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Cecidimus (SPN)

Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Castiel on the side
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,130
Warnings: incest as usual, angst
Summary: A S4 retrospective. A set of fifty drabbles based on theme set Beta at 1sentence.

#01 – Walking: Dean catapults out of a pixelated nightmare, heart thundering, to find the opposite bed neatly made. Untouched, again. Slatted orange light criss-crosses the bare pillow. He was out walking, he’ll say, when Dean springs the question on him later, on some deserted stretch of highway. Where he can’t escape. He’ll set his jaw and turn to gaze at the empty landscape, his profile a barbed wire fence refusing Dean entrance. More than anything Dean will want in, but he’s shut out. The tension will creep into Dean’s shoulders and he’ll grip the wheel tighter, but he won’t say anything more.

#02 – Waltz: It’s a careful dance, this façade they’re both keeping up. Dean knows his brother is lying and will just keep lying, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, but he doesn’t want to be treated like a freakin’ child. Not by his own brother. He knows Sam too well for that to work. But he lets Sam get away with it, doesn’t prod or pry anymore, because he’s so damn tired of it all. He’ll pretend it’s nothing and Sam will pretend Dean doesn’t notice when he slips away to do God-knows-what. Does God even care? He wonders.

#03 – Wishes: When the bleakness returns it’s sooner this time, and Dean is still panting harshly, one hand gripping the angel’s shoulder so tightly he’s probably leaving marks. The motel room crashes back around him, muted greys and yellowy orange slicing into his vision. Come is drying sticky on his abdomen. “Dean,” says Castiel, but Dean squeezes his eyes shut and releases the angel’s shoulder. Folding in on himself again, shuttered, closed. The angel’s eyes are blue, too blue, so bright and penetrating him in a way more than intimate. For one moment, Dean had expected to see brown eyes. Wished it.

#04 – Wonder: The first time Dean sees the shadow of wings on graffiti-covered warehouse walls, he doesn’t know what to think. He’s too jumbled inside. Hell, he’s barely got back from hell. The world still doesn’t quite look right. Sam is too brittle and summer’s vanished, only a lingering crawl of heat on the black pavement telling him what he missed. The first time he kisses Castiel, it’s desperate and needy. He saw what his brother did there, the vomited demon smoke, and Sam is suddenly a stranger. But when the angel kisses him back, the world is wondrous for a moment.

#05 – Worry: Dean can’t imagine what Sam went through when he was under the ground. Well, no. He can imagine it, all too well. It makes Dean’s heart hurt to remember how he took Sam’s stiff hand, how colorless and pale his face was, how dried blood caked his shirt. Dean remembers how his chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe, but his heartbeat was too loud and echoed emptily inside him. He remembers how sunlight was so sharp it hurt it eyes and how the world rushed dizzily by, uncaring. Dean doesn’t want to imagine what Sam went through ever again.

#06 – Whimsy: Dean frowns at his reflection in the mirror. The bathroom is spotless, navy towel neatly folded on the rack, row of hair products in the shower. Silver faucet handles gleam. He neatens his starched white collar. No, something’s still not quite…right. He can’t put his finger on it. He shakes his head irritably, shrugs on suspenders and snappily ties his matching yellow necktie. Another day at the office. Is that all there is? The thought comes unbidden. It’s enough, right? Manager of Sales & Marketing, not bad. Besides, Dean knows, he looks pretty damn good in his necktie and suspenders.

#07 – Waste: Dean sometimes wonders what the world would’ve been like if he hadn’t showed up at Sam’s Palo Alto apartment four years ago. Would the yellow-eyed demon still have killed Jess and sent Sam chasing revenge? Or would Sam be enjoying the normal life, putting his college education to good use as a hotshot lawyer? As it is, Dean muses, Stanford only gave Sam a better grasp on the supernatural lore that fuels their hunts and a knack for research. Sometimes Dean wants those lost years for himself, wants to keep his Sammy close and never let him go to California.

