SpN: Come The Night, 20/?
3/21/12 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Come The Night, 20/?
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel
Rating:NC-17
Word Count:
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
one ~ two~ three ~ four ~ five ~six
seven ~ eight ~ nine ~ ten ~ eleven ~ twelve
thirteen~fourteen~fifteen~sixteen~seventeen
eighteen~ ninteen
icon by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shalowater
Journey to Chronopolis
"We can take you to Chronopolis," Rio says. "We can get you in. But the thing is to try and enter a petition. We got an idea for that."
1
Dean spends the day following different tribesmen around…they treat him a lot like he's a lovable but clumsy puppy. It's really getting on his nerves, but nowhere near as much as Angel and his new little playmate, Rio.
Every time Dean turns around there's Angel, all blah-blah and big booming laughs with Rio—. He keeps tripping over them, sitting side by side with their heads bent together and their voices low in a way he can't read as anything other than intimate. It's fucking irritating. He's irritated. Seriously irritated and annoyed. Dean kicks a rock across the patch of desert that the nomads keep their horses corralled, and gets a round of dirty looks for it. Fuck.
Dean stomps off by himself, his chest tight, his head's just beginning to get that pounding feeling in his temples, the sign a mother of all headaches is sneaking up on him. He doesn't get it. The whole fuckin' way they've traveled together, the kid seemed like all he wanted was in Dean's pants and now…Dean stumbles to a stop. Now it looks like Angel's found himself a brand spankin' shiny new friend. Fine. Good for him. Great for him—Dean jams his hands in his pockets and breathes deep for a minute or two. Maybe, he thinks, maybe it isn't even a bad thing. Maybe he should just let the kid go, let him stay here and, what the hell, build a life. It was a good place, decent people. Angel could do well here. These Summer people were a better lot than the Floating City crowd. Angel would be safe here where there were no slaves, no freaks, no fallen angel and no demon fuck buddies ….
~o0o~
He drifts aimlessly around the camp until he ends up in front of a colorful tent--stopped by the only other face besides Rio's he recognized.
Shem's crouched outside the tent on a short-legged stool, smoking in a thoughtful way. He looks pleased to see Dean, stands up and flicks the butt away as Dean approaches. He sweeps the door aside, jerks his head towards the opening. "Come on in, bru. You look like you could use a sit down."
Inside the tent is laid a rug, on it a small folding table holding a covered tray and a lamp. Two large, square pillows and two blanket rolls were against the far wall of the tent. Shem drops gracefully onto the closer of the pillows, pulls the tray towards him and lifts its metal lid. Under the lid sits a steaming tea pot and a couple of cups. Dean pulls the free pillow to the other side of the table and sits to face Shem, not bothering to hide his scowl. Shem cocks an eyebrow at him and smiles. Silently pours tea and adds a heavy dollop of dark honey to each cup without asking. He pushes the cup towards Dean, says, "Drink it. You'll like it. Maybe you'll stop frowning up all over like a butt-smacked baby."
Dean scowls even harder. "I got your butt smack," he mutters before gulping tea, just to give his mouth something to do besides growling. Tea's not his drink, what he really wants is a big fuckin' cup of coffee, or a good solid shot of JB—instead, he shrugs and grabs the cup, tosses it down. "Hunh—that's. Pretty good."
"Sure, that's why I drink it. So, you all finished pouting now or you set on keepin' on worryin' whether your Angel-boy is getting his wick wet?"
"No! And really? That's your sister you're talkin' 'bout like that--"
Shem snorts. "Not my blood sister, bru, she's a foster from the tribe of Fall. We're just real close friends." He winks at Dean. "Like, we taught each other everything we know, close."
"Gah, overshare, dude." Dean grimaces. It still sounds like…well, fuck, it sounds like incest to him, it freaks him out and yeah, he totally gets how hypocritical that is. Totally. He crams the thought down deep as he can.
"Rio says Angel say you all really do want to go to Dys." Shem fiddles with his cup and arches an eyebrow at Dean and Dean shrugs.
"Yeah, I—we want to go to Dys, got some business there," he says and holds out his cup to Shem, who pours more with a smirk.
