[SPN]: The Impala Chronicles.
Pg-13. Gen.
Very Bad Language.
1708 Words
Set during S3
A/N: Inspired by the line "get some sleep Sammy" and the song I'll stand by you. I'm still not sure how it happened since this really has nothing to do with the song at all. The song came on, this popped into my head and I had to get my friend to pull the car over so I could get my notebook out of the back.
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable is very evidently NOT mine to own.
Summary: I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. And that includes getting ancient letters magically scripted into your ass.
***
The Impala Chronicles: Or, Why Dean's An Awesome Brother And Got Those Damn Runes Tattooed On Sam In The First Place.
Dean takes point entering the warehouse and almost gets bludgeoned by a flying support beam, so Sam obviously thinks it’s only fair that he step in front of Dean and take the hit from an s-bend pipe less than twenty minutes later.
Fucking poltergeist. S-bend pipe- seriously?
So while Dean only has a bruised shoulder and several scrapes (cause no one comes away from a poltergeist completely unscathed- and considering the damage those fuckers usually do, they’ve done pretty well on the injury front), Sam’s bleeding from his hairline. He seems okay otherwise, no concussion- he’s grinning as he presses tissues to his forehead; running his mouth off on a blow-by-blow post-poltergeist-victory-high. But, knowing Sam, this could very well be a concussion. Kid’s never done anything by the book.
When there’s a break in his ramble, Dean looks away from the road and across to his brother. Sam’s grin is gone and he’s doing his staring-at-Dean thing again, looking like he can see inside Dean and right on through to the countryside beyond. It’s unnerving.
Dean looks away.
I know what you did, Sam says, and shifts so his body is turned sideways on the seat. Dean swallows down a sigh and avoids the conversation.
Face the front Sam, you’ll distract the driver. It’s a lie of course, and Sam knows this, so the fucker only turns his head and chest, leaves his left knee propped up on the vinyl. Dean rolls his eyes. Damn kid likes to pretend he’s not a Winchester; but he’s fucking proof all over, nine-point-five times out of ten.
I know what you did, he repeats, and this time Dean does sigh. He may as well get it over with.
And what did I do Sam?
Sam turns bodily back toward Dean and doesn’t say anything, just resumes his staring contest with Dean’s profile shot. An hour, or maybe just five minutes, passes.
What Sam?
Sam puts his hand (the one not against his head) in to his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. When he holds it up, Dean can see the pencil marks Sam’s drawn, replicas of the runes that he has tattooed on the back of his right thigh. Dean knows they’re there because he put them there. Magically of course- even drugged Sam would be bound to notice that his brother had needled under his ass. Dean has called on a favour off a witch (the favour being he hadn’t wasted her, thus she owed him one) to get the spell done.
Sam raises his eyebrows.
Really Dean? He asks. There’s a little more silence in the car. Dean watches a cornfield roll by.
Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?
Well you weren’t supposed to find them Sam. They weren’t exactly noticeable, what’d you do? Check out your own ass in the bathroom mirror or something?
Sam blushes. It wasn’t quite like that-
Jesus Sam. Dean laughs and shakes his head. Sam huffs next to him. Well I’m not the one who tattooed his brother without consent.
Magically tattooed.
That’s what you focus on? Sam sounds a little outraged. I think how I got it is not the most pressing issue here.
Dean watches the lane markers blur past and tries to count them. He gets to forty-three (but it might possibly be forty-nine, cause he’s not exactly going the limit, and things are blurring together a little) before Sam speaks again.
Why Dean?
For protection Sammy. Can never have enough protection.
It’s the truth. Dean knows Sam knows this. Sam reads runes like Sunday newspapers, so it’d be pretty damn impossible for Sam to not know these runes are for protection against harm. Cast and sworn on the life of a witch. But Sam doesn’t know that part of course. Just the protection against harm bit.
Well, mostly protection against harm.
Protection again grievous harm. Toilet pipes and concussions aren’t exactly covered in the warranty.
And when you look at it, it’s not like Sam can NEVER die with the runes- that is always a possibility. They’re more for if someone intends Sam some serious “harm” (read: killing or maiming). For instance (hypothetically of course); if someone- let’s call them Jake- ever comes at Sam with, oh let’s say a serrated knife, and goes to stab him in the spine (again) then the runes are there to make sure that this hypothetical Jake misses. And falls on the knife instead. Dean doesn’t think the last part is included in the spell work, but he likes to believe Karma will get in on the action and be an active participant in all this.
