onasteelhorse | an exercise in control (for hunter

Entry tags:

[rp partner]: hunter_returns

an exercise in control (for hunter_returns)

It didn't escape Dean just how fucked up this was. But so was the whole situation, so what the hell, right? If it got Sam back, if it got him to see how that Ruby bitch was fucking with his head and helping him get hooked on something that was going to lead nowhere good... well, Dean could take the fall out. He'd take whatever hate Sam could throw at him, but he wasn't letting his brother damn himself like this.

He wasn't going to let Sammy turn himself into a monster.

So, he found a spell. He hated dealing in magic and witches, but if it all went right... well, it meant he'd have enough pull over Sam to get him to stop until he finished detoxing this time and hopefully realized just what the demon blood was doing to him.

To them both, really.

He was fucking terrified Sam was going to do something stupid, wind up in a worse situation. He couldn't let him, even if it meant betraying him in one of the worst ways.

The spell was cast though and all Dean had to do now was sit back in the tiny motel room and wait for Sam to get back from wherever he slipped off to today. He tried to play it casual, flipping through channels and fought down his nerves and conscience alike.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Right. As long as Dad said so. As long as it was his way or the highway. Remember?" It was a cheap shot, but he was too angry to see a clear way out of the argument. "I'm a hunter Dean, I'm doing the job. That's what matters, isn't it?"

That was all that mattered to Dad before the end. What's the difference now? He's doing what he'd been trained to do.

"Even when I didn't want back in."

That got Dean to falter, hurt flashing across his face before he could mask it under another glare. He looked away for a moment, hands clenched tight into fists at his side.

It'd be too easy to take a shot, but Dean resisted that urge.

"Jesus, Sam..." There was so much he could say. So much he wanted to say, but... dammit, he was tired of fighting and seeing who could give the hardest blow next. He shook his head and looked away.

"Forget it. I'm not dealing with this shit, Sam. I've fucked up... I know that I have, alright? I let Dad kick you out and I dragged you back in when you had something good going for you. I get it." Not like he wasn't all too familiar with each of his fuck ups from his time in Hell. They didn't let you forget your failures, forget what you really were down there.

"You resent me or hate me, fine. But I'll be damned if I watch you destroy yourself, Sam."

Later, he'll be sick with guilt over that wounded look on his brother's face.

Right now however, right now Sam can't think beyond the blind anger threatening to choke him. When Dean turns away, he scowled, turning towards his duffel. "Screw this. I know what I'm doing Dean. You don't like it, don't watch, but I'm taking her down."

A frustrated sound slipped free. He can get to his duffel, but when he reached out for his jacket his hand simply.. stopped.

"You're the most frustrating son of a bitch... you know that, Sam?" He clenched his hands tighter, frowning as he watched Sam grab his things, no doubt wanting to leave. Run off.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he finally forced out after a moment. Even seeing red, he hated having to do this to his own damn brother. It was for the best in the end, right?

So he had done something to him.

Sam rounded on his brother, torn between betrayal and fury. The one thing he’d balked against his entire life was being controlled. He fought against their Dad’s dictates his entire life, fought every decision that had been made for him, without his input. And knowing that, knowing how much Sam hated that, Dean still went and did.. whatever he’d done.

He dropped the canvas bag at his feet , turning his back on Dean. He had to calm down. He’d burned through too much of his power already dealing with the demon and without more blood.. things were going to get bad for him very soon.

“You’re as bad as he was,” he grated out.

Sleep. Maybe he could get some rest before the headaches and tremors set in. Because right now he sure as hell can’t deal with his brother. Can’t even look at him.

He knows. He knows it too damn well. But if it saves Sam, he'll take that look of betrayal and he'll just be damned all over again. Not like he really deserves any better, right?

He shook his head, a wry smile coming to his lips. "Yeah, okay, Sammy."

He tries to pretend this doesn't hurt, that he's not sick with himself. He doesn't try to pretend Sam probably won't hate him... at least for a while anyway. Nobody can hold a grudge like that kid. "I don't really give a crap right now if it stops you from becoming something you don't really want to be, Sam. I know you. You don't have to stay around me, but you're not touching demon blood again. Got it?"

His hand snapped shut and Sam ruthlessly stomped down a desire to round on Dean and just take one shot at him. Just one. He was cut off now – couldn’t talk to Ruby, couldn’t see her, and now Dean had forbidden him to touch the blood that was secreted away in his jacket. Sitting on the corner of the bed, as far away from Dean as he could get, Sam raked his hands through his hair. It was like he was twelve all over again. Edicts delivered and Sammy had to fall in line because he couldn’t be a good soldier like Dean. Couldn’t just obey without question. Follow orders, Sam. It’s for your own good.

“I hate you.”

Words he’d never said to his brother before, but they were delivered with quiet ferocity. This was a betrayal, stealing away his independence, his choice. If they were mistakes, they were his to make.

