FIC - Secret Weapon
Title: Secret Weapon
Pairing: Sam/Dean (very lightly implied Wincest but nothing smutty)
Rating: R for language
W/C: ~1K
Summary: for this prompt: After Sam walks away. Dean getting back in the car, driving away, and fighting the urge to find his SUPR-SEKRIT Air Supply tape to listen to over and over again. Really, it's not his fault he can't get that damn song out of his head.
A/N: for the lovefest at theheartofspn. The lovely and talented electricmonk333 has generously supplied an accompanying podfic here: http://www.mediafire.com/?zbrij5vlxoosjo8 with real live Air Supply music in it. Give her mad props for this, please.
Driving away, Dean was wavering between confused, angry and heartbroken.
Where the hell did Sam think he was going to go, anyway, on foot, his pack slung across his shoulder? How far could he get, really?
Well, he could hotwire a car and steal it, Dean guessed. Not like Sam hadn’t done that a hundred times before.
He was wrong, he knew it, he should have told his brother the truth about Amy from the beginning. He thought his reasons for hiding what he’d done were valid at the time, but honestly - when had keeping secrets ever worked out well for them? Exactly zero times, to Dean’s recollection.
Mulling it all over and replaying the argument in his head a thousand times, he just made his way down a nondescript back road as fast as he could get their latest piece of garbage car to go without the front end shaking. Which was approximately 54 miles per hour.
The more time that went by, the more he started to give in to the sadness he was feeling. He’d hurt his brother, badly. How the hell was he going to make up for this? He couldn’t even begin to try when Sam wasn’t even there.
Now, Dean didn’t get a whole lot of time alone in any car. But for those rare occasions when he was alone and feeling crappy, he had a remedy. Well, not so much a remedy but something that would assist him in his goal to wallow in self-pity for a while. He’d kept it hidden for years in that crappy shoebox full of cassettes. The label had been peeled off the cartridge the first day he bought it, and he’d ditched the case, carefully placing it in one labeled “Slayer”.
Sam would never have put in that tape. So Dean’s secret was safe.
Reaching over into the footwell, he retrieved the box, keeping one hand on the wheel. Taking his eyes off the road for only seconds at a time, his hand finally came up with the correct tape. Even alone, he felt shifty sliding the tape into the player on the dash.
I’ve had a lot of big dreams, I’ve made a lot of bad moves. I know you could walk away, but you never do
Dean let the words and the guitar riffs wash over him, pondering the lyrics. Bad moves, yeah, this was one of his worst. And Sam had, in fact, walked away. Literally.
Every time the world caves in on me, you say you love me, just as I am
God, had he just fucked that up? Permanently? He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t.
Graham Russell’s words reminded him of how he and Sam had finally made the right kind of connection.
In my life where everything was wrong, something finally went right, now there’s two less lonely people in the world tonight
Damn. He could already feel it coming. Usually he was at least 4 or 5 tracks in before he started getting teary, but he could feel the sting in his eyes already.
Lonely was the exact word for it. He’d been physically away from Sam for a lot longer than an hour lots of times in the past year or two, but right now, he felt completely disconnected. Like Sam had severed a line between them. And it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.
He still didn’t feel sorry for what he’d done. Killing Amy was the right decision, and he hoped that eventually, Sam would understand that and see the truth in it. But lying to him about it, hiding it…that had been colossally stupid on Dean’s part. He did feel sorry for that. He was terrified, though, that Sam wouldn’t accept an apology for just keeping the secret. That he’d demand Dean apologize for doing what he’d done, for killing the girl he saw as a monster and Sam just saw as the girl who’d planted his first kiss on him when he was fourteen years old.
And then there was the kid. The poor kid, Dean had just told him to run away, find someone to take care of him. Let him see his mother’s dead body. Jesus, he was one stone cold bastard for having done that. So yeah, he was sorry for that part of it, too.
It was time for the waterworks now. Dean couldn’t control it, the tears flowed freely as he roughly sang along like it was a compulsion.
Please love me or I’ll be gone, I’ll be gone…I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you…it can’t be too late to say that I was so wrong
He was almost glad to have been given this time alone to indulge in his highly confidential emotional cleansing ritual. Then again, had he not been alone, he wouldn’t have needed it.
Dean had his mind made up. He was going to find Sam, no matter what it took. It would probably involve fifty or so ignored phone calls, at least thirty unanswered text messages, and maybe a call to Bobby to get a lead on where Sam had gone. But Dean was going to find him and try to fix things.
And no, he wasn’t under any kind of illusion that he’d be capable of begging for Sam’s forgiveness (though he should) and there was no way he was going to spill out any romantic or sentimental words that might magically fix things between them.
But he also couldn’t fathom the possibility of the two of them not being able to get past this. After everything they’d already done to each other and for each other, everything they’d seen, everything they’d manage to forgive…it might take some work but they could get through this too. They could, damn it, there was no other option. Dean needed Sam, and no matter how pissed Sam might be right now, Dean knew Sam needed him too. They weren’t the kind of siblings that crossed in and out of each other’s lives; that was certain.
