how to continue the debate, to convince Dean to let him leave in a way that won’t turn into another fistfight, when his brother speaks, “I'll tell him I got myself banned from the diner and you had to take over the supply runs,” and it takes a second for Sam to understand the words - they’re too fast for him to process immediately, and then it just sounds so random, because, seriously, what? And then he gets it, he gets what Dean’s offering - giving him an excuse to leave the room, offering to take the blame for him disobeying orders.

He still doesn’t understand why his brother thinks they even need an excuse, why they can’t leave the room except for school and runs to get food, why Dad thinks that’s unsafe when the motel they’re staying in is probably overrun with criminals and hookers and millions of germs and things, and probably mutant roaches - it’s probably more dangerous in here than it is walking to the library, or going out and seeing a movie, or almost anything they might want to do. Never mind that the two of them stuck in a small space together for more than a day or two always ends up in bad moods and tension you could shoot in the face and sometimes prank wars to break the monotony while they both go stir crazy.

He moves forward to get his bag, swings it up and onto his shoulder, shifting the strap until it settles comfortably enough, doesn’t press on any of his sore spots. Clears his throat, swallows. “How is that any less a lie than not saying anything at all?”

He’s not going to complain about it if Dean wants to throw himself under the bus, though. It’s his own choice. It’s just, you know, completely illogical and more than a little stupid. But other than that, Sam’s perfectly fine with it, if that's what his brother wants to do.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-10 08:34 pm UTC (link)
… why is Sam even still here? Hasn't he just gotten what he wanted? Dean considers passing Sam his bag as if to underline the point, but Sam gets there first and hitches it onto his shoulder and Dean settles back, fully expecting him to just sod off already.

< ”How is that any less a lie than not saying anything at all?”

It's... really not, is it? Curse Sam for being the intelligent one (Dean knows his place in that regard), or for not being smart enough to know when to stop, or for somehow being enough of a freak to be intelligent and not-smart-enough at the same time because how does that even work aside from that Fate's laughing her ass off at him for having to put up with that hellish combination? If he had his way he wouldn't have to think about it, it would just be a Thing That Happened and the world would move on, but Sam has to stop and analyse, has to twist the knife whenever he gains that little bit of ground which comes from getting Dean to defy John even slightly. He's probably chalking this up as a victory, and...

… and Dean should stop over-thinking it while he's still just the safe side of bitter, right? Because it's not a big deal, not some giant betrayal of trust or anything. It's just brothers doing what brothers should, right?

He sighs again, his tone skirting back into that dangerous dude, seriously, don't go there variant on unamused. “Can you not just go already? Fucking hell.”

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-10 08:54 pm UTC (link)
>“Can you not just go already? Fucking hell.”

“Fine,” he snaps, because leave it to Dean to completely ignore logic if it means any sort of self-examination and figuring out why he does stupid things. It’s not Sam’s fault if he wants to keep doing it, though, so he’ll just go, and when Dean manages to get himself in trouble for something he didn’t do and had no valid reason to even be lying about, well, then maybe next time he’ll think about it before he does it again. Probably not, though.

Maybe he slams the door behind him a little harder than he needed to, and maybe he’s still fuming a little the whole way to the library. But that’s not his fault, because Dean’s the one being stupid and stubborn and acting like Dad’s God or something, someone worth fear and awe and undying devotion when all he does is drag them around, order them around, and never sticks around.

-

He’s not aware of consciously making the decision, but somewhere between staring blankly into the reference section and the corner table he settles at with his computer and a newly selected stack of books, he knows he’s going to fill out those papers tucked between the pages of his text book, forms he’d gotten in a moment of rebellious bravery and then hidden when he’d realized just how unlikely it is he’d ever be able to do anything with them, even if he tried. Now, it’s back to that rebellion, coiled tight inside like a spring, like it’s ready to burst free.

When he fills out the applications, he writes Sam Winchester in black ink and puts Pastor Jim’s address down in place of his own (he can’t send it to any of the postal boxes they keep, because anything relating to college is going to set Dad off and make Dean start going on about family loyalty and he doesn’t want to deal with any of that, and he knows Pastor Jim won’t say anything to Dad or to Dean; he’ll understand where they never would).

