Supernatural - John/Dean<-Sam - PG-13 - Wicked Truths
Title: Wicked Truths
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: John/Dean<-Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest, implied sex
Word Count: 1,149
Notes: For 2x5obsessions. This could have fit the prompt better, but whatev. :| Sam POV, very light implied sexings.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine. This is for fun and not for profit.
It had been a bad day.
School hadn't been too terrible until lunch, when Sam realized he'd forgotten his. His stomach had rumbled through the rest of the day, hitting its peak during sixth period -- History. It was test day, and the essay question definitely hadn't been the one he was prepared for. He wrote as much as he could, but he knew it wasn't enough, and that pissed him off.
The only upside was that it was the school's annual finals rally day -- and seniors, being exempt from the tests if they had good grades, didn't have to go. Sam took as much solace in the fact that he didn't have to watch people parade around excited about a school he'd only been at for three weeks as he could.
It didn't end when school did, however -- he tripped in the hall on the way out, spilling his books everywhere. It only got better when he realized that getting out early meant no bus, and the rain outside was coming down hard. Pitifully, Sam slid his books into his backpack, shouldered the bag, and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up, stepping out into the bleak weather. The rain hammered him the entire long trip home and, two blocks away from the motel, a speeding car careened into a puddle, splashing Sam with water so high he had to lift a sopping wet sleeve to dry his face. It was a motion he made out of habit, and it did little to help.
"Asshole," he growled after the car. Dean might have yelled it after, he thought, but Sam knew they were already too far gone to hear him and it wouldn't make him feel any better, that was for sure.
He dug into his pocket, pulling out the motel key with a sigh. All he wanted to do was get in the damn room, get a shower, and change into something warm. He didn't want to see dad, he didn't want to see Dean, he didn't want to hear about the night's hunt he knew they'd been planning.
The key slid in the lock and Sam stepped in, his feet squishing in the carpet with each step. Sighing, Sam kicked off his shoes, putting them next to the air unit. Hopefully, that would dry them out sooner. He glanced around -- the front room was dark. The TV was on like Dean had been watching it, but the sound was turned down low. They'd gotten a pretty big room, which is what they usually did when they were planning on staying somewhere longer than a week or so. Since it had been Sam's last month and a half of school, John had settled down somewhere for a time and let Sam finish up school in the same place. The size of the motel room mirrored their intentions to stick around -- it had a front room with a tiny afterthought of a kitchen (which was more than usual) and two bedrooms off from the front, both with one queen bed. The one on the left -- a little bigger, containing the only bathroom the place had -- was John's, and the right was Sam and Dean's.
With light coming from under both doors, Sam figured Dean was in theirs. He slid the backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor, pulling off his hoodie as he moved towards their room. Easing the door open, he stopped when he saw the empty bed. Where was Dean? The car had still been in the parking lot, so unless he'd taken a walk in the rain, he was--
Sam stopped, suddenly, his hoodie half-off, arms poised in an awkward position. He was certain he'd heard a noise next door. Some kind of... groan?
Quickly discarding the hoodie on the bed, Sam moved into the empty room and quietly towards the bedside table. His gun was in the drawer inside, perched just on top of the Gideon's placed copy of the Bible. He picked it up, clicking the safety off as he did and moving quietly out into the main room. He approached John's door with caution, every sense on high alert. Something was happening, and if that noise was any indication, somebody in there was in pain.
Did something really have the balls to attack them in their own damn hotel room? This day really couldn't get any worse than it already was, could it?
The door was cracked, and Sam huddled outside it, gun at the ready, breathing heavy and uneven. It wouldn't really do to go in, guns blazing. If he could get an idea of what was happening, he could formulate a better reaction...
All he could see when he glanced inside was a form, huddled in the bed... it moved, and Sam's grip tightened on the gun, and then, suddenly, that sound again...
Realization dawned on Sam suddenly, and his heart that had moments ago been pounding in his chest suddenly came to a screeching halt. No way. Dad was with a girl? He'd probably asked Dean to leave, but where the hell had he--
A gasp, a noise from the back of someone's throat, and Sam felt his stomach drop. No, that was Dean. He was sure of that. But why was Dean in dad's room, and why was...
Slowly, Sam dropped his pose, his shoulders sinking, eyes widening. He took quiet steps back from the door, almost tripping over his own feet, his heart twisting in his chest. Dean. Dad. Dean and dad together, in the dim light of the turned-down motel lamp, pressing against each other between stiff white bedsheets, against beds where hundreds of couples had done it together before.
Sam moved automatically, then, back into the bedroom, pulling his hoodie back on, placing the gun back in its spot, slipping into his still-wet sneakers and grabbing his backpack. The rain was letting up when he moved back outside, but he didn't notice.
They weren't expecting Sam back for about an hour. He could only hope that, by then, they would be done.
Slipping into the diner down the street, Sam ordered a plate of fries and pulled out his school binder, flipping through the pages without really looking at them. He wasn't sure why he'd ordered food. Was he really hungry?
He stopped flipping when he hit the college application one of his teachers had given him a week ago. Stanford University... all the way in California. He stared down at it. The late application period was ending later that week. He'd told the teacher he couldn't, he was going into the family business, but...
Sam frowned, reaching for a pen and slowly glancing over the questions. He hesitated for a moment. Dean's moan, fresh in his mind, played over and over again.
