Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-04-11 10:36 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-04-11 10:36 pm
Evil!Sam - Tell Dad I Said Hi
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Tell Dad I Said Hi
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRM/almost R
Characters: Sam and Dean (kinda) Winchester
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fic_variations Prompt: death (#1)
Content Warning: Spoilers through "Born Under a Bad Sign" to be safe, character death, and Evil!Sam.
Summary: Dean was like a wounded puppy that way. Heartbreakingly loyal to the very end. The stuff romantic heroes were made of.
Author's Note: For the record, I indirectly blame this on an entry iniamentheos's LJ, concerning evil!Sam, which then prompted evil!Sam to invade my brain, and give me the opening line, which I then proceeded to interrupt that paper I'm supposed to be working on to write. Evil!Sam, therefore, is living up to his name.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural. They're owned by the CW. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please don't use them without my permission.
It surprised him how easily his brother’s neck snapped in his hands.
He knew it was probably because Dean hadn’t seen it coming. Had he known that Sam was going to sneak up behind him and kill him he probably would have fought back a helluva lot more. Maybe even shot him. On the other hand, that probably wouldn’t have happened. Dean was like a wounded puppy that way. Heartbreakingly loyal to the end. The stuff romantic heroes were made of. He didn’t have the balls to shoot his baby brother, even if his life depended on it. Sam almost pitied him.
Almost.
Sam, on the other hand, had seen this coming before he even planned on it—he’d seen it in his dreams weeks before hand, and while there was the small part of him that had panicked, frantic over what he was going to do, for the most part—he knew it had been a long time coming. He was tired of playing the fragile, breakable Sam with the puppy dog eyes that Dean wanted to see. He was sick of being the good brother. It really had never suited him in the first place. He rolled his neck and rotated his shoulders as he let Dean drop to the ground rather unceremoniously, not really caring about respecting the dead and all that. Besides—who was going to really care in the long run? Dean was a serial killer—a murderer. If the local law enforcement took the time to try and ID him after they found him in the morning, Sam knew that if was very unlikely that they would put a lot of effort into trying to find his killer. And by then, Sam was going to be long gone.
He paced slightly away from him, before turning back to look at the wide green eyes staring back at him. He was practically drinking up the last moments of fear he saw. He had never realized what a drug fear was, but the again, he rarely ever got a chance to see it in Dean. He wore his confidence like a mask, only letting it down in moments where he didn’t think Sam was watching. He was so determined, so desperate to save Sam, the only family he had left, that he refused to let Sam see how scared he really was. But he was scared—so very scared in a way that shook him to his core—and Sam relished the fact that that was the look that was going to be forever frozen on his face.
Well—at least until he salted and burned the body. Couldn’t have his brother’s pesky spirit trying to derail him from what he wanted to do. Knowing Dean, he would probably haunt that damn car. It was probably the one thing on this earth he was more connected to than Sam.
Sam walked back over to the body and crouched down next to him, studying his face with a bit of bizarre fascination. Death on Dean wasn’t that much different than life, it seemed. Although, he was so worn down by the job and the weights that their father and even Sam himself had placed on him, that he was like the walking dead to being with. If he chose to look at it that way, he was probably doing Dean a favor. Now Dean didn’t have anything to worry about. Nothing he could do anything about, at least. He was dead.
“You know, Dean,” Sam said, pushing his brother’s body limply onto his back, “We could have caused a lot of trouble together. My visions, combined with—well, you—we could of gotten the boss man’s work done in half the time. But you had to be so damn noble. You had to keep getting in my way.”
He chuckled slightly as he got up, before walking over to where he had left the rock salt and gasoline. “Well—I guess that’s not going to be a problem now, is it Dean?” He shook his head slowly, “Nope.” He sprinkled rock salt over the body, and then picked up the metal gasoline container, and crouched back down next to the body again. “But I appreciate what you tried to do for me. It was almost sweet—in a sappy, family drama kinda way.”
He started to pour gasoline over the body, when he heard the scuffle of boots behind him, and a startled, almost disoriented voice that he knew in a heartbeat.
“Sam? What the hell is going on?”