#08 – Whiskey and rum: Cas wavers and the bed rocks like a boat on the waves. Dean, sprawled on the rumpled coverlet with a bottle in his hand, has piled up every pillow in the dingy room behind him.

“I think,” he says carefully – he’s not slurring, he’s concentrating – “I think it’s too damn hot.” He lurches upright, sets the bottle half on the nightstand. Cas swoops in, snatches it just as it tilts and falls. Dean is staring.

The angel places the bottle down. “Alcohol impacts me how I wish,” he says, but he is transfixed by Dean’s sudden bare skin.

#09 – War: “You must be prepared,” Castiel says, a cold light gleaming in his ice-blue gaze.

Dean jumps a good half foot. God damn he hates when Cas does that appear-out-of-nowhere thing. “For what?” he asks warily. Sam, silent, slips out the door with his laptop. Dean pointedly ignores the departure.

For once the angel answers him directly. “For war, Dean.” And Dean sighs. “If Lucifer should rise, then you must be prepared.”

Always business with him. Blood and doom, ragged banners under a darkened sky. The angel is afraid to be anything else. “Can’t we just fuck already?” Dean growls.

#10 – Weddings: It hits Dean one day, during one of his darker moods, that when Sam leaves he leaves with his whole heart. Or so it seems. Notwithstanding that he returned to Dean when his Stanford days were over. All Dean is thinking about is how Sam’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Jessica, how he held her hand so casually and whispered in her ear. He was probably going to marry that girl. Dean couldn’t bring himself to hate her, but he thinks he can hate Ruby no problem. That demon bitch is stealing his brother and this time Dean aches.

#11 – Birthday: Sam is staring straight ahead at the road, jaw set stubbornly. He’s been moody lately, a real bitch, but right now Dean doesn’t care ’cause it’s his birthday. He turns up the volume on Van Halen and hums loudly.

Sam jabs his thumb at the controls and abruptly the car is silent. Dean contemplates sulking. Instead he slows the car to a halt, grips Sam’s hair and leans in for a kiss.

Sam stiffens, freezes. Then the car door’s open and he’s gone.

Again. Just once, Dean wants—he wants his Sam back. What they had. His good mood evaporates.

#12 – Blessing: Before Sam first meets Castiel, he’s a little in awe. Because really, an angel? An honest-to-God warrior of the Lord, wings and all. Granted, they’re all pretty skeptical at first, but if Dean is convinced then Sam sure isn’t going to doubt the presence of an angel.

Ruby doesn’t doubt it either.

Sam’s in awe, but there’s something else. Dean. The way Dean says his name. One minute it’s “that damned angel,” the next it’s “Cas,” all familiar. There’s a twisting in his gut at that.

All in all, it’s a relief when Castiel turns out to be an asshole.

#13 – Bias: Dean can be so blind sometimes. It makes Sam so frustrated, so angry at his brother. People can change, and Sam has always believed this—needed to believe it, for so long now. But Dean is so inflexible. Evil, good, black and white: no doubts or hesitation. Sam gets jealous of how easy that must be, but mostly he’s filled with dread and rage and a sense of inevitable doom. He’s standing on the edge of a metaphorical knife. One little push and he falls or he’s sliced to pieces. The powers, the blood, Ruby. So Sam hides and lies.

#14 – Burning: One night, Sam awakens to the sound of his brother thrashing and moaning in his sleep. Not good moans, but the kind of harsh almost-screams that mean nightmare.

When Sam soothes him awake Dean is panting, wild at first, then he settles, clutching at Sam’s arm. His eyes are darting in the darkness of the room and his skin is feverish. “Sam,” he gasps.

When Sam bends to kiss him softly, it’s almost like old times. Except Sam’s heart is too splintery and Dean looks so fragile, so broken, that he’s the one needing Sam’s protection and Sam’s shelter now.

#15 – Breathing: The first days after Dean (living breathing honest-to-God Dean) appears at Sam’s door, it’s all running and hunting, so hectic that Sam doesn’t have time to really look at his brother. Back from the dead, not a scar nor scratch, rehymenated and all. There’s suspicion, yes, dread at the deep purpose behind Dean’s resurrection, but Sam wants to feel the wonder. The miracle. The sheer joy of his brother’s life.

When Dean is asleep four nights later, Sam doesn’t sleep. He sits, chin on knees, watching Dean breathe. He’s afraid the dark hole in his chest won’t ever close.

#16 – Breaking: Sam is right. Hell changed him. He came back wrong somehow. Broken. Dean can feel the pieces of himself jumbled around inside like shards of glass, so fragile, cutting at vital organs and making them bleed. When he closes his eyes he sees screaming, hears the pain in sharp neon. The guilt, metallic like blood in his mouth.

He doesn’t want Sam to know, but it doesn’t matter because Sam will always know too much. He’s sure that the razorblades and hissing smoke somehow reflect in his gaze when Sam looks at him, because otherwise why would Sam flinch back?

#17 – Belief: If Dean were asked a year ago whether he believed in God, his answer would’ve been a cheery, “I don’t know and I don’t freakin’ care.” He gets that demons are pretty nasty, and Hell is starting to sound more and more real, but he’s seen demons. God? Not a sign.

One would think that coming face-to-face with an angel would change Dean’s mind. Convince him that there’s an Upstairs as well as a Downstairs. If anything, though, Dean is only more obstinately skeptical. He sees destruction and mayhem, Heaven’s soldiers mindlessly obeying. The world’s still going downhill, isn’t it?

#18 – Balloon: When Sammy was little and Dean wasn’t much bigger, he’d taken Sam to the carnival. He bought a red balloon because Sam wouldn’t stop begging: Sam always knew how to get what he wanted from Dean, who could never resist. Not a minute later, though, Sammy’d accidentally let the string go. When he earnestly asked Dean to get it back, Sam’s utter faith had shaken Dean. He hadn’t known what to do.

Two nights after they waste a siren in Bedford, Iowa, Dean returns to their motel room with Chinese takeout and a red balloon. He doesn’t say a word.

#19 – Balcony: Dean is drinking alone and snow is falling softly, fat flakes that will blanket everything by morning. The motel is dark save for a square light on the snow, from his window but it’s empty inside. Sam is…on a food run, a supplies run. Somewhere. Dean hears an engine-growl in the distance, muffled in the night. He thinks it might be the Impala but he can’t tell. He sways. Downs the rest of his beer, throat working. The parking lot below is empty too. Just bare, white, cold and so quiet. Dean reaches for another beer, clutches it too tight.

#20 – Bane: Sam drinks alone in an empty warehouse downtown, as downtown as this middle-of-nowhere shithole gets. The broken-down squalor is as bitter on his tongue as the whiskey, sharp as a nightmare going down. By rights he should be angry and raging, or guilty, but he’s muddled by too much alcohol and can’t sort it out. A rustling in a dingy corner makes him jump, then bark a humorless laugh when a rat scurries out of the shadows. He’s twitching. Fingertips tingling, blood pumping. Too loud, roaring. He wants…he wants. Black smoke roiling in his head, his blood. He craves.

#21 – Quiet: Dean bites into the palm of Castiel’s right hand, choking back a groan, as the angel’s left scissors into him with two fingers, slick, open. Jeans around his knees. Cas is panting in his ear, hot breath curling. Dean presses his hands against the cold wall just outside his motel door, then clenches fists as Cas’ fingers twist and stroke so good inside him. “Quiet,” Cas breathes harshly. Sam’s in there. He spreads his legs a little wider, feeling obscene, and reaches a hand back for Castiel. The angel’s still clothed but he’s hard. Cas hitches a breath, then exhales.

#22 – Quirks: They have these little rituals, whenever they settle into another motel. Some of it is practical. The salt lines across the windows. The knife under the pillow. The way Dean’s eyes flick across the room, mentally cataloguing iron objects and heavy things to throw and escape routes. Some of it is obsessive. How Sam has to fling open the shower curtain before he uses the bathroom. How Dean checks the locks twice, once before he checks the salt lines and once after. Some of it is utterly vital to Dean’s existence. Sam’s steady breathing in the middle of the night.

