Pairings this post: Wincest, gen
The image of fucking Sam here — while nice — made him think of all the motel rooms he’d ever been in. They’d grown up in motels, and they reminded him of work and hunts and dad, and of all the times a motel room had meant whatever happens tonight will be forgotten once you leave.
He didn’t want Sam to leave.
“I want to do it right,” he whispered. “And if you ever tell anyone what a fucking pussy I sound like, I will kill you and stuff you in the trunk and make your ghost help me with the fucking hunts.”
As they pulled up to the parking lot to the cemetery, Dean threw him a wide grin. “You know, most kids grew up being told not
to play in the dirt and get horribly filthy.”
“Somehow I think most kids when they play in the dirt aren’t going and digging up graves of angry spirits,” Sam pointed out, though he couldn’t work much heat into the comment in the face of his brother’s obvious happiness.
Dean frowned at him as he parked the car next to a huge old ash tree. “Don’t you ever pretend we’re digging a tunnel to China?”
Sam stared at him. “You pretend we’re digging a tunnel to China?”
“Not anymore.” Dean made a face. “But when I was little, sometimes. Yeah. Or I’d pretend I was digging an underground bunker to hide from the alien invaders.”
“Your brain scares me sometimes.”
“My brain? We’re digging up corpses
, and my brain
is what scares you?” Dean gave him a dubious look as he climbed out of the car. He walked around to the trunk and popped it open, then pulled up the top panel, revealing an array of weapons.
“The digging up corpses I’ve got used to,” Sam said, joining him at the trunk. “Your brain keeps surprising me.”
“Sam, do you remember when you were eleven and I told you about the Easter Bunny?” Dean was still frowning in that earnest way, like he was actually having a serious conversation.
“You told me that he was real, but was a monster that dipped children in boiling chocolate,” Sam said with a snort at the memory.
“And when did you figure out I was lying?”
“You want to break open the coffin and I’ll pour the salt?” Sam said, avoiding the question.
A delighted grin appeared on his brother’s face. “Sammy? When did you figure out I was lying?” He bent over to break open the coffin, though. The wood broke with a loud crack, and Dean reached down to pull the lid up.
Sam wrinkled his nose at the odour drifted up from the open coffin. “The next Easter, when I asked Dad when he was going to hunt it down,” he admitted grudgingly.( snip!Collapse )