He feels a little like a prisoner scraping away at the cement wall with a plastic spoon - it’s not going to work, it won’t be enough, but he’s got no other choice. This is it - if this doesn’t work, he’ll spend the rest of his life stuck in the ‘family business’ and probably get killed before he’s thirty, or watch his father and his brother die, or probably both. If it does, he’ll have a normal life - an education and a job and maybe a family of his own that he won’t drag all over the continental US; he’ll have a home and a future.

When the library closes he’s only about half done with the paper, but he’s filled out three financial aid applications, two scholarship forms, and checked out a pile of books on Japanese mythology that might have the things he’s supposed to research in them - which was an afterthought, but he thinks it might serve as some kind of apology in his weird family.

On the way home he stops and mails the forms, feels twitchy and nervous as soon as the envelopes are in the bin, wondering if he did it right if they’re going to accept him if this is going to work how he’s going to tell Dean and Dad.

If he stops on the way back and buys some chicken sandwiches (a compromise between salad and burgers) and pie with the ten bucks he has left after postage (his own money, rare as that is, so he can do what he wants with it), that has nothing to do with guilt. It’s just that he hasn’t eaten, and he’s pretty sure even Dean didn’t really like the burgers much, and it’s been hours anyway, so Dean’s probably hungry again because Dean’s always hungry.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-10 10:59 pm UTC (link)
Dean probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison, were anyone around and foolish enough to make it, but there's more than a little of the harried parent about him once Sam's left. Not immediately, because there's scowling at the walls, and adding to the eclectic viewing habits of Mr. R. Palmer (because dude, that statement's going to have a seriously weird Pay-Per-View record between the things Sam grudgingly consents to watch, and the things he watches when Sam's close enough to be weirded out by overhearing them, and the things he watches when no one else around... not that that's anything new, of course), and risking another beer (because Dad's not going to miss one more, right?). But as time wears on there's worrying. Both the abstract concern that something might happen, that constant threat most parents worry is out there but can't place as something specific except for them it's always been worse because they know full well what's out there, and the more specific one that Sam's not going to get back before Dad does and all hell will break lose again and he's seriously not in the mood to deal with any of that right now.

And maybe thinking about it is like some primal invocation sort-of shit, because Dad lands back early wanting to know what Sam found out about the Jikininkis and how best to dispatch them, because he's on a time limit here and wants the job done tonight, and Dean's left explaining why there's only one Winchester boy and no pile of notes waiting for him, and Sam's right, it really isn't much less of a lie, which makes it all the harder not to stray into making Sam's arguments for him no matter how wrong they feel in the mouth, and Sam lands back just in time to hear that this isn't about that, and Dean should know when to hold his tongue because he's been raised better than to question his father, and anyway what's so damned difficult about just keeping an eye on Sam? He gets one easy job, just one, can't he just do it without screwing up? And Dean's so fucking tired of it all, and maybe they've lost how to talk without arguing anyway since it's all they seem to do these days but he tries anyway, tries to make it sound like a reasonable suggestion and not a gripe or an accusation.

"I don't know, Dad. Maybe if you treated him like an adult instead of..."

... and John's off again, and Dean shoots Sam a look as the door creaks open. He's got every right to make it an accusing glare, but instead it's almost a warning. If he's really lucky he can just click the door back shut and maybe John won't notice?

And maybe pigs will fly, but hey. Weirder stuff happens, right?

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-10 11:27 pm UTC (link)
Seeing his father’s black truck sitting in the parking lot in front of their motel room sort of crushes the almost-decent mood he’d been building up to, because he knows exactly what he’s going to be walking in to, and he’d thought Dad was a day off yet, maybe at least six hours out, but apparently he wasn’t, or maybe he broke every speed limit known to man to get back, but now he’s going to be pissed off.

Sam shifts the bag of food in his arms a little to get his key from his pocket, listening to the sound of Dad’s voice yelling through the walls. He can’t hear most of the words, though some of it gets through clear enough - what's so damned difficult about just keeping an eye on Sam? - and by the time he’s got the door open it’s his brother speaking and there’s already a boiling fury starting to rise.