#23 – Question: There must be something more. Sam isn’t exactly miserable—even though tech support sucks he’s got a steady income and some buddies and Madison—but there’s this nagging feeling. Something’s missing. He’s unfulfilled, potential simmering for something else but he just doesn’t know. He goes through endless strings of hours that become days that becomes weeks, wanting. Itching. Until he exchanges looks with the new manager in the elevator, and. It’s like a switch flips in his brain. Want and rightness, shooting lust. Sam’s not gay but this is beyond that. He stares too hard at Dean, needing.

#24 – Quarrel: Sam is ashen, grimacing as he lowers himself onto the bed, and he’s sure Dean can tell it’s bad. His thigh bleeds sluggishly, soaking his jeans. “That fucker,” Dean mutters, gingerly pulling the denim down. Sam lets him, jaw set, staring at the ceiling. It was a standard haunting, but the bastard wielded a wicked crossbow. “Hate letting you play bait.” Sam stays silent, but his fists grip the bedspread white-knuckled when Dean begins to clean the wound. It was his choice, and why can’t Dean stop being so controlling? He doesn’t see the protective, worried look in Dean’s eyes.

#25 – Quitting: Castiel is so pale he seems to glow in the sunlight, sunlight so golden it’s hard to believe sometimes that the apocalypse is nigh. The shrieks and laughter of children ring in the air, but they’re distant in Dean’s ears. He feels hollow, carved-out. “Have you ever considered quitting?” he asks. Ghostly smile, bitter and lost.

Castiel’s eyes are deeper than the sky, brighter than the ocean and so old. Dean is torn open and rebuilt under that gaze. “Not until I met you,” says the angel. A breeze stirs but Dean is warm, stifling. He kindles and sparks.

#26 – Jump: In Sam’s dream, he is standing on a clifftop by the sea. Salt wind combs his hair, and the briny smell settles over Sam like a blanket. He is not cold. He stands, feet apart, braced against the wind. The sky is roiling grey.

The clifftop is not silent, filled with gulls calling and waves crashing far below, and neither is Sam’s heart. You are losing, calls his heart in anguish. One by one, they will all be gone. Sam’s fingernails bite into his palms. It is the only way, his heart cries. Jump. And in his dream, Sam does.

#27 – Jester: It’s like the whole thing is one big cosmic joke. Before, back when hunting was simple and demons were just demons, Dean would’ve said that he would give up—not quite anything, but almost anything—to somehow make Mom and Dad live. Now, unexpectedly, he has a chance to save them. End it here, in 1973. Kill that yellow-eyed bastard. He doesn’t hesitate, but Castiel’s warning hits hard. Why does Dean get stuck with the crappy choices? The lives of his parents, or the lives of a bunch of random strangers? He’s positive that someone out there is laughing at him.

#28 – Jousting: When they argue they slip into old patterns, old fights with new words. It’s almost unconscious. They antagonize each other as only siblings can until one is on the verge of storming out for air or at least some serious violence—Sam with grim determination, silent but eyes flashing. Or Dean with hot words, spitting fire and too loud, about to slam the door. Then one will see something hidden in the other’s gaze, something buried deep but so primal and far from brotherly. Caught, speared on the other’s gaze, he is helpless. He can’t leave. They’re all they have left.

#29 – Jewel: The angel is a promise of redemption, something glittering and bright in Dean’s murky world. He hates to admit it, but it’s not entirely Sam’s fault they’re not…yeah. Dean feels older, burnt around the edges. Even though the memories have taken on the quality of a dream, a nightmare, the lens of thirty years in Hell tints the world orange and grey. Ashes and a cloak of guilt. Dean likes to ignore it—he’s damn good at sweeping things under the rug; he’s a Winchester—but he can’t entirely. If he turns away from Sam, at least he’s turning toward something luminous.

