Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Sam's Turn 3 of 3 (Completed)

I'd just like to say that the CW has perpetuated their grand tradition of wacky news header lines that pop up and take up about half the screen during the more distracting moments of the SPN finales. Last year it was: Family's near deadly encounter with rat at movies!

This year is was: Woman explains her grand church sex attack!

Bring on the DVDs. Bring them hard. Although I will miss fast forwarding through thousands of Old Navy commercials. Good times.


Title: Sam's Turn part 1 - part 2 - part 3 *Completed*
Sequel to: Isochronism part 1 & 2 *Completed*
Author: Mink
Rating: R - Gender Swap
Warnings: Violence & monthly women's issues
Spoilers: General (for aired episodes only)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.

Sam had never scored a hitched ride so fast in his entire life.

The car was one of the kinds he had actually never seen the inside of before. It was the slightly sparkly variety that always made you turn your head if you stopped near one at a light. You never really had much choice but to pay close attention to the massive bass pounding somewhere in its tricked out trunk stereo system. In fact, when it pulled to a stop next to him on the busy road, he wasn’t even sure if he was going to get in.

But wheels were wheels.

The tinted windows made the dark outside even more unreadable than it already was. He slid further to the opposite end of the soft leather seat. Sam briefly wondered if he had looked like some kind of prostitute out there watching the traffic for a lift. He knew what he’d think if he saw a girl about this age standing around by herself at this hour. The driver was young, way too young to have the kind of cash to own and operate a mobile piece of bling like this one.

“You wanna go to a party?”


Sam rubbed his wrist still annoyed that his brother had made sure to use the hand cuffs that hadn’t been accidentally slammed in the car door once or twice. The lock was almost busted on those. The pair that had almost made him a semi-permanent addition to the brown flower décor had been the real deal. Sam readjusted the back pack on his lap and tried not to let the simmer of his anger be known with any audible cues. It had still just come down to being a restraint with a mechanism. If Dean had really been thinking that Sam was everything he used to be he would have been a little more thoughtful about the method. He should have known that it wouldn’t have kept someone like them in one place for very long. But an hour was long enough.

“What’s in the bag?”

Despite what his brother had said about the shot gun he had wanted to take one with him. Unfortunately, there was no way to conceal something that awkward with the given options. Sam felt the weight in the zipped up canvas shift between his knees as he moved his thighs closer together. For some reason sitting like he usually did didn’t feel that comfortable anymore. The loaded pistol, the sheathed blade and several artfully folded pages of the thin brittle paper were as easy to carry as they ever were.


The kid reassumed his near perfect practiced lounge behind the shiny chrome of the steering wheel and picked up his ringing phone. Sam smiled back uncertainly when the guy caught Sam looking at him. Fighting some weird urge to start laughing like a lunatic, he wondered what this guy would do if he knew what he was actually grinning at. Glancing back down at his hands, he took a deep breath as he flexed them on the thin fabric of the slick nylon blue of his track pants. It was like having some secret hidden pass into people’s lives. He was less than unthreatening, he was something people either wanted to protect or play with.

The conversation beside him quickly turned into an upbeat exchange in Spanish. He caught the gist of it even though he wasn’t fluent himself. Knowing Latin gave you a pass of your own into every single Romance language that existed. To his surprise, there actually really was a party. The thought that this kid was at all being sincere confused him a little.

With a small tap to the elaborate array of lights above the stick, the bass started booming so hard Sam thought he was going to start losing teeth if he stayed in there for much longer. Looking up as they slowed for the red light he felt his pulse quicken with some relief at seeing he was now exactly five blocks from the edge of the campus grounds.

Without a word he swung open the heavy door and shut it behind him. The act was so sudden he didn’t even hear the driver say a word if there had been any protest that could make it over the music. Spotting a 7-Eleven that might sell flashlights he crossed the street and headed towards it. Even if they were the cheap plastic kind that ate the inside out of the batteries in no time flat, it didn’t matter.

Sam just needed something he could use.

The finely chopped lawns that spread out wide and empty between buildings were different places without the usual traffic.

