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Entry tags:
SpN fic:Tail Gunner conclusion
Title: Tail Gunner
Fandom: SpN
Pairing:Sam/Dean, eventually
Rating: NC-17 for this section
Word count: 2624
Summary: the monster in the closet might be closer than you think....
All previous parts of Tail Gunner are here
They were back in the village, huddled around each other, shaking…Dean dragged Sam into the shower. It was suddenly the most important thing to Dean that Sam be clean, washed free of blood and grime and he knew it was stupid, but he hoped that memories would wash away as well.
Sam was shivering, seemed barely aware that he was in the shower, talking a mile a minute. "I don’t know what kind of demon that was, but I'll find out and we'll go after it—Dad was possessed, wasn't he? That's why he—he tried to--" Sam broke out in a fresh wave of shuddering, and Dean held him close, kissed his forehead and his cheek and tried to soothe him.
"Yeah, yeah Sam, he was possessed," and all the while his brain screamed, 'it's real it's real it's…' The memory of his dad's completely stunned and disbelieving expression, the—complete and total shock, the fear— "It'll be okay Sam, we'll be safe. We'll…look for the other hunters." The ones that have to be out there…somewhere.
He led Sam out of the shower and back to his room, grabbed a towel and rubbed him down, grinned a little when Sam protested at being dressed.
"I'll be back," he said, and went to his room, grabbed something to wear. He couldn't be naked around Sam, not tonight. He didn't think ever.
Sam was on the bed, faded boxers riding low, exhaustion making his eyes dark, but he looked more alive when he caught sight of Dean in the doorway. He pulled himself back on the bed to make room and Dean sat next to him, held one cold hand in his, rubbing it, trying to warm him up….
Sam pulled his head to him and kissed him on the mouth. "Thank you for saving my life."
"Okay." He felt light headed and nauseous and dreadedwished Sam would kiss him again…
Sam quickly pulled him down again, mouth hot and insistent against Dean's. He gasped and Sam's tongue pushed inside, brushed all over inside. Deans eyes fell closed, he opened wider—their tongues slid together, and Dean trembled—the sour taste of blood and bile gave way to something sweet, unique—the taste of Sam. Dean gathered what shreds of willpower he had left and pushed his brother away, tried to make it forceful. "Don't--"
Sam looked shocked himself, his eyes went wide, scared--his lips trembled, his face fell and he cried. Quietly at first, almost to himself, then louder, harsher, and so hard the sobs racked him, scared Dean. "I was so damn scared and Dad—Dad was, he was horrible--I thought I was going to die, I couldn't stop thinking about you, scared I'd never see you again, never tell you that I--"
Dean threw his hands up, about to cover his ears like he did when he was a kid and Mom and Dad screamed ugly things at each other, things he didn't want to hear. "Cut it out, Sam—god damn it…"
Sam had his hand fisted in the material of Dean's shirt, pulled hard enough to tear it. With a frantic, spastic jerk he pulled Dean down on him, "Please, please, love me," and something in Dean exploded—tore out of his heart.
"You think you want that? Want to know what it's like?" He threw Sam to his belly on the bed, ripped the underwear down the back of his legs, leaving red streaks down his back, his calves. He shoved his shower damp legs apart and jammed an elbow in Sam's back when he tried to move. "Shut up, lie still," he hissed—hardly recognized his own voice and Sam froze—Dean pushed his legs even farther apart, stared down at him, so open and exposed, helpless in the face of so much anger—
His dick been hard from the moment Sam's tongue brushed his, and he wanted this, wanted to make Sam see that you couldn't throw words like love around like confetti, like it meant something, fuck…Dean pressed him open and spit, spit again and saliva rolled down Sam's cleft, collected on the wrinkled hole, and Sam sobbed, once. Dean cursed and jabbed his hips forward, he struggled—he went soft. Sam lay motionless, soundless, like a fucking sacrifice, and Dean hung over him, crying, apologizing over and over, hurting, ashamed, all the anger gone and just an aching void left.