Hypothetically, of course.
Sam doesn’t ever have to know this though. In fact, Dean’s made a pact with himself to never tell Sam, even when his deal comes due. He has only nine months left (and he tries not to see the irony of that- nine months till he’s reborn in hell) and with the runes… he knows this way he’s never gonna see Sam downstairs with him, so long as he convinces Sam that he’ll be fine without Dean. You know, so he won’t go and off himself. The witch assured Dean with a grin that suicide was most definitely not covered by the spell. Besides, it’s always been Dean’s job to keep Sam alive, so a little bit of extra positive you CAN live without your brother pep talking is really just another day in the Impala.
But it figures that Sam, stubborn little fuck, isn’t satisfied- he’s looking at Dean like Dean is magically going to give him a more elaborate and truthful answer.
Magical. That’s worth a snort. Which Sam chooses to ignore. Determined bitch.
What am I supposed to say Sam? The tattoo is there to keep you from being hurt. Serious, never coming back from hurt, his brain supplies. This time Sam snorts.
I can see that Dean, I can read runes you know, and I don’t have a concussion-
Questionable.
-And they obviously aren’t working all that well are they? He crumples the tissues in his fist- at least the bleeding’s stopped. Dean tries not to make it look like he’s watching to see if the wound will burst open again.
Your choice to step in front of a toilet pipe.
Sam demonstrates what happens when bitchfaces #24 and #103 mate and have children. It makes him look a little constipated, but Dean gets the meaning. It makes him feel sober, like he’s just realised that he’s kicked a kitten.
Sam, I’m gone in nine months- I’m not gonna be around to make sure you keep eating those salads or are regularly brushing your teeth-
Dean, it’s not like you do that now.
But the point still stands. When I’m gone, I can’t stop anything from happening to you- but those runes can. You’re my brother Sam, always was, always will be and I’ll keep saying it until you get it inside your head. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. And that includes getting ancient letters magically scripted into your ass.
Sam softens immediately at that. But he’s not letting it go
Dean, I don’t need-
No! Jesus Sam, just shut up. You do need it. You need it because I need it because without it- without it... Dean feels like he can’t breathe.
Sam nods.
Okay. Okay. I get it.
There’s an indeterminable silence in the car. Dean’s still struggling to make his lungs work properly and he’s blinking at a rate of a thousand miles per minute. He really does not want to break down right now. Sam smiles at him and Dean’s heart rate slows again. Then Sam furrows his brow and Dean tries not to laugh, cause that makes him look even more constipated.
Are you sure you attached them properly? He asks. Cause, it’s not like they did their job. He gestures to his forehead.
It’s a bit of a loaded question. If Dean says yes, Sam’ll make him explain why. Cause even though Sam got knocked in the head, he didn’t get flung across the room and through a wall like Dean did, and he didn’t get spiked by the metal poles the poltergeist was so fond of throwing. The poltergeist missed- every single time. Missing by just that much, as if one step to the left or right was the difference between Sam breathing and Sam dying. Dean had been counting them, counting how many times his heart stopped beating thinking this one, this one won’t miss, this one will be it. It’s amazing actually, that Sam survived being skewered only to step in the path of an s-bend pipe.
And if he explains all that, then Sam will know that he’s not impervious to death at all, and find some way to get around it. And Dean can’t have that. He looks at Sam again and smirks.
Well, you did launch yourself in front of me and dude, you’re kind of a big fucking target.
Sam laughs.
Yeah, okay, you get the point on that one. He cocks his head and smiles at Dean. So where are we headed now?
Dean nearly runs the car off the road. It’s not the kind of question he was expecting. Sam is all about staying in places for as long as possible, taking downtime and licking your war wounds even when you don’t need to. To hear him ask about the road and the possibility of a hunt and just driving with no direction until they find one? Dean pinches his brother and calls Christo. Sam laughs at him.
Just saying dude, we got us a werewolf forty miles east or a banshee twenty-two miles north. Your pick, Jerk.
Dean considers. The banshee’s closer. And relatively easy to take out if they formulate a good plan. But… there’s a werewolf. A motherfucking werewolf and Dean can already feel the adrenaline flying through his veins. He switches the tape player on, but keeps the volume low.
Alright Bitch, get some sleep, we got ourselves a dog to catch tomorrow.
And Sam tucks his jacket under his head and says wake me when it’s my turn to drive.