>"I don't know, Dad. Maybe if you treated him like an adult instead of..." Okay, sometimes Dean’s a pain in the ass, yeah, but he’s also still really awesome, other times. It doesn’t matter so much that Dad doesn’t listen to what he’s saying (it does matter, actually, just not in this way), it’s the fact that he even tries that makes Sam glad he decided to stop and get the dessert because once the oncoming fight ends, probably in John storming out like he always does, he’s totally going to have to thank his brother for that.

The fact that dad doesn’t listen, that he just talks over whatever Dean was going to keep going with and basically telling Dean how much he’s not living up to John’s impossible standards - that just makes him even more angry.

He ignores the warning look sent his way - when was he ever going to just stay quiet and hope John didn’t notice him? That’s not how Sam operates, so instead it’s him shoving the door open, stepping in and kicking it closed behind him, brushing past his father like he’s not even there except for the glare shot to the side in his direction, and dropping his armload of books that hadn’t fit in his backpack, setting the food down slightly more carefully, sliding the bag off his shoulders and down to the floor between the beds before he turns around.

Probably his entire posture is making it completely clear that he’s pissed off and ready to fight if it comes to that, even though he really sort of hopes it doesn’t go past the yelling ‘cause he’s already had enough of the fistfighting for one day.

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[info]_dadsjournal
2009-12-19 08:02 pm UTC (link)
John didn't get to be the Best Damn Hunter In The World by failing to notice things about his targets, and so given that Dean's currently in the firing line it would take a minor miracle for him to miss the desperate glance past his shoulder towards the doorway, or the way his son's face falls slightly when Sam decides not to heed the unspoken warning.

Dean starts talking again - “Okay. You're back. You got the food, then? Great” - and tries to move past to Sam's side of the room (and that's the terms the engagement is being discussed in now, make no mistake; lines being drawn, territory decided, both sides bracing themselves for a protracted campaign of attrition. It's a battle, because it never ends up as anything else) but John's there first, blocking his path and stopping him in his tracks with a glare, turning slowly to face Sam, and Dean trails off with something about him getting back sooner than expected, which is good, right? which dissolves into a low mumble as he buries his hands hopelessly in his pockets, dropping his gaze to the one remaining neutral zone (the floor) and bracing for impact.

John doesn't start by shouting, though. He's from the old school, after all, the one where you didn't need to yell to make your kids respect you, where just the correct application of The Tone was enough. “Sam” he says, measured and weary and disappointed, fixing him with the same Look he used to give him when he wasn't quick enough around an obstacle course or precise enough with a ward, the look that says he's wise to the boy's game and knows full well he's just being awkward to make things more difficult for his father despite said father not needing anything else on his plate right now. “Did I or did I not tell you to Stay. In. The. Motel?”

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-20 02:33 am UTC (link)
Something about the way his father steps in front of Dean, like he’s cutting him off from his brother, has Sam gritting his teeth, feeling almost caged in and a little more uneasy than he was before, but he does his best not to show it, meeting his father’s eyes evenly as possible and practically glaring him down.

>>“Sam. Did I or did I not tell you to Stay. In. The. Motel?”

“No, you didn't, actually...” There’s no humor, nothing but ice in the smirk he offers, “You weren’t that specific.” Because he wasn’t - he just said stay put, which, given that staying put didn’t include him going to school, or Dean going out for food, why should it include the library or the post office? Especially given that his father wanted research done, anyway - and he brought back the books he needs, so he should really just drop it. He won't, but he should.

He shifts, not quite turning away from his father (not turning his back on him, especially), but just angling away just enough that it’s almost like he’s done with the conversation. “Hey Dean, I brought pie,” flashing a little smile and changing the subject even though he knows it won’t really stay changed - it’s almost an apology, like I brought pie means Thanks and I’m sorry all at once, laced through with defiance that’s not aimed at Dean at all but at John instead, you can’t really split us up.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-20 02:47 am UTC (link)
> Hey Dean, I brought pie

“That's... that's great, Sam” is all Dean manages to get out before John cuts him off again, reaching out to physically turn Sam back to face him when he shifts away towards Dean because this isn't over, not by a long shot.

“Don't change the subject, and don't try and be cute either. You had orders, boy.”