Sam moved finally when Dean dropped face down on the bed next to him, burying his face in the pillow, locked his hands over the back of his head and sobbed quietly as he could. Sam limped away, and returned with a dripping washcloth, holding it gingerly by the corner. He rolled Dean to his back, and pulled his arms away from his face. "Shhh. Stop. Please."
He washed Dean awkwardly, soaked water into the sheets, talked to him gently, patiently all the while until Dean couldn't take it anymore; shame drove him off the bed and racing into the bathroom.
He was on his knees, draped over the toilet bowl, and he gagged and gagged as his stomach tried to empty. He leaned his cheek on the rim and was grateful the bowl was cold against his too hot face. Great, one nice spot in his day, and it was trying to puke in the toilet.
Sam stood behind him and waited, and when Dean leaned back from the bowl and nodded, he led him back to the bed.
Sam laid him down and straightened his limbs, and wiped his face again with the cooled washcloth. Looked down at him and shook his head--his shaggy hair fell forward to almost cover his eyes, but Dean was watching his mouth, and how it curved upwards, a little…Sam climbed onto his legs and sat on Dean's thighs. "I forgive you—sometimes you're an asshole—I can deal with that. You okay now?"
He felt tears well up again, but he blinked them back. "Yeah. But I'd feel better if I had more clothes on..." he wrapped his fingers in the waist band of the only clothing he had on—a faded pair of Harley-Davidson shorts—some ancient gift to him more than likely from Sam.
Sam snorted and pulled the threadbare shorts down, and Dean yelped and started to yank them back up—Sam slapped his hands away. He traced a line down Dean's hip, over the soft curve of his dick." No, you wouldn't feel better. I love you and you love me. That's the way it's always been." He moved his finger again, and Dean's dick filled a little, lifted slightly. "You and me against the world. You keeping me safe. It's even truer now." He drew his finger over the thickening shaft, traced a circle around the ridge. "We need each other," he murmured and stopped moving, shifted his ass across Deans' thighs, and Dean gasped softly. Sam cocked his head and stared down at him. "Fuck Dean, we don’t need anyone else. Never will. Never did."
Dean groaned. Sam's words made him twist. His dick was harder now, pressing against Sam's hand, filling it, so that now instead of Sam running his finger over the velvet skin, he stroked him, slow even pulls from root to tip, and Dean gasped with each stroke. "This is wrong, you know it…" he arched slightly and groaned as Sam breathed a hot gust of air over the head of his dick. "Sam—you know it's not—not-"
Sam smiled. "Are you worrying this is going to send us to Hell? Shit—what we do, we were headed there already." He bent his head and kissed along Dean's hard dick. "Think this makes a difference?" he whispered. He pressed his thumb against the slit and pre-come welled up and rolled over his fingers.
Dean shuddered, whined--tried to concentrate on Sam's words and not his actions. "But we kill demons the bad guys…I think…"
"We do black magic—calling the demons, making spells, killing—we're damned. Doesn't matter why we do it—it's the doing it."
Dean laughed, groaned "—so more sin—is—just sin? No—no big deal?" he gasped and threw his head back, cursed as Sam dragged his tongue up the shaft and over the crown of his dick, licking up the pre-come he spilled.
Sam sighed and licked his fingers. "Yeah…something like that. Besides, you're not fighting it very hard, are you?" Bent down and captured Dean's dick again, let the head rest in his mouth, and Dean jerked upwards—grabbed Sam's head and tried to push him away.
"I'm going to come; I'm going to come--"
"Not yet, wait, not yet…" Sam scooted forward until he was straddling his chest and ran his hand under Deans' head, supported him. "Suck me, get me wet…"
"Oh god. Oh god…" Dean's dick jerked, he felt closer and closer to coming, but he did what Sam asked, and ignored any thoughts but that this was Sam's dick, hot and thick on his tongue, filling his mouth and he swallowed—Sam grunted and his hips pushed forward. Dean choked when the head hit the back of his throat, and Sam moved away.
"No! Let me, I'll do better, come back--"
Sam shushed him, and put his hands on Dean's shoulders, laid full length against him and—slid forward.
"Shit! Mother *fuck*!" Dean shouted. The explosive shock of lust that shot up his body and filled his brain nearly threw him over the brink. His dick slid over Sam's, and they both shuddered and moaned. Dean reached between them and grabbed both of them and Sam pushed hard, harder, sliding in sweat and precome and spit, his teeth in Dean's shoulder, steadily moaning and crying against his skin… sliding over each other, muscles caught and slid and the feeling of heat and Sam's crazy long legs wrapping around his, and kneeing him in the side and every little spike of pain made his dick jump, pump in his hand. Sam's throbbed, hard, hard enough he felt it on his palm and then Sam moaned in his ear, "I'm gonna come, can't wait—can't hold it--" he dropped his head and watched their dicks strain together, slide in and out of Dean's fist and he looked so shocked—"I'm going to come on you," he said, so precise and clear that Dean looked at him in awe. Sam's mouth fell open into an O and Dean groaned and let go—
The letting go was incredible—it broke out of him like every kind of relief in the world, like rising tide, like exploding suns. Hot thick wet filled his hand and gushed out to land on his belly and then Sam was smearing it all over the two of them, shoving forward and hissing and Dean jerked and tried to come again when he realized he was feeling Sam come too…
Later, they were in bed, eating dry cereal, drinking cokes, and the sun was peaking around the corner of the window shade.
"We have to leave here, you know that."
Sam nodded and crunched through a handful of some Swedish healthy cereal. "I'll miss this—a lot--but we have a job to do." he looked wistful. "Maybe we can come back some day…"
Dean stared at their knees touching, Sam's foot over his. "Yeah. Maybe your friend Father Patrick will still be here." He felt a little hot flash in the center of his chest. "What were you talking to him about—this? That's why we're damned?"
Sam looked shocked. "Hell no—I was talking to him about the other stuff. He told me stuff, gave me advice…told me he'd pray for us, special…he's going to help us Dean, as much as he can."
Dean nodded. Sam was…he knew how to bleed out a person, how to load and fire a shotgun and what points on a body to hit to make a fucker fold up and squeal like a pig but…naive.
Sam packed the car, and Dean told him he'd be back in a bit—he headed into town.
******
The little cabin like church crouched in the middle of it's lawn. He stood out on the sidewalk looking at it for a while, and then someone came up behind him. He pretended he hadn’t noticed.
"Dean Winchester?"
He turned. "Father."
"Thinking about going to church?" The full red lips turned up in a smile, green eyes danced and Dean thought 'what a fucking waste…'
"No, Father, I'm not."
"Well, you're honest." Father Patrick laughed a little and rocked back on his heels.
"Yeah." Dean looked up at him. "Speaking of honest, Sam said he talked to you. Said you gave him advice…you believed him?" Dean stared at him, eyes narrowed and watching for the slightest sign of disbelief.
Father Patrick blew out a long exhale and rubbed a huge hand through his thick hair. He hesitated and then, nodded. "Yes, and I have my own reasons for believing him—I gave him a book, an old book. I think it will help. I want to protect him—just like you do. Because I think he's special, just like you do."
Dean flushed bright red, and turned away from the priest. He wanted to walk away, but a gentle tough on his arm made him stop.
"Take care of him, he loves you very much, and I can see you do too. You're touched, chosen, you two. I'm sorry."
Dean nodded. He got that. He walked away without looking back.
~~~~~
The sky is grey and thick with snow clouds, the sun's glaring down on them but the light it shed is cold and dim and the air is freezing ass cold—his teeth are chattering, and the cold's gnawing on every bit of his exposed skin, it's like being flayed with pins…Sam looks like he's almost in tears from the bitter cold, but he smiles grimly when he catches Dean's gaze on him.
