Categories > TV > Supernatural
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Sam's fingers ghost over his throat; the tight, burning anger still clawing at his skin. He was still trying to catch his breath. He closes his eyes as he traces the heated trails that Dean's hands left behind. They would bruise later, he was sure of it.
Take it back, Sam! Take it back!
Dean! C-can't... bre-breathe! Sstop!
Dean hadn't stopped though; not until Sam's fingers stopped clawing at his wrists and white burst behind his eyes did Dean stop. And even then it had taken a minute before he actually let go of him.
His hysteric apologies replayed themselves in Sam's head like a broken record; echoing in his subconscious. The younger Winchester sighs as he opens his eyes. It wouldn't surprise him if Dean stayed out all night, drinking away what he'd done. Sam had sure as hell felt like doing that after the incident at the asylum.
Dean hadn't let him though.
It's all right, Sam. I already forgive you.
Sam could tell by his eyes that he hadn't though... He never really had, and Sam never forgave himself.
"God, Dean, I'm sorry," his voice was hoarse, but it didn't matter because the room was empty. There was no one to apologize to, but he said it anyway; felt he had to. "I'm so sorry."
Don't apologize. Apologies don't heal wounds; physical or emotional.
Why he was remembering John's words was a mystery, but they rang in his ears anyway. They didn't hold any meaning to him, he didn't believe them. When Dean had apologized after Jess' death it had helped; made him know that Dean actually cared. Apologies did heal.
He pushes himself up, massaging the stiffness out of his neck. Just because they'd fought didn't mean he could forget the job at hand. Dean could and would, but Sam wasn't going to. There were still people in trouble, and they were more important than some argument between brothers.
Sam spread the newspaper clippings on his bed, a pen going straight to his mouth with a damned existence. As the laptop started up, Sam leaned back against the headboard, mentally going over the last few days.
When they'd arrived in Houghton, they'd been there one reason: stop the ghost. Another Woman in White haunting, simple enough. Oh how he'd been wrong. It seemed her M.O. was to get revenge on anyone unfaithful; male or female it didn't matter. As Dean had put it: we're dealing with one angry bitch.
Sam smiles faintly. Dean had apologized when he'd rolled his eyes in exasperation. He'd instantly forgotten about his indifference.
The spirit, one Amelia Grey, had killed her husband's lover and then herself in the woman's back-road home. The other woman's name was not released to the public. Another problem was that the Grey's had no children and the husband had passed on a few months ago because of lung cancer. That left them with no leads, and no idea of where to start looking.
We're up shit creek without a paddle, Sammy. Hope you don't mind the extra study time.
It's fine, Dean.
Sorry, man.
Another proof that John was wrong.
Well, Dean had already been drinking earlier; claiming that alcohol made him smarter. Ha, right, and had come back a little tipsier than he'd planned... a little angrier too apparently.
Sam rubbed his neck absently, opening the site he'd been on earlier.
Beautiful, Dean, just beautiful.
Fuck you, Sam.
Sam laughed, looking over at his brother's crumpled form, That bed isn't going to be too comfortable when you fall off it.
Dean lifted his head from the mattress, glaring over at him. Fuck you, Sam, he repeated before laying his head back down.
But hey, from this angle you look easier than the girls you hit on. Anyone would fuck you.
A little joking had escalated to one of them being unable to breathe.
He winces slightly as he chews on the pen, He hadn't thought Dean would get so pissed off, it was just some light ribbing. They always acted like that on cases like this. It lightened the mood. Sam sighs, rubbing his temples lightly. Dean shouldn't have gotten so pissed off.
He shakes his head, his eyes going back to the screen. Dean should've laughed unless something was wrong. What could've happened to him? Sam taps his chin thoughtfully with the pen, watching the page scroll. Come to think of it... he's been a bit off since St. Louis.
The door opens and Sam looks up. Surprisingly, Dean looks sober. That was an oddity considering how long he'd been out. His green eyes flicker up to Sam before falling to the floor. "Find anything useful?"
A flare of anger rises in him, but he pushes it back down. "No, I just started looking again." His eyes go back to the laptop.
"Oh... Okay." Sam hears the bathroom door close and he sighs quietly. He hadn't expected an apology, but he didn't expect him to act as though nothing had happened.
The door opens again as Sam closes the laptop. He wasn't going to get any further with Dean there. He picks up the newspapers as Dean sits down on his bed. He's watching him.
"What?"
He looks down quickly, "Nothing."
"Then find something else to stare at."
Dean sighs, "Look, Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap on you."
Sam says nothing, and he doesn't look up at him. There's no reason to. He knows Dean means it, but he wasn't ready to accept it; hell, his brother had tried to kill him and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to any time soon. He hears Dean sigh again, and again he doesn't look up.
The bed dips and Dean's hands move over the papers; a sign of understanding on his part. "Where are we headed tomorrow?"
"We'll see if either of them had family around here. If they don't then we'll check the graves."
Dean nods. "Alright... sound like a plan..." They're silent for a few moments. "I really am s-"
"I heard you the first time, Dean."
"Oh..."
He knows that Dean is waiting for acceptance, but he isn't ready to give him that freedom. He knows he means it, but he wants something more; more than an apology.
The bed shifts again, and Sam hears the papers get set down on the table. Dean's bed squeaks as he lays down. "Night, Sam." Sam looks over at him, but Dean's back is turned.
"Dean...?"
"Hmm?"
"It's alright," Dean's head lifts. "But I can't forgive you until you tell me what's going on with you."
Dean's head goes back to the pillow. "Night Sam."
Sam's fingers ghost over his throat; the tight, burning anger still clawing at his skin. He was still trying to catch his breath. He closes his eyes as he traces the heated trails that Dean's hands left behind. They would bruise later, he was sure of it.
Take it back, Sam! Take it back!
Dean! C-can't... bre-breathe! Sstop!
Dean hadn't stopped though; not until Sam's fingers stopped clawing at his wrists and white burst behind his eyes did Dean stop. And even then it had taken a minute before he actually let go of him.
His hysteric apologies replayed themselves in Sam's head like a broken record; echoing in his subconscious. The younger Winchester sighs as he opens his eyes. It wouldn't surprise him if Dean stayed out all night, drinking away what he'd done. Sam had sure as hell felt like doing that after the incident at the asylum.
Dean hadn't let him though.
It's all right, Sam. I already forgive you.
Sam could tell by his eyes that he hadn't though... He never really had, and Sam never forgave himself.
"God, Dean, I'm sorry," his voice was hoarse, but it didn't matter because the room was empty. There was no one to apologize to, but he said it anyway; felt he had to. "I'm so sorry."
Don't apologize. Apologies don't heal wounds; physical or emotional.
Why he was remembering John's words was a mystery, but they rang in his ears anyway. They didn't hold any meaning to him, he didn't believe them. When Dean had apologized after Jess' death it had helped; made him know that Dean actually cared. Apologies did heal.
He pushes himself up, massaging the stiffness out of his neck. Just because they'd fought didn't mean he could forget the job at hand. Dean could and would, but Sam wasn't going to. There were still people in trouble, and they were more important than some argument between brothers.
Sam spread the newspaper clippings on his bed, a pen going straight to his mouth with a damned existence. As the laptop started up, Sam leaned back against the headboard, mentally going over the last few days.
When they'd arrived in Houghton, they'd been there one reason: stop the ghost. Another Woman in White haunting, simple enough. Oh how he'd been wrong. It seemed her M.O. was to get revenge on anyone unfaithful; male or female it didn't matter. As Dean had put it: we're dealing with one angry bitch.
Sam smiles faintly. Dean had apologized when he'd rolled his eyes in exasperation. He'd instantly forgotten about his indifference.
The spirit, one Amelia Grey, had killed her husband's lover and then herself in the woman's back-road home. The other woman's name was not released to the public. Another problem was that the Grey's had no children and the husband had passed on a few months ago because of lung cancer. That left them with no leads, and no idea of where to start looking.
We're up shit creek without a paddle, Sammy. Hope you don't mind the extra study time.
It's fine, Dean.
Sorry, man.
Another proof that John was wrong.
Well, Dean had already been drinking earlier; claiming that alcohol made him smarter. Ha, right, and had come back a little tipsier than he'd planned... a little angrier too apparently.
Sam rubbed his neck absently, opening the site he'd been on earlier.
Beautiful, Dean, just beautiful.
Fuck you, Sam.
Sam laughed, looking over at his brother's crumpled form, That bed isn't going to be too comfortable when you fall off it.
Dean lifted his head from the mattress, glaring over at him. Fuck you, Sam, he repeated before laying his head back down.
But hey, from this angle you look easier than the girls you hit on. Anyone would fuck you.
A little joking had escalated to one of them being unable to breathe.
He winces slightly as he chews on the pen, He hadn't thought Dean would get so pissed off, it was just some light ribbing. They always acted like that on cases like this. It lightened the mood. Sam sighs, rubbing his temples lightly. Dean shouldn't have gotten so pissed off.
He shakes his head, his eyes going back to the screen. Dean should've laughed unless something was wrong. What could've happened to him? Sam taps his chin thoughtfully with the pen, watching the page scroll. Come to think of it... he's been a bit off since St. Louis.
The door opens and Sam looks up. Surprisingly, Dean looks sober. That was an oddity considering how long he'd been out. His green eyes flicker up to Sam before falling to the floor. "Find anything useful?"
A flare of anger rises in him, but he pushes it back down. "No, I just started looking again." His eyes go back to the laptop.
"Oh... Okay." Sam hears the bathroom door close and he sighs quietly. He hadn't expected an apology, but he didn't expect him to act as though nothing had happened.
The door opens again as Sam closes the laptop. He wasn't going to get any further with Dean there. He picks up the newspapers as Dean sits down on his bed. He's watching him.
"What?"
He looks down quickly, "Nothing."
"Then find something else to stare at."
Dean sighs, "Look, Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap on you."
Sam says nothing, and he doesn't look up at him. There's no reason to. He knows Dean means it, but he wasn't ready to accept it; hell, his brother had tried to kill him and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to any time soon. He hears Dean sigh again, and again he doesn't look up.
The bed dips and Dean's hands move over the papers; a sign of understanding on his part. "Where are we headed tomorrow?"
"We'll see if either of them had family around here. If they don't then we'll check the graves."
Dean nods. "Alright... sound like a plan..." They're silent for a few moments. "I really am s-"
"I heard you the first time, Dean."
"Oh..."
He knows that Dean is waiting for acceptance, but he isn't ready to give him that freedom. He knows he means it, but he wants something more; more than an apology.
The bed shifts again, and Sam hears the papers get set down on the table. Dean's bed squeaks as he lays down. "Night, Sam." Sam looks over at him, but Dean's back is turned.
"Dean...?"
"Hmm?"
"It's alright," Dean's head lifts. "But I can't forgive you until you tell me what's going on with you."
Dean's head goes back to the pillow. "Night Sam."
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