To The Waters And The Wild part 15
2/17/09 03:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:2542
The victim had been knifed in a small walled area that separated the restrooms from the main corridors. At night now there was little traffic, and the sealed granite floor sent back echoes of his footsteps as he walked. Easy to clean, he mused…the whole world had kind of settled into what was easy and what was not easy to clean. He grimaced. A world view as limited as his dad's had been….
He checked out the short hall and examined the tiles…no tell tale stain in the grout, he smelled bleach and stone and gasoline and that was all. The guys had done a good job; there was no sign of the blood that had sprayed nearly head height against the walls and across a big swath of the floor.
It had been a violent, nasty death. The victim had suffered terrible pain…Sam suspected it had something to do with demons but there'd been no obvious trace. Besides, Dean used to always say that fucked up people where worse any day than fucked up supernatural things.
Sam walked the area, thinking, looking…he could find out what had happened here pretty quickly, but…he didn't like using any of the powers that bastard had forced on him. It bothered him that ever since he'd gotten Dean back home, it was getting easier to use them, less draining, less painful—he stopped himself on the edge of doing stuff without thinking too many times. But maybe…maybe this once, maybe using them for the positive wouldn't hurt. He'd just take a quick 'peek', real quick….
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and kind of tentatively cast about with his mind…waited to see if he felt anything, but everything seemed pretty much normal. At least nothing was pinging him, not yet. Sam adjusted the gun at his back—loaded with regular bullets, he wasn't taking a chance, not in this neighborhood. After a half hour of searching, he shrugged. Nothing. He trotted towards the main part of the station, eager to be gone now.
Whatever he'd felt earlier, it was gone now. Sam figured it must have been an echo of the death. Got them sometimes—it was as if the space where the death happened captured a weak recording of the violence. Mostly those echoes just bled off and faded out but every once in a while, they didn't, the echoes grew, got stronger, and then you had a 'haunted' house. The right incantation and some herb work generally took care of that, not really that big a deal….
Outside on the street, he took a few seconds to breathe, and jumped a little when his phone buzzed. Blushing at startling like an amateur, he dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Danny. "Damn—is Dean getting antsy? Sorry, didn't think I'd taken that long--tell him I'm coming--"
"Um, good. Hey, listen, he's upset about something and getting ah, kinda handsy, I mean not at this moment now but he definitely was but I don't think he meant to, I mean, I really think maybe it's from—well, something in the past and you might need to talk to him, kinda explain about personal space and…and…" Danny's voice trailed off uncertainly. "…biting."
"Biting! What the fuck—I'm on my way now, right now."
What the fuck ? Dean made a move on Danny? Why? —Sam mentally smacked himself. Yeah, that was the problem here, Dean was coming on to someone else—Jesus. Sam swore at himself. What an ass. Sam flagged a cab. He needed to get home like now.
~~~~o0o~~~~
Sam sent Danny home with profuse apologies. Thank God, the kid had been more than forgiving—a hell of a lot more worried about Dean than himself. There were hugs at the door, and promises extracted that Sam would go easy on poor Dean, and please bring him in to work, really—all was forgiven—and the moment the door shut, Sam rounded on Dean. He was furious, beyond furious. "What the fuck—what the fuck Dean! I—" Sam heard himself shouting, and struggled for calm.
He lost.
"--what in the hell were you thinking, Dean? Why would you try to hurt him?"
Dean shouted back, "I don’t know why! Stop asking me! I don't know why!" He paced in anxious circles around the room, head clutched in his hands, anger pouring off him in waves.
"Dean—" Sam tried to reach out to him and Dean smacked his hand away, turned and punched Sam in the chest hard enough to stagger him. Sam stumbled sideways with the force of it, tripped, and ended up on his ass on the floor.
"Damn it Sam, I said *stop*!"
Sam glared at Dean from his sudden seat on the floor, palm against his chest and gasping for air—suddenly Dean was coming after him *again*, fucker—Sam rolled and kicked Dean's legs out from under him, heard him bark in pain when his head connected with the floor. Still, Dean was rolling as he hit, and kicking. He caught Sam in the ribs, and Sam felt the shock of it race up his side into his jaw, his teeth clicking together sharply. Anger roared through him, making his blood boil, and his vision shimmer. "What the fuck, you bastard—" He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt without thinking, twisted it in his fist, and yanked him around until they were eyeball to eyeball. He yelled, barely an inch from Dean's face, "Knock it off before someone gets hurt!"