They're crouching in a stand of yew a few yards away from a ring of waist high dark grey stone set in an open field, and snow swirls all around but near the stones—near the stones it whirls upwards, the flakes are whirling skyward instead of drifting to the ground…
Dean risks Sam's anger, he stops him and pulls a big heavy dark gray amulet up out of the collar of his jacket. Grins, pats his chest. "Iron, show lots of iron."
"Got you," Sam nods. "We don't want one of them sneaking up on us."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "Sneak up on us? I don't think so--those little fuckers smell like a couple of kinds of death."
Sam makes a shushing motion when the wind picks up suddenly, and whips through stalks of unharvested grain with a noise like a pained moan, runs low across the ground, and snow blows up around their ankles. The stones look like hunched crouching men…the air around them almost seems to shimmer. Somewhere out there is an elf….
Sam makes a small circling motion with gloved fingers, and Dean nods and quickly steps in front of Sam, ignoring his sharp annoyed intake of breath. They were both still getting used to Dean taking point, ever since Dad died, he'd done it—it wasn't comfortable for him, he'd been born to take the tail gunner's position--but as long as he breathed, Sammy was his first priority. He came before everything, including Dean's life. It was supposed to be like that and if he did his job right, it was always going to be like that.
6-22-2007
Fandom: SpN
Pairing:Sam/Dean, eventually
Rating: NC-17 for this section
Word count: 2624
Summary: the monster in the closet might be closer than you think....
All previous parts of Tail Gunner are here
They were back in the village, huddled around each other, shaking…Dean dragged Sam into the shower. It was suddenly the most important thing to Dean that Sam be clean, washed free of blood and grime and he knew it was stupid, but he hoped that memories would wash away as well.
Sam was shivering, seemed barely aware that he was in the shower, talking a mile a minute. "I don’t know what kind of demon that was, but I'll find out and we'll go after it—Dad was possessed, wasn't he? That's why he—he tried to--" Sam broke out in a fresh wave of shuddering, and Dean held him close, kissed his forehead and his cheek and tried to soothe him.
"Yeah, yeah Sam, he was possessed," and all the while his brain screamed, 'it's real it's real it's…' The memory of his dad's completely stunned and disbelieving expression, the—complete and total shock, the fear— "It'll be okay Sam, we'll be safe. We'll…look for the other hunters." The ones that have to be out there…somewhere.
He led Sam out of the shower and back to his room, grabbed a towel and rubbed him down, grinned a little when Sam protested at being dressed.
"I'll be back," he said, and went to his room, grabbed something to wear. He couldn't be naked around Sam, not tonight. He didn't think ever.
Sam was on the bed, faded boxers riding low, exhaustion making his eyes dark, but he looked more alive when he caught sight of Dean in the doorway. He pulled himself back on the bed to make room and Dean sat next to him, held one cold hand in his, rubbing it, trying to warm him up….
Sam pulled his head to him and kissed him on the mouth. "Thank you for saving my life."
"Okay." He felt light headed and nauseous and dreadedwished Sam would kiss him again…
Sam quickly pulled him down again, mouth hot and insistent against Dean's. He gasped and Sam's tongue pushed inside, brushed all over inside. Deans eyes fell closed, he opened wider—their tongues slid together, and Dean trembled—the sour taste of blood and bile gave way to something sweet, unique—the taste of Sam. Dean gathered what shreds of willpower he had left and pushed his brother away, tried to make it forceful. "Don't--"
Sam looked shocked himself, his eyes went wide, scared--his lips trembled, his face fell and he cried. Quietly at first, almost to himself, then louder, harsher, and so hard the sobs racked him, scared Dean. "I was so damn scared and Dad—Dad was, he was horrible--I thought I was going to die, I couldn't stop thinking about you, scared I'd never see you again, never tell you that I--"
Dean threw his hands up, about to cover his ears like he did when he was a kid and Mom and Dad screamed ugly things at each other, things he didn't want to hear. "Cut it out, Sam—god damn it…"
Sam had his hand fisted in the material of Dean's shirt, pulled hard enough to tear it. With a frantic, spastic jerk he pulled Dean down on him, "Please, please, love me," and something in Dean exploded—tore out of his heart.
