SpN: Impossible Things 4/?

[roxy]

part one
Part two
Part three



Title: Impossible Things
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters:Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 (naughty words, allusions to drug use)
Word Count:4575
Spoilers: very vague spoilery reference for the end of season 5, but it veers off into AUness pretty quick
Summary: What happens when you survive a thing you never expected to
A/N: in this part, it's a little angsty, and I'm mean to everyone.



4
It was okay. At least it didn't get worse. In a way, it got better. Then again, it went pretty much as he thought it would.

Dean was more relaxed. More open. It was just. It seemed. He…okay, Dean acted like it'd never happened. Like he forgot that whole…kiss, thing, whatever it was. Had been. Quelle surprise. Huge, honking enormous, surprise.

How did Dean just shut things out like that? Sam couldn't imagine how he did it. Or maybe he could…Dean was good at stuffing things in little brain boxes and nailing the lids shut, no matter how much it hurt to do. In fact, Sam thought, as he made an eye-catching display of canned diced tomatoes and chilies on an end-cap, in some ways, Dean was handling it like a rock star, while he was flailing on the edge of some kind of psychic cliff, staring down into pointy stuff at the bottom…Dean though; he was bigger and brighter than before The Kiss. Like, content and as happy as he thought Sam would be for settling in one place for a while….

Unless he was faking it.

Sam huffed and stood, his knees cracking as he did. He shoved fists on his hips and imagined the cans exploding, aluminum shrapnel and diced tomato bits everywhere and Dean dancing naked in the middle of it….

Dean was definitely faking it.

Sam started guiltily as the cans wobbled, clattering slightly against the metal shelves. Must be heavy traffic going by…just in case, he tried thinking happy thoughts to calm himself.

Such as: Dean smiled. A lot. At him. Every time Dean saw him, he got this smile that said, 'I hit the lottery', or something. He joked more, touched Sam all the time now. It was like waking up in the middle of a great dream and finding it was your real life, a world where Dean finally kicked off any last traces of the shackles their life had snapped on him. He was more open now, less freaked about showing he cared, and okay, maybe they hadn't kissed again like they had that night but….

Sam would just have to be okay with that. Besides, a happy, smiling, caring Dean was more than enough for Sam. He could be content with that. He seriously could be.

The diced tomatoes and chilies mocked him with their silent judgment. But it was true. Jerking off every now and then and accidentally thinking of your brother didn't mean anything, everybod—fuck. Yeah--no.

Sam sighed and shoved the cans back in line. It wasn't an easy thing to admit, that kissing your own brother did it for you like no one else. It was a weird, uncomfortably twisty concept for Sam let alone Dean, who in a weird way, could be kind of rigid morally. His particular concept of morals anyway.

And that, that was okay too. Because Sam could see it in Dean's eyes—he could see it in those thousand watt smiles and. Well. Dean looked at him like he wanted more, he just needed time to come to terms with that. This, Sam was fine with. Hell, there was time enough for Sam to coax Dean out of his set ways and into seeing just how much they needed everything about each other. Plenty of time. Loads of time and if there was one thing Sam was, it was patient.

No. Seriously.



At the end of the week, Dean threw some stuff in a backpack and took a run out to a friend of Bobby's to pick something up for him. "Gone for two, three days tops, Sam." It was too sudden for Sam to clear his schedule so he had to let Dean go by himself and besides, not like it was a hunt or anything. So Sam just nodded, said okay, stood at the end of the drive waving good-bye to Dean—using all his fingers even if he really wanted not to.

Dean was gone longer than three days. Fucking liar.

Completely unrelated to that, Sam gave notice at the market. It was just, the market and he had come to a parting of the ways—irreconcilable differences. One more fucking case of green beans to price and he was going Cold Blood on everyone. First on his list, the old woman from the sixth floor, the one who demanded Sam drop everything and shop for her--the one with the illegal cats and that smell, peppermint and dusty old books and wet newspaper and lavender. The one who called Dean twelve times a day and complained like it was her job and Dean never once lost his temper with her or reported the cats, the awful, reeking, mangy, slatty-ribbed, evil-eyed cats who stared at him like he was some kind of abomination….