"So you mind if I'm asking what business? What's so important got you all tricked out in magic stuff and runnin' around like story book heroes? Inheritance? Land issues? Fighting conscription? Why's your local not handlin' it?"
"Wait, what, fighting a what?"
"Conscription," Shem drawls slowly as if Dean was brain-damaged. "Somebody family tagged to be a horse and you fighting it?"
Dean stares at Shem in horror, sinking into the pillow, the tea going solid and sour in his stomach. He's still trying to make sense of the idea when Angel comes tumbling through the tent flap with his shiny new friend Rio. Dean turns to face them, locks eyes with Angel and asks, "Shem, he says, I mean—people're made to let demons ride them?"
Angel looks mildly surprised and then winces a bit, has the good grace to look a little guilty. "Well, yeah—I told you about the lottery, right? Didn't I? Coulda swore I did…."
Dean comes up off the pillow and stalks over to Angel. He's pissed as hell, frustrated and confused and—and lost damn it. Tired as fuck of trying to keep up all the time, of not knowing shit that can kill—"You guys said it was punishment, like prison—or there were sick fucks out there who chose it. Now you're telling me random people get forced into it?"
Angel winces and tries to back away but Dean's on him, in his space and furious. Angel plants his big hand in the center of Dean's chest, pushes him carefully back, says, "And some fall to it by chance—but it's a chance everyone takes. Everyone in the towns around Chronopolis and Dys have to participate. It's just the way. Only the granddads remember it being any other way," he says and the nomads nod agreement.
"And no one fights back? How the hell can they just let it happen?" Dean pulls his hands over his face and comes close to letting go. What the hell—why'd he go through all the shit he went through if nothing helped? They fucking died—for this. They suffered and bled and sacrificed each other over and over for this—so demons could shit on everything they tried to do.
"Well, the petition's one way…" Angel reaches out cautiously, patting Dean's shoulder like he's afraid Dean might bite a chunk out of his hand. "You have to think about the world the way it is, Dean. This is...it's a better way for most of these folks, better than living in fear every day, running all the time and not ever knowing if this is the day you loose—"
"That's crap! What about the mining towns, what about the out towns? They give up people to this fucking lottery? Not living in fear—you mean like the Seasons Tribe? Fuck that. The way these guys are rigged out, they're prepared for the worst and they don't look like they're scared of shit—smart motherfuckers."
Shem laughed, slapped Dean's back. "Right as right, bru, us are born prepared. It's been that way ever since our dads dropped their bikes in this desert, raised the people not to be fools." Shem shrugged. "Better living on the edge out here than licking some demon boot, or bowing to that Mr. Boy King, the monster freak, in Dys." He spit between his fingers and muttered something and Dean's heart swooped in a sick and unpleasant way—what Shem had just done, what he spoke, was a protective charm against ancient and powerful evil—a charm against Sam, the boy Dean had raised and loved.
2
"We can take you to Chronopolis," Rio says. "We can get you in. But the thing is to try and enter a petition. We got an idea for that." She gets an evil grin on her face and Dean knows enough about the way she feels about him to worry about that ….
"We'll take any idea you got. I'd rather enter Dys by petition than try and sneak past their guards. I'm not in the mood to have a demon try and ride me into the ground," Angel says.
Dean sneaks a look at him and catches the big ass smile he gives Rio. His fingers go up to the tattoo, trace the edge of it without thinking. He still wasn't sure what had happened when the demon tried to get into Angel at their campsite—not sure if it had been a one time thing or not, this immunity the kid seemed to have. Still even if it's not, a little extra protection never hurt anyone—not like there was such a thing as protection overkill.
"I could, I don’t know, maybe we could put the anti-possession tat on you too and protect you…." Dean starts to say, but Angel rears back like a pissed off cat.
"No, no. I don’t want anything like that. I…I don’t want any kind of sign on me. This shit on me is enough," Angel says and jabs at his ribs. "I didn't like the idea of this angel stuff on—in—me and I don’t like the idea of getting something on my skin." He stomps out of the tent.
Rio rolls her eyes, lets out a deeply disgusted sigh. "How can you not get it," she huffs. "Ex-slaves. They none of them want tattoos. First thing most of them do is get the slave mark cut off. Especially if they're the kind of slave he was," she says and her dark eyes full of sympathy.