#30 – Just: Castiel doesn’t understand humans. No matter his too-human body, with its fragile skin and veins pumping rich blood. Dean can see his not-humanity in the puzzled crease in his brow, in the way Castiel stands too still when other people are near, how he swivels his head like an owl to fix Dean with a piercing otherworldly gaze.

Sometimes Dean forgets, when Castiel is sweating and needy under him, flushed, bite marks dramatically red on his pale shoulder. But then sometimes the angel is unreachable, so single-minded in his obedience and divine purpose that Dean feels more alone than ever.

#31 – Smirk: It’s hot, Dean’s covered in gravedirt, and he just wants to relax for a goddamn minute, but Sam’s got that look on his face. Something’s up. Sitting warily, Dean takes a swig of his ice-cold beer.

And immediately gags, spewing beer all over his pants. “Sam!” Sam is shaking with silent laughter. Is that…salt? In his freakin’ beer? “Sam, what the fuck? Beer is sacred, man! You just don’t do that!” Dean slams his beer down on the bedside table, glaring.

“Your face, dude,” Sam gasps out. “Shoulda seen your face.”

Dean scowls. “You owe me a beer, dude.”

#32 – Sorrow: Dean misses Dad the most in times like this.

Not when he’s up against a wall with the shotgun ten feet away. Not when Led Zeppelin is blaring and the yellow lines on pavement stretch out ahead.

It’s in those still minutes in the dead of night, when Dean lies awake. There’s a knife under his pillow, salt lines at the window, but he misses Dad. It’s not some childish idea that Dad will protect him, because Dean can protect himself. Just—when he was a kid, those nights where him and Sammy and Dad were all together he slept well.

#33 – Stupidity: Funny how Sam was always the one craving normal, because Sam has always been the first to cross the line. Perhaps it was guilt that sent Sam seeking college and a girlfriend, sent him so far from Dean.

It started just before Stanford. Sam kissing Dean, Sam with his hand down Dean’s pants, Sam begging and wanting. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want it too. But Sam started it.

Dean knows it’s stupid and wrong. It’s incest, for God’s sake. Maybe this thing with Castiel is his turn avoiding it. But if Sam comes back, wanting again, Dean won’t refuse.

#34 – Serenade: “Think you could just die on me like that?” Sam growls, shoving Dean flat against the wall. “Think you could leave me for months?” Sam’s huge, pressing himself against every inch of Dean’s bare skin. He doesn’t shut up, keeps snarling angry words.

Dean hisses, shoving backwards, but fuck Sam is strong. Keeping Dean pinned, he snakes one hand around to palm Dean’s stiffened cock.

Dean groans, eyes fluttering shut. Forgot how good Sam’s hands feel on him. Sam thrusts his hips forward so his cock is rubbing against Dean’s ass, grinding, finding friction. Sam’s anger turns to incomprehensible groans.

#35 – Sarcasm: “Yes, Sam. I’m going to turn fucking vegetarian and then I’ll sell the Impala for scrap metal, and after that I’ll leave your sorry ass by the roadside to deal with this demon shit alone. What did you think?” He smacks the side of Sam’s head, doesn’t even know why they’re arguing. “I’m not leaving you. You know that, so stop talking like a dumbass.”

Sam’s moping is the passenger seat, casting sad eyes in Dean’s direction every couple miles. Honestly, he needs to get over himself. What, he’ll suddenly go darkside and raise Lucifer himself? Not while Dean’s around.

#36 – Sordid: Dean is glassy-eyed and sweating as the skinny waitress from the diner up the road bounces on his cock. His hands grip her hips tightly and she’s slick and tight, but Dean doesn’t really see her. He went through the motions—flirting when she took his order, making eye contact across the diner, touching her shoulder when she brought the check until she whispered, “I’m off at ten,” in his ear—but he’s not sure why. Acted like everything was normal.

He’ll get off. But it’s an animal response. He doesn’t know why he’s here, except it’s what Dean is supposed to do.