Sam took a deep breath and searched for his calm place and cursed when he realized his calm place was in fucking South Dakota somewhere, playing Indiana Jones….

Last day on the job, he tossed his apron on the break room table and gathered the cards that were shoved into his locker; they ranged from great working with you to thanks a fucking lot for quitting douche bag who's going to take my Saturday shift now. It warmed his heart. He went out for good-bye drinks with the crew and somehow ended up in an abandoned drive-in, just Jerome and him, draped over the hood of Jerome's Civic and being jerked off agonizingly slow, while Jerome whispered what sounded like snatches of poetry in his ear. Sam groaned and shuddered and still managed to make a quick mental note to bring Dean and his EMF o'meter to check it out--there was something off about the place. He was squinting at the shattered remnants of the screen; almost certain he saw movement and light flit across it when orgasm snuck up on him. Jerome let out a little grunt of satisfaction in a job well done while Sam shot thick and hot right up under his tee-shirt and all over his stomach before collapsing in a panting heap against the warm metal.

"Call me sometimes," Jerome said, kind of surreptitiously wiping his hand on Sam's waist. "I really liked working with you, man."

Sam nodded, and pulled Jerome close, hands sliding around his waist. "Before we go…."



He came in late; Dean was finally back, and sitting on the couch like he'd never left, staring at what looked like an infomercial. He looked up at Sam with a frown—the first time he hadn't greeted Sam with a smile in a while.

"Hey, you're back," Sam said, feeling happy and loose and really pleased to see his brother, his beautiful, beautiful brother, all ocean eyes and full pink mouth and funny little snort and the cute way he pressed his tongue against his teeth when he smiled sometimes and….

"Yeah. Called your phone. A couple of times. Sam."

*Crabby freckle-faced bitch*…"It was off."

"I know. You can't do that Sam, you never know—"

"Know what Dean? Who's going to hurt me? We won, it's all over, remember?"

"People, Sam. They can hurt you just as hard as monsters."

"Fuck Dean…you think I don't know that?" Sam scrubbed hands over his face, the warm, floaty feeling gone. He tried to settle but he felt too wide, too thin, too ready to break. He headed to the bathroom, uncomfortably aware of dried come on his skin, and Dean's wrinkled nose. Whatever.

****

The bookstore was a nice change from the market. He didn't smell like rotten lettuce and stale chicken blood anymore. Now he smelt like dust and old cardboard. Stocking the shelves was a zen way to spend the day. His manager was an asshole, but didn't impact on his life much—and Dean came to pick him up after work every day. If he let his coworkers think Dean was his boyfriend well…it always had been a common assumption and he only slightly encouraged it to avoid the inevitable awkward fumbling towards questions of availability. Besides, Dean kind of fed into it and it left Sam wondering….

Sam jerked hard to the sound of a dry cough behind him, just managing not to bounce his skull of the shelf edge in front of him. It was the kind of attention grabbing thing that people never really did outside of a book. There should be no way that Sam could tell the cough was dry and ironic but he could and it pissed him off. "Yes?" He tried not to hiss, and turned to face whatever douche thought he was being amusing.

Oz was smiling down at him.

Oz was…not Sam's arch nemesis, not only because that would be ridiculous, but also because Oz didn't seem to know. Oz was supposed to be some kind of assistant/helper/apprentice to Dean. What Dean called him was 'minion'. Sam didn't think it was funny but Dean seemed to think it was hilarious and said it way too much and even Oz called himself that. Asshole.