At least they were to most people. Sam was almost on the opposite side of that spectrum. He was used to being in places that were supposed to be filled with voices and footfalls. The years had made him more accustomed to finding the underside of the function, the quiet locked up spaces and the still objects left by the people who only knew the same with all the lights on.

Pulling the back pack onto both shoulders, he paused at a line of trees, using their shadows to become one himself for a few minutes. A look up into the sky showed the waning sickle of moon through the softly swaying overhead branches. Even though he didn’t weigh that much anymore he felt a sense of security he wasn’t expecting in his ability to hide. It was oddly exhilarating to feel as slight as the span of the tree trunks. The act of making his passage undetectable was almost effortless now with the newfound lightness in his step. Listening carefully, he had made the shallow grove his fourth stop in the careful spiral he was traveling towards the campus center.

There was no telling where his brother would be out here in the same dark. He knew that to some extent they were of like minds when it came to the how’s and why’s of a job, but Dean tended to get a lot more unpredictable when left to his own devices. Tracking a guy like his brother was a little challenging even when there was no attempt to be covert. When it was time to vanish it appeared that was just what happened. All of the lines of caution became redefined when you started moving solo. Sam sort of noticed the same kind of liberation and hindrance himself whenever their duties sent them in separate directions.

Swinging his gaze in all 360 degrees Sam found himself studying the plain of grass that stretched out on the opposite side of the path. It was far from dawn but the cool night had brought on some condensation down over the ground. Although there were quite a few of them, the far off standing lamps lit up the campus’s sidewalks with no consistency to be of any use other than check points. However, the dull wash revealed a tell tale line cut through the moisture that clung to the lawn.

Walking across the same route so he wouldn’t leave the same sloppy traces of his own direction, he quickened his pace. Holding the pistol aimed down and away because the elastic of his pants wouldn’t hold the weight, he glanced up at the neatly painted white sign that politely demanded that you stay off the grass. He smiled a little. Not very long ago his brother had gone this way.

He’d been headed south and going right towards the side of the school that faced the black creaking woods.

He knew without getting much closer that it was a body. The even unbroken pattern of the landscaping didn’t give the familiar shape much else to be. There was a paper shopping bag lying near by the still form, its contents not scattered or flung. All of it, every oddly serene detail was just as consistent as the others that had been found.

Sam quickly crouched down low next to the woman and slipped a finger up against her neck. There were no bruises. No fright in her eyes. Not even a hair out of place. It was as if she had just decided to stretch out down in the damp grass and fade away.

So they were too late.

Sitting back on his heels, he wondered how to exactly go about contacting the campus security without bringing anything but his voice into the mix. He didn’t want them to make him into any kind of lead they could waste their time on. Although, pretty much anything those guys could do was a waste of time. They could maybe start asking the students not to walk around alone at night all by themselves. That was pretty good advice even when there wasn’t something predatory slipping out as soon as the sun went down.

With a small hard sigh he passed his hand over the young woman’s eyes to set them closed. Resting her hands on her middle instead of the careless causal toss they had been left beside her, he knew there was no crime scene to ruin here. The scattered pathway lights lent a dull gleam off his pistol when he thoughtfully raised the muzzle back up towards the dark tangle of undergrowth that lay only a several yards away. Someone or something had suddenly stepped back into the black swallow of the trees. Sam's teeth grit when he realized he was being observed.

He knew it wasn’t his brother but he figured the thing already knew he was here now so why not make his presence well known?

“Dean!” Sam called out.

Everything about him that had carried weight was completely gone. His voice sounded shrill and questioning. The volume of it wasn’t even close to half of what he knew it could be.

The edge of the forest didn’t lead onwards and forever but it was enough of a slip of woods that he could get himself turned around a good few times before he got out the other side again.

“Dean! You out here?”

Entering out over the brittle floor of leaves he stepped over a fallen tree trunk and glanced up at the sweeping boughs that closed over his head. It turned into another universe of sounds; every movement nature made became suspect. It all started layering over and over itself until he was forced to stop. Listening closely to discern what he knew for fact over what was just playing to his now abundant and decidedly limber imagination wasn’t easy.