In a moment, pen was on paper, flowing across the page. This life... it wasn't for him, and by staying he was only in the way.
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: John/Dean<-Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest, implied sex
Word Count: 1,149
Notes: For 2x5obsessions. This could have fit the prompt better, but whatev. :| Sam POV, very light implied sexings.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine. This is for fun and not for profit.
It had been a bad day.
School hadn't been too terrible until lunch, when Sam realized he'd forgotten his. His stomach had rumbled through the rest of the day, hitting its peak during sixth period -- History. It was test day, and the essay question definitely hadn't been the one he was prepared for. He wrote as much as he could, but he knew it wasn't enough, and that pissed him off.
The only upside was that it was the school's annual finals rally day -- and seniors, being exempt from the tests if they had good grades, didn't have to go. Sam took as much solace in the fact that he didn't have to watch people parade around excited about a school he'd only been at for three weeks as he could.
It didn't end when school did, however -- he tripped in the hall on the way out, spilling his books everywhere. It only got better when he realized that getting out early meant no bus, and the rain outside was coming down hard. Pitifully, Sam slid his books into his backpack, shouldered the bag, and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up, stepping out into the bleak weather. The rain hammered him the entire long trip home and, two blocks away from the motel, a speeding car careened into a puddle, splashing Sam with water so high he had to lift a sopping wet sleeve to dry his face. It was a motion he made out of habit, and it did little to help.
"Asshole," he growled after the car. Dean might have yelled it after, he thought, but Sam knew they were already too far gone to hear him and it wouldn't make him feel any better, that was for sure.
He dug into his pocket, pulling out the motel key with a sigh. All he wanted to do was get in the damn room, get a shower, and change into something warm. He didn't want to see dad, he didn't want to see Dean, he didn't want to hear about the night's hunt he knew they'd been planning.
The key slid in the lock and Sam stepped in, his feet squishing in the carpet with each step. Sighing, Sam kicked off his shoes, putting them next to the air unit. Hopefully, that would dry them out sooner. He glanced around -- the front room was dark. The TV was on like Dean had been watching it, but the sound was turned down low. They'd gotten a pretty big room, which is what they usually did when they were planning on staying somewhere longer than a week or so. Since it had been Sam's last month and a half of school, John had settled down somewhere for a time and let Sam finish up school in the same place. The size of the motel room mirrored their intentions to stick around -- it had a front room with a tiny afterthought of a kitchen (which was more than usual) and two bedrooms off from the front, both with one queen bed. The one on the left -- a little bigger, containing the only bathroom the place had -- was John's, and the right was Sam and Dean's.
With light coming from under both doors, Sam figured Dean was in theirs. He slid the backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor, pulling off his hoodie as he moved towards their room. Easing the door open, he stopped when he saw the empty bed. Where was Dean? The car had still been in the parking lot, so unless he'd taken a walk in the rain, he was--
Sam stopped, suddenly, his hoodie half-off, arms poised in an awkward position. He was certain he'd heard a noise next door. Some kind of... groan?
Quickly discarding the hoodie on the bed, Sam moved into the empty room and quietly towards the bedside table. His gun was in the drawer inside, perched just on top of the Gideon's placed copy of the Bible. He picked it up, clicking the safety off as he did and moving quietly out into the main room. He approached John's door with caution, every sense on high alert. Something was happening, and if that noise was any indication, somebody in there was in pain.
Did something really have the balls to attack them in their own damn hotel room? This day really couldn't get any worse than it already was, could it?
The door was cracked, and Sam huddled outside it, gun at the ready, breathing heavy and uneven. It wouldn't really do to go in, guns blazing. If he could get an idea of what was happening, he could formulate a better reaction...
All he could see when he glanced inside was a form, huddled in the bed... it moved, and Sam's grip tightened on the gun, and then, suddenly, that sound again...
Realization dawned on Sam suddenly, and his heart that had moments ago been pounding in his chest suddenly came to a screeching halt. No way. Dad was with a girl? He'd probably asked Dean to leave, but where the hell had he--
A gasp, a noise from the back of someone's throat, and Sam felt his stomach drop. No, that was Dean. He was sure of that. But why was Dean in dad's room, and why was...
Slowly, Sam dropped his pose, his shoulders sinking, eyes widening. He took quiet steps back from the door, almost tripping over his own feet, his heart twisting in his chest. Dean. Dad. Dean and dad together, in the dim light of the turned-down motel lamp, pressing against each other between stiff white bedsheets, against beds where hundreds of couples had done it together before.
Sam moved automatically, then, back into the bedroom, pulling his hoodie back on, placing the gun back in its spot, slipping into his still-wet sneakers and grabbing his backpack. The rain was letting up when he moved back outside, but he didn't notice.
They weren't expecting Sam back for about an hour. He could only hope that, by then, they would be done.
Slipping into the diner down the street, Sam ordered a plate of fries and pulled out his school binder, flipping through the pages without really looking at them. He wasn't sure why he'd ordered food. Was he really hungry?
He stopped flipping when he hit the college application one of his teachers had given him a week ago. Stanford University... all the way in California. He stared down at it. The late application period was ending later that week. He'd told the teacher he couldn't, he was going into the family business, but...
Sam frowned, reaching for a pen and slowly glancing over the questions. He hesitated for a moment. Dean's moan, fresh in his mind, played over and over again.
In a moment, pen was on paper, flowing across the page. This life... it wasn't for him, and by staying he was only in the way.