And it's that sympathy that finally pushes Dean off the edge—he's fuming, all knotted up inside with how easy it was for Angel to tell this girl that he knew--what, all of about five minutes—his whole life history and shit. "Jesus. What the hell—what'd you give him to make him run off at the mouth like that?"
"Oh fuck you, you don't know shit!" Rio snaps. "He needed to get some shit out, and I was there, and willing to listen. Something I guess you don't know about or care about--being sympathetic. Try thinkin' with something besides your dick, once in a while--"
"Oh, is that what the kid's are calling it now, sympathetic? You bi--"
Angel's behind him out of nowhere, like the sneaky son of a bitch he is—fucking feet like a ninja. He shoves Dean—a sharp, hard, smack between the shoulder blades and now Dean's even more pissed off, because that shit hurt and Angel hit him--but when Dean whirls around to let him have it, he takes a step back instead. Kid's got an expression on his face that makes Dean take another step back. He looks like a grizzly with a stomach-ache….
Angel's right in his face, snarls, "Oh fuck no; you don’t get to be pissy because I talked to someone. You, you run hot and cold, you push me away, you pull me in—I need to talk to some one who's not a lokar schizo-ass muhfucker like you!"
"What? I talk to you all the time, damn it! And I don't push you away! What about at the camp? You think that didn't mean anything to me—"
"I don't know what it meant. Who can tell what shit means with you, you lokar--"
"CHRISTE! Christe, christe!" Rio screams, her arms flailing in the air. "You're possessed, both of you—by the fucking stupids! I can't be in here with you!" Rio whirls around and stomps out of the tent, elbowing Dean hard in the side as she goes. Shem watches her go with a grin, shrugs at them and follows her out.
Dean glares after her, swings around to glare at Angel. "Aren't you gonna go after your girlfriend?"
"You are such an asshole. She's not—I'm not---we didn't do anything but talk. Mandei, you pathetic idiot. You're not exactly warm fuzzy guy. And sometimes…" Angel drops his head. "I just want someone to want me because they like me."
"God damn it, I do," Dean shouts, rage and confusion and anger and…fear make his heart slam against his ribs. He wants to shout don’t leave me, not you too, but he just yells louder. "How can you not see that? Don't I show you, like, all the time?"
"Words, De—there's nothing wrong with using them."
Dean drags his hands through his hair and yanks—hard. Fucker's always been able to make him see red; no one gets under his skin like he does, swear to god--"Oh for fucks sake—shut up, Sam!"
They freeze, both of them, both of them wide-eyed and shocked, Dean nauseous with a feeling he can't even name and Angel's face gone tight and white with betrayal. "No, damn, I—I'm sorry, I meant Angel, not Sam, just, you guys sound so much alike sometimes, shit." He knows he's making it worse, but he just can't stop babbling.
Angel backs away from Dean, his voice so low it's a barely heard hiss. "Shut up, shut up--don’t you even say it—" his voice trembles, breaks. Right before stumbling out of the tent he stops. Asks, "Can you promise me you won’t sacrifice me for your Sam?"
Dean opens his mouth in automatic denial and just--stops.
No. There really was no way he would, he realizes in a rush of ice crackling across his nerves, boring right down into his bones. Dean realizes that he wouldn't do that to Angel—couldn't. It fills him, this knowing that it would be impossible to sacrifice the boy because Angel means everything to him. Fuck, maybe more than Sam, and that realization breaks his heart, makes him feel like he's betraying that kid who stepped out into the sunshine of a golden afternoon a million years ago and died in a gas station's parking lot.
Angel of course takes his silence to mean Dean would sell him out in a heartbeat. "I thought so," he says, and lets the flap drop, walks away.
"No," Dean rasps, the word climbing out of his throat weak and wispy, slicing into him as it goes. He drops his head and bites the inside of his cheek, rips into it. He's not going to fuckin' cry, no way.
'I love you more. I need you more.'
That's in his mind, wanting to come out of his mouth, it's just—he can't. Can't say that out loud, not yet—he can't yet hear himself speak the words that will betray Sam.
