Devil's Ridin' Shotgun
Disclaimer: I do not nor will I ever own Supernatural or the characters presented by the show.
Sam Winchester sat at Bobby Singer's nearly empty kitchen table, staring at the lone nine millimetre pistol that sat there. The room was dark; the evening Sun outside of the window was fading fast, leaving the promise of a pitch-black night in its wake. The devil sat on the arm of the chair opposite him.
"It would be as easy as breathing," Lucifer was saying. "Easier. You know where to aim, cowboy."
You know where to aim, cowboy. Sam recalled hearing those exact words at the warehouse. Had it really only been three weeks? He'd thought the idea utterly ridiculous and horrifying then. Now - well, now he wasn't so sure.
The young man didn't acknowledge his older brother's entrance, even though it was nearly impossible to ignore. Sam had never before noticed how loud Dean was.
"Hey, Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean asked, his tone casual if the slightest bit wary.
"Do it," Lucifer urged, smirking. "C'mon, he can't stop you. I'll even sing you a heroic ballad." Sam almost snorted. Heroic ballad indeed.
"Hey," Dean said again, trying to catch the younger man's attention. "What's up, Sasquatch? You wanna tell me what's going on inside of that freaky head of yours?"
Once again, Sam didn't respond. He only held the thumb and forefinger of his right hand under his chin before murmuring, very, very softly, "Pew," and jerking his hand away in the imitation of the recoil of a gun. Just like that. Easier than breathing.
"You've been pulling triggers ever since you where ten years old," Lucifer reminded him. "Why should this time be any harder?"
Before Sam could react to or even think about the devil's words, the pistol was gone from the table and a hand was none-too-gently forcing his chin up. He was met with horror-filled eyes of his older brother, eyes that searched his before he was shaken rather harshly.
"Snap out of it, Sam," Dean commanded, his tone hard over the fear that lurked beneath the surface. "Don't you dare."
"I won't, Dean." Sam was surprised by how smoothly the half-lie slid from between his lips.
"Could've fooled me," Lucifer commented.
"Don't worry," Sam continued. He placed his hand on Dean's arm and watched as the tension there slowly melted away under his touch.
Dean exhaled sharply and straightened from where he had bent to Sam's eye-level. "Alright," he said. "Alright." With that the older hunter walked into the living room, taking the gun with him.
Sam watched for a moment after his brother was gone. "He can't stop you," Lucifer whispered in his ear.
Without moving his gaze from the living room entryway, Sam held the thumb and forefinger of his right hand under his chin.
Easier than breathing.