Sam struggled not to glare at the short, oh so short, man gazing at him. Oz, with his ridiculous spiky red hair, bracelets up and down his arms, tattoos and piercings and—stuff all over. He was leaning in a studied unselfconscious little slouch against the shelf, little hands shoved in his pockets, little shoulders curved inwards and a little half smile on his stupid little face, trying to look inoffensive but there was something about the guy that put Sam's teeth on edge—like licking pennies or chewing on tinfoil. The guy just made him…uncomfortable. For his part, Oz gave him a confused once over and his smile curled in on itself and died.

Sam refused to care. "Yeah? I mean, can I help you?"

"Um. Looking. For…" One thin shoulder hitched upwards and down again. "A book."

Oz took laconic to new levels. It just made Sam want to smack him…."I might need more info than that."

Oz's eyes crinkled at the corner in a way that reminded Sam of Dean... "Your brother did say you were a pretty funny dude."

"Yeah…." Sam shrugged. "So. What is that you're looking for—exactly?"


Eventually, Sam came away from the eastern philosophy section with a deeper appreciation of Oz's intelligence--and weirdness.

He still hated him, and he still made his skin crawl, and he still needed to keep his little bitty body out of Dean's personal space.

****

"Where you going?"

"I'm going for a run—I'm getting out of shape." Sam knelt in front of the door; head tilted forward, hiding behind the curtain of his hair. It'd worked when he was fifteen and wanted to kill Dean—it worked just as well at twenty-eight. He laced his sneakers carefully and tied them up. He glared at the toes of his outlet Adidas, pissed off and knowing, but not really knowing, why. "So how is it Damien is going to let you off for two weeks? What do you have on him, Dean?"

A shock, a sudden freezing thought, made his nerves fire unpleasantly. What was Damien to Dean? Sam shook his head hard—a totally stupid thought. Damien was some fat, greasy, old guy in a brown pinstriped suit, holed up in a real estate office somewhere, busy being a slumlord. Probably.

"Gah—don’t be stupid, Sam. Damien just--he knows the business. He gets it. He knows it's important."

Sam looked up into Dean's face, met with Dean's angry and disapproving eyes. They were bright and shining with a light that was really kind of scary, as scary as the knife-thin line of his lips. How it was possible for lips that were normally so invitingly kissable to look so, so…completely deadly, was beyond Sam. At the moment the razor line of Dean's lips said, 'I'll kill you, for free.'

Fine. Sam figured he might was well go for broke. "Okay, okay, but why you? You said weren't gonna do anything dangerous, just runs for Bobby—books and shit. And now look at you--and what about me? Why won’t you take me? I should be—should be at your back, not hiding out in this apartment."

Dean threw his arms up in the air like the drama queen he was and shouted, "Sammy, I told you, I'm not dumping you. This job is…it's a different kind of dangerous." His voice dropped and he did that thing with his eyes and mouth that probably influenced weaker people than Sam, and said quietly, like he didn't want to hear himself saying it, let alone Sam, "It's better for you if you don’t go."

And that right there—sent Sam into a deep, burning rage. Typical. Dean was never ever going to forget it—forgive it. He could live the rest of his life and that fucking god-awful mistake was going to be the only thing that Dean measured him by. "It's demons, isn't it? You don't trust me. You know what, fuck you."

"That's not—shit, I trust you, I just don’t want you to hurt, oh my god, it that so fucking wrong? That I care about you and don’t want you to—to hurt more than you do now? Besides, I had to get two guys to take your place—two guys. And neither of them will ever be as good as you but I need to know you’re okay. I need you to be as close to fine as you can be. Please. Sammy…"

And just like that Dean trapped him in a corner. Why the hell did Dean always act like he was wrapped around Sam's little finger when it was so the opposite? "Okay, all aright, god, I'm going to vomit pixie dust in a minute, you freakin' girl."

"Good, I couldn't go through that crap one more time without barfing up unicorn shit myself. Bitch."

Sam stood and palmed the back of Dean's neck, drew him in for a kiss on the cheek. "It goes without saying you're a jerk," he said and let himself out of the apartment, got halfway to the elevator before hitting the wall of what the fuck did I just do? "Shit…shit."

