Fic: Over The Hill (Supernatural)
Apr. 6th, 2008 08:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Over The Hill
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 961
Summary: A hunter and a demon walk into a bar…
Two men walked into a bar. One of them moved lighter than the other, for his body was younger, though the rest of him was thousands of years old. The other man, taller despite his stoop and middle-aged and twice as solemn as the many graves he’d escaped, sat down without delay or distraction. The old young man, on the other hand, ambled.
It’d been a long time since he’d been in a roadhouse, and though the rowdy, gritty atmosphere hadn’t changed, the little things had. The drinks had different logos, the people wore different fashions. And his little brother had gotten old.
After a leer at a biker chick, he sat down. His current meat-suit wasn’t the original; that had long since rotted away. Magic had turned the new one into a fair approximation of the old, but it lacked the craftsmanship of nature. When he moved, he moved wrong.
“Hey-ya, Sammy. Long time no see.”
“Hello…” Sam’s voice was tired, resigned. Dean had genuinely believed he would be happy to see him. “I suppose it would be easiest to refer to you as Dean.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Dean grinned cockily, his eyes twinkling black.
They sat in silence, Dean signaling for a beer. It arrived and Dean gave a lascivious wink to the waitress.
“Well, you’re chatty,” Dean said after a swig.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Gee, I don’t know. ‘Welcome back, good to see you again, how was Hell?‘ ‘Character-building! I only roasted there for about thirty years, your time, but in my experience it was thousands upon thousands of years.’ Because in Hell, time passes differently. Pleasure is fleeting, discomfort lingers. Kinda like watching a Wayans brother movie.”
“You’re a demon.”
“Glad to see the years haven’t loosened your firm grasp of the obvious.”
“You’ve been hurting people.”
“Kinda goes with the territory, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sam said, some fire entering his voice, some steel. “You’re not my brother. Not anymore.”
“So, how ‘bout dem Yankees?” Dean responded, after a somber pause. “You think Father Jim would like what they’ve done to his church?” He looked over at a stained-glass window, advertisement for God, with chainlink covering it.
The call had come from out of the blue. Dean wanted a meet. And the church-turned-roadhouse was as good a place as any. Consecrated ground, but just unholy enough to let Dean walk it. Sam had considered that it was a trap… but what choice did he have?
Dean drank again. He made exactly the face Dean would’ve made thirty years ago. Had made, as he got liquored up and waited for the crossroads demon to collect.
“Stop that!” Sam snapped.
“Stop what? Being your brother?”
“You’re not—“
“Heard you the first time. I’m not some demon riding your brother’s skin. I’m the same guy, just with a… call it an immoral awakening.”
“I can’t… the Dean I know would’ve never become the thing he hated.”
Dean leaned forward, swaying his bottle by the neck between them like a bell. “The Dean you knew died waiting for his brother to rescue him. I’m what survived. You can’t begin to imagine what they did to me, what they showed me. They deserve this world so much more than the sheep.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Dad did. Remember? ‘Outsiders,’ ‘civilians,’… the people he said he was protecting, but didn’t he always treat them with such disdain?”
“We protect them,” Sam said, his face set in stone and hardening by the moment.
“It was never about protecting them!” Dean argued. “The hunt was always about revenge. They killed mom, we killed ‘em right back. Why do you think we killed all those demons instead of exorcising them? We killed their meat-suits too!”
“We had no choice,” Sam said tersely. “They would’ve wanted it that way. Remember the people we exorcised? If it was a choice between being used as a host for one of those things and death, anyone with an ounce of guts would choose death.”
“You got it?” Dean asked, abrupt as a heart attack.
“The Colt? Yeah… oh God, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“I want to make a deal.”
“No, you don’t." Like so many times in his life, the bitter came with the sweet for Sam. The revulsion came with relief. Dean wanted this. He could do it. His brother was still alive and Sam could still save him. "You want to die. You want me to kill you.”
“Get real, Sammy. I like being a demon. You hand over that Colt, I can get you amnesty." Dean reached out, his hand slowing as if he expected Sam to flinch away, then when it was clear Sam wouldn’t take it as a threat he clasped his brother's shoulder firmly. "And when we win, when the world goes to hell, you can be at my side. Like old times.”
Dean felt Sam's muscles tense under his jacket as Sam set the Colt down on the table… angled toward Dean. “Whatever’s left of you, wants me to put you out of your misery.”
“And whatever’s left of my brother wants to join me. Come on. You put up a good fight, but it’s time to cash in your chips. It’s useless to fight. This is inevitable.”
“Yeah. I suppose it is.” Sam put his finger inside the trigger guard.
Dean’s eyes went darker than pitch. “I suppose there’s no way I can convince you to keep it in your pants?”
“Nope.”
“One more round, than? For old time’s sake.”
Sam’s nostrils flared for a moment. Then he motioned to the waitress. “For old time’s sake.”
“Good boy, Sam. So, how’s business for Little Sam? Got me any nephews or nieces yet?”