Screw this. If there was one thing Sam had excelled in as a kid, it was pushing the boundaries of orders.

He slammed the motel door behind him hard enough to rattle the window.

He’d sleep in the car. It might be miserable and cold without his jacket – but he wouldn’t have to look at Dean and right now, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Dean had tried to prepare himself for that, but actually hearing it from Sam's mouth... damn, it was like a punch to the gut. Sam got his shot in, alright... and it hurt worse than any actual punch could.

If one good thing came out of it, it was Sam storming out so he didn't get to see that broken look on Dean's face, the doubt that he should undo this because really, he's never been able to deal well with Sam possibly hating him. Deep down, he'd never really believed he had truly ever hated him anyway. Been pissed, yeah. Resented him, sure.

But this time? he actually believed it.

He waited until the door had slammed shut to sink down on to the bed an bury his face in his hands. Not crying. Hell, he didn't even have the energy for that if he wanted to, but he was so damn spent. He just felt... done. He was done with everything. He didn't know how he was even holding on anymore.

But he couldn't break apart now. He needed some drinks and maybe an hour or so of sleep, then tomorrow... he'd tell Sam he could leave if he wanted. He wouldn't be getting to demon blood, not with the spell in place. He wouldn't be dealing with Ruby either.

((Ohgod Sam is going to feel horrible. Poor Dean.))

It’s a cold, miserable night in the back of the Impala. Not enough room for Sam to even try and get comfortable, never mind the fact that he was too hurt and too angry to even consider sleep. He would have expected manipulation like that from Castiel, from anyone else but his brother and that’s what hurt him the most. Dean was the one person he trusted more than anyone else in the world and he’d betrayed him, using magic to control him in ways that their Dad never could.

Huddled in the back seat, he finally dropped off into a restless, nightmare-filled sleep just before dawn. When he woke, feverish and sick, Sam barely had time to fling the back door open before emptying his stomach onto the pavement. He couldn’t get to Ruby, couldn’t get to the blood that would make it all stop and frustrated tears slipped down his face as he hauled himself back to the room.

He can smell the whiskey in the dark little motel room before another wave of nausea had him scrambling for the bathroom, muscles cramping up in protest as he went.

((Aww, Sammy. Dean will feel like a dick for doing this to Sam. :P))

Dean didn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, it was all Hell memories... every time in Hell that they'd used Sam against him, tore him down with Sam's hatred. What had happened earlier had been so much worse than anything they'd shown him in Hell though.

He'd known, deep down, it hadn't been real down there. It had just been another way to hurt him.

He winced when Sam came into the room again. He felt sick, himself, though not in the way Sam was. He was disgusted with himself, disappointed that it had come to this. That's not what he freaking needed to feel right now... especially when Sam seemed to have it worse than him at the moment.

It took him a few minutes to crawl out of bed. He had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark out and they were both going to be exhausted come morning. He couldn't leave Sam in there, miserable though.

"If you want, I'll drop you off at Bobby's in the morning. You can wait this out there." Because he's come this far and he can't back down now, let Sam go back to the blood that'll ease the withdrawals.

((Double the Winchester guilt, double the fun??))

Sam was pretty sure he'd just thrown up everything he'd eaten in the last month and was still clinging to the side of the bowl, trembling through another round of shakes and dry heaves. He can barely drag in a breath between them when he finally heard Dean make his way closer to the bathroom so he can hear him.

For a long moment, he doesn't even know what to tell him. A part of him, a very small part, still wants his brother around especially when he's in pain. Dean always soothed away his hurts, always took care of him.

A choked sound that's almost a sob tore free and he pulled away from the bowl, sagging back against the cold tile wall, shivering and feverish. "No."

He doesn't even know why anymore, and all his shaky brain can put together is that he can't do this alone. Bobby would dump him in the panic room and let him sweat and scream and shake it out on his own and as much as he loves the old man, Sam isn't entirely sure he can take it right now. "No."

((haha, definitely!))

"Well, I was gonna say I'd drop you off somewhere... wherever you want," he started tiredly. He was too buzzed to deal with this shit right now and suddenly, he was regretting those last few drinks. He was trying to get himself together though, because Sam was in pain. He needed him.

He's surprised Sam doesn't take him up on the offer to go with Bobby at the very least. "But I'm not doing that when you're like this. When that crap's out of your system? Alright. So, hate me or not, you're gonna have to tough it out with me for a little bit, Sam."

Right. Just dump him off. Cut him off from Ruby, from the blood, from everything that made him something and then walk. The bitterness alone is enough to choke him and Sam tucked his legs up underneath him, curling himself into a ball to try and contain the violent shakes that were starting up along his arms.

"Whatever," he finally forced out. "Jus' leave me wherever right?"

He can't focus enough to hold it together, certain that he's just going to shake himself apart in that cold little motel bathroom.