"You think you want that? Want to know what it's like?" He threw Sam to his belly on the bed, ripped the underwear down the back of his legs, leaving red streaks down his back, his calves. He shoved his shower damp legs apart and jammed an elbow in Sam's back when he tried to move. "Shut up, lie still," he hissed—hardly recognized his own voice and Sam froze—Dean pushed his legs even farther apart, stared down at him, so open and exposed, helpless in the face of so much anger—
His dick been hard from the moment Sam's tongue brushed his, and he wanted this, wanted to make Sam see that you couldn't throw words like love around like confetti, like it meant something, fuck…Dean pressed him open and spit, spit again and saliva rolled down Sam's cleft, collected on the wrinkled hole, and Sam sobbed, once. Dean cursed and jabbed his hips forward, he struggled—he went soft. Sam lay motionless, soundless, like a fucking sacrifice, and Dean hung over him, crying, apologizing over and over, hurting, ashamed, all the anger gone and just an aching void left.
Sam moved finally when Dean dropped face down on the bed next to him, burying his face in the pillow, locked his hands over the back of his head and sobbed quietly as he could. Sam limped away, and returned with a dripping washcloth, holding it gingerly by the corner. He rolled Dean to his back, and pulled his arms away from his face. "Shhh. Stop. Please."
He washed Dean awkwardly, soaked water into the sheets, talked to him gently, patiently all the while until Dean couldn't take it anymore; shame drove him off the bed and racing into the bathroom.
He was on his knees, draped over the toilet bowl, and he gagged and gagged as his stomach tried to empty. He leaned his cheek on the rim and was grateful the bowl was cold against his too hot face. Great, one nice spot in his day, and it was trying to puke in the toilet.
Sam stood behind him and waited, and when Dean leaned back from the bowl and nodded, he led him back to the bed.
Sam laid him down and straightened his limbs, and wiped his face again with the cooled washcloth. Looked down at him and shook his head--his shaggy hair fell forward to almost cover his eyes, but Dean was watching his mouth, and how it curved upwards, a little…Sam climbed onto his legs and sat on Dean's thighs. "I forgive you—sometimes you're an asshole—I can deal with that. You okay now?"
He felt tears well up again, but he blinked them back. "Yeah. But I'd feel better if I had more clothes on..." he wrapped his fingers in the waist band of the only clothing he had on—a faded pair of Harley-Davidson shorts—some ancient gift to him more than likely from Sam.
Sam snorted and pulled the threadbare shorts down, and Dean yelped and started to yank them back up—Sam slapped his hands away. He traced a line down Dean's hip, over the soft curve of his dick." No, you wouldn't feel better. I love you and you love me. That's the way it's always been." He moved his finger again, and Dean's dick filled a little, lifted slightly. "You and me against the world. You keeping me safe. It's even truer now." He drew his finger over the thickening shaft, traced a circle around the ridge. "We need each other," he murmured and stopped moving, shifted his ass across Deans' thighs, and Dean gasped softly. Sam cocked his head and stared down at him. "Fuck Dean, we don’t need anyone else. Never will. Never did."
Dean groaned. Sam's words made him twist. His dick was harder now, pressing against Sam's hand, filling it, so that now instead of Sam running his finger over the velvet skin, he stroked him, slow even pulls from root to tip, and Dean gasped with each stroke. "This is wrong, you know it…" he arched slightly and groaned as Sam breathed a hot gust of air over the head of his dick. "Sam—you know it's not—not-"
Sam smiled. "Are you worrying this is going to send us to Hell? Shit—what we do, we were headed there already." He bent his head and kissed along Dean's hard dick. "Think this makes a difference?" he whispered. He pressed his thumb against the slit and pre-come welled up and rolled over his fingers.