Very Bad Language.
1708 Words
Set during S3
A/N: Inspired by the line "get some sleep Sammy" and the song I'll stand by you. I'm still not sure how it happened since this really has nothing to do with the song at all. The song came on, this popped into my head and I had to get my friend to pull the car over so I could get my notebook out of the back.
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable is very evidently NOT mine to own.
Summary: I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. And that includes getting ancient letters magically scripted into your ass.
***
The Impala Chronicles: Or, Why Dean's An Awesome Brother And Got Those Damn Runes Tattooed On Sam In The First Place.
Dean takes point entering the warehouse and almost gets bludgeoned by a flying support beam, so Sam obviously thinks it’s only fair that he step in front of Dean and take the hit from an s-bend pipe less than twenty minutes later.
Fucking poltergeist. S-bend pipe- seriously?
So while Dean only has a bruised shoulder and several scrapes (cause no one comes away from a poltergeist completely unscathed- and considering the damage those fuckers usually do, they’ve done pretty well on the injury front), Sam’s bleeding from his hairline. He seems okay otherwise, no concussion- he’s grinning as he presses tissues to his forehead; running his mouth off on a blow-by-blow post-poltergeist-victory-high. But, knowing Sam, this could very well be a concussion. Kid’s never done anything by the book.
When there’s a break in his ramble, Dean looks away from the road and across to his brother. Sam’s grin is gone and he’s doing his staring-at-Dean thing again, looking like he can see inside Dean and right on through to the countryside beyond. It’s unnerving.
Dean looks away.
I know what you did, Sam says, and shifts so his body is turned sideways on the seat. Dean swallows down a sigh and avoids the conversation.
Face the front Sam, you’ll distract the driver. It’s a lie of course, and Sam knows this, so the fucker only turns his head and chest, leaves his left knee propped up on the vinyl. Dean rolls his eyes. Damn kid likes to pretend he’s not a Winchester; but he’s fucking proof all over, nine-point-five times out of ten.
I know what you did, he repeats, and this time Dean does sigh. He may as well get it over with.
And what did I do Sam?
Sam turns bodily back toward Dean and doesn’t say anything, just resumes his staring contest with Dean’s profile shot. An hour, or maybe just five minutes, passes.
What Sam?
Sam puts his hand (the one not against his head) in to his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. When he holds it up, Dean can see the pencil marks Sam’s drawn, replicas of the runes that he has tattooed on the back of his right thigh. Dean knows they’re there because he put them there. Magically of course- even drugged Sam would be bound to notice that his brother had needled under his ass. Dean has called on a favour off a witch (the favour being he hadn’t wasted her, thus she owed him one) to get the spell done.
Sam raises his eyebrows.
Really Dean? He asks. There’s a little more silence in the car. Dean watches a cornfield roll by.
Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?
Well you weren’t supposed to find them Sam. They weren’t exactly noticeable, what’d you do? Check out your own ass in the bathroom mirror or something?
Sam blushes. It wasn’t quite like that-
Jesus Sam. Dean laughs and shakes his head. Sam huffs next to him. Well I’m not the one who tattooed his brother without consent.
Magically tattooed.
That’s what you focus on? Sam sounds a little outraged. I think how I got it is not the most pressing issue here.
Dean watches the lane markers blur past and tries to count them. He gets to forty-three (but it might possibly be forty-nine, cause he’s not exactly going the limit, and things are blurring together a little) before Sam speaks again.
Why Dean?
For protection Sammy. Can never have enough protection.
It’s the truth. Dean knows Sam knows this. Sam reads runes like Sunday newspapers, so it’d be pretty damn impossible for Sam to not know these runes are for protection against harm. Cast and sworn on the life of a witch. But Sam doesn’t know that part of course. Just the protection against harm bit.
Well, mostly protection against harm.
Protection again grievous harm. Toilet pipes and concussions aren’t exactly covered in the warranty.
And when you look at it, it’s not like Sam can NEVER die with the runes- that is always a possibility. They’re more for if someone intends Sam some serious “harm” (read: killing or maiming). For instance (hypothetically of course); if someone- let’s call them Jake- ever comes at Sam with, oh let’s say a serrated knife, and goes to stab him in the spine (again) then the runes are there to make sure that this hypothetical Jake misses. And falls on the knife instead. Dean doesn’t think the last part is included in the spell work, but he likes to believe Karma will get in on the action and be an active participant in all this.
Hypothetically, of course.
Sam doesn’t ever have to know this though. In fact, Dean’s made a pact with himself to never tell Sam, even when his deal comes due. He has only nine months left (and he tries not to see the irony of that- nine months till he’s reborn in hell) and with the runes… he knows this way he’s never gonna see Sam downstairs with him, so long as he convinces Sam that he’ll be fine without Dean. You know, so he won’t go and off himself. The witch assured Dean with a grin that suicide was most definitely not covered by the spell. Besides, it’s always been Dean’s job to keep Sam alive, so a little bit of extra positive you CAN live without your brother pep talking is really just another day in the Impala.
But it figures that Sam, stubborn little fuck, isn’t satisfied- he’s looking at Dean like Dean is magically going to give him a more elaborate and truthful answer.
Magical. That’s worth a snort. Which Sam chooses to ignore. Determined bitch.
What am I supposed to say Sam? The tattoo is there to keep you from being hurt. Serious, never coming back from hurt, his brain supplies. This time Sam snorts.
I can see that Dean, I can read runes you know, and I don’t have a concussion-
Questionable.
-And they obviously aren’t working all that well are they? He crumples the tissues in his fist- at least the bleeding’s stopped. Dean tries not to make it look like he’s watching to see if the wound will burst open again.
Your choice to step in front of a toilet pipe.
Sam demonstrates what happens when bitchfaces #24 and #103 mate and have children. It makes him look a little constipated, but Dean gets the meaning. It makes him feel sober, like he’s just realised that he’s kicked a kitten.
Sam, I’m gone in nine months- I’m not gonna be around to make sure you keep eating those salads or are regularly brushing your teeth-
Dean, it’s not like you do that now.
But the point still stands. When I’m gone, I can’t stop anything from happening to you- but those runes can. You’re my brother Sam, always was, always will be and I’ll keep saying it until you get it inside your head. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. And that includes getting ancient letters magically scripted into your ass.
Sam softens immediately at that. But he’s not letting it go
Dean, I don’t need-
No! Jesus Sam, just shut up. You do need it. You need it because I need it because without it- without it... Dean feels like he can’t breathe.
Sam nods.
Okay. Okay. I get it.
There’s an indeterminable silence in the car. Dean’s still struggling to make his lungs work properly and he’s blinking at a rate of a thousand miles per minute. He really does not want to break down right now. Sam smiles at him and Dean’s heart rate slows again. Then Sam furrows his brow and Dean tries not to laugh, cause that makes him look even more constipated.
Are you sure you attached them properly? He asks. Cause, it’s not like they did their job. He gestures to his forehead.
It’s a bit of a loaded question. If Dean says yes, Sam’ll make him explain why. Cause even though Sam got knocked in the head, he didn’t get flung across the room and through a wall like Dean did, and he didn’t get spiked by the metal poles the poltergeist was so fond of throwing. The poltergeist missed- every single time. Missing by just that much, as if one step to the left or right was the difference between Sam breathing and Sam dying. Dean had been counting them, counting how many times his heart stopped beating thinking this one, this one won’t miss, this one will be it. It’s amazing actually, that Sam survived being skewered only to step in the path of an s-bend pipe.
And if he explains all that, then Sam will know that he’s not impervious to death at all, and find some way to get around it. And Dean can’t have that. He looks at Sam again and smirks.
Well, you did launch yourself in front of me and dude, you’re kind of a big fucking target.
Sam laughs.
Yeah, okay, you get the point on that one. He cocks his head and smiles at Dean. So where are we headed now?
Dean nearly runs the car off the road. It’s not the kind of question he was expecting. Sam is all about staying in places for as long as possible, taking downtime and licking your war wounds even when you don’t need to. To hear him ask about the road and the possibility of a hunt and just driving with no direction until they find one? Dean pinches his brother and calls Christo. Sam laughs at him.
Just saying dude, we got us a werewolf forty miles east or a banshee twenty-two miles north. Your pick, Jerk.
Dean considers. The banshee’s closer. And relatively easy to take out if they formulate a good plan. But… there’s a werewolf. A motherfucking werewolf and Dean can already feel the adrenaline flying through his veins. He switches the tape player on, but keeps the volume low.
Alright Bitch, get some sleep, we got ourselves a dog to catch tomorrow.
And Sam tucks his jacket under his head and says wake me when it’s my turn to drive.