“Dad, maybe...” Dean tries again, though why he's bothering he doesn't really know – probably because Sam at least tried to apologise, if that's what that was (Dean really hopes that's what it was, that he's not migrated from keeping the peace to being used as a token in whatever game the other Winchesters are playing, to having them tug at his loyalty and try to score points by making him betray the other to their face. Because that's not going to happen, not if he can help it, but this is one of those 'rock and a hard place' situations)? - and again John cuts him off without looking away from Sam.

“No, Dean. I've had it Up. To. Here with your brother's attitude. He was supposed to stay put and keep researching."

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-20 03:36 am UTC (link)
>“That's... that's great, Sam.” and then Dad’s cutting Dean off, again, grabbing at him and twisting him back to face him.

>>“Don't change the subject, and don't try and be cute either. You had orders, boy.”

Sam shrugs his father’s hands off him, practically snarling as he takes a step back (not much more room to go any further, though, because there’s the bed there and the nightstand between the two beds just to the side of him, and he wishes he’d thought to get himself out of the corner before this actually started, because the last thing he wants is for this to turn properly physical with him pinned back here like this).

>“Dad, maybe...”
>>“No, Dean. I've had it Up. To. Here with your brother's attitude. He was supposed to stay put and keep researching."

And Sam’s had it up to whatever vague height is being indicated with the way Dad keeps cutting Dean off and acting like he’s not even hearing him there and with the constant stupid orders like they’re soldiers and not sons, and the unending research when nine times out of ten he’s got other things to be working on and nine times out of ten all he gets for his work is another collection of vivid imagery for his nightmares.

“I did your stupid research, okay?” He grabs one of the books and sort of waves it at his dad a little, like making him see it’s there, “I needed more books, anyway. I went to the diner, and to the library, it’s not like I was off wandering around in the woods like some idiot kid or anything!” And, okay, the post office, but he’s not mentioning that. It doesn’t matter, anyway - that was on the way to the diner from the library, and he only stopped for like a minute. Whatever.

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[info]_dadsjournal
2009-12-20 04:25 pm UTC (link)
“You hear this, Dean?” John laughs, low and hoarse like walking across spilled salt in bare feet, a wordless this is unbelievable... and it's clear where Dean learned the 'I'm laughing, but I'm really not fucking amused' laugh from, copying that the way he copies everything else about Dad. “Stupid research.”

Dean mumbles something, and John, ever the Drill Sergeant in their little platoon, barks at him to speak up and gets a “Yes, sir.”

“Research isn't stupid, is it?”

“No, sir.” Parrot-fashion, empty words. No one can see how his hands are fisting uncomfortably in the bottom of his pockets because okay, now he knows he's just a strategically placed piece of terrain they're fighting over.

“Right.” Smiling now, though it's more a sneer in Sam's direction, a triumphant and mocking distortion of a grin. “Because if the research doesn't get done then someone else is going to die. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But sometime, definitely. Because I won't be able to stop this thing.”

His words are consciously pointed, each one a little stab at Sam, a what's wrong with you that you don't give a damn about this? because it's easier to just be angry than to face the other issue, the real reason he's so damn fussy about them staying put. Because if he doesn't know exactly where they are, isn't certain they're either in his line of sight or else out of harm's way, then he can't do this job and he has to be able to do it because somewhere out there is the thing that killed Mary and that son of a bitch has to die. And sure, Sam isn't an idiot child any more, and Dean's an honest-to-god adult (or should be, though that doesn't stop John seeing a boy in a too-big leather jacket that wasn't always his) but that doesn't stop him worrying because they're his sons and even if he's a shit dad in all other respects worrying about his children is the one bit he always got downbat.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-20 05:43 pm UTC (link)
>>“You hear this, Dean? Stupid research.”
>“Yes, sir.”
>>“Research isn't stupid, is it?”
>“No, sir.”

The way Dean’s just responding robotically makes Sam feel a little sick with anger, and he isn’t even sure where that anger is - or should be - directed anymore. Because, yeah, it is Dad doing the directing, always Dad ordering them around and expecting them to obey and acting like they’re incapable of independent thought - but it’s Dean going along with it like he always does. The good little soldier, how high? to Dad’s jump and Sam’s tired of it, tired of being the only one who seems to think this isn’t the way a family is supposed to operate.