His gaze fell on a tree that sat almost directly in his path.

At first, Sam didn’t realize what he was looking at. All he knew was that whatever he was looking at was strange. The base of the trees all around were rooted in the same dark wet churned earth with a small windfall of dried leaves piled up against their sides. Some of them had grown into each other, their limbs a twisted snarl on the journey towards more sunlight. But the tree right in front of him seemed to be standing all by itself. Instead of the gnarled knobby roots of the maples and oaks that seemed to have taken over the place, this plant was different. Black, perfectly smooth, it caught the meager refection from his flashlight and glowed it back like polished obsidian. Perfectly straight until its symmetric branches started to span out from its trunk in measured identical distances from each other, it looked like nothing else in the flora that surrounded it.

Cocking his head, he stepped closer.

It was easier to fold the paper. Using every thin page within the entire holy book’s binding was sometimes like trying to provide a careful inoculation with a hefty bottle of police riot mace. The act of wrapping specific pages down carefully into easily tossed objects had less to do with divine simulacrum and much more about making something that would stick like a thorn into the side of something soft. Like holy water, if their target was what they assumed it was, the touch of the scriptures would be like pressing a hot iron brand against unprepared flesh.

Sam wasn’t sure what its actual shape was. Not like it was when it was doing its best to hide in plain sight. Not everything had a face to sketch later on anyway. Even fewer had a pair of eyes you could note a color on. It probably thought it had been doing a pretty good job of it so far. It had a dead body for every month it had risen quietly out of the ground without calling any attention to itself. Studying the length of it, Sam crouched down by his bag and considered how far the pitch branches went up as he lost sight of them in the jumble of foliage above. He wouldn’t have to toss his ninja star made pages of text. He could just walk right up and stick them in like a bulletin board.

Dad had always said in about one hundred different variations that what could kill you might never look like what you think it should. The gaping jaws of a great white weren’t exactly what they had out here in the shifting shadows to directly pinpoint when and where to duck. The lethal didn’t hang signs and the poisonous wasn’t always brandished in a safety orange.

When he got closer to its bizarre slick surface he saw that it was damp, condensation settled on it and running down its minor imperfections like sweat.

The words that went along with the press of sharp edged paper weren’t the hardest or even the most fantastical the book had to offer. Sometimes the easy squeeze of a trigger and the equivalent of a single gunshot was all it took to put down some of the most powerful creatures that walked the lit world. It wasn’t much different with what stalked the tall grasses on the flip side.

There was a strange sound.

As Sam pushed the third jagged shaped piece of paper into the strange yield of the tree that wasn’t a tree at all, a sharp hissing noise began. It reminded him of leaving a kettle on an open fire when the water was just starting to pick up to boil. Hurriedly pushing in the last of the paper in a pattern that would lend even more to the entry wound so to speak, he stepped back with his ready firearm and waited for what might happen next.

He didn’t expect it to move.

The nature of it made it a passive thing that waited for unwary prey. His knowledge of what stood right before him did nothing to lessen the danger. Paying extra special attention wouldn’t do him a whole lot of good either. The noise had started into a guttural hissing and he glanced down to see that the circle of paper he’d made was now running black sap in steady thick ropes of liquid down its trunk. It smelled warm and heavy like blood, not the sweet crisp scent of sap and sugar. As he watched the dark color of the tree starting to pale, turning a sickly gray before his eyes.

So this was it?

Just in case he spun the full barrel in his pistol and counted the consecrated rounds. A few of these plugged where he'd started the work should finish the trick if need be.

The sound was startling no matter how many times in his life he’d prepared himself for it. The stutter of orange light erupting from the weapon sent him back on one foot to brace himself much more than he usually thought to worry about. His new thin arms took the brunt of it however, his aim straying up almost half a foot off the mark. Swearing softly, he compensated. It was no worse than having to correct for a strong wind or a tweaked site. With a little extra attention it all came out just as accurate as ever.