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 961
Summary: A hunter and a demon walk into a bar…
Two men walked into a bar. One of them moved lighter than the other, for his body was younger, though the rest of him was thousands of years old. The other man, taller despite his stoop and middle-aged and twice as solemn as the many graves he’d escaped, sat down without delay or distraction. The old young man, on the other hand, ambled.
It’d been a long time since he’d been in a roadhouse, and though the rowdy, gritty atmosphere hadn’t changed, the little things had. The drinks had different logos, the people wore different fashions. And his little brother had gotten old.
After a leer at a biker chick, he sat down. His current meat-suit wasn’t the original; that had long since rotted away. Magic had turned the new one into a fair approximation of the old, but it lacked the craftsmanship of nature. When he moved, he moved wrong.
“Hey-ya, Sammy. Long time no see.”
“Hello…” Sam’s voice was tired, resigned. Dean had genuinely believed he would be happy to see him. “I suppose it would be easiest to refer to you as Dean.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Dean grinned cockily, his eyes twinkling black.
They sat in silence, Dean signaling for a beer. It arrived and Dean gave a lascivious wink to the waitress.
“Well, you’re chatty,” Dean said after a swig.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Gee, I don’t know. ‘Welcome back, good to see you again, how was Hell?‘ ‘Character-building! I only roasted there for about thirty years, your time, but in my experience it was thousands upon thousands of years.’ Because in Hell, time passes differently. Pleasure is fleeting, discomfort lingers. Kinda like watching a Wayans brother movie.”
“You’re a demon.”
“Glad to see the years haven’t loosened your firm grasp of the obvious.”
“You’ve been hurting people.”
“Kinda goes with the territory, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sam said, some fire entering his voice, some steel. “You’re not my brother. Not anymore.”
“So, how ‘bout dem Yankees?” Dean responded, after a somber pause. “You think Father Jim would like what they’ve done to his church?” He looked over at a stained-glass window, advertisement for God, with chainlink covering it.
The call had come from out of the blue. Dean wanted a meet. And the church-turned-roadhouse was as good a place as any. Consecrated ground, but just unholy enough to let Dean walk it. Sam had considered that it was a trap… but what choice did he have?
Dean drank again. He made exactly the face Dean would’ve made thirty years ago. Had made, as he got liquored up and waited for the crossroads demon to collect.
“Stop that!” Sam snapped.
“Stop what? Being your brother?”
“You’re not—“
“Heard you the first time. I’m not some demon riding your brother’s skin. I’m the same guy, just with a… call it an immoral awakening.”
“I can’t… the Dean I know would’ve never become the thing he hated.”
Dean leaned forward, swaying his bottle by the neck between them like a bell. “The Dean you knew died waiting for his brother to rescue him. I’m what survived. You can’t begin to imagine what they did to me, what they showed me. They deserve this world so much more than the sheep.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Dad did. Remember? ‘Outsiders,’ ‘civilians,’… the people he said he was protecting, but didn’t he always treat them with such disdain?”
“We protect them,” Sam said, his face set in stone and hardening by the moment.
“It was never about protecting them!” Dean argued. “The hunt was always about revenge. They killed mom, we killed ‘em right back. Why do you think we killed all those demons instead of exorcising them? We killed their meat-suits too!”
“We had no choice,” Sam said tersely. “They would’ve wanted it that way. Remember the people we exorcised? If it was a choice between being used as a host for one of those things and death, anyone with an ounce of guts would choose death.”
“You got it?” Dean asked, abrupt as a heart attack.
“The Colt? Yeah… oh God, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“I want to make a deal.”
“No, you don’t." Like so many times in his life, the bitter came with the sweet for Sam. The revulsion came with relief. Dean wanted this. He could do it. His brother was still alive and Sam could still save him. "You want to die. You want me to kill you.”
“Get real, Sammy. I like being a demon. You hand over that Colt, I can get you amnesty." Dean reached out, his hand slowing as if he expected Sam to flinch away, then when it was clear Sam wouldn’t take it as a threat he clasped his brother's shoulder firmly. "And when we win, when the world goes to hell, you can be at my side. Like old times.”
Dean felt Sam's muscles tense under his jacket as Sam set the Colt down on the table… angled toward Dean. “Whatever’s left of you, wants me to put you out of your misery.”
“And whatever’s left of my brother wants to join me. Come on. You put up a good fight, but it’s time to cash in your chips. It’s useless to fight. This is inevitable.”
“Yeah. I suppose it is.” Sam put his finger inside the trigger guard.
Dean’s eyes went darker than pitch. “I suppose there’s no way I can convince you to keep it in your pants?”
“Nope.”
“One more round, than? For old time’s sake.”
Sam’s nostrils flared for a moment. Then he motioned to the waitress. “For old time’s sake.”
“Good boy, Sam. So, how’s business for Little Sam? Got me any nephews or nieces yet?”
no subject
Date: 2008-04-07 07:15 am (UTC)