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astolat: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!
Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content.
7.
“George, can I have a word with my brother?” was the first thing Sam said when he found them at the restaurant attached to the motel.
Dean nodded at George, getting a nasty thrill from the way George waited for his approval, and the way that Sam noticed. “Why don’t you go gas her up?” Dean suggested. Sam’s mouth pinched further, like he wanted to say something about Dean allowing other hands on the Impala. And honestly, if George had been human, no way would Dean entrust him with the car; but Dean figured that they were both machines, of a sort, and George had always been gentle with her.
George got out of the booth, and the two of them did an awkward dance, shuffling around each other as Sam slid into the seat George had vacated, across from Dean. They both watched George move his giant body carefully through the aisle between the tables, narrowly avoiding a waitress and giving her an apologetic smile, then cross the parking lot.
Dean could feel Sam’s disapproval, coming off him like skunk fumes. Sam had saved Dean’s soul, but he didn’t want it. As far as Dean could tell, he wanted Dean living some safe and respectable life, the Impala pristine under a tarp in a garage, but he didn’t even want to be looking over his neighborly fence at Dean. The reason Sam had never said anything like that out loud, Dean guessed, was that even Sam didn’t have the details nailed down. Sam had always had a better imagination than Dean, but some things were beyond even Sam’s creativity.
He snuck glances at Sam, who was back to his childhood habit of pleating the straw wrapper into a little stairway. Sam used to do that when the alternative was to say something that would risk a lecture from Dad, back before Sam started courting those lectures. Sam was surely tired of telling Dean how to live. Dean couldn’t even say Sam was wrong about him – as long as Dean was who he was, the odds were good that someday he’d crash into Sam’s carefully built life, same as before, and make Sam do things he didn’t want to know he could do. Again.
I’m doing the best I can, he wanted to say, but even he knew that was useless.
“What do you know about this guy?” Sam said at last, putting his hand over Dean’s. Sincere. Sam was always sincere in his concern.
“I know he’s got my back,” Dean said, not moving.
Sam scoffed. “Yeah, that’s for sure. And since when do you take it up the ass?”
Now he did lean back, pulling his hand away, barely restraining himself from kicking Sam under the table. “Since any time I damn well want to – and don’t tell me you’ve got some moral objection, college boy.” He knew he was turning red, and he was furious about it, but if it couldn’t be helped it had to be ignored. “And since when do you give a good goddamn about my fucks?”
“Since you started hunting with one! He watches you like he’s a dog and you’re a steak dinner. There’s something wrong with him, Dean. He doesn’t care about hunting. The only thing he cares about is you.”
Dean looked at Sam long enough for him to realize how that had sounded. Then – because Sam should never doubt his instincts, and because he was right – Dean nodded his head. “I know. But he gets the job done.”
Sam stared at him. “So, what, you want me to beg you to ditch him and let me come back, is that what it takes? Nice emotional blackmail.”
He glared back at his brother, willing Sam not to go over everything in excruciating detail, just this once. “What’s your idea here, Sam? You don’t want this life, I get that. I’m gonna – I got it covered, okay? You don’t need to clean up my messes anymore. But you want me to want something different, that doesn’t work any better for you than it did for me.”
That hit home, he could tell by the way Sam’s brows beetled up. But Sam wasn’t one to stop fighting when the ground changed underneath him. “This life isn’t the problem. Even if you don’t – even if you don’t trust me to hunt any more, you’ve got to trust me on this. You and him, it’s wrong. You don’t see yourself, the way you look --”
It felt like a lifetime of no and not good enough and do it again catching up with him, except that he wasn’t in training any more and Sam wasn’t Dad, so doing it again was off the table.
He hadn’t asked Sam to come back and remind him of all the ways he wasn’t right. He wanted the road and the car and George. He stared mutely, resentfully, at his brother. It was too much, to save his soul and then keep making demands Dean couldn’t meet.
“Doesn’t it even bother you that he looks like me?”
And like that, Sam handed him the key, the way out of this mess. A clean cut, or cleaner than any of the alternatives; one that might leave him able to stand, after. He smiled at Sam, the kind of grin he’d used to start bar fights when he was younger. “‘Bother’ me? Nah, Sammy, it doesn’t bother me.” Each word was as distinct as if it had been machined.
He stood, not stopping to throw money on the table, and left Sam to gape after him, imagining his brother’s eyes – bewildered, then horrified – on his back all the way to Nevada.
astolat: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content.
7.
“George, can I have a word with my brother?” was the first thing Sam said when he found them at the restaurant attached to the motel.
Dean nodded at George, getting a nasty thrill from the way George waited for his approval, and the way that Sam noticed. “Why don’t you go gas her up?” Dean suggested. Sam’s mouth pinched further, like he wanted to say something about Dean allowing other hands on the Impala. And honestly, if George had been human, no way would Dean entrust him with the car; but Dean figured that they were both machines, of a sort, and George had always been gentle with her.
George got out of the booth, and the two of them did an awkward dance, shuffling around each other as Sam slid into the seat George had vacated, across from Dean. They both watched George move his giant body carefully through the aisle between the tables, narrowly avoiding a waitress and giving her an apologetic smile, then cross the parking lot.
Dean could feel Sam’s disapproval, coming off him like skunk fumes. Sam had saved Dean’s soul, but he didn’t want it. As far as Dean could tell, he wanted Dean living some safe and respectable life, the Impala pristine under a tarp in a garage, but he didn’t even want to be looking over his neighborly fence at Dean. The reason Sam had never said anything like that out loud, Dean guessed, was that even Sam didn’t have the details nailed down. Sam had always had a better imagination than Dean, but some things were beyond even Sam’s creativity.
He snuck glances at Sam, who was back to his childhood habit of pleating the straw wrapper into a little stairway. Sam used to do that when the alternative was to say something that would risk a lecture from Dad, back before Sam started courting those lectures. Sam was surely tired of telling Dean how to live. Dean couldn’t even say Sam was wrong about him – as long as Dean was who he was, the odds were good that someday he’d crash into Sam’s carefully built life, same as before, and make Sam do things he didn’t want to know he could do. Again.
I’m doing the best I can, he wanted to say, but even he knew that was useless.
“What do you know about this guy?” Sam said at last, putting his hand over Dean’s. Sincere. Sam was always sincere in his concern.
“I know he’s got my back,” Dean said, not moving.
Sam scoffed. “Yeah, that’s for sure. And since when do you take it up the ass?”
Now he did lean back, pulling his hand away, barely restraining himself from kicking Sam under the table. “Since any time I damn well want to – and don’t tell me you’ve got some moral objection, college boy.” He knew he was turning red, and he was furious about it, but if it couldn’t be helped it had to be ignored. “And since when do you give a good goddamn about my fucks?”
“Since you started hunting with one! He watches you like he’s a dog and you’re a steak dinner. There’s something wrong with him, Dean. He doesn’t care about hunting. The only thing he cares about is you.”
Dean looked at Sam long enough for him to realize how that had sounded. Then – because Sam should never doubt his instincts, and because he was right – Dean nodded his head. “I know. But he gets the job done.”
Sam stared at him. “So, what, you want me to beg you to ditch him and let me come back, is that what it takes? Nice emotional blackmail.”
He glared back at his brother, willing Sam not to go over everything in excruciating detail, just this once. “What’s your idea here, Sam? You don’t want this life, I get that. I’m gonna – I got it covered, okay? You don’t need to clean up my messes anymore. But you want me to want something different, that doesn’t work any better for you than it did for me.”
That hit home, he could tell by the way Sam’s brows beetled up. But Sam wasn’t one to stop fighting when the ground changed underneath him. “This life isn’t the problem. Even if you don’t – even if you don’t trust me to hunt any more, you’ve got to trust me on this. You and him, it’s wrong. You don’t see yourself, the way you look --”
It felt like a lifetime of no and not good enough and do it again catching up with him, except that he wasn’t in training any more and Sam wasn’t Dad, so doing it again was off the table.
He hadn’t asked Sam to come back and remind him of all the ways he wasn’t right. He wanted the road and the car and George. He stared mutely, resentfully, at his brother. It was too much, to save his soul and then keep making demands Dean couldn’t meet.
“Doesn’t it even bother you that he looks like me?”
And like that, Sam handed him the key, the way out of this mess. A clean cut, or cleaner than any of the alternatives; one that might leave him able to stand, after. He smiled at Sam, the kind of grin he’d used to start bar fights when he was younger. “‘Bother’ me? Nah, Sammy, it doesn’t bother me.” Each word was as distinct as if it had been machined.
He stood, not stopping to throw money on the table, and left Sam to gape after him, imagining his brother’s eyes – bewildered, then horrified – on his back all the way to Nevada.
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Aw, I really like George.
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I gotta admit Dean had me from the pilot, but I didn't really develop a full-on obsession until perhaps Skin and most definitely Asylum when the full dysfunction of the Winchester family came out to play.
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I also love George and I'm a little sad this story is coming to an end.
Very nicely done.
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Dean! Listen and THEN speak. I want to hit him, which is balanced by the love I feel for all the ways he made his stamp on George. Yay for George resembling Sam! it is both creepy and perfect.
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I am also surprised that nobody in SPN fandom has asked you for the rabbi's phone number and whether she takes commissions.
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The rest of my reply is actually spoilery so I won't say it.
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AHHHH!!!! I was wondering when they would get to that BIG elephant.
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