Born Under a Bad Sign Epilogue, SPN, 1/1, PG-13, Gen (Wincest if you squint)

[authoressnebula.livejournal.com]

Title: Born Under a Bad Sign Epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural (Gen, or Wincest if you squint)
Chapter: 1 of 1
Prompt: #52 - Lockpick for tamingthemuse
Summary: An angsty but more resolved ending, I think, for an episode that needed an angsty finish after everything that had happened.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Kripke currently owns me.

Word count: 1339

A/N: Not really beta'd; if there's any glaring mistakes, please let me know?

The car drive was silent after the joke had passed. It had been funny at the time (a girl up inside was really naughty), but now? Now all Sam could see was a glimpse here and there of what Meg had done in his body.

Funny how he kept calling her Meg, when the real Meg Masters was dead in the ground and not as recently possessed as Sam was. Maybe they should call the demon Sam now.

He was going to be sick.

Fortunately, Dean pulled off at the next hotel they neared, which pulled Sam out of his nausea inducing thoughts. When he glanced at the time, though, Sam had to frown. It was only a little past ten; they were stopping already? There were at least two more hours they could drive-

And then he remembered that Dean was injured, Dean had been shot, because of him. Sam had done that to Dean. His Dean.

He was definitely going to be sick.

Dean stopped the car in front of the office. “Be right back,” he said, sliding out of the car. Like Sam was going anywhere.

Well, he hadn't meant to go anywhere the last time, but he had. He wondered who Dean had said the words for more: Sam or himself.

Five minutes later, Dean was sliding back into the driver's seat, grimacing slightly as he took his place behind the wheel. “Room 11,” he supplied, tossing Sam a room key. “One night. We'll hole up somewhere further out while we try to figure out another gig.”

Sam had figured that tonight would be a one night deal, but hearing Dean say it, hearing Dean practically spelling out that he wanted to be as far from this area as possible...it just made Sam's stomach twist even more and his chest ache from the weight of his heart. This was so screwed up. Sam was screwed up.

But Dean still hadn't said anything, though. He'd said a lot of things after they'd left from Bobby's house, and he was talking now, telling Sam that they needed to get their bags out of the trunk. He was saying things he usually didn't say, just to fill the silence that kept falling on them.

He hadn't said two things, though. He hadn't said how much his shoulder hurt him, and Sam knew it had to be hurting him a lot. He'd been shot, for crying out loud. By his brother. And then...

Thumb digging into the wound as Dean cries out, eyes burning, and the cry fades to a whimper as he gazes up in fear at

Sam had to grab the top of the car to steady himself. The memories just sort of popped here and there, things that Meg...no, Sam, had done.

“You okay with that bag back there?”

Dean's voice from the door of their room made Sam focus. Again. “Yeah,” he managed, his own voice sounding hoarse. Dean's voice was still solid and sure, and Sam wondered how he was keeping it together. He had to be livid or upset or hurt or something.

Sam grabbed the bag and closed the trunk, coming around to the door Dean was holding open. As soon as Sam was inside Dean closed and locked the door, then headed for the salt canister that was already on the small table. “You wanna get the windows with the other one? It's in the bag under the table,” Dean said, already pouring.

Sam had known where the other salt canister was, but he didn't say anything, simply reaching in for it and uncapping the top. He couldn't believe Dean still trusted him with this. After everything...

Sam inhaled sharply and deeply and forced it back. He couldn't do this now. He needed to salt the windows. He needed to take care of Dean's shoulder and the bruises on his face.

If Dean would even let him touch him.

The salt wasn't a perfect line like Sam usually did, but it was solid enough that nothing was getting in. Sam wondered if he shouldn't be on the other side of that line tonight, for awhile, forever. What he'd done...

“I think I'm just gonna crash,” Dean announced, setting the salt canister on the table. “No shower for me tonight, and if I stink...live with it,” he said with a small grin. He sat gingerly, but once he was on the bed, Dean slid around like it was nothing. Like this entire thing had been nothing.

Like Sam hadn't tried to kill him.

“Sam?”

Sam hadn't realized he'd been staring until he blinked and found his gaze locked on Dean. Dean was frowning now, a frown of worry and concern. “Sammy? You okay in there, kiddo?” No anger in his tone, no exasperation, no fear, nothing but honest to goodness confusion and worry and that was when Sam broke.

“Why don't you hate me?!” Sam shouted, and Dean didn't even flinch. His worry did gain an edge of exasperation, like he'd looked while Sam had tried to use a lockpick after he'd broken his arm, and just that alone fueled Sam's fury at his brother's lack of anything at what he'd done.

“Sam-”

“I killed someone! I almost killed Jo! I shot you, Dean! I almost killed you,” and if he didn't stop talking for just a few seconds, he was going to throw up. He'd almost killed Dean. He'd almost killed his big brother, his hero, the one person who had stood by him through everything, and he'd almost killed him.

The worry and concern were back in full force. “Sam, it wasn't-”

“Don't give me that crap, Dean, because it was me,” Sam snapped, throwing the salt canister as hard as he could to the side, almost hoping Dean would look scared for just a split second. He didn't, though, and that just made this even worse. “It was my hands that killed that hunter. It was my hands that slammed Jo into the bar until she blacked out. It was my hands that pulled the trigger that shot you, my hands that dug into the wound on your shoulder, my hands that...that hit you, Dean. I made you bleed, I made you cry, and you still won't hate me!”

Sam stepped forward, trying to appear threatening, menacing, something to get a reaction out of Dean, but all he could do was fall to his knees in front of the bed and Dean. “Why won't you hate me?” he whispered, gulping back a sob. He blinked through the tears that were falling full force now and begged hoarsely, “Please hate me, Dean. Please.”

He couldn't make out Dean's features through the tears, but he could see his brother slowly sliding from his position on the bed, before rising to his feet. Sam hung his head, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing and his brother's padded footsteps. Dean must've taken off his shoes at some point, Sam realized, when two socks interrupted his view of the carpet.

Dean slid into a crouch beside him, and gentle fingers reached around to lift Sam's chin towards Dean. When Sam met his gaze, he found the same things he'd seen before: concern and worry. They went hand in hand whenever Sam was concerned, it seemed. But in his face, Sam could see determination and love, and it was the last thing that almost had Sam losing it again.

Then Dean said one word, one word, and Sam was losing it, right before Dean grabbed him and pulled him close for a crushing hug that the Winchesters just didn't do, and that would've been enough to make his eyes burn on a good day. One word, and Sam was sobbing as he clutched at Dean's shirt, trying to bury himself in the strong embrace he'd found safety and comfort in since he was old enough to remember things. One word -

“Never.”

and Sam's world was finally right again.

~Nebula

Comments

[lilithbint.livejournal.com]

*wibble*
that is more like it should have been.

[dangerous-story.livejournal.com]

Awwww!!!

Guh. That was great and heh, would have been so angsty and niiice as the real ending of that ep. I mean I can so see Sam doing that. Heh.

He's a little angst puppy.

[umbralillium.livejournal.com]

Awwwwwww! *sniffles and pets poor broken Sam* Of course he'd never hate you, Sammy! He's your big brother! You're everything to him! S'why he can't kill you. *cuddles*

[jesterlady]

Poor Sammy. I like how Dean never cracked. You know he wouldn't.

You're such an angstwhore, sweetie. Gotta love it.

*pets both of them*

[alphabet26.livejournal.com]

Oh, boys. That was just lovely. Really in character--Sam's absolute inability to forgive himself and needing Dean to punish him, too, and Dean not granting absolution exactly, but just reassuring Sam that Dean will never hate him. Ok, that sentence sucks. Hopefully you can dig the compliment out of there. I loved this story.