The noise had stopped.

Looking around he was surprised Dean hadn’t showed up by now. Drawn by the rattling ring of three solid discharges, his brother wasn’t going to be the only one who would come running when they heard something like that on the campus in the middle of the night. Not to mention the brand new body that was laying just a few yards away. All he had to do now was—

Everything went a blinding sheet of white.

Sam knew it was bad news when he realized he hadn’t felt anything until he was lying flat out on his back a good distance away. Whether he dropped it or it had been flung aside, his pistol was no longer in his grip or anywhere on the ground nearby. Groaning, he brought a shaking hand up under his eye where a thick branch had brought itself down and across his face and chest. The faint stickiness over his collar bone told him pretty much all he needed to know. Nothing broken. Maybe some stitches later. Sitting up a wave of light flared in front of his eyes and he had time to wonder if he’d hit his head a little harder than he thought.

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the deep whine and creak of wood as it laboriously bent and twisted above in the dim mottle of the trees. It was coming back.

Without thinking much about it, Sam quickly rolled as fast and hard as he could to the side. The scraping feel of a dozen branches whooshing down into the ground beside him gave him enough incentive to roll one more time, his hand landing on the flat cool metal of a gun.

Sam frowned down at it. It wasn’t his. Rolling one more time onto his back, he flipped it up and leveled it out not caring much how his brother’s much heavier and finely etched semi-automatic came to be sitting around in the mud like cast off garbage. The recoil was much easier to take with his shoulders firmly grounded in the soil, and this time, when the bullets shattered into the now stark white surface of the creature’s guise, Sam knew it had finally found the mark.

The tree that had never really been a tree at all gathered itself up and straightened into its full height, the branches not quite lifting back to where they had hung stoically just before. The bleached skin of its façade bled freely from the wounds Sam had inflicted on it, flowing and almost spraying like someone had turned on a gurgling faucet.

His gaze flickered up when he heard the sharp sound of wood breaking. After a few feet up into the leaves he couldn’t make out much of anything even with his weak flashlight trained up into the slow churn of the breeze.

Another dull crack made him quickly sit up and attempt to get to his feet. Hissing, he found one of his ankles had made some unfortunate contact with the ground when he’d landed. Testing it, he found that he could put about as much pressure on it as he could to maybe get to a stand again. He’d never twisted an ankle in his entire life. Especially from just getting pushed over.

Crawling backwards and making sure he was well out of the tree’s range, he checked the magazine as it slid out into his palm. That was strange. Dean had fired the weapon. Recently. There were only a few shots left in the cartridge. Why hadn’t he heard any of it? The campus was so quiet you could hear a car door slam clear cross the quad—

The withered white circumference of the target loudly ruptured, oozing legions splitting up and down its length. For a moment, Sam thought the sheath of fleshy wood was starting to implode somehow. Two more fractured holes suddenly burst through its skin, the exit marks and sound something that Sam knew well enough to cause him to flatten back against the ground. It was gun fire. Gun fire coming from the inside out.

He blinked up at it.

The fissure widened enough that some darker shape inside of it started to become visible, something not made from the gray gelatinous make up of the being. The small circular knot on the tree’s bark that had begun to drip like heated wax was now elongated practically to the ground. From between its strained edges, something fell out, limply and apart from the rapid deterioration of what stood around it.

It was an arm.

Dean’s other gun dropped from a pale hanging hand. Scrambling backwards to try to get back onto his feet, Sam swayed to a stand, clutching the pistol in one hand and the nice dry rough hewn of an old oak to keep him up. He abruptly thought of every crime photo they’d seen. Every single lack of indication of a struggle. Every detail around the body without one sign to suggest that these people had done anything but get comfortable and suffocate for no good reason.

A shoulder fell loose.


Ignoring the red hot pain that almost sent him back onto the ground, Sam rushed to the gaping hole and grasped the wrist and arm at the elbow. His brother’s body moved loosely in the hollow’s slushy insides. The thing was dying and it wasn’t holding on tight anymore.

Pulling as hard as he could, Dean slid sideways, his head slipping free and hanging limply in the air.

He wasn’t prepared for the unexpected full dead weight of his brother when the rest of it gave way. Dean’s body fell in the direction in which it was being heaved and that was right down on top of Sam. Everything went pale again as the breath got knocked clear out from his lungs. Sam felt his hands. He worked the phantom of their prior broadness and strength. His hands could handle the stature of someone like his brother with no problem but now he was suddenly barely able to lift one shoulder away so he could get out from under him.

Sam turned his brother’s face so he could catch it in the flashlight he wedged up under his arm. His features were set just like all the others. Eyes wide but calm.

Dean had interrupted its feeding. Sam had done the exact same thing but it hadn’t quite finished its work yet. However, it hadn’t treated Dean as neatly, the surprise of him and his threat had caused it to bruise where it would usually only leave unmarred spans of baffling perfect flesh. Its slow steady constriction was double timed to make short work of this man that had made the mistake of knowing it for what it was.

Sam’s own lungs weren’t something he had thought about either. When he pushed what he had down into Dean’s airway it didn’t make his brother’s chest rise sharply like he wanted it to. Making a small sound he realized what panic now sounded like, he pressed an ear down on the still chest to listen for what could be left of a heart beat. Trembling hands searched the bare skin under the damp shirt for any of his own bullets sent unknowingly into the creature's shell.

The piercing jarring cracks from the rotting husk of the beast startled Sam into looking up at what was left of it. Expecting to see the entire stand of trees all shattered and splintered down on either side of the clearing he found nothing had changed but the object of his search. It looked more now what it actually had been. The shape of yellowed bones lay down amongst the viscous pool of matter that had constituted its formation. The area it had made claim to as something natural and benign now left an open hole up to the moon and its sky above.

Sam breathed down into his brother’s mouth in careful timed intervals, compressions against the clammy skin of his chest in between. The colorful display of the phone lay open on the ground. Help and all its machines were too far away to help in any way no matter how efficiently they’d been summoned.

“Wha- what happened?”

The sound of the woman’s voice scared him so badly he made another one of those high pitched sounds that he wasn’t certain how he managed to create. Half laying over his brother’s body as if obscuring it from her sight would somehow do him some good, Sam worked his mouth at the sight of the tall lady.

“Are- are you okay?” Sam heard himself ask as he watched her lean down. A little unsure on her feet, she fumbled with the handle of the clothing bag that sat on the ground near by.

Her befuddled gaze fell on the gleam of the various pistols that were scattered around in the immediate vicinity.

“W-Wait!” Sam called out as she backed away and got her legs to start working well enough for a decent run.

He had no idea why he didn’t want her out of here. Well, he could think of a few things. But it was nothing he hadn’t already alerted in the form of about three different protective service departments. This dark campus was about to be lit up three ways with a few black & whites, an ambulance and maybe even a fire truck with a ladder on it.

But they wouldn’t be needed.

It wasn’t a huge shock when Dean’s hand moved over his and took it away from his jaw. The monster’s release on its own existence seemed to have an effect on what it had laid hands on to smother slowly in the dark. Sam hadn’t planned on it or expected it but he knew better than to not count his blessings whenever it was they came around.

“Y-You got it.”

Dean’s voice sounded weird. Congested and fuzzy. The way that thing put an end to what lived and breathed was pretty nasty no matter how gentle it appeared in the end. To punctuate the point, Dean started coughing harshly, working up whatever he’d inhaled and spitting it out onto the grass.

Sam put his shoulder into it and burrowed as hard as he could under Dean’s side. Using his good foot he used all the strength he had in his knees to push his brother up to a seat against a slope of rock. Satisfied that Dean was alive and breathing, he hurried through the dim light collecting all the firearms and shoving them back into his backpack. Breathless, he saw exactly what the authorities would find when they arrived shortly; a strange damp spot in the thick mud with a half submerged skeleton. When they eventually figured out its age they would wonder quite a bit more about how the hell it had ended up where it had. But that was all now another man’s mystery.