Dean froze, panting and glaring…his fist flew up but he dropped it. When he was certain Dean wasn't going to sucker punch him, Sam slid closer, shifting the both of them until they were jammed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. "Dean—damn it--you need to get a grip. Do you hear me?"
Dean's eyes dropped, his sides were heaving…he nodded. "I—hear you."
Sam huffed, and threw an arm around Dean's shoulders. "You're done now, right?"
"I *said*--yeah. I'm done." He leaned into the touch and Sam tightened his grip. Dean shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, but…I really don't know why I did that. Danny's a good guy."
Sam grimaced. "Yeah, he is Dean, because me? I would've shot ya. If Danny tells Raph, he'll want to kick your ass…and I will let him."
"He'd do that? But…but you wouldn't really…let him? You'd stop him, right?"
Sam stared at Dean. There was something in his eyes, something in Dean's voice. Sam knew he was missing something, damn it. It was right in front of him but…he just couldn't pin it down. Shit. He wished he had more help, had someone who could explain what was going on in Dean's head…Bobby probably would have figured out what Sam was doing wrong…he'd know what to do. He should have called Bobby before he even began this…Sam snorted. He knew damn well why he hadn't called Bobby, and Bobby would have been wrong.
Sam leaned against the cabinet behind him and Dean tucked his head against his chest. Sam cupped the back of Dean's neck. They were missing pieces here. Maybe the more pieces he put together for Dean, the more settled he'd be…maybe it was time… "Hey. You wanna go get your car tomorrow?"
"Get the car? Sure. Cool."
Sam nodded, deep in thought. Get the car, and then…he'd think about his next step.
~~~~o0o~~~~
Sam woke up with the oddest feeling that something dark was in the room with him, but that was unlikely--nothing was getting across the barriers. The air was especially hot, so hot his skin felt tight and dry. There was a weird quality to the light, like behind the shuttered blinds the sky was full of golden light, and not the night it should be….He blinked and gazed around sleepily, and what he saw made the hair on his neck rise. He was instantly wide awake and wondering what in the hell was going on.
Dean was draped over the overstuffed chair that flanked the television. He was staring…in the faint light peeking through the blinds, his eyes were a milky, translucent jade. Sam startled. He'd seen that before, he was sure, it meant something but he didn't know what….
He could see that Dean knew he was awake, but he made no sound, didn't move from his perch on the chair. He was—panting. The sound was at odds with the way he lounged, his relaxed expression. Dean ran a pink tongue tip across the bow of his upper lip, the full, juicy curve of his lower lip, his ribcage expanding and contracting as he panted. He stretched, and his tee-shirt rode up, exposing tight muscle and a thin trail of hair running down the flat plane of his belly, under the low waistband of his sweats. He yawned, and the pink tip of his tongue curled backwards into his mouth. Sam muffled a moan behind his hand, shook his head, hard. "Wake up," he told himself.
Dean slid off the chair like a boa and dropped clothes as he stalked towards him. Shirt…pants…boxers….
Normally, at the point in his dreams when Dean shed his clothes, Sam would find that he was also nude, or wearing a leather harness, or…there'd been that one horrible nightmare, he'd been dressed as a clown. This dream wasn't following any of the rules. He wasn't nude, he wasn't aroused, point of fact, he was deeply, deeply, frightened. With each step Dean took towards him, Sam could feel a thick cold darkness rising inside, filling him, choking him.
Dean made a noise that sounded like purring, or a lion coughing…it was abundantly obvious that he was aroused. Sam said again, a little more desperately this time, "Wake up."
Dean walked closer, drew his hands down his chest and red smears trailed his finger tips. "I am awake."
Sam shook his head quickly. "Not you, me. Oh God, wake up--"
Dean stopped, cupped his dick, and a thick chuckle burbled out of his throat. "Oh come on. Are you seriously telling me you don’t want this to happen? We both know it's all you can think of—you're making me deaf with wanting it, screaming for it in that twisted head of yours. Remember that summer, at Bobby's? You little freak, you sniffed after me all that summer, ran around behind me with your tongue hanging out. You think I didn’t know?"