Dean shuddered, whined--tried to concentrate on Sam's words and not his actions. "But we kill demons the bad guys…I think…"
"We do black magic—calling the demons, making spells, killing—we're damned. Doesn't matter why we do it—it's the doing it."
Dean laughed, groaned "—so more sin—is—just sin? No—no big deal?" he gasped and threw his head back, cursed as Sam dragged his tongue up the shaft and over the crown of his dick, licking up the pre-come he spilled.
Sam sighed and licked his fingers. "Yeah…something like that. Besides, you're not fighting it very hard, are you?" Bent down and captured Dean's dick again, let the head rest in his mouth, and Dean jerked upwards—grabbed Sam's head and tried to push him away.
"I'm going to come; I'm going to come--"
"Not yet, wait, not yet…" Sam scooted forward until he was straddling his chest and ran his hand under Deans' head, supported him. "Suck me, get me wet…"
"Oh god. Oh god…" Dean's dick jerked, he felt closer and closer to coming, but he did what Sam asked, and ignored any thoughts but that this was Sam's dick, hot and thick on his tongue, filling his mouth and he swallowed—Sam grunted and his hips pushed forward. Dean choked when the head hit the back of his throat, and Sam moved away.
"No! Let me, I'll do better, come back--"
Sam shushed him, and put his hands on Dean's shoulders, laid full length against him and—slid forward.
"Shit! Mother *fuck*!" Dean shouted. The explosive shock of lust that shot up his body and filled his brain nearly threw him over the brink. His dick slid over Sam's, and they both shuddered and moaned. Dean reached between them and grabbed both of them and Sam pushed hard, harder, sliding in sweat and precome and spit, his teeth in Dean's shoulder, steadily moaning and crying against his skin… sliding over each other, muscles caught and slid and the feeling of heat and Sam's crazy long legs wrapping around his, and kneeing him in the side and every little spike of pain made his dick jump, pump in his hand. Sam's throbbed, hard, hard enough he felt it on his palm and then Sam moaned in his ear, "I'm gonna come, can't wait—can't hold it--" he dropped his head and watched their dicks strain together, slide in and out of Dean's fist and he looked so shocked—"I'm going to come on you," he said, so precise and clear that Dean looked at him in awe. Sam's mouth fell open into an O and Dean groaned and let go—
The letting go was incredible—it broke out of him like every kind of relief in the world, like rising tide, like exploding suns. Hot thick wet filled his hand and gushed out to land on his belly and then Sam was smearing it all over the two of them, shoving forward and hissing and Dean jerked and tried to come again when he realized he was feeling Sam come too…
Later, they were in bed, eating dry cereal, drinking cokes, and the sun was peaking around the corner of the window shade.
"We have to leave here, you know that."
Sam nodded and crunched through a handful of some Swedish healthy cereal. "I'll miss this—a lot--but we have a job to do." he looked wistful. "Maybe we can come back some day…"
Dean stared at their knees touching, Sam's foot over his. "Yeah. Maybe your friend Father Patrick will still be here." He felt a little hot flash in the center of his chest. "What were you talking to him about—this? That's why we're damned?"
Sam looked shocked. "Hell no—I was talking to him about the other stuff. He told me stuff, gave me advice…told me he'd pray for us, special…he's going to help us Dean, as much as he can."
Dean nodded. Sam was…he knew how to bleed out a person, how to load and fire a shotgun and what points on a body to hit to make a fucker fold up and squeal like a pig but…naive.
Sam packed the car, and Dean told him he'd be back in a bit—he headed into town.
The little cabin like church crouched in the middle of it's lawn. He stood out on the sidewalk looking at it for a while, and then someone came up behind him. He pretended he hadn’t noticed.
"Dean Winchester?"
He turned. "Father."