Sam bit his lip and cast a look back at the apartment. The door was closed and he wondered what was going on behind that closed door. Damn it. He meant to not freak Dean out…maybe he wasn't freaked out? Maybe he was cool with it; it was just a kiss on the cheek. A soft, dry little peck—filled with longing and please fuck me, the kind of peck that screamed I want you, oh god, oh god--Dean would deal better with Sam pulling his dick out and jerking him off instead of something like that kiss, shit. Fuck. Sam left off waiting for the elevator to wheeze its way to the floor and dashed down the stairs. The thing to do here was run until he passed out, and hopefully he'd be picked up by the cops, labeled homeless, driven to the edge of town and kicked out never to be seen again…or best case scenario, hit by a car and killed.

The thought kind of cheered Sam up as he headed to the park at a run.

* * * * * *

An hour, maybe more on the run, and Sam admitted maybe he was huffing a bit—not at all gasping like a beached orca, certainly not sopping wet like he'd run through a sprinkler or a tsunami. He eased from a run into a slow trot around the jogging path, weaving in and out of the trees and kind of reveling in being able to run at night in darkness and be perfectly safe—or at least safe in the way a Hunter saw it. The neighborhood was a good one—few unexplained gunshots, no drive-bys, no blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night, mostly just regular old shouting and cursing and yelling out the odd death threat. It was one of the best places they'd ever stayed. It meant Sam could run comfortably at night and not have someone challenge him because of his size, or try and rob him because of his appearance of relative wealth. Though a nice little clip holster added to one's peace of mind….

He was slowed to almost a walk now, nodding familiarly to the night time denizens of the park—not really all that terribly different to the day time denizens—maybe fewer baby carriages. His slow limp-trot took him past an almost hidden spot in the trees; he could see a small parking lot bordering a partly demolished playground peeked out of a gap in the bushes. More importantly he could see their car parked there and Dean leaning against the trunk, legs spread wide, lips wide in a goofy grin, the kind of grin that said he was fucked up. A little drunk, a little stoned, and not alone. "So, lasagna. 'slike…the world's perfect food. Only the most perfect perfect food is cheeseburgers. Cause you got protein and calcium and, and, leafy stuff and red stuff—tomatoes. And if you're a freak, pickles, but we won't talk about that…"

"No, no, you're right, pickles are an abomination and an insult to good food—kind of like anchovies."

"See, see? You get me, minion, that why I like you. Where was I—right. Lasagna. It's like a cheeseburger with just the real good parts and with noodles instead of bread. Yeah. It's good."

"Cats like it."

"Oz. Dude. Do you want me to, like--kill you?"

"Just sayin…."

Sam listened to their exchange—or Dean's drunken ramblings about food--with his teeth grinding together and an electric buzz coming up out of his chest and lodging in his throat. It was stupid—so Dean had a friend, so what? Didn’t he deserve a friend?

There was a weird nano-second in which he thought he could smell Oz, that he could feel Oz like prickly fur over all of his skin, even underneath his skin. That faded, at almost the same moment Oz whipped his head in Sam's direction and Sam swore Oz could see him, even in the dark shadows cast by the bushes, under the screen of branches Sam found himself crouching in. Oz looked left and right, and his lip curled away from his perfect little blunt white teeth, and he sniffed—hard. Looked concerned, alarmed, thoughtful, and finally, amused, and that was the expression Sam wanted to kill him for. The branches all around him shivered and dropped leaves like rain, but that might have been because of the little breeze that suddenly popped up, for which by the way Sam was extremely grateful because at twelve at night, it was still hot and stuffy outside.

The wind blew hard enough to kick up little dust clouds at Sam's feet when he noticed that Dean was pretty much splayed out over the trunk, legs wide, his thumbs tucked in his pocket, his curled fingers framing his hard dick. Sam could see the line of his dick pointing towards his hip, trapped there in the confines of his jeans. Oz stepped closer, curled himself around Dean and Sam heard his brother make a pleased little noise--heard a growl in the distance. Realized a beat later it was coming from himself.