Sam felt his heart rip in two. Dean was making fun of him, teasing him. Being mean, like he'd been to him that summer—no, Dean hadn't known, this Dean was lying. He'd never believe that his brother had tortured him on purpose, never--"Please. Stop."
"Aw, Sam. Sam, Sam…don’t be that way. I watched you too, after that summer. Watched your ass…watched you getting taller, smarter." The dark flooded out of Dean's eyes, filled the air…"Watched you pull away until you almost disappeared." He inhaled sharply, coughed out a short sharp laugh. "*Did* disappear, didn't you, Sam?"
Dean's face changed, his attitude changed. He looked softer, sadder. "Don’t leave me again."
The dark disappeared, it was only night time, and he was only sleeping. Soft, soap scented fingers touched his cheek; a fleeting, gentle touch that Sam wasn't sure was real. He opened his eyes, and Dean was on his knees in front of him, inches from his face, warm breath dancing across his lips. He sighed, and Dean crawled up on the couch and Sam didn't question it—he moved so Dean could lay down with him.
"I'm sorry, you know." Sam said. "I'm sorry about…all of it. What I did to you. I'm sorry if it hurt you."
Dean breathed out, quiet for a long moment. When he spoke his voice was thick and fuzzy with sleep. He muttered, "What? Sorry for what, Sam?" and pulled Sam's arm around his waist. "I like it when you hold me; it hardly hurts at all anymore…." Sam wanted to ask what he meant, but he was warm, and comfortable, and it felt so damn good to have Dean in his arms….
~~~~o0o~~~~
In the morning, Sam woke up aching from head to toe, cramped from not moving all night. Dean was on the floor, shoulders pressed against the coach and eating a bowl of instant oatmeal. "Morning," he said, slightly muffled by the glutinous mess he was shoveling into his mouth. "Got up early—you were making noise." He swallowed the mass in his mouth and turned around to catch Sam's eye. "I was worried. Sounded like a nightmare."
Sam blinked. "Yeah…I think it mostly was…"
Dean reached up and ruffled his hair. "Stop trying to sack out on this stupid couch and you'll sleep better."
Sam got up and headed for the bathroom. "I doubt that," he muttered.
~~~~o0o~~~~
Stop trying to sack out on this stupid couch…
Sam made breakfast and thought about what Dean had said about the couch, and *not* sleeping on the couch. And realized that Dean had kind of invited him to share the bed. With him.
That right there? Was weird on a major level. Sure, they'd shared beds before—but since they'd entered their teens, only if strictly necessary, and Dean would rather sleep on the floor than sleep with him. Hell, he'd rather sleep on broken bottles than share the bed--hadn't voluntarily shared a bed with him ever since--ever since that summer and now he was offering, like--like it was okay with him, like he *wanted* it.
Sam shook his head. No, couldn't be, not Dean. And maybe Dean was emotionally kind of all over the map, but, fuck, he had a right to be, Sam thought. He did. It was just…Dean was *so* moody and *so* cranky. And the thing with Danny. And the fight they'd had, which, okay, was actually kind of normal for them—or had used to be normal before he'd taken off for college what seemed like a couple of lifetimes ago.
Sam snorted, dropped a stack of pancakes onto the table and hollered to let Dean know there was food. He put out butter and syrup and yelled for Dean again, figured he'd make coffee while he waited for whatever flavor of cranky Dean was going to show up this morning.
Dean came around the corner, stopped with a huge smile. "Hey, great, pancakes. Thanks Sam." Sam smiled back, kind of…stunned. Looked like it was going to be a good morning.
Sam sat at the table with Dean and watched him eat, and after a bit Dean stopped eating, his fork hovering between the plate and his mouth. He peered at Sam suspiciously, and the little lines that Sam had noticed lately at the corners of Dean's eyes deepened "What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Go ahead, eat your breakfast." He picked at his own plate, and avoided Dean's eyes and it kind of went to shit after that. Dean picked up on Sam's mood and got pissy—mood swings, they were delightful. He ate as much as he could stomach, and cleared his plate away. He bumped into Dean at the sink, and Dean growled a little under his breath. "Bitch."