21
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel
Rating:NC-17
Word Count:
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
one ~ two~ three ~ four ~ five ~six
seven ~ eight ~ nine ~ ten ~ eleven ~ twelve
thirteen~fourteen~fifteen~sixteen~seventeen
eighteen~ ninteen
icon by
shalowaterJourney to Chronopolis
"We can take you to Chronopolis," Rio says. "We can get you in. But the thing is to try and enter a petition. We got an idea for that."
Dean spends the day following different tribesmen around…they treat him a lot like he's a lovable but clumsy puppy. It's really getting on his nerves, but nowhere near as much as Angel and his new little playmate, Rio.
Every time Dean turns around there's Angel, all blah-blah and big booming laughs with Rio—. He keeps tripping over them, sitting side by side with their heads bent together and their voices low in a way he can't read as anything other than intimate. It's fucking irritating. He's irritated. Seriously irritated and annoyed. Dean kicks a rock across the patch of desert that the nomads keep their horses corralled, and gets a round of dirty looks for it. Fuck.
Dean stomps off by himself, his chest tight, his head's just beginning to get that pounding feeling in his temples, the sign a mother of all headaches is sneaking up on him. He doesn't get it. The whole fuckin' way they've traveled together, the kid seemed like all he wanted was in Dean's pants and now…Dean stumbles to a stop. Now it looks like Angel's found himself a brand spankin' shiny new friend. Fine. Good for him. Great for him—Dean jams his hands in his pockets and breathes deep for a minute or two. Maybe, he thinks, maybe it isn't even a bad thing. Maybe he should just let the kid go, let him stay here and, what the hell, build a life. It was a good place, decent people. Angel could do well here. These Summer people were a better lot than the Floating City crowd. Angel would be safe here where there were no slaves, no freaks, no fallen angel and no demon fuck buddies ….
He drifts aimlessly around the camp until he ends up in front of a colorful tent--stopped by the only other face besides Rio's he recognized.
Shem's crouched outside the tent on a short-legged stool, smoking in a thoughtful way. He looks pleased to see Dean, stands up and flicks the butt away as Dean approaches. He sweeps the door aside, jerks his head towards the opening. "Come on in, bru. You look like you could use a sit down."
Inside the tent is laid a rug, on it a small folding table holding a covered tray and a lamp. Two large, square pillows and two blanket rolls were against the far wall of the tent. Shem drops gracefully onto the closer of the pillows, pulls the tray towards him and lifts its metal lid. Under the lid sits a steaming tea pot and a couple of cups. Dean pulls the free pillow to the other side of the table and sits to face Shem, not bothering to hide his scowl. Shem cocks an eyebrow at him and smiles. Silently pours tea and adds a heavy dollop of dark honey to each cup without asking. He pushes the cup towards Dean, says, "Drink it. You'll like it. Maybe you'll stop frowning up all over like a butt-smacked baby."
Dean scowls even harder. "I got your butt smack," he mutters before gulping tea, just to give his mouth something to do besides growling. Tea's not his drink, what he really wants is a big fuckin' cup of coffee, or a good solid shot of JB—instead, he shrugs and grabs the cup, tosses it down. "Hunh—that's. Pretty good."
"Sure, that's why I drink it. So, you all finished pouting now or you set on keepin' on worryin' whether your Angel-boy is getting his wick wet?"
"No! And really? That's your sister you're talkin' 'bout like that--"
Shem snorts. "Not my blood sister, bru, she's a foster from the tribe of Fall. We're just real close friends." He winks at Dean. "Like, we taught each other everything we know, close."
"Gah, overshare, dude." Dean grimaces. It still sounds like…well, fuck, it sounds like incest to him, it freaks him out and yeah, he totally gets how hypocritical that is. Totally. He crams the thought down deep as he can.
"Rio says Angel say you all really do want to go to Dys." Shem fiddles with his cup and arches an eyebrow at Dean and Dean shrugs.
"Yeah, I—we want to go to Dys, got some business there," he says and holds out his cup to Shem, who pours more with a smirk.
"So you mind if I'm asking what business? What's so important got you all tricked out in magic stuff and runnin' around like story book heroes? Inheritance? Land issues? Fighting conscription? Why's your local not handlin' it?"
"Wait, what, fighting a what?"
