(no subject)
Title: Please
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for a prompt on tumblr (from anon)
When he’s seventeen years old, Sam almost dies.
Dean was distracted, and Dad had left them alone, Dad had trusted him, he had trusted himself, with this one goddamn thing, and he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough to protect Sammy, and now Sam’s fighting to maintain consciousness in the Impala’s passenger seat. Sam’s using what looks like more energy than he can spare just to keep his hand pressed to the wound in his chest. Sam’s face is covered with blood (not his not his not his not Sammy’s blood just the thing’s blood not Sam’s blood) and his clothes are stained with it and it has to be soaking into the seat by now.
“Dean-”
“Shut up.” The streetlamps and lights from the occasional house are flashing across the car sporadically, throwing Sam’s face into sharp shadows and making the blood splashed across his cheeks shine. The hospital can’t be far away now.
“Dean, just-”
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean laughs hysterically and presses his foot harder against the accelerator. Dean can’t look at Sam because he knows he’ll find the same resigned expression that he can already hear in Sam’s voice, that sigh of I’m going to die that has no fucking place being anywhere near Dean’s baby brother.
“Would you-”
“Sam, shut the fuck up and sit still, just stay here, stay here.” Dean hears Sam’s sarcastic Where would I go, we’re in a moving car, dumbass and prays to whoever will accept it that Sam lives long enough to bitch about Dean’s stupid, nonsensical request.
They pull into the parking lot at a cool forty miles an hour, and Dean can’t think straight.
“If you’d just let me-”
“What, Sam?” Dean finally turns to face his brother and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Sam doesn’t look at all the way he’d thought. He looks like Dean’s little brother, his eyes are brimming with tears, and he’s shaking everywhere.
“Shit. Shit, Sammy.”
“Dean, please.”
Sam yanks Dean forward with his free hand and presses their lips together. Sam tastes like dried blood, and when he sighs against Dean it changes to dried blood and cinnamon jolly ranchers. There’s a part of Dean that is jumping for joy right now, and a much stronger part that wants to vomit because Sam is so convinced that he’s going to die that he’s wasting precious seconds trying to tell Dean something that he’s known since Sam was four years old and confused because his classmates told him that he wasn’t allowed to marry his big brother.
When Dean pulls back, Sam’s barely conscious, and Dean prays again that Sam will live long enough for Dean to bitch at him for thinking that Dean was worth Sam’s life.
Sam will, and Dean will, and it’ll take Sam’s begging, “Please, Dean, please please please,” for Dean to realize that it wasn’t a final I love you I want you please believe me, but a first.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for a prompt on tumblr (from anon)
When he’s seventeen years old, Sam almost dies.
Dean was distracted, and Dad had left them alone, Dad had trusted him, he had trusted himself, with this one goddamn thing, and he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough to protect Sammy, and now Sam’s fighting to maintain consciousness in the Impala’s passenger seat. Sam’s using what looks like more energy than he can spare just to keep his hand pressed to the wound in his chest. Sam’s face is covered with blood (not his not his not his not Sammy’s blood just the thing’s blood not Sam’s blood) and his clothes are stained with it and it has to be soaking into the seat by now.
“Dean-”
“Shut up.” The streetlamps and lights from the occasional house are flashing across the car sporadically, throwing Sam’s face into sharp shadows and making the blood splashed across his cheeks shine. The hospital can’t be far away now.
“Dean, just-”
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean laughs hysterically and presses his foot harder against the accelerator. Dean can’t look at Sam because he knows he’ll find the same resigned expression that he can already hear in Sam’s voice, that sigh of I’m going to die that has no fucking place being anywhere near Dean’s baby brother.
“Would you-”
“Sam, shut the fuck up and sit still, just stay here, stay here.” Dean hears Sam’s sarcastic Where would I go, we’re in a moving car, dumbass and prays to whoever will accept it that Sam lives long enough to bitch about Dean’s stupid, nonsensical request.
They pull into the parking lot at a cool forty miles an hour, and Dean can’t think straight.
“If you’d just let me-”
“What, Sam?” Dean finally turns to face his brother and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Sam doesn’t look at all the way he’d thought. He looks like Dean’s little brother, his eyes are brimming with tears, and he’s shaking everywhere.
“Shit. Shit, Sammy.”
“Dean, please.”
Sam yanks Dean forward with his free hand and presses their lips together. Sam tastes like dried blood, and when he sighs against Dean it changes to dried blood and cinnamon jolly ranchers. There’s a part of Dean that is jumping for joy right now, and a much stronger part that wants to vomit because Sam is so convinced that he’s going to die that he’s wasting precious seconds trying to tell Dean something that he’s known since Sam was four years old and confused because his classmates told him that he wasn’t allowed to marry his big brother.
When Dean pulls back, Sam’s barely conscious, and Dean prays again that Sam will live long enough for Dean to bitch at him for thinking that Dean was worth Sam’s life.
Sam will, and Dean will, and it’ll take Sam’s begging, “Please, Dean, please please please,” for Dean to realize that it wasn’t a final I love you I want you please believe me, but a first.