Sam was surprised into grinning and replied, "Jerk," but Dean just shot him a look full of resentment and no recognition before stomping out of the kitchen. Great.
part 16
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:2542
The victim had been knifed in a small walled area that separated the restrooms from the main corridors. At night now there was little traffic, and the sealed granite floor sent back echoes of his footsteps as he walked. Easy to clean, he mused…the whole world had kind of settled into what was easy and what was not easy to clean. He grimaced. A world view as limited as his dad's had been….
He checked out the short hall and examined the tiles…no tell tale stain in the grout, he smelled bleach and stone and gasoline and that was all. The guys had done a good job; there was no sign of the blood that had sprayed nearly head height against the walls and across a big swath of the floor.
It had been a violent, nasty death. The victim had suffered terrible pain…Sam suspected it had something to do with demons but there'd been no obvious trace. Besides, Dean used to always say that fucked up people where worse any day than fucked up supernatural things.
Sam walked the area, thinking, looking…he could find out what had happened here pretty quickly, but…he didn't like using any of the powers that bastard had forced on him. It bothered him that ever since he'd gotten Dean back home, it was getting easier to use them, less draining, less painful—he stopped himself on the edge of doing stuff without thinking too many times. But maybe…maybe this once, maybe using them for the positive wouldn't hurt. He'd just take a quick 'peek', real quick….
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and kind of tentatively cast about with his mind…waited to see if he felt anything, but everything seemed pretty much normal. At least nothing was pinging him, not yet. Sam adjusted the gun at his back—loaded with regular bullets, he wasn't taking a chance, not in this neighborhood. After a half hour of searching, he shrugged. Nothing. He trotted towards the main part of the station, eager to be gone now.
Whatever he'd felt earlier, it was gone now. Sam figured it must have been an echo of the death. Got them sometimes—it was as if the space where the death happened captured a weak recording of the violence. Mostly those echoes just bled off and faded out but every once in a while, they didn't, the echoes grew, got stronger, and then you had a 'haunted' house. The right incantation and some herb work generally took care of that, not really that big a deal….
Outside on the street, he took a few seconds to breathe, and jumped a little when his phone buzzed. Blushing at startling like an amateur, he dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Danny. "Damn—is Dean getting antsy? Sorry, didn't think I'd taken that long--tell him I'm coming--"
"Um, good. Hey, listen, he's upset about something and getting ah, kinda handsy, I mean not at this moment now but he definitely was but I don't think he meant to, I mean, I really think maybe it's from—well, something in the past and you might need to talk to him, kinda explain about personal space and…and…" Danny's voice trailed off uncertainly. "…biting."
"Biting! What the fuck—I'm on my way now, right now."
What the fuck ? Dean made a move on Danny? Why? —Sam mentally smacked himself. Yeah, that was the problem here, Dean was coming on to someone else—Jesus. Sam swore at himself. What an ass. Sam flagged a cab. He needed to get home like now.
Sam sent Danny home with profuse apologies. Thank God, the kid had been more than forgiving—a hell of a lot more worried about Dean than himself. There were hugs at the door, and promises extracted that Sam would go easy on poor Dean, and please bring him in to work, really—all was forgiven—and the moment the door shut, Sam rounded on Dean. He was furious, beyond furious. "What the fuck—what the fuck Dean! I—" Sam heard himself shouting, and struggled for calm.
He lost.
"--what in the hell were you thinking, Dean? Why would you try to hurt him?"
Dean shouted back, "I don’t know why! Stop asking me! I don't know why!" He paced in anxious circles around the room, head clutched in his hands, anger pouring off him in waves.
"Dean—" Sam tried to reach out to him and Dean smacked his hand away, turned and punched Sam in the chest hard enough to stagger him. Sam stumbled sideways with the force of it, tripped, and ended up on his ass on the floor.
"Damn it Sam, I said *stop*!"
Sam glared at Dean from his sudden seat on the floor, palm against his chest and gasping for air—suddenly Dean was coming after him *again*, fucker—Sam rolled and kicked Dean's legs out from under him, heard him bark in pain when his head connected with the floor. Still, Dean was rolling as he hit, and kicking. He caught Sam in the ribs, and Sam felt the shock of it race up his side into his jaw, his teeth clicking together sharply. Anger roared through him, making his blood boil, and his vision shimmer. "What the fuck, you bastard—" He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt without thinking, twisted it in his fist, and yanked him around until they were eyeball to eyeball. He yelled, barely an inch from Dean's face, "Knock it off before someone gets hurt!"
