Supernatural - Five Times Sam Hit Dean (Because He Deserved It) (1/1)- General
Title: Five Times Sam Hit Dean (Because He Deserved It)
Author:
_fullofgrace
Rating: PG/PG-13
Timeline: from pre-series to post-series
Word count: 1820
A/N: Written forcatchmelike for a "Five prompts Fic" meme.
Summary: Sam always hits for a reason.
i.
"You hit like a girl."
Sam hated those five words.
Especially when they were used by his taunting big brother with that annoying smirk of his.
Especially when said big brother had just snagged Sam's walkman from his possession by putting him in a headlock he couldn't escape. Sam had pulled and smacked and wriggled and punched to no avail.
And now his brother was walking away with his walkman.
Sam charged Dean from behind.
He wasn't going to fight clean if Dean wasn't. Fair was fair.
His momentum sent them both tumbling to the hard ground, Sam effectively knocking the wind out of Dean and even himself in the process. Dean muttered a swear word their dad would never approve of him saying and threatened Sam's life, but Sam had the walkman in his hands and was already running away by the time his big brother was back on his feet.
He may hit like a girl, but at least he didn't run like one.
ii.
He shoved clothing hastily into his duffel bag, balling the items up and pushing them as deep as they would go. He didn't know where he was going, but he just knew that he couldn't stay there. He'd finally had enough of this crap, always trying to prove to his dad that he wasn't like him.
That he didn't want his dad's life anymore.
He wanted his own.
With no hunting. With an actual job that didn‘t involve illegal credit card scams. With classes at Stanford.
Don't you come back, you hear me?
"Fine," Sam muttered under his breath, shoving another handful of clothes into his bag.
He wouldn't.
Sam didn't look up at the footfalls entering the room. Dad had stormed out Pastor Jim's front door after their confrontation, which only left one person crazy enough to try to speak to him right now.
"Don't even, Dean," he warned in a dark tone, already sure that his brother was here to defend their dad's actions like he always did.
"I didn't even say anything."
Sam finally looked up to see Dean standing tall in the doorway of the spare bedroom, arms folded across his chest. "You don't have to. It's always the same with you."
Dean rolled his eyes slightly. "Look, man, maybe you should just lay off him for once, huh? He's just trying to do what's best for us."
A dry laugh passed Sam's lips. "Do what's best for us?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "When has he ever done what's best for us, huh? It's always about the damn hunt for him; always has been. And if you didn‘t have these damn blinders on when it comes to him, you'd see it, too."
"Or maybe you're just too damn stubborn," Dean scoffed, stepping into the room. "You go to Stanford, and who's gonna have your back if you get in the middle of something, huh? No one. Dad's just trying to keep you safe."
"He's not trying to keep me safe. He's trying to keep me under his control, just like he keeps you."
Dean closed the gap between them. "He doesn't have to control me, dude, and you know why? I'm not some little punk who's always looking to pick a fight about stupid shit."
Sam swung out without even thinking, his hand connecting with Dean's jaw. He stood in the aftermath, his heart beating loudly in his ears and his fist still balled at his side. He waited for Dean to make the next move, waited to block the incoming blow, but it never came.
Instead, Dean stretched his lower jaw and met Sam's fierce stare with one of his own.
"You get that one for free," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Next time? I'm kicking your ass."
Sam continued to watch him suspiciously.
Fights never ended this easily, never ended without matching blows. This just wasn't normal. Dean always fought back. No matter what, he fought back.
"If you decide to stick around and not run off like some drama queen? I'll drop you off at the bus station in the morning, alright?" He waited a moment before turning to leave, leaving Sam still waiting for the fight that apparently would never come. "You're paying for my gas.”
Sam watched the bedroom door close behind Dean, his knuckles continuing to throb as confusion settled over him.
Dean always fought back….
iii.
Sam hadn't been in a fight like this in a long time.
The intruder was more skilled than he expected. They matched each of his hits blow for blow. If he moved left, his intruder moved right. It was like this guy knew the moves Sam would make before he even thought about making them.
He hadn't been in a fight like this since sparring with...
"Dean?" Sam gasped as his intruder pinned him to the hard apartment floor, revealing a very familiar smirk looking down on him.
Dean laughed in response to Sam’s obvious shock.
Sam could only stare up at him, his surprise slowly simmering into full-blown annoyance. He hadn't spoken to the guy in two years, and suddenly he was breaking into his apartment in the middle of the night. "You scared the crap out of me!"
Dean gave him that smug smile that Sam had hated as a kid, the one that said that Dean would always know better than him because he was the older one. "That's cause you're out of practice."
Sam's annoyance hit its boiling point at those condescending words, and he instantly flipped them, slamming Dean onto his back onto the floor. He didn't care if it hurt; in fact, a small part of him hoped it did. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, probably the worst terms really, and Sam didn't appreciate such a wake up call.
Didn't appreciate what his brother showing up on his doorstep actually meant.
His attempt at normal was officially done.
iv.
The pranks always started innocently enough.
Dean had called truce after Sam had managed to erase all of Dean's ringtones and replace them with various Celine Dion songs. Sam had accepted the truce only after dialing Dean's phone one last time to hear that Titanic song come from his brother's jacket pocket. Sam figured it was over after that, but he should have known better.
Dean never let himself be one-upped in prank wars.
When they returned to their room after salting and burning the dead girl's bones, Dean made a beeline for the bathroom without a single word, literally shoving Sam to the side in the process. The warning flags went up, and Sam quickly followed after his brother, banging on the locked bathroom door.
"Dean, what are you up to?" he yelled through the wood.
"Dude, can't I take a piss without checking in with you?"
Sam leaned against the door, listening hard. In his head, he took an inventory of all his belongings he had left inside the bathroom, tried to think of all the things Dean could be tampering with right now.
He stumbled into the doorway when the door flung open suddenly, Dean grinning innocently at him, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.
"What did you do?" Sam insisted, his gaze tracking his brother as Dean made his way over to his bed and flopped down on it.
"Paranoid much?" he asked, his toothbrush bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.
Sam continued to stare at him suspiciously before stepping into the bathroom, his eyes scanning for anything that looked out of place or moved from its original spot from that morning. He checked his shampoo bottle in the shower, smelling it to make sure it hadn't been laced with Nair. He carefully opened the medicine cabinet to make sure nothing had been rigged to fly out at him if he pulled the door open haphazardly. He looked down at the sink and frowned at his toothbrush. His fingers slowly reached out for the head, and his frown only deepened as he felt wet bristles against his skin.
"Dude!" he yelled, snatching up the toothbrush and storming out of the bathroom. "You didn't."
Dean feigned innocence, twirling his own toothbrush in his mouth. "What?"
"You did the toilet thing, didn't you?" Sam demanded, pointing the offending toothbrush at his brother in a threatening manner.
Dean simply raised his eyebrows, but the smirk forming on his lips was answer enough for Sam.
He hurled the toothbrush at his brother, who snickered as it made hard contact with his shoulder.
The truce was off.
v.
"Kill me!"
Sam fought hard to hold on, to keep the darkness from taking over his body again. He hadn't had full control of himself in months, not since he had left Dean for dead, bleeding profusely from a nasty gut wound and handcuffed to a pipe in a dank basement in the middle of Tulsa.
But his brother was back from the dead.
Just like always.
And Sam needed him to finish the job.
To keep his promise and kill Sam before he stopped being Sam forever.
"Kill me," Sam panted, dropping to his knees in the dirt. "Dean..."
Dean kept his gun trained on him, hand steady. "Sammy, you can fight this..."
God, he wanted to fight it. He did, but he was so tired. Everyday he fought, and everyday he lost, held prisoner in his own body. He didn't have it in him to fight anymore. Not anymore.
"I can't," he said, looking up at his brother through a veil of blood-tinged hair. Blood from where his scalp had connected with the rough bark of an elm during his fight with his brother. "Please, Dean. You promised." He grimaced as blood trickled between his eyes. "You don't do this, and I'll just keep on killing everyone we ever cared about."
Dean's mouth twitched, and he lowered his gun slightly, placing it level with Sam's head.
Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head, waiting for the final blast he would ever hear.
But it never came.
He waited, and it never came.
He opened his eyes and slowly looked up at his brother. The gun remained aimed against his skull, but everything in Dean's eyes said he couldn't do it. No matter how many lives Sam took; he just wouldn't be able to do it.
He stood and opened his mouth to tell Dean to run, to get away before it was too late.
But his words froze before he got the chance to utter the warning; the fight once again over.
He reached up with reflexes not his own and snatched the gun from his brother's hand, pistol-whipping Dean across the face and sending his brother to the ground in an unconscious lump before Dean could even get in a defensive move.
"You should have listened."
Dean never heard the final blast.
Author:
_fullofgraceRating: PG/PG-13
Timeline: from pre-series to post-series
Word count: 1820
A/N: Written for
catchmelike for a "Five prompts Fic" meme.Summary: Sam always hits for a reason.
i.
"You hit like a girl."
Sam hated those five words.
Especially when they were used by his taunting big brother with that annoying smirk of his.
Especially when said big brother had just snagged Sam's walkman from his possession by putting him in a headlock he couldn't escape. Sam had pulled and smacked and wriggled and punched to no avail.
And now his brother was walking away with his walkman.
Sam charged Dean from behind.
He wasn't going to fight clean if Dean wasn't. Fair was fair.
His momentum sent them both tumbling to the hard ground, Sam effectively knocking the wind out of Dean and even himself in the process. Dean muttered a swear word their dad would never approve of him saying and threatened Sam's life, but Sam had the walkman in his hands and was already running away by the time his big brother was back on his feet.
He may hit like a girl, but at least he didn't run like one.
ii.
He shoved clothing hastily into his duffel bag, balling the items up and pushing them as deep as they would go. He didn't know where he was going, but he just knew that he couldn't stay there. He'd finally had enough of this crap, always trying to prove to his dad that he wasn't like him.
That he didn't want his dad's life anymore.
He wanted his own.
With no hunting. With an actual job that didn‘t involve illegal credit card scams. With classes at Stanford.
Don't you come back, you hear me?
"Fine," Sam muttered under his breath, shoving another handful of clothes into his bag.
He wouldn't.
Sam didn't look up at the footfalls entering the room. Dad had stormed out Pastor Jim's front door after their confrontation, which only left one person crazy enough to try to speak to him right now.
"Don't even, Dean," he warned in a dark tone, already sure that his brother was here to defend their dad's actions like he always did.
"I didn't even say anything."
Sam finally looked up to see Dean standing tall in the doorway of the spare bedroom, arms folded across his chest. "You don't have to. It's always the same with you."
Dean rolled his eyes slightly. "Look, man, maybe you should just lay off him for once, huh? He's just trying to do what's best for us."
A dry laugh passed Sam's lips. "Do what's best for us?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "When has he ever done what's best for us, huh? It's always about the damn hunt for him; always has been. And if you didn‘t have these damn blinders on when it comes to him, you'd see it, too."
"Or maybe you're just too damn stubborn," Dean scoffed, stepping into the room. "You go to Stanford, and who's gonna have your back if you get in the middle of something, huh? No one. Dad's just trying to keep you safe."
"He's not trying to keep me safe. He's trying to keep me under his control, just like he keeps you."
Dean closed the gap between them. "He doesn't have to control me, dude, and you know why? I'm not some little punk who's always looking to pick a fight about stupid shit."
Sam swung out without even thinking, his hand connecting with Dean's jaw. He stood in the aftermath, his heart beating loudly in his ears and his fist still balled at his side. He waited for Dean to make the next move, waited to block the incoming blow, but it never came.
Instead, Dean stretched his lower jaw and met Sam's fierce stare with one of his own.
"You get that one for free," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Next time? I'm kicking your ass."
Sam continued to watch him suspiciously.
Fights never ended this easily, never ended without matching blows. This just wasn't normal. Dean always fought back. No matter what, he fought back.
"If you decide to stick around and not run off like some drama queen? I'll drop you off at the bus station in the morning, alright?" He waited a moment before turning to leave, leaving Sam still waiting for the fight that apparently would never come. "You're paying for my gas.”
Sam watched the bedroom door close behind Dean, his knuckles continuing to throb as confusion settled over him.
Dean always fought back….
iii.
Sam hadn't been in a fight like this in a long time.
The intruder was more skilled than he expected. They matched each of his hits blow for blow. If he moved left, his intruder moved right. It was like this guy knew the moves Sam would make before he even thought about making them.
He hadn't been in a fight like this since sparring with...
"Dean?" Sam gasped as his intruder pinned him to the hard apartment floor, revealing a very familiar smirk looking down on him.
Dean laughed in response to Sam’s obvious shock.
Sam could only stare up at him, his surprise slowly simmering into full-blown annoyance. He hadn't spoken to the guy in two years, and suddenly he was breaking into his apartment in the middle of the night. "You scared the crap out of me!"
Dean gave him that smug smile that Sam had hated as a kid, the one that said that Dean would always know better than him because he was the older one. "That's cause you're out of practice."
Sam's annoyance hit its boiling point at those condescending words, and he instantly flipped them, slamming Dean onto his back onto the floor. He didn't care if it hurt; in fact, a small part of him hoped it did. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, probably the worst terms really, and Sam didn't appreciate such a wake up call.
Didn't appreciate what his brother showing up on his doorstep actually meant.
His attempt at normal was officially done.
iv.
The pranks always started innocently enough.
Dean had called truce after Sam had managed to erase all of Dean's ringtones and replace them with various Celine Dion songs. Sam had accepted the truce only after dialing Dean's phone one last time to hear that Titanic song come from his brother's jacket pocket. Sam figured it was over after that, but he should have known better.
Dean never let himself be one-upped in prank wars.
When they returned to their room after salting and burning the dead girl's bones, Dean made a beeline for the bathroom without a single word, literally shoving Sam to the side in the process. The warning flags went up, and Sam quickly followed after his brother, banging on the locked bathroom door.
"Dean, what are you up to?" he yelled through the wood.
"Dude, can't I take a piss without checking in with you?"
Sam leaned against the door, listening hard. In his head, he took an inventory of all his belongings he had left inside the bathroom, tried to think of all the things Dean could be tampering with right now.
He stumbled into the doorway when the door flung open suddenly, Dean grinning innocently at him, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.
"What did you do?" Sam insisted, his gaze tracking his brother as Dean made his way over to his bed and flopped down on it.
"Paranoid much?" he asked, his toothbrush bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.
Sam continued to stare at him suspiciously before stepping into the bathroom, his eyes scanning for anything that looked out of place or moved from its original spot from that morning. He checked his shampoo bottle in the shower, smelling it to make sure it hadn't been laced with Nair. He carefully opened the medicine cabinet to make sure nothing had been rigged to fly out at him if he pulled the door open haphazardly. He looked down at the sink and frowned at his toothbrush. His fingers slowly reached out for the head, and his frown only deepened as he felt wet bristles against his skin.
"Dude!" he yelled, snatching up the toothbrush and storming out of the bathroom. "You didn't."
Dean feigned innocence, twirling his own toothbrush in his mouth. "What?"
"You did the toilet thing, didn't you?" Sam demanded, pointing the offending toothbrush at his brother in a threatening manner.
Dean simply raised his eyebrows, but the smirk forming on his lips was answer enough for Sam.
He hurled the toothbrush at his brother, who snickered as it made hard contact with his shoulder.
The truce was off.
v.
"Kill me!"
Sam fought hard to hold on, to keep the darkness from taking over his body again. He hadn't had full control of himself in months, not since he had left Dean for dead, bleeding profusely from a nasty gut wound and handcuffed to a pipe in a dank basement in the middle of Tulsa.
But his brother was back from the dead.
Just like always.
And Sam needed him to finish the job.
To keep his promise and kill Sam before he stopped being Sam forever.
"Kill me," Sam panted, dropping to his knees in the dirt. "Dean..."
Dean kept his gun trained on him, hand steady. "Sammy, you can fight this..."
God, he wanted to fight it. He did, but he was so tired. Everyday he fought, and everyday he lost, held prisoner in his own body. He didn't have it in him to fight anymore. Not anymore.
"I can't," he said, looking up at his brother through a veil of blood-tinged hair. Blood from where his scalp had connected with the rough bark of an elm during his fight with his brother. "Please, Dean. You promised." He grimaced as blood trickled between his eyes. "You don't do this, and I'll just keep on killing everyone we ever cared about."
Dean's mouth twitched, and he lowered his gun slightly, placing it level with Sam's head.
Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head, waiting for the final blast he would ever hear.
But it never came.
He waited, and it never came.
He opened his eyes and slowly looked up at his brother. The gun remained aimed against his skull, but everything in Dean's eyes said he couldn't do it. No matter how many lives Sam took; he just wouldn't be able to do it.
He stood and opened his mouth to tell Dean to run, to get away before it was too late.
But his words froze before he got the chance to utter the warning; the fight once again over.
He reached up with reflexes not his own and snatched the gun from his brother's hand, pistol-whipping Dean across the face and sending his brother to the ground in an unconscious lump before Dean could even get in a defensive move.
"You should have listened."
Dean never heard the final blast.