FIC - So Bad I Can Hardly Stand It
Title: So Bad I Can Hardly Stand It
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Sam (remembered)
A/N: written for my friend likiel who asked for a 2014!Dean fic. I have never written this character before so I hope it doesn’t suck too bad. Title shamelessly ripped off from Brokeback Mountain.
Summary: It’s the end of the fucking world, so what the hell?
There was a checklist, always, on a constant loop in his head. Of course in his head, because you don’t waste paper and ink on stupid shit like writing lists. He made the rules, so he (pretty much) followed them, too. So the mental checklist whirred and clicked in Dean’s brain as he lay in his cot. Supplies had been inventoried, teams had been formed to go out the next day, injuries had been tended to, people had been fed, on and on and on. It kept him awake, but it also kept his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. At least temporarily.
Dean was fairly certain that the only reason he hadn’t lost his mind yet was because he was in charge of this place, these people, and it kept him busy. Kept him planning, kept him fighting, kept him looking out for those who depended on him, kept him sane. Sort of. Maybe. For now. The hunters and survivors who lived at the camp depended on him, looked to him for an example, so what the fuck was he supposed to do, sob like a baby every time he felt like it? (Which, by the way, was pretty much most of the time.)
Today was a good example. His team had hit up a shopping center that hadn’t been completely emptied already. It had a book store which had hardly been touched. He emptied the religious studies and politics sections and decided they’d use all those for kindling. For a minute, he thought he’d look for a copy of Fahrenheit 451 to throw in there just to be clever. What the fuck, end of the world, burn the books, keep them warm and fed. But then he thought, hey, keeping these people warm and fed is the bare minimum. Can’t hurt to bring back some books for them to read, just for the sake of reading them, right? Most people who showed up at the camp had arrived with nothing but themselves and maybe another person. No one bothered packing a suitcase when they were running from monsters.
That was how Dean wound up standing dumbstruck in a corner of the store. Having gathered up a couple dozen classic novels, mysteries and various other reading materials, he turned around to find himself in the educational section, staring directly at an LSAT practice workbook. Just like that, everything was back. It was like staring directly into the life that Sam wanted so badly for himself years ago, before he got pulled into hunting again, before…he felt his thoughts start to drift to those forbidden places. Losing Sam to Lucifer was the biggest chunk that had been torn from him. Losing Bobby - another huge crash, another piece ripped away. Losing Castiel, well, that was just getting downright ludicrous. Now all he had was Cas, the guy who casually waved at him over dilated pupils on occasion, who’d trade anything (yes, anything) for booze or pills or weed, who’d spend every free minute he could find getting into some girl’s pants. Sometimes Dean thought it would have been easier to see Castiel die like the others than to see him turn into a sorry mockery of what he once was.
He heard voices then, and it snapped him out of that place he wasn’t supposed to go, and right back into fearless leader mode, barking out orders, making sure everyone had completed their assigned tasks before they headed back.
But not before he’d snagged that LSAT book and stuck it in the inside pocket of his coat.
So there he was trying to sleep, checklist moving out of his brain and not-allowed thoughts taking their place. Sam’s smile, blinding white teeth and dimples and crinkly eyes. Sam’s stubborn streak. Sam’s badass and single-minded determination to kill any monster they encountered balanced out by the way he waved at little kids who stared at them in diners and opened doors for old ladies. Sam’s lips on his for the very first time when they were teenagers, and for the very last time the night before he said yes to the devil. Sam’s blissed out face and blown-dark eyes, head thrown back as he rode Dean’s cock like he was made for it. Sam’s tears and Sam’s laugh and Sam Sam Sam…
Fuck. No. He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t do that anymore. There was no room for that in the life he’d chosen. As tempted as he was, he wasn’t going to go ask Cas for some pill that would make him forget everything for a while.
Instead, he pulled out the book and a pencil he had in the box he kept by his cot.
From a group of seven people-J, K, L, M, N, P, and Q-exactly four will be selected to attend a diplomat’s retirement dinner. Selection conforms to the following conditions:
Either J or K must be selected, but J and K cannot both be selected.
Either N or P must be selected, but N and P cannot both be selected.
N cannot be selected unless L is selected.
Q cannot be selected unless K is selected.
If P is not selected to attend the retirement dinner, then exactly how many different groups of four are there each of
which would be an acceptable selection?
(A) one
(B) two
(C) three
(D) four
(E) five
His head hurt just from reading the question, but he started drawing little boxes in the margin to play around with the combinations and see if he could figure it out. Maybe here, at night when he was alone, he could do this and pretend he was helping Sam study, pretend he was helping Sam get that life that he wanted, and forget just for a little while that there was no Sam anymore.
