[Slash] Dean’s Fault, Sam/Dean, Prompt 22: Guilt [Nano]
Title: Dean’s Fault
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Theme: Nano Table
Prompt(s): 22 - Guilt
Words: ~800
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If I had my way, this would be the show. Very seldom do I have my way.
Summary: Neither Dean nor Sam are ready for John to know.
Like a bucket of ice the words washed over the room, tensing the shoulders of all three men. It was obvious that they were the wrong things to be said and Dean wished - not for the first time - that he could rewind, erase, redo.
Like you even know what love is.
Sam’s eyes were wide, darting between Dean and their father so quick and sharp it looked painful and Dean might have laughed if the entire subject wasn’t so… apocalyptically bad. It was pretty much as close to the end of the world as Dean could imagine. Their dad, walking in on them with lips tangled together, hands under shirts.
Dean was just a little concerned that the look his dad was shooting him was actually going to kill him. Especially after those words that were still bouncing around the room as if he’d screamed them instead of the deadly cold whisper they’d come out in.
“Get. Out.”
There was a sharp edge to the man’s words and Dean didn’t have to be told twice. In a flash he was tugging up his duffel bag, stuffing in items, shoving off the nerves that shook his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught Sam’s movement, watched him tug at his own duffel bag.
“Sam. You’re not going anywhere,” John hissed the words and Dean could see the ripple of tense anger cover him like a heavy blanket. “You’re sixteen years old. I’m still your father and no matter what Dean has tried to make you do, I’m not allowing this. It’s filthy and sick.”
A sharp sting of guilt bit at Dean’s heart and his eyes fixed on Sam’s for a moment before he was in movement once more. Filthy and sick. That was basically Dean defined in bare terms. But Sam would never be that way. And Dean knew - just like he knew the ways to make his little brother come hardest, just like he knew the spot to hit to make his little brother jack knife off the bed in pleasure - that John would kill him before letting Dean take Sam away.
Which was why there was only one solution.
“Don’t leave me here,” Sam whispered softly, eyes pleading.
For a moment Dean was torn between want and wrong. He could figure it out, the way to help Sam escape. They could make it work even without their father. Dean was twenty years old, Sam was sixteen, but they’d both been grown up for a longer time then their father seemed to realize. Dean could feel the importance of this moment like a path spread before him, a fork in the road, one way led to a life with the only person he’d ever love the other was a life of solitude and loneliness.
Fixing his gaze on Sam, Dean nodded slowly.
It was Sam who snatched up the shotgun first and for one horrible moment Dean thought he might do something they’d both regret. He didn’t though. Simply flipped the weapon around and jammed the stock into the back of John’s head.
Their dad went down like a heavy weight and Dean spared no time in dragging him across the room and fixing him to the chair. He left a knife sitting on the table knowing the man would figure out a way to get at it and get himself free. Even if it took several days.
They packed up their things silently, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if their dad wasn’t knocked out - at their hand - and tied to the chair in the middle of the room. That sting of guilt still clenched his heart and Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at Sam until after they were in the Impala and the motel was disappearing from sight in the rearview mirror.
“Dean…”
Sam’s whisper was sad, scared, shaking.
Swallowing roughly, Dean lifted his arm for his brother to settle into the spot beside him. “We’ll make it Sam.” They had no option but too.
“I love you,” Sam’s arm snaked along his waist as he settled in for the drive.
The words warmed his heart and made everything suddenly a million times better. “Yeah Sam, I love you too.” No matter what happened, Dean knew they’d be able to make it through this. They always could while they had each other.
-=-=-=-
Dean woke alone.
Like he did all mornings.
Like he always would.
Because he was filthy and sick.
Because he hadn’t been strong enough to nod at his brother.
And no matter times he dreamed about it, it wouldn’t change the fact.
Dean would be alone for the rest of his life and it would always be his fault.
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Theme: Nano Table
Prompt(s): 22 - Guilt
Words: ~800
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If I had my way, this would be the show. Very seldom do I have my way.
Summary: Neither Dean nor Sam are ready for John to know.
Like a bucket of ice the words washed over the room, tensing the shoulders of all three men. It was obvious that they were the wrong things to be said and Dean wished - not for the first time - that he could rewind, erase, redo.
Like you even know what love is.
Sam’s eyes were wide, darting between Dean and their father so quick and sharp it looked painful and Dean might have laughed if the entire subject wasn’t so… apocalyptically bad. It was pretty much as close to the end of the world as Dean could imagine. Their dad, walking in on them with lips tangled together, hands under shirts.
Dean was just a little concerned that the look his dad was shooting him was actually going to kill him. Especially after those words that were still bouncing around the room as if he’d screamed them instead of the deadly cold whisper they’d come out in.
“Get. Out.”
There was a sharp edge to the man’s words and Dean didn’t have to be told twice. In a flash he was tugging up his duffel bag, stuffing in items, shoving off the nerves that shook his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught Sam’s movement, watched him tug at his own duffel bag.
“Sam. You’re not going anywhere,” John hissed the words and Dean could see the ripple of tense anger cover him like a heavy blanket. “You’re sixteen years old. I’m still your father and no matter what Dean has tried to make you do, I’m not allowing this. It’s filthy and sick.”
A sharp sting of guilt bit at Dean’s heart and his eyes fixed on Sam’s for a moment before he was in movement once more. Filthy and sick. That was basically Dean defined in bare terms. But Sam would never be that way. And Dean knew - just like he knew the ways to make his little brother come hardest, just like he knew the spot to hit to make his little brother jack knife off the bed in pleasure - that John would kill him before letting Dean take Sam away.
Which was why there was only one solution.
“Don’t leave me here,” Sam whispered softly, eyes pleading.
For a moment Dean was torn between want and wrong. He could figure it out, the way to help Sam escape. They could make it work even without their father. Dean was twenty years old, Sam was sixteen, but they’d both been grown up for a longer time then their father seemed to realize. Dean could feel the importance of this moment like a path spread before him, a fork in the road, one way led to a life with the only person he’d ever love the other was a life of solitude and loneliness.
Fixing his gaze on Sam, Dean nodded slowly.
It was Sam who snatched up the shotgun first and for one horrible moment Dean thought he might do something they’d both regret. He didn’t though. Simply flipped the weapon around and jammed the stock into the back of John’s head.
Their dad went down like a heavy weight and Dean spared no time in dragging him across the room and fixing him to the chair. He left a knife sitting on the table knowing the man would figure out a way to get at it and get himself free. Even if it took several days.
They packed up their things silently, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if their dad wasn’t knocked out - at their hand - and tied to the chair in the middle of the room. That sting of guilt still clenched his heart and Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at Sam until after they were in the Impala and the motel was disappearing from sight in the rearview mirror.
“Dean…”
Sam’s whisper was sad, scared, shaking.
Swallowing roughly, Dean lifted his arm for his brother to settle into the spot beside him. “We’ll make it Sam.” They had no option but too.
“I love you,” Sam’s arm snaked along his waist as he settled in for the drive.
The words warmed his heart and made everything suddenly a million times better. “Yeah Sam, I love you too.” No matter what happened, Dean knew they’d be able to make it through this. They always could while they had each other.
-=-=-=-
Dean woke alone.
Like he did all mornings.
Like he always would.
Because he was filthy and sick.
Because he hadn’t been strong enough to nod at his brother.
And no matter times he dreamed about it, it wouldn’t change the fact.
Dean would be alone for the rest of his life and it would always be his fault.