"Thinking about going to church?" The full red lips turned up in a smile, green eyes danced and Dean thought 'what a fucking waste…'
"No, Father, I'm not."
"Well, you're honest." Father Patrick laughed a little and rocked back on his heels.
"Yeah." Dean looked up at him. "Speaking of honest, Sam said he talked to you. Said you gave him advice…you believed him?" Dean stared at him, eyes narrowed and watching for the slightest sign of disbelief.
Father Patrick blew out a long exhale and rubbed a huge hand through his thick hair. He hesitated and then, nodded. "Yes, and I have my own reasons for believing him—I gave him a book, an old book. I think it will help. I want to protect him—just like you do. Because I think he's special, just like you do."
Dean flushed bright red, and turned away from the priest. He wanted to walk away, but a gentle tough on his arm made him stop.
"Take care of him, he loves you very much, and I can see you do too. You're touched, chosen, you two. I'm sorry."
Dean nodded. He got that. He walked away without looking back.
The sky is grey and thick with snow clouds, the sun's glaring down on them but the light it shed is cold and dim and the air is freezing ass cold—his teeth are chattering, and the cold's gnawing on every bit of his exposed skin, it's like being flayed with pins…Sam looks like he's almost in tears from the bitter cold, but he smiles grimly when he catches Dean's gaze on him.
They're crouching in a stand of yew a few yards away from a ring of waist high dark grey stone set in an open field, and snow swirls all around but near the stones—near the stones it whirls upwards, the flakes are whirling skyward instead of drifting to the ground…
Dean risks Sam's anger, he stops him and pulls a big heavy dark gray amulet up out of the collar of his jacket. Grins, pats his chest. "Iron, show lots of iron."
"Got you," Sam nods. "We don't want one of them sneaking up on us."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "Sneak up on us? I don't think so--those little fuckers smell like a couple of kinds of death."
Sam makes a shushing motion when the wind picks up suddenly, and whips through stalks of unharvested grain with a noise like a pained moan, runs low across the ground, and snow blows up around their ankles. The stones look like hunched crouching men…the air around them almost seems to shimmer. Somewhere out there is an elf….
Sam makes a small circling motion with gloved fingers, and Dean nods and quickly steps in front of Sam, ignoring his sharp annoyed intake of breath. They were both still getting used to Dean taking point, ever since Dad died, he'd done it—it wasn't comfortable for him, he'd been born to take the tail gunner's position--but as long as he breathed, Sammy was his first priority. He came before everything, including Dean's life. It was supposed to be like that and if he did his job right, it was always going to be like that.
6-22-2007
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Oh, *boys*.
*cuddles them*
They're just so fucked up and *lost*, in this 'verse. But so damn...perfectly fucked up.
:)
Loved it, bay-bee. Loved.
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Part B: I love the way they take care of each other!
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Thank you.
Hope you have more in the works ((crosses fingers))
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First Dean was sure that their father is a madman and the monsters didn't exist. But they do apparently and John was possessed all the time.
They live in a world where the lines are blurred because Dean said they call the demons and then they kill them. It's all fair enough but where is the friggin elf coming from?
He sort of popped up at the end and now I'm really confused.
I think I would have liked it better if you were sticking to the idea that John imagined things.
But don't worry, I still enjoyed reading it.
Two more technical things:
"and snow swirls swirling all around"
And you should link from 5a to 5b because I couldn't find the last part at first.
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I can understand that it might seem that John was possessed, there's room for that interpretation the way the story was written. I did want the reader to guess if it was real or not. John was definitely nuts, not possessed. He just accidentally opened the door to something that ate him.
I think I would have liked it better if you were sticking to the idea that John imagined things.
And that's completely cool--once the writer puts the story up to be read, the folks who read it are going to put their own spin on it.
Yeah, errors are completely my fault--my beta pointed boo-boos out, and somehow, I screwed up anyway. Thanks for pointing it out--and I'll add that link too.
thanks for reading, and thanks for commenting, I appreciate it!
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