Sam got up and turned to face his brother, a matter-of-fact look on his face, “You’re dead, Dean.”
His face faltered, a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and there was a nervous laugh in his voice as he spoke again, “What the hell are you talking about, Sammy?”
“You’re dead. As in no longer living.”
“Whadaya—I can’t be dead.”
“Well—you are.”
Sam stepped aside at this point, and Dean stared back into his own face, eyes still wide as they had been when he felt his brother grab him in the chokehold and force his head upwards. Remember the wounded puppy analogy from before? Now Dean looked like a kicked puppy—knowing somewhere that the person he loved the most was responsible for it, but pushing it to the side and still hoping that that person would love them too, and tell them it was just a mistake.
Sam gave a subtle shrug of his shoulders before he continued moving about what he was doing, tossing the metal gasoline can away before fumbling in his pockets for the matchbook he had grabbed earlier. Dean finally snapped his spirit self out of it enough to notice, and he frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting you to rest,” Sam replied, finally finding the matches, “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“To hell with that!” Dean said, wide eyed, “Find the thing that did this to me first, and beat the ever living shit out of it.”
Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his head, “I think that’s gonna be kinda hard to do, Dean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think we both know,” Sam said, and Dean continued look at him, begging for it not to be true, hoping that all the fighting he had done for him hadn’t been in vain, when he knew, and he just didn’t want to believe it.
“Sam—” Dean began, his voice choking on his words, “Sam, please—”
“Sorry, Dean,” he sighed, lighting a match and holding it up briefly, “It’s been nice knowing you, and I’d love to drag this out and have a nice brotherly moment before I send your ass off to the great beyond, but I really don’t have the time.” He dropped the match onto the body before turning to Dean with a sardonic smile.
“See you in hell, big brother. Tell Dad I said hi.”
Title: Tell Dad I Said Hi
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRM/almost R
Characters: Sam and Dean (kinda) Winchester
fic_variations Prompt: death (#1)Content Warning: Spoilers through "Born Under a Bad Sign" to be safe, character death, and Evil!Sam.
Summary: Dean was like a wounded puppy that way. Heartbreakingly loyal to the very end. The stuff romantic heroes were made of.
Author's Note: For the record, I indirectly blame this on an entry in
iamentheos's LJ, concerning evil!Sam, which then prompted evil!Sam to invade my brain, and give me the opening line, which I then proceeded to interrupt that paper I'm supposed to be working on to write. Evil!Sam, therefore, is living up to his name.Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural. They're owned by the CW. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please don't use them without my permission.
It surprised him how easily his brother’s neck snapped in his hands.
He knew it was probably because Dean hadn’t seen it coming. Had he known that Sam was going to sneak up behind him and kill him he probably would have fought back a helluva lot more. Maybe even shot him. On the other hand, that probably wouldn’t have happened. Dean was like a wounded puppy that way. Heartbreakingly loyal to the end. The stuff romantic heroes were made of. He didn’t have the balls to shoot his baby brother, even if his life depended on it. Sam almost pitied him.
Almost.
Sam, on the other hand, had seen this coming before he even planned on it—he’d seen it in his dreams weeks before hand, and while there was the small part of him that had panicked, frantic over what he was going to do, for the most part—he knew it had been a long time coming. He was tired of playing the fragile, breakable Sam with the puppy dog eyes that Dean wanted to see. He was sick of being the good brother. It really had never suited him in the first place. He rolled his neck and rotated his shoulders as he let Dean drop to the ground rather unceremoniously, not really caring about respecting the dead and all that. Besides—who was going to really care in the long run? Dean was a serial killer—a murderer. If the local law enforcement took the time to try and ID him after they found him in the morning, Sam knew that if was very unlikely that they would put a lot of effort into trying to find his killer. And by then, Sam was going to be long gone.
He paced slightly away from him, before turning back to look at the wide green eyes staring back at him. He was practically drinking up the last moments of fear he saw. He had never realized what a drug fear was, but the again, he rarely ever got a chance to see it in Dean. He wore his confidence like a mask, only letting it down in moments where he didn’t think Sam was watching. He was so determined, so desperate to save Sam, the only family he had left, that he refused to let Sam see how scared he really was. But he was scared—so very scared in a way that shook him to his core—and Sam relished the fact that that was the look that was going to be forever frozen on his face.