"Dammit, Sam." He can't help the frustration building up. He's the one being told how much he's hated by the one guy who means the most to him and Sam's the one who gets to act like he's being thrown away. He bites back on that bitter feeling as he goes to the sink and wets a rag.

He's never dealt with Sam going through withdrawals, but he's dealt with him sick before. He can't leave him shivering on the bathroom floor like this. Kneeling down beside him, he reaches out to try to use the cloth on his face. "I don't get you, man. You went to sleep in the car because you couldn't stand being in the same room as me. I thought you wanted me to drop you off."

It's shocking how much Dean sounded like their Dad in that moment. Annoyed. Angry. Because Sam wasn't being a good soldier like Dean.

Because you're ungrateful. We spent our lives protecting you when what I should have done was kill you when I learned what you really are.

His head snapped up, eyes wide and horrified. Seeing someone that wasn't there. "D-Dad? No. I'm.. I'm not. Not a monster. 'm making it right."

Which is why Dean had to resort to magic when what he should have done was shot you in the head. You got your mother killed. Jessica. You burn everything you touch to ash, Sam.

"Sam?" If anything could get him to push past the annoyance and anger and all the hurt, it was Sam talking to people who weren't even there.

His eyes flicked to where Sam's staring, terrified, before he reached for his face, trying to get him to look over. "Sammy, you're sick. Dad's not there, alright? He's not saying anything."

He can barely tear his eyes away from the disapproving shadow of their Dad in the doorway. Never good enough. A monster. He'd seen it in John's face since his visions started up. But it's so much worse to hear a verbal confirmation - that he'd always thought those things.

Sam choked on a broken sound as Dean brought his attention back to him. "Shoulda let me go. Shoulda let me die." A year of self-destruction because he couldn't bear the thought that his brother sacrificed everything he was for him. Sammy who was never good enough, Sammy the runaway, Sammy and his freaky psychic thing that scared everyone.

"He's right."

"No," Dean barked out a little rougher than he attended. Frowning, he tried to draw Sam even closer, slide an arm around his shoulders.

"He's not right. I'd die for you a million times over, dude. Trust me. You're worth it, alright?" Because Sam had his problems. He had a lot of darkness in him and Dean was seeing it more than he ever wanted to... but underneath all that? He was a good kid. He always had been.

Better than Dean. Smart, kind, always trying to do the exact right thing.

He tried to do the right thing, tried to at least make Dean proud of him. But this time? This time it all got away from him, slipping away into revenge and power and Sam really isn't sure how it all happened anymore.

Sobbing, Sam buried his face against his brother's shoulder. He can't be worth it. Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood, destined to be a monster.

"How do I stop it?" he finally managed. "Dean. I don't know how. How do I stop it?"

Dean's arms tightened around him as one hand came up to tangle through his brother's hair just to keep him close. "You just stop, Sammy... you trust me when I say there's other ways to end this, okay? We'll figure it out."

He doesn't know if Sam will really stay when his head clears up again, if he'll be back to being angry and hating him, but right now? His brother is crying and asking him what to do. He can't ignore that. When has he ever been able to ignore it when Sam really needs him?

"Promise you, we'll find a way to make it okay."

He doesn't need the spell to believe his brother. Dean is sure that there's another way and that's enough for Sam to believe him. Right now he doesn't see a way out, doesn't see a way that won't end in blood and pain and leave him alone again.

His hands twist in his shirt as he shakes, awkwardly curled up in his lap as the tremors take him. "Hurts," he pants, trying to get even closer. "God Dean, it hurts."

"I know," he sighs, holding Sam as close as possible. "I'm sorry."

It's not like he wants his brother to suffer. That's pretty much always the opposite of what he wants... but this is for the best. It's what he keeps reminding himself as he holds Sam tighter and rubs his hand up his spine in soothing motions.

"We need to get you to bed."

He doesn't mean to whimper, wishes he was stronger, braver. But he wasn't as strong as Dean, never was. Sam struggled to his feet, every muscle knotting up and cramping in protest as he tried to shuffle the few feet back towards the lumpy motel bed.

"Dean.. don't go," he pleads. "Please."

When Dean was gone, that's when his life tended to spiral out of control. Dean kept him strong, kept him safe.

With Sam laying down, Dean joined him, settling beside him on the bed. He wasn't planning on getting much sleep tonight, not with how Sam looked right now. he didn't figure it was in the cards tonight. He hesitated at the request and dropped a hand to brush through his hair in soothing motions.

"Don't know if you'll feel that way when you're feeling better, but I ain't leaving anytime soon, Sammy."

The tremors were rocking his entire body now and all he could do was set his jaw and try not to cry out. Everything hurt and it was just getting worse.

Dean. Dean. He could focus on that. On his brother holding him close and soothing him.

"'m not strong. Not like you. Can't.. can't do it alone." He never could.

an exercise in control (for hunter_returns)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject