[fic] supernatural: i need you to tell me you accept all of me
Um, okay, saw Criss Angel is a Douche Bag and lsfdsf
I need you to tell me you accept all of me
summary: and while i'm dreaming, i'd like a pony. post criss angel is a douche bag's angst anvils
a/n: another f-locked like 500 words I wrote in a fit of needing to sort out Sam's fucked up head idek :c *hugs Sam and Dean*
Sam knew he was never going to get back Dean's trust in some ways, let alone his understanding. When he had to bury Dean for the second time, when he held Dean's corpse and knew it was the three hundred and ninth time, Sam had known. When Lilith laughed and laughed while Dean screamed, Sam had been preparing for this inevitability.
Slipping in the motel room, and seeing Dean had more fallen backwards onto the bed and died than gone to bed, Sam knew he was never going to get back Dean's respect for all the things he had done out of weakness. Desperation.
After washing his face and bracing tight over the sink to stare into nothing, he knew Dean would probably never see him as Sam again, because Dean's Sam wasn't a demon-in-training and could never have been capable of the things he'd done in the last year and a half.
Dean was right. But he was also wrong. He wasn't anything like Alistair. He was a hero, Sam's hero, always. And Sam had blood pumping black in his veins long before the dreams of Jess. Though Sam had honestly tried to keep being Dean's Sam, one day Ruby said 'Dean is gone' and instead of dying all over again, Sam only felt the empty 'yes' clanging inside his hollow chest. When 'so then is Sam' followed, he let go and never looked to see where Dean's Sam landed as he left him behind. So now he was this Sam: not a real demon, not a real human, not a real Sammy or a real anything.
There was no going back, he couldn't go back, couldn't ever be the Sam who let Dean have his way, who did the right thing and let Dean die just so Sam could stay human. That Sam had been stupid, cowardly. Powerless to protect his own family. Until Dean faced that, like Sam had, this relationship was never going to reach a mature decision -- move forward, or end.
Maybe Dean wanted it to end, Sam's eyes clenched tight and his mouth twisted. Maybe Dean only tolerated him staying around because he couldn't yet bring himself to lock the passenger's side as Sam reached for the door.
If so, Sam was going to get him to admit it, say it, and once Dean gave him that, so Sam would go eat a bullet already and set Dean free. Because Dean wouldn't understand what Sam was trying to say otherwise.
That was another way they kept brushing each other wrong, out of sync, out of time. In his time in hell, Dean had come to weigh actions over words more than ever; and in his time in hell, above ground and alone, words were all Sam had to keep himself from going crazy and digging Dean up all over again with his bare hands. They were still people stuck in that time, too tired to move. They couldn't communicate. Together they were a mess.
Leaning against the bathroom doorway, he made out Dean's slowly rising and falling chest on the motel bed. He made out the amulet around Dean's neck that Sam had clung to for four months as a rosary, a crucifix, a pentagram. And despite all the things Sam knew, he prayed anyway. He prayed to the only one who'd ever answered his prayers since he was six months old. He prayed that when the time came, when he showed he could longer be idolized Sammy, Dean would finally hear what Sam was saying. He prayed, Please, please.
Dean.
I need you to tell me you accept all of me.
-------------------------
i feel just like i'm sinking and i claw for a solid ground
in all the darkness i feel like letting go
i know i can love you much better than this
it's just better this way
full of grace - sarah mclachlan
I need you to tell me you accept all of me
summary: and while i'm dreaming, i'd like a pony. post criss angel is a douche bag's angst anvils
a/n: another f-locked like 500 words I wrote in a fit of needing to sort out Sam's fucked up head idek :c *hugs Sam and Dean*
Sam knew he was never going to get back Dean's trust in some ways, let alone his understanding. When he had to bury Dean for the second time, when he held Dean's corpse and knew it was the three hundred and ninth time, Sam had known. When Lilith laughed and laughed while Dean screamed, Sam had been preparing for this inevitability.
Slipping in the motel room, and seeing Dean had more fallen backwards onto the bed and died than gone to bed, Sam knew he was never going to get back Dean's respect for all the things he had done out of weakness. Desperation.
After washing his face and bracing tight over the sink to stare into nothing, he knew Dean would probably never see him as Sam again, because Dean's Sam wasn't a demon-in-training and could never have been capable of the things he'd done in the last year and a half.
Dean was right. But he was also wrong. He wasn't anything like Alistair. He was a hero, Sam's hero, always. And Sam had blood pumping black in his veins long before the dreams of Jess. Though Sam had honestly tried to keep being Dean's Sam, one day Ruby said 'Dean is gone' and instead of dying all over again, Sam only felt the empty 'yes' clanging inside his hollow chest. When 'so then is Sam' followed, he let go and never looked to see where Dean's Sam landed as he left him behind. So now he was this Sam: not a real demon, not a real human, not a real Sammy or a real anything.
There was no going back, he couldn't go back, couldn't ever be the Sam who let Dean have his way, who did the right thing and let Dean die just so Sam could stay human. That Sam had been stupid, cowardly. Powerless to protect his own family. Until Dean faced that, like Sam had, this relationship was never going to reach a mature decision -- move forward, or end.
Maybe Dean wanted it to end, Sam's eyes clenched tight and his mouth twisted. Maybe Dean only tolerated him staying around because he couldn't yet bring himself to lock the passenger's side as Sam reached for the door.
If so, Sam was going to get him to admit it, say it, and once Dean gave him that, so Sam would go eat a bullet already and set Dean free. Because Dean wouldn't understand what Sam was trying to say otherwise.
That was another way they kept brushing each other wrong, out of sync, out of time. In his time in hell, Dean had come to weigh actions over words more than ever; and in his time in hell, above ground and alone, words were all Sam had to keep himself from going crazy and digging Dean up all over again with his bare hands. They were still people stuck in that time, too tired to move. They couldn't communicate. Together they were a mess.
Leaning against the bathroom doorway, he made out Dean's slowly rising and falling chest on the motel bed. He made out the amulet around Dean's neck that Sam had clung to for four months as a rosary, a crucifix, a pentagram. And despite all the things Sam knew, he prayed anyway. He prayed to the only one who'd ever answered his prayers since he was six months old. He prayed that when the time came, when he showed he could longer be idolized Sammy, Dean would finally hear what Sam was saying. He prayed, Please, please.
Dean.
I need you to tell me you accept all of me.
-------------------------
i feel just like i'm sinking and i claw for a solid ground
in all the darkness i feel like letting go
i know i can love you much better than this
it's just better this way
full of grace - sarah mclachlan