vail_kagami
in
ohsam
Fine
Title: Fine
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for the first three episodes of season 6.
Word Count: 873
Summary: Dean sees all the ways in which his brother has changed.
Sam didn’t sleep.
He didn’t sleep, period. Dean found that out quickly after they started hunting together again. At night, Sam would sit over his laptop or books when Dean went to sleep, and he’d still sit there when Dean woke up, the other bed undisturbed. Sometimes he would work out, or clean the ratty motel room until it looked almost passable, or all of the above. Every now and then he went out and stayed away all night. Dean hoped that perhaps at least then he would sleep, in some stranger’s bed, but he doubted it.
He began to wonder why they bothered to pay for two beds anyway. When he made a comment about it, all he got in return was a shrug and a “Let’s not, then.”
The next motel they stayed at, Dean got two beds again. Sam put his stuff on the one closer to the door when cleaning his guns. Dean wondered if that counted as making an effort.
-
Sam ate just about anything.
Theoretically, that would have been a good thing. Dean used to tease Sam about his eating habits, but secretly he’d always been a little worried. Other than him, his little brother had never seen eating as something to be enjoyed, something to do for fun - to him it was merely a necessity. Yet he had always been picky about his food, frowning at Dean’s burgers while he picked his way through salads and other rabbit food hardly suitable to keep a guy his size alive and healthy.
Now he didn’t seem to care anymore what kind of food he put in his mouth as long as it was able to keep him going. He did it even more rarely than before, however, as if he was deaf to his body’s demands until his body stared to fail and sustenance was necessary to keep his efficiency.
Despite working out even harder than before, he had lost substance during the past year, and Dean found that oddly comforting.
-
Sam owned all of two shirts.
Sure, there was the suit and other clothes he needed for playing a part, but when it came to casual clothes, Sam owned two shirts, the blue-checked one and a red shirt he wore whenever the other one was dirty. Eventually, Dean learned that Bobby had given them to him.
Dean suspected that having more than the absolute necessary articles of clothing would waste too much time deciding what to wear in the morning.
-
Sam had hunted with his family.
Or so he said. Dean wasn’t convinced, because he knew that family was more than blood. Sam and the Campbells might have some genes in common, but despite shared ancestors they were colleagues at best, from what Dean could tell. There was nothing connecting them but the job and a mother Sam never knew. There were the Campbells and there was Sam Winchester, and it was more separating them than just the family name.
Sam never called his grandfather by anything but his name. They talked about the hunt and little else. They didn’t share their private lives. Although Sam asked of Dean to trust them, Dean wasn’t sure if Sam trusted them himself.
Or perhaps he just couldn’t connect with anyone enough to want to waste time with them, had forgotten how to see people as people. Perhaps even when he was with Dean he was just going through the motions.
-
Sam had no private life.
Dean learned very quickly that when Sam had told him he’d been hunting non-stop for a year, he wasn’t joking. Sam never stopped. The moment they had finished one hunt, he went looking for the next, until Dean felt the exhaustion drag him down and he needed a break, badly. When he did, Sam just continued hunting on his own until Dean was ready to catch up with him. He never took time for himself, didn’t read a book or watch a movie or surf the internet for porn. He just moved on and on and on, never stopping for breath, or food, or sleep, or to look at his life and think “Oh, crap.”
Because this wasn’t life. Somewhere along the way Sam had forgotten how to be a human and turned into a machine. He didn’t live, he functioned.
Perhaps it was himself he couldn’t see as a person anymore.
He had no friends, or hobbies, focused only on his job, and when there was no job, he found something else to work on. He was constantly running, and it hurt to watch, because Dean was tired of being lied to, again, tired of being pushed aside and merely tolerated in his little brother’s life. But this time he would not let the hurt take over and hope his Sam would come back if Dean pushed the new one away hard enough. This time he would stick around for answers and not rest until he got them.
And he worried, knowing that Sam was not Sam anymore because he was already broken. Dean feared what would be left of him if he ever stopped running.
-
Sam was fine.
Dean wouldn’t even touch that one.