Oz took a few steps away from Dean and held up his hand. Car keys glinted in the full moonlight and he jingled them.

Okay, so Sam was not in the least bit embarrassed as he stepped out of the bushes to take the keys. He did not thank Oz for taking them or for helping him manhandle an uncooperative Dean into the car and certainly did not thank him for getting his brother high and horny. For rubbing against him like a mother fucking cat while picking his damn pocket.

What really got under his skin was that Oz was creepy as hell and not in the slightest a regular human. Sam couldn't see how it was that Dean couldn't see it, Dean, who was the best hunter Sam knew….



"Stop worrying about Oz, you freak."

Sam had to hold the phone away from his ear. It still rang a little. He bit his lip, eyed the ceiling and let the buzz of Dean's voice wash over him. This was bad. Just when and how the hell did Dean cobble up this 'live and let live' attitude? Why wasn't he pumping silver bullets into his minion? Why was Sam so pissed that Dean was willing to believe that Oz had this thing (he was almost one hundred per cent certain it was a thing) under control when they knew that those kinds of fucking unlucky bastards just couldn't? Why, because Oz was cool, cause he had good dope? Because Dean wanted to fuck him?

Sam hung up and hurried back to the rear of the shop. Whatever. What had he expected? He knew that Dean could be weird—surprising—scary sometimes--when he was drunk. It was just…it'd seemed so…different. Nice. Sam worried at his lip until it was raw and tasted of copper. His pulse beat in the tender spot, it was hot under his tongue and it sent a rush of heat to his dick, because it was almost the same taste as Dean's mouth and the same kind of heat.

"God fucking damn it!" Sam slapped the heel of his hand into his forehead. Delusional. That was the word. He was fucking on the edge of bugfuckcrazy. His eyes burned as he glared into the distance, wishing he had an ounce of control over his stupid heart, while behind him one of the cardboard boxes shuddered and started to unravel, spilling out its books ….



"Sammy…Sammy, come on...Sam, you know you like it. You do."

Sam held his head back out of Dean's reach and fit his palm over Dean's face. His lips were warm, a little slack, kind of damp—Sam shoved hard as he could and felt a sick flash of satisfaction when Dean went flying. Crumbled into a heap next to Sam's bed with a muffled curse. "Get out, Dean."

"But…but…Sam. Right? You."

"GET OUT." Tequila made Dean's pitifully few brain cells fire even slower than normal, Sam knew, but even that had to get through the alcoholic daze he was floating in. "Get out means get out, asshole. Sleep it off in the car." Sam was trying to keep a handle on a frustrated, pissed off, on-his-very-last-nerve emotional storm, he really was but—" I mean, what makes you think that you can drink yourself into a fucking semi-stupor and come back here and—and." Sam's mouth slammed shut around the words. For a second he really thought he was capable of killing Dean. The thought made him want to throw up. "Couldn't pull some skank, is that it? Came for second best?"

"Yeah—wait, what?" Dean shook his head and turned a sickly yellow. He groaned, grabbed his head, his stomach. "No, that's not. No skanks, no seconds. It's you."

Sam grabbed Dean by his arm and yanked him to his unsteady feet. "Tell you what, Dean. When you can come in here and ask me when you're sober, you do it. Stop making me feel like a whore and maybe things'll work out. Tace atque abi, jerk-off."

Dean looked devastated right up until Sam slammed his bedroom door in his face. Sam heard him yell, "Hey! You're not a whore! Or second best, you're—"

Whatever Dean thought he was Sam would never know. One thing he did know was that come morning, Dean had better have cleaned up the vomit in front of his door, god damn it.

* * * * * *

Morning brought a brand new day, the section of floor in front of his door pine-scented fresh and shiny, the smell of coffee and pancakes drifting on the air. Sam grabbed his bag. "Late, see you when I get back."

