FIC - Final Stand
title: Final Stand
pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Warnings: brother-lovin, AU/future-ish kind of.
Rebel souls, deserters we are called. Chose a gun, and threw away the sun.
Now these towns, they all know our names
Everybody talked. Not like Dean and Sam didn’t hear about it, didn’t recognize the looks they got when they walked into establishments frequented by hunters. Sometimes people didn’t know the two of them by sight, only by reputation, so it was easy to listen in.
“The older one, you know, he’s barely into his thirties, and the other one’s only a little younger. I heard they took out an entire nest of ghouls, musta been a dozen of them, and those boys walked away with hardly a scratch.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I believe all that. But I know for sure the younger one can take out a demon with his freaking mind. Heard that from Rufus Turner, rest his soul, and you know he wasn’t one to brag on other hunters.”
The two of them took a seat across from the bar, assessing their surroundings as usual and ordering a couple of beers. The waitress gave them a look. She wasn’t one of those who didn’t know the brothers by sight, but she didn’t say anything.
Usually nobody said anything. Not to them.
It wasn’t every day that two “boys” (in the eyes of most hunters, who were generally much older than the two of them) had stopped more than one apocalypse, defeated a self-proclaimed deity and then just kept on hunting like nothing ever happened. No one was better than the Winchesters, not a single hunter knew more about destroying supernatural creatures. They’d been taught well, their father and their mentor (again, rest their souls) having been among the best there had ever been in their line of work.
But that wasn’t all. They’d lost so much, so many people, but they’d gained such strength and knowledge that neither of them cared anymore about being a little more open with their affection for each other. There was a time that could have gotten them hurt, bad, killed even. The other hunters now held such a level of fear and respect for Dean and Sam that no one would dare make a comment about a stolen touch or a heated glance between the two of them.
Not that they walked around making out on public streets. That wasn’t exactly their style anyway, it wasn’t like they were some moony-eyed couple all mushy and in love. They just liked to fuck. Each other. And these days, neither of the brothers gave a shit if other people knew about it. They’d kept it quiet for years before, out of respect for their elders who would not have approved. But hunting and each other were all they had now. Those folks who might have reacted badly were all gone at this point anyway. Bobby, John, Castiel, Rufus, Ellen…the list was honestly just too long and depressing to finish. And it wasn’t like their lifestyle lent itself to either of them finding a stable relationship with anyone else. Hunting alone didn’t work out so well for the Winchesters, they’d learned that lesson the hard way, more than once.
So they had each other. They killed every evil motherfucker they caught wind of. Usually fairly easily. Hell, if they could move faster, they’d have probably put a lot of these other guys out of business.
This thing they had lined up, though…this thing might be a tough one. No one had seen a nest of vamps this size in years. Dean supposed they could have asked for help, Sam briefly thought the same thing, and in the end, as always, they decided against it. No matter, there was a good chance that these guys, “those Winchester boys”, people called them, could be making their final stand once they made their way to Wichita for the job. Hell, they’d made their choices. They’d live or die by them, however it worked out.
After a few minutes, the waitress brought them two cold bottles of beer, and they didn’t bother hiding the fact that they were sitting close enough for their shoulders to be pressed together, elbows touching where they leaned in close to each other.
She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, it was obvious just by looking at her. Maybe the other hunters in the bar wouldn’t speak to them, but the waitress wasn’t intimidated.
“Y’all headed to Wichita?”
Dean answered for both of them as he reached for his beer, “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled approvingly. “They’re on the house, boys. Go get ‘em.”
pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Warnings: brother-lovin, AU/future-ish kind of.
Rebel souls, deserters we are called. Chose a gun, and threw away the sun.
Now these towns, they all know our names
Everybody talked. Not like Dean and Sam didn’t hear about it, didn’t recognize the looks they got when they walked into establishments frequented by hunters. Sometimes people didn’t know the two of them by sight, only by reputation, so it was easy to listen in.
“The older one, you know, he’s barely into his thirties, and the other one’s only a little younger. I heard they took out an entire nest of ghouls, musta been a dozen of them, and those boys walked away with hardly a scratch.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I believe all that. But I know for sure the younger one can take out a demon with his freaking mind. Heard that from Rufus Turner, rest his soul, and you know he wasn’t one to brag on other hunters.”
The two of them took a seat across from the bar, assessing their surroundings as usual and ordering a couple of beers. The waitress gave them a look. She wasn’t one of those who didn’t know the brothers by sight, but she didn’t say anything.
Usually nobody said anything. Not to them.
It wasn’t every day that two “boys” (in the eyes of most hunters, who were generally much older than the two of them) had stopped more than one apocalypse, defeated a self-proclaimed deity and then just kept on hunting like nothing ever happened. No one was better than the Winchesters, not a single hunter knew more about destroying supernatural creatures. They’d been taught well, their father and their mentor (again, rest their souls) having been among the best there had ever been in their line of work.
But that wasn’t all. They’d lost so much, so many people, but they’d gained such strength and knowledge that neither of them cared anymore about being a little more open with their affection for each other. There was a time that could have gotten them hurt, bad, killed even. The other hunters now held such a level of fear and respect for Dean and Sam that no one would dare make a comment about a stolen touch or a heated glance between the two of them.
Not that they walked around making out on public streets. That wasn’t exactly their style anyway, it wasn’t like they were some moony-eyed couple all mushy and in love. They just liked to fuck. Each other. And these days, neither of the brothers gave a shit if other people knew about it. They’d kept it quiet for years before, out of respect for their elders who would not have approved. But hunting and each other were all they had now. Those folks who might have reacted badly were all gone at this point anyway. Bobby, John, Castiel, Rufus, Ellen…the list was honestly just too long and depressing to finish. And it wasn’t like their lifestyle lent itself to either of them finding a stable relationship with anyone else. Hunting alone didn’t work out so well for the Winchesters, they’d learned that lesson the hard way, more than once.
So they had each other. They killed every evil motherfucker they caught wind of. Usually fairly easily. Hell, if they could move faster, they’d have probably put a lot of these other guys out of business.
This thing they had lined up, though…this thing might be a tough one. No one had seen a nest of vamps this size in years. Dean supposed they could have asked for help, Sam briefly thought the same thing, and in the end, as always, they decided against it. No matter, there was a good chance that these guys, “those Winchester boys”, people called them, could be making their final stand once they made their way to Wichita for the job. Hell, they’d made their choices. They’d live or die by them, however it worked out.
After a few minutes, the waitress brought them two cold bottles of beer, and they didn’t bother hiding the fact that they were sitting close enough for their shoulders to be pressed together, elbows touching where they leaned in close to each other.
She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, it was obvious just by looking at her. Maybe the other hunters in the bar wouldn’t speak to them, but the waitress wasn’t intimidated.
“Y’all headed to Wichita?”
Dean answered for both of them as he reached for his beer, “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled approvingly. “They’re on the house, boys. Go get ‘em.”