>>“Right. Because if the research doesn't get done then someone else is going to die. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But sometime, definitely. Because I won't be able to stop this thing.”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself, then? At least that way when you get-” when you get Dean killed almost comes out, images from his nightmares rearing up behind his eyes, and he aborts that before it manages to slip free, because he knows Dad isn’t going to take that like it’s meant, he’s going to think it’s him saying something about his parenting or his protecting them or something, which isn’t what this is about even if he sort of thinks that’s true sometimes, “-yourself killed it won’t be my fault.”

Sooner or later they’re going to die anyway, whether he devotes the rest of his entire life to researching to keep them safe or not, because just because you know what the books say doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt, get killed. Sometimes the books don’t tell everything you’ll need, sometimes the lore is wrong or the internet articles were edited because some idiot who didn’t know the first thing about anything thought it would sound more “spooky” this way; sometimes you’re not even dealing with what you think you’re dealing with, and someone’s going to die anyway. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you do research and get every hunt perfect, because it doesn’t always take a hunt to kill you.

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[info]_dadsjournal
2009-12-20 05:59 pm UTC (link)
> At least that way when you get yourself killed it won't be my fault

Somehow Sam always knows the wrong thing to say, and Dean's wince has barely broken ground across his increasingly poorly-hidden pained features before John's on Sam, has him pinned to the wall at the shoulders, is up in his face and yelling. “No one's going to die, got that? I didn't raise you boys, train you up to...”

He trails off, and Dean's moved around to the side and his hand's on John's arm, and manages a “It's okay, Dad, we...” before John shrugs him off and he stumbles a pace or two back, looking a little like a kicked puppy for the second or so before training kicks back in. Showing weakness is bad. But John lets go of Sam too, and steps back himself, shaking his head and hanging it slightly, turning away from the boys and running a hand over his face wearily.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-20 06:43 pm UTC (link)
The surprise impact with the wall hurts a little more than it probably would have in the first place, his bruises from fighting with Dean earlier protesting the harsh treatment, and he makes a sound somewhere between a yelp and the huff of air being pushed out of his lungs abruptly, eyes going a little wide ‘cause he wasn’t exactly expecting that - and because, um, ow - before narrowing into a glare.

>>“No one's going to die, got that? I didn't raise you boys, train you up to...”

Dean materializes nearby, always there to try to break the fighting up, as frustrated as they are except split between them instead of focused on one.

>“It's okay, Dad, we...” and then he’s shoved away, and Sam bristles on his brother’s behalf but he lets it drop when he’s released because the last thing he needs to do is start adding things to what this fight is really about, and if Dean ever wanted to, he could stick up for himself (but he never will, he never will even if sometimes, lots of times, Sam wishes he would).

When his father turns away, Sam lifts a hand to press to his shoulder where his father’s hand was just a moment ago, tries to rub away the throbbing there, and scowls. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, if he’s supposed to say anything, or if he even wants to do what he’s supposed to.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-20 07:03 pm UTC (link)
Dean's glance at Sam is equal parts you okay? and Sorry and you're a dick sometimes and also none of those things, and he pointedly doesn't rub at where John shoved him back, just rolls his shoulders slightly as if rebalancing himself, settling less awkwardly in his shoes.

“Right.” And the word is more of a sigh than an actual word, and Dean pinches at the brow of his nose like he's got a headache (which he has by this point, but that's moot; it's more born of frustration and weariness and just wanting tonight to be over already so John can go hunt something else and he and Sam can stop tearing chunks off each other... which is horrible, because he doesn't want Dad to go, not at all really, not when he's only just got here and there's debriefings and possibly a new hunt and maybe him getting to do something useful for once rather than just babysitting Sam; in an ideal world it would be the three of them, but compromises have to be made before things get bloody). Things are not back to okay, not by a long shot, and he gets the sense that they never really will be, but they're settled enough for everyone to bury their heads in the sand and carry on as if nothing's wrong.

“Okay” - he clears his throat - “Sam, you said you found something at the library?” He honestly doesn't remember whether Sam said that or not, but hey, focusing everyone back on the matter at hand can't hurt, can it? That seems to be when they're at their most functional, when there's something undeniably evil they can lash out as a united front rather than turning on each other, after all. Dad should be proud of him, taking charge like this. "How do we kill Fugly?"