"But I made pancakes."

"Yeah. Sorry." Sam ran out without a backward look—his chest was burning. He knew he was being kind of an asshole—but Dean started it. Playing with him like that. Disrespecting him. That was always Dean's problem. Always treated him like dirt. Sam rubbed his eyes, tried to pretend that it was dust making them run. It was probably dander from those mangy cats on Six...yeah, that was it.

* * * * * *

Seeing as how it was actually his day off, Sam hung out in the park, watching all the people be people and feeling sorry for himself. That actually felt pretty good, and he congratulated himself on getting self-pity down to an art. The only thing that would make him feel better would be kicking Dean's ass. Or fucking it, but that wasn't likely to happen unless Dean was black-out drunk and Sam finally cracked and lost any bit of sanity he'd managed to wrest out of the hands of fucking demons and douche bag angels….Yeah. Great. Now he was pissed off all over again….

Around noon, he got a call from Bobby. He wrapped up a sandwich he was tearing into emo shreds and answered quickly. Maybe Dean'd figured out he was missing and had sent Bobby searching after him. It could happen. "Hey, Bobby, what's up?"

Without a 'hey you' or even 'hi', Bobby started hollering, and Sam rolled his eyes and wondered just why the hell everyone thought they could yell at him like he was some kind of untrainable puppy…and then what Bobby was saying sunk in.

"What the hell are you doing to your brother, Sam?"

Hunh? Doing to Dean?

"He's pestering me for jobs—thought you all were taking a break from hunting. He's driving me crazy. Says he needs space—can't live with you. Are you being a pain in the ass? Don't even answer that—I know how you can be. You better—"

Sam hung up. Out of nowhere a thunderclap exploded overhead, a long streak of lightning clawed the sky sideways. Rain poured down like curtains, fast and furious. It was still warm out, so Sam strolled out from the awning he was sitting under and walked around the streets. He remembered how when he was a kid, he'd loved it so much when a summer shower hit, and Dean let him run around behind whatever motel they were stranded at, dashing around in a swimsuit—basically an old pair of Dean's jeans, hacked off at the knees—running around, laughing and Dean smiling at him….

It rained hard, so Sam felt certain he could let it out. He made very little noise. The sun was bright in spite of the downpour. A giant rainbow arched across the sky and it rained and rained.

When it stopped, he had a hotdog and a coke and thought about changes and second chances and destiny and how nice it was just to lean up against a wall and enjoy a pretty good hotdog undisturbed. He shrugged his sopping wet book bag onto his shoulder. Time to go home and start all over again. Sam smiled a little. What the hell…not like this was the first time—probably wouldn't be the last either.


part five

Comments

[calijirl5150.livejournal.com]

Oh your killing me - like in //is dead on the floor//. Please fix the boyz soon. or I'll whip out the "Sammy Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom" on you lol ;p

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I promise I will fix them soon! I want them to be happy too! :)

[myownghost.livejournal.com]

oz is lovely here. it's great to see him. i hope some kind of peace can be had between him and sam eventually.

(i always enjoy the latin.)

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I wasn't sure about throwing Oz in there but I thought what the heck--isn't this all about self-indulgence anyway? *G* I'm glad you liked him!

(i always enjoy the latin.)

Abigail's Big Table of Useful Latin Phrases is a godsend for uneducated folks like me! ;)

[tabaqui]

Oh, boys. Oh, boys!!
*sobs a little*

And Oz - omg! I love Sam's rambling, pissed off, totally confused and totally emo *self*.
*pets him*

*beams at you*

Whoooooooooooooot!! :)

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

It was kind of surprise!Oz wasn't it? I was thinking about that character as some kind of out-of-their-time hippie and then I thought Oz would be so cool and random in that role, lol! I figured I'd make my own fun. *G*

[mdlaw.livejournal.com]

I was excited when I recognized Oz. He was always a favorite. But the boys are KILLING ME. m :I

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Oz--how could anyone resist Oz, right? I loved that boy! I have this awful habit of tucking BtVS characters in my fics--poor Xander, he took a beating in my SV fics--*G*

The boys are getting it, slowly but surely. I'm expecting happiness soon!
Thanks so much for reading and commenting!

