There are certain things you'd think one should get used to when becoming acquainted with people who hunt monsters. One of those things would be the complete neurotic behaviors of the youngest one, and how the older one thinks he's God.
Speaking of the youngest one, Sam left again about three hours after he and Dean got back from the false witch case. He was babbling some stuff under his breath, desperate for me not to hear him. It's a good thing I can't hear worth a damn. And Dean was quietly arguing with him, begging him not to go. Except the word "please" was not included and it was mostly a string of "fucking hell, sam's" and "what is wrong with you's."
What I've noticed is that there is no set pattern for which of the boys will win their little scraps. If the argument is illogical and brash, Dean is likely to win. If the argument is smart and pragmatic, Sam is likely to win. The only time it's ever been the other way around is when they were debating about where to stop at get food. The logical answer was a rip-off Italian place so that we could get carbs — we were all very tired. But Sam insisted a healthy salad place. Seriously, dude? Anyway, with my insistence, we ended up getting pasta. Go, Forrest!
Dean paces around the house, restless. Antsy. Irritable. Bobby offers him several beers and he accepts none. Bobby tells him to take it easy, Dean doesn't listen. Bobby tells him to sit his ass down and Dean slowly lowers himself onto the couch.
"Why are you so worked up?" Bobby asks. "This ain't the first time you and Sam have been separated."
"No," Dean grumbles, "but it's hard to keep everyone alive when the three of you keep splitting up."
"The three of you?" Bobby repeats. Dean blinks, then glances at me.
"The two of us, I mean."
"Dean, I understand you want to protect your little brother, but if he thinks he can figure out what's wrong with him by goin' on this wild goose chase—"
"There is nothing wrong with him, Bobby!" Dean stands up. With a look from the old man, he lowers his voice.
"Nothing is wrong with him," he reiterates. "Nothing 'cept he's too smart to be running off like this. He's dying to find an explanation for why he feels different; for why there's this— this evil, malicious feeling inside of him. He's looking for answers because he can't accept the fact that he's just a Winchester. And that's all he'll ever be."
"You don't mean that."
"The hell I don't, Bobby."
Dean looks around the room as if Sam might show up out of the blue, maybe apologize for running off like that. Dean drags a hand down his face and sighs, sinking back onto the couch.
"He's just a kid."
"He's twenty-two."
"He's too young for this."
"You were, too, Dean."
Dean glares at Bobby. I think they've both forgotten that I'm not supposed to know anything about them — but I'm so invested in this storyline that I keep my mouth shut and listen silently from the recliner.
"I need him, Bobby," Dean whispers.
"I know you do."
When he can't seem to take it anymore, Dean disappears upstairs. He mumbles something about getting their things packed so that he can go after Sam. When he's out of earshot I perk up from where I sit and nearly fall over.
"What the hell was that about?" I whisper-yell to Bobby. He chuckles silently and knocks back a hearty shot of rotgut whiskey.
"Kid, if you haven't noticed already, them two boys wouldn't be able to survive without each other. They are cosmically attached at the hip, I think."
YOU ARE READING
are we all such fragile things?
Fanfiction"If we were vampires and death was a joke..." "Now, it's us against the world." It's October in Vermont, and I've been dropped off in the middle of nowhere. It's pouring outside and it's freezing cold. But there's two young men in a motel room with...