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-20 07:38 pm UTC (link)
The look he directs back at his brother when he catches Dean glancing his way is somewhere between an apology of his own and an I’m fine and a thank you and something closer to a frustrated why can’t you just... that doesn’t have a clear ending because there’s so many thing he can’t say and won’t say that could fit there but can’t carry across clearly in their silent language, either.

Dad’s moved far enough away, and Sam slips away from the wall and drops onto his bed (it probably won’t be his much longer, not if Dad stays here tonight; he’ll get the pull-out and this will be Dean’s and Dean’s will be Dad’s), kicking his shoes off and trying not to look sullen or sulky or sore or exhausted or frustrated or anything but collected and calm when he’s everything but that right now.

>“Okay - Sam, you said you found something at the library? How do we kill Fugly?"

Ever the mediator, Dean’s changing the subject, and Sam sighs a little, shrugs one shoulder (the one that isn’t aching) slightly. “You can’t kill them, but you can banish them. There’s this whole big prayer ritual thing, has to be done by a ‘righteous man’ or something,” he grabs for one of the books and flips through the pages to find the right one.

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[info]_jerk
2009-12-20 08:13 pm UTC (link)
Like he said, not exactly back to normal... well, okay, back to what passes for normal with them; John drops into the threadbare chair by the crappy black-and-white TV, back to the action but still paying more attention than should be possible from a man past his prime, head in his hands, and Dean diplomatically doesn't look at him because nobody, not even his son, is supposed to see 'John Winchester: Monster Slayer' like that (and John is so very tired – they all are, really, but him more than most, because looking at Sam is more like seeing himself than he's entirely comfortable with – Dean might be a good impersonation of the obvious, but Sam's got the nuances even as he rages and tries to feel different - and nothing saps a man's vitality like watching someone else walk down your path, living your life twice over and knowing how the story ends). And Sam drops onto the bed, and even if the tension still hangs in the air like mist over a shallow grave they're moving on with the case, which is a good thing, right?

Dean readies himself for round 2 when Sam says they can't be killed, because that news never goes over well – Dad's firmly of the opinion that anything can be killed (because he has to believe that, because when the time comes and he has his hands around that yellow eyed bastard's throat, he has to know the heart will stop and the light will fade and it will all be over) – and breathes a silent sigh of relief when he mentions the ritual.

“That's... something.” It comes off a little lame, the fake enthusiasm, as Dean sits himself on the bed next to Sam – he can't pretend he knows what he's looking for, but he's looking anyway, following where Sam points on the page and trying to make sense of what he's seeing. It's good, being involved in part of the hunt even if it's not the business end he'd like to be on.

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[info]_bitch
2009-12-27 06:53 pm UTC (link)
>“That's... something.”

Sam nods a little, eyes down on the book he’s scanning for relevant information he can pass along, and he ignores the falsity in the tone because forced enthusiasm is far better than what’s been going on lately. He pointedly isn’t looking anywhere near the direction of his father. Yeah, he’s pretending to be agreeable, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make it look like he’s enjoying it.

He glances up when Dean sits next to him, then goes back to trying to find the right page in the book, the page where it tells them what they need and how to do this. If they're going to be doing this - which apparently they are, and apparently tonight or something, which is stupid, but whatever, not like he'll be doing anything, anyway - they need to do it right.

"There," he points, and his finger stops half down one of the pages, on a block of text under a rough sketch someone did of one of these things, nightmarish face in thin black lines, and he lets his eyes skim past that, doesn't want to see, taps his finger a little on the old paper.

"There's instructions on a basic ritual here. Set up, requirements, process - everything." He looks back over at his brother and shrugs, "Unless this one is special somehow, it shouldn't be hard." Even though his words are optimistic, his tone is sullen, more a just get it over with already than anything.

They're going to go out and risk their necks again, and then they'll leave town, and he doesn't want either. He just wants them to stop this and stay somewhere, and they never will so he'll never be able to stay with them, if they even survive one more hunt one more month one more year. There's nothing he can do about it, and he's so, so tired of having to realize that over and over again.

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