InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "long and hard hours"

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

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.”

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_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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_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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_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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_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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