my hands are shakin' [closed // in-progress]~
WHO: Sam [ribellarsi] and Dean Winchester [canecieco]
WHAT: Relieving some tension in the Winchester household aka bitching each other out until there is some sort of breakdown. [It's canon!]
WHERE: ~*~*Winchester Bachelor Pad*~*~
WHEN: Day 79.
Sam was tired. Tired and frustrated and so scared that it made him absolutely sick, left him staring at the ceiling every single night with too many thoughts racing through his head; too many 'what-ifs' for sleep. He couldn't tell if Dean was being stupid or if he was just being touchy anymore: all of their arguments just faded into one another anyway, everything dissolving into the same key points over and over and the harder they worked them, the more tired they became -- the more tired Sam became.
On top of that, all of this bullshit with that Grimmjow guy just wasn't fucking worth it. The end. It wasn't worth having Dean come back beaten up and bloody and it wasn't worth the tension between the already tense social groups and it wasn't worth the worrying when Dean could just shove his pride for once and get his priorities in order -- maybe even grow up for a second and forget about the damn family. Think about himself for five minutes before going in like some sort of barbarian, guns flaming.
There were apple turnovers in the oven, something Sam had resorted to after he got fed up with his stupid paperwork, all the deaths in the ordered little rows like that made it more okay. Bearable. More humane.
It didn't.
The oven beeped just as Sam heard keys turning in the door, so he just turned off the oven and eyed the mess of papers on the coffee table before turning towards the door, folded his arms in front of his chest.
WHAT: Relieving some tension in the Winchester household aka bitching each other out until there is some sort of breakdown. [It's canon!]
WHERE: ~*~*Winchester Bachelor Pad*~*~
WHEN: Day 79.
Sam was tired. Tired and frustrated and so scared that it made him absolutely sick, left him staring at the ceiling every single night with too many thoughts racing through his head; too many 'what-ifs' for sleep. He couldn't tell if Dean was being stupid or if he was just being touchy anymore: all of their arguments just faded into one another anyway, everything dissolving into the same key points over and over and the harder they worked them, the more tired they became -- the more tired Sam became.
On top of that, all of this bullshit with that Grimmjow guy just wasn't fucking worth it. The end. It wasn't worth having Dean come back beaten up and bloody and it wasn't worth the tension between the already tense social groups and it wasn't worth the worrying when Dean could just shove his pride for once and get his priorities in order -- maybe even grow up for a second and forget about the damn family. Think about himself for five minutes before going in like some sort of barbarian, guns flaming.
There were apple turnovers in the oven, something Sam had resorted to after he got fed up with his stupid paperwork, all the deaths in the ordered little rows like that made it more okay. Bearable. More humane.
It didn't.
The oven beeped just as Sam heard keys turning in the door, so he just turned off the oven and eyed the mess of papers on the coffee table before turning towards the door, folded his arms in front of his chest.