"Conscription," Shem drawls slowly as if Dean was brain-damaged. "Somebody family tagged to be a horse and you fighting it?"
Dean stares at Shem in horror, sinking into the pillow, the tea going solid and sour in his stomach. He's still trying to make sense of the idea when Angel comes tumbling through the tent flap with his shiny new friend Rio. Dean turns to face them, locks eyes with Angel and asks, "Shem, he says, I mean—people're made to let demons ride them?"
Angel looks mildly surprised and then winces a bit, has the good grace to look a little guilty. "Well, yeah—I told you about the lottery, right? Didn't I? Coulda swore I did…."
Dean comes up off the pillow and stalks over to Angel. He's pissed as hell, frustrated and confused and—and lost damn it. Tired as fuck of trying to keep up all the time, of not knowing shit that can kill—"You guys said it was punishment, like prison—or there were sick fucks out there who chose it. Now you're telling me random people get forced into it?"
Angel winces and tries to back away but Dean's on him, in his space and furious. Angel plants his big hand in the center of Dean's chest, pushes him carefully back, says, "And some fall to it by chance—but it's a chance everyone takes. Everyone in the towns around Chronopolis and Dys have to participate. It's just the way. Only the granddads remember it being any other way," he says and the nomads nod agreement.
"And no one fights back? How the hell can they just let it happen?" Dean pulls his hands over his face and comes close to letting go. What the hell—why'd he go through all the shit he went through if nothing helped? They fucking died—for this. They suffered and bled and sacrificed each other over and over for this—so demons could shit on everything they tried to do.
"Well, the petition's one way…" Angel reaches out cautiously, patting Dean's shoulder like he's afraid Dean might bite a chunk out of his hand. "You have to think about the world the way it is, Dean. This is...it's a better way for most of these folks, better than living in fear every day, running all the time and not ever knowing if this is the day you loose—"
"That's crap! What about the mining towns, what about the out towns? They give up people to this fucking lottery? Not living in fear—you mean like the Seasons Tribe? Fuck that. The way these guys are rigged out, they're prepared for the worst and they don't look like they're scared of shit—smart motherfuckers."
Shem laughed, slapped Dean's back. "Right as right, bru, us are born prepared. It's been that way ever since our dads dropped their bikes in this desert, raised the people not to be fools." Shem shrugged. "Better living on the edge out here than licking some demon boot, or bowing to that Mr. Boy King, the monster freak, in Dys." He spit between his fingers and muttered something and Dean's heart swooped in a sick and unpleasant way—what Shem had just done, what he spoke, was a protective charm against ancient and powerful evil—a charm against Sam, the boy Dean had raised and loved.
"We can take you to Chronopolis," Rio says. "We can get you in. But the thing is to try and enter a petition. We got an idea for that." She gets an evil grin on her face and Dean knows enough about the way she feels about him to worry about that ….
"We'll take any idea you got. I'd rather enter Dys by petition than try and sneak past their guards. I'm not in the mood to have a demon try and ride me into the ground," Angel says.
Dean sneaks a look at him and catches the big ass smile he gives Rio. His fingers go up to the tattoo, trace the edge of it without thinking. He still wasn't sure what had happened when the demon tried to get into Angel at their campsite—not sure if it had been a one time thing or not, this immunity the kid seemed to have. Still even if it's not, a little extra protection never hurt anyone—not like there was such a thing as protection overkill.
"I could, I don’t know, maybe we could put the anti-possession tat on you too and protect you…." Dean starts to say, but Angel rears back like a pissed off cat.
"No, no. I don’t want anything like that. I…I don’t want any kind of sign on me. This shit on me is enough," Angel says and jabs at his ribs. "I didn't like the idea of this angel stuff on—in—me and I don’t like the idea of getting something on my skin." He stomps out of the tent.
Rio rolls her eyes, lets out a deeply disgusted sigh. "How can you not get it," she huffs. "Ex-slaves. They none of them want tattoos. First thing most of them do is get the slave mark cut off. Especially if they're the kind of slave he was," she says and her dark eyes full of sympathy.
And it's that sympathy that finally pushes Dean off the edge—he's fuming, all knotted up inside with how easy it was for Angel to tell this girl that he knew--what, all of about five minutes—his whole life history and shit. "Jesus. What the hell—what'd you give him to make him run off at the mouth like that?"