Well—at least until he salted and burned the body. Couldn’t have his brother’s pesky spirit trying to derail him from what he wanted to do. Knowing Dean, he would probably haunt that damn car. It was probably the one thing on this earth he was more connected to than Sam.
Sam walked back over to the body and crouched down next to him, studying his face with a bit of bizarre fascination. Death on Dean wasn’t that much different than life, it seemed. Although, he was so worn down by the job and the weights that their father and even Sam himself had placed on him, that he was like the walking dead to being with. If he chose to look at it that way, he was probably doing Dean a favor. Now Dean didn’t have anything to worry about. Nothing he could do anything about, at least. He was dead.
“You know, Dean,” Sam said, pushing his brother’s body limply onto his back, “We could have caused a lot of trouble together. My visions, combined with—well, you—we could of gotten the boss man’s work done in half the time. But you had to be so damn noble. You had to keep getting in my way.”
He chuckled slightly as he got up, before walking over to where he had left the rock salt and gasoline. “Well—I guess that’s not going to be a problem now, is it Dean?” He shook his head slowly, “Nope.” He sprinkled rock salt over the body, and then picked up the metal gasoline container, and crouched back down next to the body again. “But I appreciate what you tried to do for me. It was almost sweet—in a sappy, family drama kinda way.”
He started to pour gasoline over the body, when he heard the scuffle of boots behind him, and a startled, almost disoriented voice that he knew in a heartbeat.
“Sam? What the hell is going on?”
Sam got up and turned to face his brother, a matter-of-fact look on his face, “You’re dead, Dean.”
His face faltered, a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and there was a nervous laugh in his voice as he spoke again, “What the hell are you talking about, Sammy?”
“You’re dead. As in no longer living.”
“Whadaya—I can’t be dead.”
“Well—you are.”
Sam stepped aside at this point, and Dean stared back into his own face, eyes still wide as they had been when he felt his brother grab him in the chokehold and force his head upwards. Remember the wounded puppy analogy from before? Now Dean looked like a kicked puppy—knowing somewhere that the person he loved the most was responsible for it, but pushing it to the side and still hoping that that person would love them too, and tell them it was just a mistake.
Sam gave a subtle shrug of his shoulders before he continued moving about what he was doing, tossing the metal gasoline can away before fumbling in his pockets for the matchbook he had grabbed earlier. Dean finally snapped his spirit self out of it enough to notice, and he frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting you to rest,” Sam replied, finally finding the matches, “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“To hell with that!” Dean said, wide eyed, “Find the thing that did this to me first, and beat the ever living shit out of it.”
Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his head, “I think that’s gonna be kinda hard to do, Dean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think we both know,” Sam said, and Dean continued look at him, begging for it not to be true, hoping that all the fighting he had done for him hadn’t been in vain, when he knew, and he just didn’t want to believe it.
“Sam—” Dean began, his voice choking on his words, “Sam, please—”
“Sorry, Dean,” he sighed, lighting a match and holding it up briefly, “It’s been nice knowing you, and I’d love to drag this out and have a nice brotherly moment before I send your ass off to the great beyond, but I really don’t have the time.” He dropped the match onto the body before turning to Dean with a sardonic smile.
“See you in hell, big brother. Tell Dad I said hi.”
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Very awesome.
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How did I manage to make you kill Dean?
Just. :O
*wibbles*
psst. Amazingly done, though. *is in awe*
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and he wouldn't go away until i wrote it. so i did.
i'm glad you liked it though.
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(In a very, very good way.)
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i'm glad you liked it.
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thanks. i'm glad you liked it.
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I... god damn.
Dude. You broke me.
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I'm glad you liked it?
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I am kinda speechless.
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I'm glad you liked it.
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P.s Really sorry to go all grammar nazi on you, but "Sam relished in the fact" should really just be "Sam relished the fact" I think.
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You know, in a sick kind of way.
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I'm glad you liked it.
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I'm glad you liked it.
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Would you mind if I posted a link on those communities to this and any other stories you may have posted on evilsam_spn?
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