Dean froze, panting and glaring…his fist flew up but he dropped it. When he was certain Dean wasn't going to sucker punch him, Sam slid closer, shifting the both of them until they were jammed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. "Dean—damn it--you need to get a grip. Do you hear me?"
Dean's eyes dropped, his sides were heaving…he nodded. "I—hear you."
Sam huffed, and threw an arm around Dean's shoulders. "You're done now, right?"
"I *said*--yeah. I'm done." He leaned into the touch and Sam tightened his grip. Dean shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, but…I really don't know why I did that. Danny's a good guy."
Sam grimaced. "Yeah, he is Dean, because me? I would've shot ya. If Danny tells Raph, he'll want to kick your ass…and I will let him."
"He'd do that? But…but you wouldn't really…let him? You'd stop him, right?"
Sam stared at Dean. There was something in his eyes, something in Dean's voice. Sam knew he was missing something, damn it. It was right in front of him but…he just couldn't pin it down. Shit. He wished he had more help, had someone who could explain what was going on in Dean's head…Bobby probably would have figured out what Sam was doing wrong…he'd know what to do. He should have called Bobby before he even began this…Sam snorted. He knew damn well why he hadn't called Bobby, and Bobby would have been wrong.
Sam leaned against the cabinet behind him and Dean tucked his head against his chest. Sam cupped the back of Dean's neck. They were missing pieces here. Maybe the more pieces he put together for Dean, the more settled he'd be…maybe it was time… "Hey. You wanna go get your car tomorrow?"
"Get the car? Sure. Cool."
Sam nodded, deep in thought. Get the car, and then…he'd think about his next step.
Sam woke up with the oddest feeling that something dark was in the room with him, but that was unlikely--nothing was getting across the barriers. The air was especially hot, so hot his skin felt tight and dry. There was a weird quality to the light, like behind the shuttered blinds the sky was full of golden light, and not the night it should be….He blinked and gazed around sleepily, and what he saw made the hair on his neck rise. He was instantly wide awake and wondering what in the hell was going on.
Dean was draped over the overstuffed chair that flanked the television. He was staring…in the faint light peeking through the blinds, his eyes were a milky, translucent jade. Sam startled. He'd seen that before, he was sure, it meant something but he didn't know what….
He could see that Dean knew he was awake, but he made no sound, didn't move from his perch on the chair. He was—panting. The sound was at odds with the way he lounged, his relaxed expression. Dean ran a pink tongue tip across the bow of his upper lip, the full, juicy curve of his lower lip, his ribcage expanding and contracting as he panted. He stretched, and his tee-shirt rode up, exposing tight muscle and a thin trail of hair running down the flat plane of his belly, under the low waistband of his sweats. He yawned, and the pink tip of his tongue curled backwards into his mouth. Sam muffled a moan behind his hand, shook his head, hard. "Wake up," he told himself.
Dean slid off the chair like a boa and dropped clothes as he stalked towards him. Shirt…pants…boxers….
Normally, at the point in his dreams when Dean shed his clothes, Sam would find that he was also nude, or wearing a leather harness, or…there'd been that one horrible nightmare, he'd been dressed as a clown. This dream wasn't following any of the rules. He wasn't nude, he wasn't aroused, point of fact, he was deeply, deeply, frightened. With each step Dean took towards him, Sam could feel a thick cold darkness rising inside, filling him, choking him.
Dean made a noise that sounded like purring, or a lion coughing…it was abundantly obvious that he was aroused. Sam said again, a little more desperately this time, "Wake up."
Dean walked closer, drew his hands down his chest and red smears trailed his finger tips. "I am awake."
Sam shook his head quickly. "Not you, me. Oh God, wake up--"
Dean stopped, cupped his dick, and a thick chuckle burbled out of his throat. "Oh come on. Are you seriously telling me you don’t want this to happen? We both know it's all you can think of—you're making me deaf with wanting it, screaming for it in that twisted head of yours. Remember that summer, at Bobby's? You little freak, you sniffed after me all that summer, ran around behind me with your tongue hanging out. You think I didn’t know?"