Here I am, the one that you love, askin’ for another day
Pairing: Sam/Dean (very lightly implied Wincest but nothing smutty)
Rating: R for language
W/C: ~1K
Summary: for this prompt: After Sam walks away. Dean getting back in the car, driving away, and fighting the urge to find his SUPR-SEKRIT Air Supply tape to listen to over and over again. Really, it's not his fault he can't get that damn song out of his head.
A/N: for the lovefest at theheartofspn. The lovely and talented electricmonk333 has generously supplied an accompanying podfic here: http://www.mediafire.com/?zbrij5vlxoosjo8 with real live Air Supply music in it. Give her mad props for this, please.
Driving away, Dean was wavering between confused, angry and heartbroken.
Where the hell did Sam think he was going to go, anyway, on foot, his pack slung across his shoulder? How far could he get, really?
Well, he could hotwire a car and steal it, Dean guessed. Not like Sam hadn’t done that a hundred times before.
He was wrong, he knew it, he should have told his brother the truth about Amy from the beginning. He thought his reasons for hiding what he’d done were valid at the time, but honestly - when had keeping secrets ever worked out well for them? Exactly zero times, to Dean’s recollection.
Mulling it all over and replaying the argument in his head a thousand times, he just made his way down a nondescript back road as fast as he could get their latest piece of garbage car to go without the front end shaking. Which was approximately 54 miles per hour.
The more time that went by, the more he started to give in to the sadness he was feeling. He’d hurt his brother, badly. How the hell was he going to make up for this? He couldn’t even begin to try when Sam wasn’t even there.
Now, Dean didn’t get a whole lot of time alone in any car. But for those rare occasions when he was alone and feeling crappy, he had a remedy. Well, not so much a remedy but something that would assist him in his goal to wallow in self-pity for a while. He’d kept it hidden for years in that crappy shoebox full of cassettes. The label had been peeled off the cartridge the first day he bought it, and he’d ditched the case, carefully placing it in one labeled “Slayer”.
Sam would never have put in that tape. So Dean’s secret was safe.
Reaching over into the footwell, he retrieved the box, keeping one hand on the wheel. Taking his eyes off the road for only seconds at a time, his hand finally came up with the correct tape. Even alone, he felt shifty sliding the tape into the player on the dash.
I’ve had a lot of big dreams, I’ve made a lot of bad moves. I know you could walk away, but you never do
Dean let the words and the guitar riffs wash over him, pondering the lyrics. Bad moves, yeah, this was one of his worst. And Sam had, in fact, walked away. Literally.
Every time the world caves in on me, you say you love me, just as I am
God, had he just fucked that up? Permanently? He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t.
Graham Russell’s words reminded him of how he and Sam had finally made the right kind of connection.
In my life where everything was wrong, something finally went right, now there’s two less lonely people in the world tonight
Damn. He could already feel it coming. Usually he was at least 4 or 5 tracks in before he started getting teary, but he could feel the sting in his eyes already.
Lonely was the exact word for it. He’d been physically away from Sam for a lot longer than an hour lots of times in the past year or two, but right now, he felt completely disconnected. Like Sam had severed a line between them. And it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.
He still didn’t feel sorry for what he’d done. Killing Amy was the right decision, and he hoped that eventually, Sam would understand that and see the truth in it. But lying to him about it, hiding it…that had been colossally stupid on Dean’s part. He did feel sorry for that. He was terrified, though, that Sam wouldn’t accept an apology for just keeping the secret. That he’d demand Dean apologize for doing what he’d done, for killing the girl he saw as a monster and Sam just saw as the girl who’d planted his first kiss on him when he was fourteen years old.
And then there was the kid. The poor kid, Dean had just told him to run away, find someone to take care of him. Let him see his mother’s dead body. Jesus, he was one stone cold bastard for having done that. So yeah, he was sorry for that part of it, too.
It was time for the waterworks now. Dean couldn’t control it, the tears flowed freely as he roughly sang along like it was a compulsion.
Please love me or I’ll be gone, I’ll be gone…I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you…it can’t be too late to say that I was so wrong
He was almost glad to have been given this time alone to indulge in his highly confidential emotional cleansing ritual. Then again, had he not been alone, he wouldn’t have needed it.
Dean had his mind made up. He was going to find Sam, no matter what it took. It would probably involve fifty or so ignored phone calls, at least thirty unanswered text messages, and maybe a call to Bobby to get a lead on where Sam had gone. But Dean was going to find him and try to fix things.
And no, he wasn’t under any kind of illusion that he’d be capable of begging for Sam’s forgiveness (though he should) and there was no way he was going to spill out any romantic or sentimental words that might magically fix things between them.
But he also couldn’t fathom the possibility of the two of them not being able to get past this. After everything they’d already done to each other and for each other, everything they’d seen, everything they’d manage to forgive…it might take some work but they could get through this too. They could, damn it, there was no other option. Dean needed Sam, and no matter how pissed Sam might be right now, Dean knew Sam needed him too. They weren’t the kind of siblings that crossed in and out of each other’s lives; that was certain.
Here I am, the one that you love, askin’ for another day