“We gotta go.” Sam whispered, the edge of his urgency spiking when the hitch and blare of a siren caught less than a block away. “Can you move, should I get the—“

“I’m perfect.” Dean panted in retort.

His brother was already getting up on his feet. Experimentally twisting at his wrenched shoulder and wrist, he was looking backwards at what was left of the bubbling gray heap. Sam found himself pulling hard at the stiff leather sleeve rather than raising his voice again. But Dean wasn’t moving. Frustrated, Sam searched his face for any reason why they shouldn’t be hauling ass as fast as they could to the car.

“So you decided to show.” Dean observed.

“I guess I did.”

Even in the dark, Dean obviously could see the gash on Sam’s face and the mess it had made on the top of his chest. Hobbling in place, Sam wasn’t quite sure what else to say. Dean’s look didn’t miss his tottering either. But it wasn’t anything he was unable to handle. It certainly didn’t hurt so badly that he couldn’t hear the stifled police radio noise stammer into the static of their handhelds. The authorities were getting more than pretty close.

Sam limped a few feet away hoping it would jump start his brother into seeing they had to get moving now. He made another weird sound when he felt the bag’s slack tighten hot and raw across the wound over his collar bone, the backpack hanging under him as his brother got one solid arm up under his knees and around his back.

Leaves and thin branches were whipping at their faces as Dean started traveling fast and far, taking a decent jump down a cement embankment and coming up the other side in less time than it took Sam to wonder which way they should go. He squirmed when his brother paused, the pain hammering in his ankle making him gnaw his lip instead of using it. But his dignity fought his silence and won.

“How far is it? I can walk—“

“You weigh as much as one of them… them…” Dean muttered as he took up the small dirt path that lined what looked like the well ventilated back of the cafeteria. “…them dogs in a bag.”

With a sigh, he awkwardly wrapped his other arm around the front of Dean’s neck. Hoping it would make the chore easier, Sam tried to will his shape to be as small and light as possible. He certainly felt as close to almost nothing as his brother claimed. Pushing his face into Dean’s shoulder, he let out a deep trapped exhale he’d been holding somewhere in the back of his throat ever since his sneakers had hit the street that night. He hadn’t been pressed that closely into that combined strong smell of sweat and leather since he had been a boy and their father had either been away for too long or had a few too many. Sometimes a little of both.

Sam would never admit it to anyone in one million years but he would miss this when it was over and done with. He knew this feeling of shelter would never come back no matter what life came up with down his road. It wasn’t lost to him that to experience it at any kind of level meant he had had to be stripped down to almost no pure physical defense of his own.

It was difficult to know what you had to let go of completely just for one glimpse of somewhere else. The universe’s vigilant system of checks and balances made sure you never got copious amounts from either side of the fence. No matter what side you happened to fall down on.

Dean eased him down and set him up against the car. He had to conduct the search twice before any car keys were found.

His brother was in a little bit worse shape than he was letting on.

Sam touched the burning sticky skin just above his shirt collar. He wondered if this body was capable of hiding just about anything at all.

“It’s stupid Sam.”

“What is?”

“It’s like… it’s like a fork in your cereal or…or watching the Food Network! It’s pointless and frustrating!”

Sam gingerly crossed his legs out on the bed, mindful of the thickly wrapped ankle that hurt worse than anything he could remember ever doing to himself. That included a pretty long list of shitty things. If he put his weight on it in any way whatsoever the dull throb went razor-sharp and turned so searing it almost made him stop breathing. He knew without reading all about it that the healing curve was on the outside of a week. Not a very long time in the scheme of things. A freaking sunless eternity when you wanted nothing else but to be able to get up and around.

However, it sure was a nice distraction from all that business roiling away between his hips.

Sam turned his attention back to the issue at hand.

“It’s not pointless.” He took a swig out the bottle of root beer that his brother had scored from somewhere other than a two aisled convenience store. “It’s how the creators facilitated their own vision—“

“Aw man.” Dean put his head down into both hands, pulling his knees up so he could rest his elbows up on his most comfortable pair of jeans. “Only you would defend that bullshit under—under claiming creative license!”

Sam wondered if he should start in on the Orange-n-Cream soda next or just go for more ginger beer. There was also that half empty pizza box and a carton of hot wings he hadn’t quite put away yet. This being laid up and locked up against his will thing wasn’t half bad. It was almost better than being 5 years old and having the flu. You got almost anything you wanted and had more television than you knew how to handle. Dean had more or less joined him in the exile, his shoulder bandaged up and his hand in a splint. Besides, sitting around cheering for the rebels while you stuffed your face was never something Dean would refuse without good reason.

The channel broke mid-commercial, a vague sun soaked ad for something that could have been an anti-depressant or some kind of cancer control. The local news stumbled into its place with that mild nervous laughter that always came out of professionals stuck on a live feed gone wrong.

They both listened to the report of a young student who seemed to have escaped her attacker in the middle of the night. Not just any attacker, but authorities were certain it had been the assailant whom had been terrorizing the school for months now. The physical description of the crazed murderer made Sam fight a grin. He would have loved to have gotten into a line up for that one. He could have asked to borrow a couple of their telephone books to make a decent picture.

Just another reason why he should keep low here on the outskirts of town.

Soon this face would run away for him anyway. For a second he wondered if that kid Josh, the guy with the trashed truck, would notice his picture and consider if he had somehow narrowly missed the fate of all the other victims. The faintest idea that a man like that might have gotten some healthy fear settled down into him almost made the entire week just about worth it.

“How come mine was only three days?” Dean speculated out loud as he peeled back the adhesive from his hand for the hundredth time.

Sam looked at him sideways with a little disgust. Everything always went so easy for Dean. It was the story of their collective lives. Day three had come and gone with yesterday. Dean had examined the faded blue line. They had both went back to all the books they’d referred to before. They hadn’t found anything new of note. Nothing to try or say but wait it out like they had the first time.

“Because.” Sam mumbled.

He made himself more comfortable in the half pile of stiff pillows and softer comforters he’d sculpted out of what was available on his bed. Angling the remote around his propped up foot, he found with a certain amount of glee that Episode Two was coming right up no matter how many fans had tragically jumped off bridges in protest as his brother claimed.

The critical but riveting music had started, the curl of stark font beginning its scroll up the star smattered screen.

“Sam, I’d rather watch that fucking show about how old people find out their ancient civil war porcelain nose cleaner is worth 1,000,000 bucks—“

He chucked the channel changer at his brother’s bed with a sigh. It was always easier to cut to the chase and just let him have it. More than happy to be back in complete media control, Dean leaned back and found a half filled soda bottle amongst the empties to take up for whoever had left off.

Sam cleared his throat, thinking about how much longer he would actually hear himself sounding like that and feeling a small piece of regret that he hadn’t expected. However terrible or kind it had been, he was still in the end, just the same old Sam.

Chance is perhaps the pseudonym of God when he does not wish to sign his work.*”

Dean was doing less than not paying attention. His brother was flipping channels, scrolling down his cell phone and trying to get a pen under the scratchy material over his healing shoulder all at the same time. Looking down at the beige dressing that covered up half his own small chest, the idea of a jaunty signature there made Sam smile a little bit more than it should. Grabbing the half unwrapped chunk of chocolate that was sitting amongst the pile of other edible debris, he shoved it in his mouth. Steadily feeding himself junk for the past 24 hours, he tried to ignore that half of what he ate was ending up in smaller pieces on his shirt. Being a terrible abject mess had never really been quite this satisfying.

So he had a few more days of hourly showers and some unfathomable desire for the suddenly intoxicating aroma of drier sheets? Weirder shit had happened. It seemed nothing ever got shaken out of a deity’s bottle of damnation quite the same time every try anyway.

Sam sighed shortly when he made the mistake of looking at the chained door with the motel chair wedged under it.

Some were just luckier than others.

The end

* Anatole France
Tags: sam's turn
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