#37 – Soliloquy: Ruby sometimes feels like she’s speaking to a brick wall, trying to get through to Sam Winchester. He’s such a stubborn idiot. Blind, loyal, and so bent on doing good that his mere presence sometimes gives Ruby’s demonic soul a headache. Much more pliable after his dear brother got torn apart, but Ruby is still putting a hell of a lot more effort into this boy than she has for anyone in a long time. Ruby is just as often monologing at Sam as conversing with him. Poor boy. Poor innocent boy, who can’t understand the glory she works for.

#38 – Sojourn: The black pavement unrolls in front of the Impala’s tires like a piece of fruit leather, sticky-hot and saturated with the sweet rot of roadkill. Dust washes every damp surface, clings red-brown to their sweating skin when they keep the windows down to get the hot breeze.

Dean inhales into the wind, a rush of stifling oxygen. His eyes are watering, gritty. Sam is sleeping and Dean doesn’t know how he can in this heat. He tilts his head back, only one eye on the empty road, and lingers on Sam’s profile. He almost looks innocent again like this.

#39 – Share: “Sammy, can I borrow a pair of your boxers?” Dean’s digging through his duffel.

Sam wrinkles his nose. “Dude. Just do your laundry.”

“And waste my carefully-hoarded quarters? No way, man, not when you’ve still got a few left.” Dean raises his eyebrows and grins.

“Fine. Whatever.” Sam throws a pair at Dean and it lands comically draped over his head.

Dean’s already shucking out of his jeans and shirt and Sam turns away, suddenly awkward. Dean seems oblivious, humming contentedly at something so simple as clean boxers. Sam doesn’t want to look at that palm scarred into Dean’s chest.

#40 – Solitary: Dean knows what alone feels like. Alone is when your father is obsessed and an absent pat on the shoulder means the world. It’s when your mother is nothing but a shadow of a child’s memory. When you raise your brother alone, protect him, teach him to load a gun before he can ride a bike, and he still leaves you the first chance he gets. Then, when you get him back, when you sacrifice the tattered shreds of your soul for him, he still inexorably turns away. That’s alone. That’s why Dean can’t let go of Sam, even now.

#41 – Nowhere: Sam turned hard when Dean died. Became more like his father, felt that same choking need for revenge because he sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else. He never stopped looking, but deep down he knew he was out of options, and that made his hunts bitter. Like everything he accomplished was useless in light of what he’d failed to do. He was a damn good hunter but he was reckless. Took risks, didn’t care, so long as he got revenge. Was headed nowhere except an early grave.

Sam doesn’t know how to get off that road now.

#42 – Neutral: As a rule Dean doesn’t like to get Bobby involved when he and Sam have issues, because it’s usually just some dumb sibling thing. Even though they rely on Bobby more than anyone these days—Dean doesn’t want to say father figure because that means he doesn’t have John, and yeah he’s accepted his dad’s death but he’s a Winchester so he hasn’t really—Bobby would just call them damn idjits anyways and refuse to help.

But this isn’t the same. Not at all. This is about Sam, and all those terrible choices Dean should have protected him from having to make.

#43 – Nuance: When Sam kisses Ruby in the darkness of a warehouse or a musty motel, he bites her lip, tastes blood, and it sends a rushing, dizzying thrill through his veins. She’s fierce, enthusiastic, all over him. Sam’s nearly out of his mind and throbbing with power, and he has to be devouring her, in her.

When Sam kisses Dean, lately it’s only impulsive with the adrenaline of a hunt or sloppy and slow when they’re fuzzy with alcohol, when they’ve forgotten the walls between them. But he needs it just the same. He’s not Sam if he’s not kissing Dean.

#44 – Near: When Dean first gets a good look in the mirror above ground it’s both too sharp because it’s real, and too blurred because there’s something wrong. He can’t make the dots connect in his mind because the dots are hidden in the blackness.

There’s something there. Lurking in the corners of his brain when he closes his eyes, when he stares into the tiny flame on his lighter, but especially when he looks in mirrors. It seeps through the edges, insidious, until by the second day Dean remembers exactly what Hell was like.