Some days he wished like hell that the world would just hurry up and fucking end already. It was taking far too long.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Sam (remembered)
A/N: written for my friend likiel who asked for a 2014!Dean fic. I have never written this character before so I hope it doesn’t suck too bad. Title shamelessly ripped off from Brokeback Mountain.
Summary: It’s the end of the fucking world, so what the hell?
There was a checklist, always, on a constant loop in his head. Of course in his head, because you don’t waste paper and ink on stupid shit like writing lists. He made the rules, so he (pretty much) followed them, too. So the mental checklist whirred and clicked in Dean’s brain as he lay in his cot. Supplies had been inventoried, teams had been formed to go out the next day, injuries had been tended to, people had been fed, on and on and on. It kept him awake, but it also kept his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. At least temporarily.
Dean was fairly certain that the only reason he hadn’t lost his mind yet was because he was in charge of this place, these people, and it kept him busy. Kept him planning, kept him fighting, kept him looking out for those who depended on him, kept him sane. Sort of. Maybe. For now. The hunters and survivors who lived at the camp depended on him, looked to him for an example, so what the fuck was he supposed to do, sob like a baby every time he felt like it? (Which, by the way, was pretty much most of the time.)
Today was a good example. His team had hit up a shopping center that hadn’t been completely emptied already. It had a book store which had hardly been touched. He emptied the religious studies and politics sections and decided they’d use all those for kindling. For a minute, he thought he’d look for a copy of Fahrenheit 451 to throw in there just to be clever. What the fuck, end of the world, burn the books, keep them warm and fed. But then he thought, hey, keeping these people warm and fed is the bare minimum. Can’t hurt to bring back some books for them to read, just for the sake of reading them, right? Most people who showed up at the camp had arrived with nothing but themselves and maybe another person. No one bothered packing a suitcase when they were running from monsters.
That was how Dean wound up standing dumbstruck in a corner of the store. Having gathered up a couple dozen classic novels, mysteries and various other reading materials, he turned around to find himself in the educational section, staring directly at an LSAT practice workbook. Just like that, everything was back. It was like staring directly into the life that Sam wanted so badly for himself years ago, before he got pulled into hunting again, before…he felt his thoughts start to drift to those forbidden places. Losing Sam to Lucifer was the biggest chunk that had been torn from him. Losing Bobby - another huge crash, another piece ripped away. Losing Castiel, well, that was just getting downright ludicrous. Now all he had was Cas, the guy who casually waved at him over dilated pupils on occasion, who’d trade anything (yes, anything) for booze or pills or weed, who’d spend every free minute he could find getting into some girl’s pants. Sometimes Dean thought it would have been easier to see Castiel die like the others than to see him turn into a sorry mockery of what he once was.
He heard voices then, and it snapped him out of that place he wasn’t supposed to go, and right back into fearless leader mode, barking out orders, making sure everyone had completed their assigned tasks before they headed back.
But not before he’d snagged that LSAT book and stuck it in the inside pocket of his coat.
So there he was trying to sleep, checklist moving out of his brain and not-allowed thoughts taking their place. Sam’s smile, blinding white teeth and dimples and crinkly eyes. Sam’s stubborn streak. Sam’s badass and single-minded determination to kill any monster they encountered balanced out by the way he waved at little kids who stared at them in diners and opened doors for old ladies. Sam’s lips on his for the very first time when they were teenagers, and for the very last time the night before he said yes to the devil. Sam’s blissed out face and blown-dark eyes, head thrown back as he rode Dean’s cock like he was made for it. Sam’s tears and Sam’s laugh and Sam Sam Sam…
Fuck. No. He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t do that anymore. There was no room for that in the life he’d chosen. As tempted as he was, he wasn’t going to go ask Cas for some pill that would make him forget everything for a while.
Instead, he pulled out the book and a pencil he had in the box he kept by his cot.
From a group of seven people-J, K, L, M, N, P, and Q-exactly four will be selected to attend a diplomat’s retirement dinner. Selection conforms to the following conditions:
Either J or K must be selected, but J and K cannot both be selected.
Either N or P must be selected, but N and P cannot both be selected.
N cannot be selected unless L is selected.
Q cannot be selected unless K is selected.
If P is not selected to attend the retirement dinner, then exactly how many different groups of four are there each of
which would be an acceptable selection?
(A) one
(B) two
(C) three
(D) four
(E) five
His head hurt just from reading the question, but he started drawing little boxes in the margin to play around with the combinations and see if he could figure it out. Maybe here, at night when he was alone, he could do this and pretend he was helping Sam study, pretend he was helping Sam get that life that he wanted, and forget just for a little while that there was no Sam anymore.
Some days he wished like hell that the world would just hurry up and fucking end already. It was taking far too long.