October 9, 2010
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for the first three episodes of season 6.
Word Count: 873
Summary: Dean sees all the ways in which his brother has changed.
Sam didn’t sleep.
He didn’t sleep, period. Dean found that out quickly after they started hunting together again. At night, Sam would sit over his laptop or books when Dean went to sleep, and he’d still sit there when Dean woke up, the other bed undisturbed. Sometimes he would work out, or clean the ratty motel room until it looked almost passable, or all of the above. Every now and then he went out and stayed away all night. Dean hoped that perhaps at least then he would sleep, in some stranger’s bed, but he doubted it.
He began to wonder why they bothered to pay for two beds anyway. When he made a comment about it, all he got in return was a shrug and a “Let’s not, then.”
The next motel they stayed at, Dean got two beds again. Sam put his stuff on the one closer to the door when cleaning his guns. Dean wondered if that counted as making an effort.
-
Sam ate just about anything.
Theoretically, that would have been a good thing. Dean used to tease Sam about his eating habits, but secretly he’d always been a little worried. Other than him, his little brother had never seen eating as something to be enjoyed, something to do for fun - to him it was merely a necessity. Yet he had always been picky about his food, frowning at Dean’s burgers while he picked his way through salads and other rabbit food hardly suitable to keep a guy his size alive and healthy.
Now he didn’t seem to care anymore what kind of food he put in his mouth as long as it was able to keep him going. He did it even more rarely than before, however, as if he was deaf to his body’s demands until his body stared to fail and sustenance was necessary to keep his efficiency.
Despite working out even harder than before, he had lost substance during the past year, and Dean found that oddly comforting.
-
Sam owned all of two shirts.
Sure, there was the suit and other clothes he needed for playing a part, but when it came to casual clothes, Sam owned two shirts, the blue-checked one and a red shirt he wore whenever the other one was dirty. Eventually, Dean learned that Bobby had given them to him.
Dean suspected that having more than the absolute necessary articles of clothing would waste too much time deciding what to wear in the morning.
-
Sam had hunted with his family.
Or so he said. Dean wasn’t convinced, because he knew that family was more than blood. Sam and the Campbells might have some genes in common, but despite shared ancestors they were colleagues at best, from what Dean could tell. There was nothing connecting them but the job and a mother Sam never knew. There were the Campbells and there was Sam Winchester, and it was more separating them than just the family name.
Sam never called his grandfather by anything but his name. They talked about the hunt and little else. They didn’t share their private lives. Although Sam asked of Dean to trust them, Dean wasn’t sure if Sam trusted them himself.
Or perhaps he just couldn’t connect with anyone enough to want to waste time with them, had forgotten how to see people as people. Perhaps even when he was with Dean he was just going through the motions.
-
Sam had no private life.
Dean learned very quickly that when Sam had told him he’d been hunting non-stop for a year, he wasn’t joking. Sam never stopped. The moment they had finished one hunt, he went looking for the next, until Dean felt the exhaustion drag him down and he needed a break, badly. When he did, Sam just continued hunting on his own until Dean was ready to catch up with him. He never took time for himself, didn’t read a book or watch a movie or surf the internet for porn. He just moved on and on and on, never stopping for breath, or food, or sleep, or to look at his life and think “Oh, crap.”
Because this wasn’t life. Somewhere along the way Sam had forgotten how to be a human and turned into a machine. He didn’t live, he functioned.
Perhaps it was himself he couldn’t see as a person anymore.
He had no friends, or hobbies, focused only on his job, and when there was no job, he found something else to work on. He was constantly running, and it hurt to watch, because Dean was tired of being lied to, again, tired of being pushed aside and merely tolerated in his little brother’s life. But this time he would not let the hurt take over and hope his Sam would come back if Dean pushed the new one away hard enough. This time he would stick around for answers and not rest until he got them.
And he worried, knowing that Sam was not Sam anymore because he was already broken. Dean feared what would be left of him if he ever stopped running.
-
Sam was fine.
Dean wouldn’t even touch that one.
October 9, 2010