#45 – Natural: Dean remembers how quickly he and Sam slipped back together after Stanford. Hunting instincts had never entirely faded—impossible, after years of wasting spirits side-by-side with Dad—but sliding into those well-worn grooves of them, well.

Sam was still having nightmares, hadn’t gotten over Jessica. Had crawled under Dean’s sheets one night, shaking. Dean doesn’t know who initiated it, but he went from stroking Sam’s hair to capturing his lips, opening to Sam’s nudging thighs. So easy to fall.

There’s something bleeding between them now. Dean wants to fall, so natural again, but they’re both too raw. It won’t be simple.

#46 – Horizon: Sam doesn’t want to stop driving, ever. He should’ve woken Dean hours ago for his turn at the wheel, but the sinking sun is pulling Sam onward like a gold medallion, lower and lower until it dips and vanishes into the everlasting horizon. Sam is reaching, yearning forward for the promise of an endless odyssey locked in this limbo, innocent sleeping Dean and blank Sam, nothing on their tails and nothing ahead. He’s tired, limbs heavy at the wheel, but it’s a sort of numbness. Easier to keep going, not break this mindless momentum. Dean, naïve, snores softly. Sam drives.

#47 – Valiant: So okay, maybe the Winchesters have collectively fucked up in the past. Maybe they deserve some of the angels’ scorn. (And doesn’t that hurt, the fact that the servants of God think you’re screwed?) But it’s not like Dean was intending to break that first seal, any more than his mother intended to make her sons soldiers, or any more than Sam intended to turn into a demon-loving addict. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, right? Dean knows he’s not exactly a knight in shining armor but he’s trying to kill as many dragons as he can.

#48 – Virtuous: There are some things Dean can’t rationalize away.

In Hell, he tortured people.

There. He flayed open souls. His own hands curled around the leather whip handle, the bone-cold knife, the spiked rod. The cages. The medieval rack. And his hands, his own hands, the most exquisite and precise instruments of them all.

Sometimes he wonders which memory is worse: Suffering, or the deep thrill of pleasure at causing such broken screams. Giving back with vicious sickening delight. He wasn’t just clinically good at torturing; he fucking enjoyed it. Carnal, raw, unending. He hates himself and his dreams are nightmares.

#49 – Victory: It’s for Sam’s own good. Dean repeats this in his head, over and over, as muffled screaming and thumps filter up through Bobby’s house. It’s for Sam’s own good. He was out of control, making the world worse instead of saving it. Dean does not trust Ruby’s hold on him. He has to stop Sam from spiraling down any further.

Dean desperately knows that he and Bobby are right, but his chest clutches tight as Sam’s wordless howls thread upward from the panic room. There’s a real undercurrent of agony, almost insanity, lacing Sam’s voice. It’s for Sam’s own good.

#50 – Defeat: As death—final darkness, not postponement in Hell’s flames—flashes and shudders through Ruby’s mortal body, Dean knows he should feel a grim satisfaction. A juvenile told-you-so, perhaps. But held by Sam’s gaze, buckling under the palpable waves of nausea and guilt, all he can see is failure. Both of theirs, for trusting angels and demons, for letting supernatural forces split them asunder. Dean has his brother back, but the cost is far too high. The Apocalypse. Sam is his, but so is the end of the world. Dean is sick, cold, numb. He clutches Sam as the ground roars open.


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 22nd, 2009 08:56 pm (UTC)
What a wonderful collection, although hoo boy were they bleak. Of course, they couldn't really be anything else given the nature of s4.

I think Solitary was my favourite, even though it hurt like hell. Great work.
Sep. 23rd, 2009 01:15 am (UTC)
Thank you for reading! Glad you enjoyed it. :)
Sep. 23rd, 2009 02:05 pm (UTC)
secretly hoping as I got to #50 that it was going to be magically uplifting and soul filling...silly girl...alas defeat "Sam is his,but so is the end of the world"...must go watch Sam and Dean cutely argue in Tall Tales or something now.

So yeah, excellent job.
Sep. 27th, 2009 09:55 pm (UTC)
Thank you, and thanks for reading. :)
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )