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astolat's story. Most other requests will be shorter, but this one will run for 8 nights.
The prompt: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!
Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content. You can read the whole thing at my site.
1.
After Sam broke Dean’s deal, Sam left him.
Technically, of course, it was Dean who left. Sam stayed in place. In California, “working some things out,” as if Dean didn’t know about the emails back and forth from Stanford, the fucking letter by registered mail, the withdrawals from two of their emergency stashes. He wasn’t an idiot, and Sam knew that he wasn’t an idiot, which meant that Sam just didn’t want to say he was leaving. And, honestly, when Dean managed to calm down – three states gone by – he got that.
Words had never done a lot for them.
Anyhow, a man forces his brother to walk into hell and back to save his soul, he can’t expect his brother to be all that pleased with the sight of him. Oh, Sam would do it all over again in a heartbeat; he just didn’t want to have to look at Dean and get reminded of what he’d had to do. Dean hadn’t needed a lecture on that – it had been in every hunch of Sam’s shoulders so they didn’t have to touch in their suddenly too-small motel rooms and every time Sam cracked his neck to get rid of the crick that came from hours of staring too determinedly out the window, the other direction from Dean.
That shit did nobody any good. It was like a dislocated shoulder – one quick pull, a lot of pain, a lot of soreness, but at least the arm would work after you did it.
Sam had looked a little surprised when Dean had told him about the hunt down in Texas and slung his bag on the bed, packed and ready to go. “You’ve got my number,” Dean had said, stupidly.
“I guess I could use some time off,” Sam had said, as if he was just now thinking of it, and this was worse than having stitches tear. Stitches could be redone. So Dean had hightailed it out of there, and he hadn’t looked back, because there was nothing in the rear-view mirror he wanted to see.
astolat's story. Most other requests will be shorter, but this one will run for 8 nights. The prompt: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!
Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content. You can read the whole thing at my site.
1.
After Sam broke Dean’s deal, Sam left him.
Technically, of course, it was Dean who left. Sam stayed in place. In California, “working some things out,” as if Dean didn’t know about the emails back and forth from Stanford, the fucking letter by registered mail, the withdrawals from two of their emergency stashes. He wasn’t an idiot, and Sam knew that he wasn’t an idiot, which meant that Sam just didn’t want to say he was leaving. And, honestly, when Dean managed to calm down – three states gone by – he got that.
Words had never done a lot for them.
Anyhow, a man forces his brother to walk into hell and back to save his soul, he can’t expect his brother to be all that pleased with the sight of him. Oh, Sam would do it all over again in a heartbeat; he just didn’t want to have to look at Dean and get reminded of what he’d had to do. Dean hadn’t needed a lecture on that – it had been in every hunch of Sam’s shoulders so they didn’t have to touch in their suddenly too-small motel rooms and every time Sam cracked his neck to get rid of the crick that came from hours of staring too determinedly out the window, the other direction from Dean.
That shit did nobody any good. It was like a dislocated shoulder – one quick pull, a lot of pain, a lot of soreness, but at least the arm would work after you did it.
Sam had looked a little surprised when Dean had told him about the hunt down in Texas and slung his bag on the bed, packed and ready to go. “You’ve got my number,” Dean had said, stupidly.
“I guess I could use some time off,” Sam had said, as if he was just now thinking of it, and this was worse than having stitches tear. Stitches could be redone. So Dean had hightailed it out of there, and he hadn’t looked back, because there was nothing in the rear-view mirror he wanted to see.
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