Drabble A Day: April 10th
Disclaimer: None you know are belong to us.
Warnings: unbeta'ed; speculative
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: G
Wordcount: ~280
Spoilers: 4x03.
A/N: Just a runaway thought. Which sort of grew.
A flash, and the gun in Dean's hands is as true as the blood on his lips. It's not really what he was trying, not what he was planning, really, swear to God, hand on the Bible.
Save that God's an ass and the only reason Dean knows the Bible was because of that one week in Alabama and -
He can't.
He stares and stares and can't blink, and he can't. Couldn't do it for Dad, couldn't do it when (not)Sam begged for it. Couldn't let it rest when that bastard in Cold Oak finished what Gordon started.
Stop it.
But it's Sam. It's not Yellow-Eyes. It's not Lucifer. It's not Armageddon. Hell, it's not even Saturday Night Fever.
Sam's watching him, too, eyeful for an eyeful, careful and out of his reach, like after Broward County (Duluth, Maple Springs, Palo Alto). But nothing but Sam.
Or we will.
The noise sears his ears again, and he wants to scream, tell them to stop, they can't, it's Sam, they made a mistake.
He loses his grip, feels his own blood pound fast and merciless like the sound of wings, can't stop staring, Sam still standing, eyes focused on something Dean can't see. He can't get up, can't save his brother, can't go and kick him for doing something so stupid.
And Sam?
Sam spreads his arms and laughs.
*ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*