Sam felt his heart rip in two. Dean was making fun of him, teasing him. Being mean, like he'd been to him that summer—no, Dean hadn't known, this Dean was lying. He'd never believe that his brother had tortured him on purpose, never--"Please. Stop."
"Aw, Sam. Sam, Sam…don’t be that way. I watched you too, after that summer. Watched your ass…watched you getting taller, smarter." The dark flooded out of Dean's eyes, filled the air…"Watched you pull away until you almost disappeared." He inhaled sharply, coughed out a short sharp laugh. "*Did* disappear, didn't you, Sam?"
Dean's face changed, his attitude changed. He looked softer, sadder. "Don’t leave me again."
The dark disappeared, it was only night time, and he was only sleeping. Soft, soap scented fingers touched his cheek; a fleeting, gentle touch that Sam wasn't sure was real. He opened his eyes, and Dean was on his knees in front of him, inches from his face, warm breath dancing across his lips. He sighed, and Dean crawled up on the couch and Sam didn't question it—he moved so Dean could lay down with him.
"I'm sorry, you know." Sam said. "I'm sorry about…all of it. What I did to you. I'm sorry if it hurt you."
Dean breathed out, quiet for a long moment. When he spoke his voice was thick and fuzzy with sleep. He muttered, "What? Sorry for what, Sam?" and pulled Sam's arm around his waist. "I like it when you hold me; it hardly hurts at all anymore…." Sam wanted to ask what he meant, but he was warm, and comfortable, and it felt so damn good to have Dean in his arms….
In the morning, Sam woke up aching from head to toe, cramped from not moving all night. Dean was on the floor, shoulders pressed against the coach and eating a bowl of instant oatmeal. "Morning," he said, slightly muffled by the glutinous mess he was shoveling into his mouth. "Got up early—you were making noise." He swallowed the mass in his mouth and turned around to catch Sam's eye. "I was worried. Sounded like a nightmare."
Sam blinked. "Yeah…I think it mostly was…"
Dean reached up and ruffled his hair. "Stop trying to sack out on this stupid couch and you'll sleep better."
Sam got up and headed for the bathroom. "I doubt that," he muttered.
Stop trying to sack out on this stupid couch…
Sam made breakfast and thought about what Dean had said about the couch, and *not* sleeping on the couch. And realized that Dean had kind of invited him to share the bed. With him.
That right there? Was weird on a major level. Sure, they'd shared beds before—but since they'd entered their teens, only if strictly necessary, and Dean would rather sleep on the floor than sleep with him. Hell, he'd rather sleep on broken bottles than share the bed--hadn't voluntarily shared a bed with him ever since--ever since that summer and now he was offering, like--like it was okay with him, like he *wanted* it.
Sam shook his head. No, couldn't be, not Dean. And maybe Dean was emotionally kind of all over the map, but, fuck, he had a right to be, Sam thought. He did. It was just…Dean was *so* moody and *so* cranky. And the thing with Danny. And the fight they'd had, which, okay, was actually kind of normal for them—or had used to be normal before he'd taken off for college what seemed like a couple of lifetimes ago.
Sam snorted, dropped a stack of pancakes onto the table and hollered to let Dean know there was food. He put out butter and syrup and yelled for Dean again, figured he'd make coffee while he waited for whatever flavor of cranky Dean was going to show up this morning.
Dean came around the corner, stopped with a huge smile. "Hey, great, pancakes. Thanks Sam." Sam smiled back, kind of…stunned. Looked like it was going to be a good morning.
Sam sat at the table with Dean and watched him eat, and after a bit Dean stopped eating, his fork hovering between the plate and his mouth. He peered at Sam suspiciously, and the little lines that Sam had noticed lately at the corners of Dean's eyes deepened "What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Go ahead, eat your breakfast." He picked at his own plate, and avoided Dean's eyes and it kind of went to shit after that. Dean picked up on Sam's mood and got pissy—mood swings, they were delightful. He ate as much as he could stomach, and cleared his plate away. He bumped into Dean at the sink, and Dean growled a little under his breath. "Bitch."
Sam was surprised into grinning and replied, "Jerk," but Dean just shot him a look full of resentment and no recognition before stomping out of the kitchen. Great.
part 16
TBC