"Oh fuck you, you don't know shit!" Rio snaps. "He needed to get some shit out, and I was there, and willing to listen. Something I guess you don't know about or care about--being sympathetic. Try thinkin' with something besides your dick, once in a while--"
"Oh, is that what the kid's are calling it now, sympathetic? You bi--"
Angel's behind him out of nowhere, like the sneaky son of a bitch he is—fucking feet like a ninja. He shoves Dean—a sharp, hard, smack between the shoulder blades and now Dean's even more pissed off, because that shit hurt and Angel hit him--but when Dean whirls around to let him have it, he takes a step back instead. Kid's got an expression on his face that makes Dean take another step back. He looks like a grizzly with a stomach-ache….
Angel's right in his face, snarls, "Oh fuck no; you don’t get to be pissy because I talked to someone. You, you run hot and cold, you push me away, you pull me in—I need to talk to some one who's not a lokar schizo-ass muhfucker like you!"
"What? I talk to you all the time, damn it! And I don't push you away! What about at the camp? You think that didn't mean anything to me—"
"I don't know what it meant. Who can tell what shit means with you, you lokar--"
"CHRISTE! Christe, christe!" Rio screams, her arms flailing in the air. "You're possessed, both of you—by the fucking stupids! I can't be in here with you!" Rio whirls around and stomps out of the tent, elbowing Dean hard in the side as she goes. Shem watches her go with a grin, shrugs at them and follows her out.
Dean glares after her, swings around to glare at Angel. "Aren't you gonna go after your girlfriend?"
"You are such an asshole. She's not—I'm not---we didn't do anything but talk. Mandei, you pathetic idiot. You're not exactly warm fuzzy guy. And sometimes…" Angel drops his head. "I just want someone to want me because they like me."
"God damn it, I do," Dean shouts, rage and confusion and anger and…fear make his heart slam against his ribs. He wants to shout don’t leave me, not you too, but he just yells louder. "How can you not see that? Don't I show you, like, all the time?"
"Words, De—there's nothing wrong with using them."
Dean drags his hands through his hair and yanks—hard. Fucker's always been able to make him see red; no one gets under his skin like he does, swear to god--"Oh for fucks sake—shut up, Sam!"
They freeze, both of them, both of them wide-eyed and shocked, Dean nauseous with a feeling he can't even name and Angel's face gone tight and white with betrayal. "No, damn, I—I'm sorry, I meant Angel, not Sam, just, you guys sound so much alike sometimes, shit." He knows he's making it worse, but he just can't stop babbling.
Angel backs away from Dean, his voice so low it's a barely heard hiss. "Shut up, shut up--don’t you even say it—" his voice trembles, breaks. Right before stumbling out of the tent he stops. Asks, "Can you promise me you won’t sacrifice me for your Sam?"
Dean opens his mouth in automatic denial and just--stops.
No. There really was no way he would, he realizes in a rush of ice crackling across his nerves, boring right down into his bones. Dean realizes that he wouldn't do that to Angel—couldn't. It fills him, this knowing that it would be impossible to sacrifice the boy because Angel means everything to him. Fuck, maybe more than Sam, and that realization breaks his heart, makes him feel like he's betraying that kid who stepped out into the sunshine of a golden afternoon a million years ago and died in a gas station's parking lot.
Angel of course takes his silence to mean Dean would sell him out in a heartbeat. "I thought so," he says, and lets the flap drop, walks away.
"No," Dean rasps, the word climbing out of his throat weak and wispy, slicing into him as it goes. He drops his head and bites the inside of his cheek, rips into it. He's not going to fuckin' cry, no way.
'I love you more. I need you more.'
That's in his mind, wanting to come out of his mouth, it's just—he can't. Can't say that out loud, not yet—he can't yet hear himself speak the words that will betray Sam.
21
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
3/22/12 02:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/22/12 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/22/12 02:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/12 02:10 am (UTC)Don't worry! It will all work out! Happy endings! You know that's what roxytown is all about! *GGGG*
(no subject)
3/23/12 01:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/12 02:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/29/12 09:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/29/12 01:16 pm (UTC)