[digitalwave]

Poor Sammy, his powers are just leaking out all over the place, aren't they? If he ever stops going all Alpha predator over poor OZ he could teach Sam a thing or two about controlling his inner beast.

And, Dean? I just want to give him a slap upside his silly head. In a totally loving way, of course. :)

Wonderful installment, sweetie, as always. :)

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Right? Poor messed up kid!

Thanks so much for reading this, my dear! I'm glad you enjoyed it! :)

[digitalwave]

Roxy,

I always enjoy anything you write. :)

[lexantares.livejournal.com]

Hello there, just found ur fic and couldn't stop reading, it's amazing totally love it.
You are evil making suffer the boys like that, but I like it anyways >.<
Make them happy together soon? Pretty please ;)
hope u don't mind if I friend you.
Amazing work, update soon please. Cheers

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

thank you very much! Yes, I am evil, I do tend to make the boys suffer--but I always fix it in the end! :)

hope u don't mind if I friend you.

I never mind friending--thank you!

[lazy-8s.livejournal.com]

I am so excited about this update. You have really captured Sam's confusion and frustration here. Dean continues to ignore the change in the air, hunting without Sam. Oz is also interesting, riling Sam with his interest in Dean. Awesome chapter!

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

*BEAMS*
*Thank* you so much! I'm so glad Oz wasn't annoying--I love the character and couldn't resist throwing him in. Especially since Oz seems to be doing what Sam used to think was possible(before S4 kicked his butt and convinced him it that wasn't)--controlling the monster inside.

I *LOVE* your icon! :)

[gunznammo2.livejournal.com]

I've just read this from the beginning - and this story creates in me such heart-pain and sadness. It hurts so bad to see our boys fucking themselves and one another up. I am really not sure how to take Oz. I never knew his character in BtVS but it's kinda frustrating wondering what his motivations are. Are our boys EVER gonna be happy? Your story has me wrapped around its little finger. You have messed me up good, lady. GOOD JOB. *sobs for Sam and Dean*

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Oh goodness--I promise, when it's over, everyone will be happy! But I admit, I'm thrilled that the story is able to move you like that!

Not to worry, Oz is a good guy, he's odd and marches to his own beat, but he's not out to hurt anyone. ;)

Thanks for reading, and thanks so much for commenting!

[mlebayre.livejournal.com]

Great chapter!

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

*beams* Thanks so much!!

[toldthestars.livejournal.com]

Oh dear. Poor Sam. Also, OZ! Loooooove the Oz. Looking forward to the next bit!

[cha.livejournal.com]

I missed this part!!! I just got all flaily handed! :D I shall read it tonight! which makes this a totally pointless comment - but ... yeah :D

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

And look how long it took me to respond!! I suck!

[twinsarein.livejournal.com]

Ouch. So much tension. Sammy crying in the rain made my heart ache for him. Of course, Dean is hurting, too. But, you make them hurt soooo good. I love it.

Am I right in assuming that the Oz mentioned is from Buffy. The character seemed right, but other than being short, the description threw me. I don't remember him having piercings and tattoos, so I wasn't sure. But, I also don't remember an Oz on SpN.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Yes! It's Oz! Because I am goofiness incarnate! I LOVED Oz, and I thought it'd be fun to write him. I imagined an Oz that traveled far and wide trying to find a way to live with his wolf thing. They'd mentioned it on Buffy and I pictured him at this point, being tattooed with protective runes and symbols, wearing mystical stones and crystal as and shit...*beams* Oz in my mind is reeeeal colorful. ;)

[cha.livejournal.com]

oooh Sam. Why did bobby have to say that?