Okay, so Sex and Violence was an ultra serious episode, and I've noticed a LOT of oneshots dedicated to what happened after that halfhearted roadside chat at the end (NO KIDDING they aren't OK.) But for some reason I just can't get a possibly lighter side of it out of my head…so yeah. The Dean voice in my head sounds like his rant in Yellow Fever. It starts out angsty, then I sort of change it around at the end. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
- Okay -
To say that the drive towards the nearest motel was awkward would be the understatement of the century. In fact, it would be the understatement of several centuries. For…let's see…approximately the third or fourth time in his life, Sam just didn't have a clue what to say to his brother.
The fact was, what Dean had said to him was obviously how he really felt. He knew that because what he had said was what he really felt, but the difference was that while Dean had tried to make him see the truth, all Sam had done was be cruel, spiteful. It was just about the lowest blow he could give, especially after Dean had opened up to him for once in his life. He wouldn't be surprised if his brother never shared anything with him ever again.
But the point was, they needed to talk. Sooner or later.
He decided on door number one.
"Dean, I think we need to talk."
Dean looked at him, seeing with no surprise Sam's "chick-flick moment" face, puppy-dog eyes on full blast, filled with the (clichéd) unshed tears he had seen way too many times. But the simple familiarity offered him comfort; some things never changed. Despite the demonic powers, the Apocalypse, the freaking angels, everything.
"What's the matter, Samantha, you breaking up with me?"
"Honestly, Sam, what the h – what do you want me to say?"
"Dean, I'm really sorry about what I said."
It was like they were reading from some maudlin, touchy-feely movie script. He was so not in the mood.
"Okay, fine, you're sorry. I'm sorry too. Now can we please go back to being okay?"
"Dean, we're not okay."
"Will you stop saying 'Dean'? I swear, everything that comes out of your mouth always starts with my name! I wouldn't be surprised if you shouted it during sex!"
A brief silence.
"Dean, the things I said…"
"The things I said…I really didn't mean…"
"Okay, you didn't mean it. I'm not an idiot, Sam. I can tell the difference between siren-induced honesty and…other honesty."
A silence that could only be described as brief.
"So…you forgive me? For all those horrible things I said?"
"You're kidding, right?"
Silence followed, the very opposite of lengthy.
"Look Sam, just because you didn't really want to say it doesn't mean that an incredible pile of bull crap didn't come out of your mouth."
"I mean, dammit Sam! All I said was that you'd changed. Anyone with half a brain can see that! Even your hair has changed!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"All I'm saying is you bear no resemblance to the kid I picked up at Stanford. The kid who was going to marry Jessica, who wanted to get out of hunting forever, who memorized Latin exorcisms and – and would die before he let a demon get so close! You – this cold, hard stranger – you don't even speak for him anymore!"
Sam closed his eyes briefly, barely masking the hurt Dean could see in them.
He did. He also pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the stereo.
For a while they said nothing. But it wasn't really in Sam's nature to remain silent for so long. Dean could almost (almost) recall so many conversations, so long ago, before everything just...
"Look, I know that I've changed. We both have. And – I did die before letting a demon get so close to me. That was part of the problem."
"Shut up, Sam." He'd had enough of that the year before.
In the category of brief silences, the next one won the gold.
"I'm tired, man."
Dean met his brother's eyes.
"Well, so am I."
In that small instance of agreement rested the dozens of things left unsaid. Things that didn't necessarily need to be said, because if people told each other everything (really, truly everything), it would be a great deal harder to maintain the bonds that are so important to the human psyche. The type of bonds that could only be formed from years of roadtrips, of sleazy motels, of watching each others' backs, of too much obsession over revenge, of trying to get over the shittiest things that life could put in their way…of hunting down and killing as many sons of bitches as they possibly could. And of something else, something that made Dean think of plastic spoons, something that made Sam remember superglue and bikini inspector IDs.
Dean chuckled to himself.
"Sam, who were you trying to kid? A better hunter? Stronger and smarter?"
"I know, and I'm sorry. I think we both know who the better hunter is, and it's not me."
A small smile passed across his face as they answered simultaneously.
"Honestly, Sam! Why haven't you apologized to him for the insult?"
"I really should! I mean, look at the facts. He always knows the answers to everything. He always gets there in the nick of time, knows what to do, and how to do it. He could take out both of us without batting an eye."
"Ya think?! I mean, if anything, he's the one we're holding back! If Bobby didn't have to keep saving our asses all the time, he'd be out kicking the crap out of Lilith and Alistair and all the rest of them."
"Without demonic powers," Sam added thoughtfully. "Ruby obviously didn't consider that I might not be the only option to ending this war."
"Yeah, screw all this destiny crap, Sam!"
The Impala's engine hummed as Dean put her back into gear and got back on the highway.
"So, what next?" Sam asked, grinning. "We gonna slow dance?"
"That's only funny when I say it, Samantha."
Well, what did you think? This is actually my first SPN fanfic, although I've followed the show for years and I've been meaning to write something for ages. I'm also planning a long oneshot from Sam's POV (yep, I'm a Sammygirl), not as lighthearted next time. Anyway, thanks for reading and don't forget to review!