INSTINCT
instinct
• a way of thinking, feeling or behaving that is not learned: a natural desire or tendency to react without thinking about it.
"But I am sure about you...Arthur." Dean's voice is low and dangerous, sending chills of trepidation and awareness of danger down Sam's spine. The look in Dean's eyes is hard and predatory...and confident, Dean has reached a conclusion and if he believes he's right enough to confront the man even without Sam's support then...Dean's right for sure
Sam's instincts scream at him to stand with his brother, to get away from the man who had wronged them so much and he does, trained eyes wary on Arthur Ketch. The facade falls from the man so quickly it makes Sam's stomach churn and that arrogant cool and sharp as ice British men of letters is back.
His eyes clash with Dean's, as his older brother squeezes the grip of his pistol experimentally, already feeling the joy of killing the scum again. The pure blood lust and unadulterated anger that is rolling off Dean as he watches the look that comes into Ketch's eyes when he mentions their Mom fills Sam with a fear and awe of his own, even though he has no need to fear it.
Dean is a wonder all of his own standing there, his instincts having led him right, gun raised and nostrils flared like a wild bull restraining himself. His and Ketch's eyes are fixed on each other, calculating and challenging, both cold enough to freeze anyone in terror, one dead of feeling, the other aglow with magnificent life and flame of will.
Ketch gets away...barely.
Sam and Dean stand watching him disappear, chests heaving, hearts pumping with adrenaline. Dean curses foully under his breath and kicks a furrow in the dirt with the toe of his boot as he turns back to the bar and once inside gathers up the dead angel's blades and packs them into their duffel.
Sam follows standing looking at the space, he and Dean had almost died, they would have.
"We would be dead if he hadn't come." He says.
"Yeah," Dean rejoins sarcastically, "Let's give him a medal, let's give him a room in the bunker, hell, let's give him mom's old room!" The rolling of his eyes and the huff that escapes Dean makes Sam smile, showing his teeth, it's not a nice smile.
He knows Dean's not angry with him, but letting out frustrations helped Dean tremendously and Sam has learned over the years how to tempt Dean into letting out his pent up anger unwittingly.
"Stupid Ketch." He says, knows he must sound like a petulant kid, "It would be him who would come back from the dead."
Dean snorts and Sam follows him out the front door towards the impala, "Came rolling back just like a bad penny, must be how the angels and demons feel about us."
Sam echoes his laugh, slides the clip out of his pistol and throws them both onto the seat between them, sighing heavily, running hands through his hair and down his face as Dean cranks the car and turns on the radio.
"Shitty night." Dean sums up and Sam couldn't agree more.
"What the hell has Cas got himself into now?" Sam asks out loud, passing Dean a bottle of water as he reaches back into the cooler to get himself one. Dean looks offensively at the water and just raises an eyebrow instead of taking it. Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes grabbing a canned coke. Dean accepts but still looks at Sam quizzically.
"I'm not giving you a beer while you're driving, Jesus, Dean...I think you're degenerating."
Dean snorts a laugh, eyes stinging with the fizzy drink shooting up his nose, Sam laughs at him as he coughs and Dean slaps him so hard on the stomach in repayment it knocks the breath out of his chest and the mouthful of water.
Dean's face quickly goes from delighted to disgusted as he shakes the water Sam had spit out off his hand, "Gross, I think you're the one degenerating, can't even keep your drink in your mouth."
"Your fault for hitting me." Sam returns easily.
"My nose still stings." Which only makes Sam laugh harder, watching Dean try and twitch his nose to rid it of the burning feeling.
"Should we have burn the bodies or something back there? ...maybe we should have just burned the whole damn place, 't was shitty." He worries, looking to Dean, pinky nail caught between his teeth.
Dean snorts again, apparently not having learned his lesson, "Sammy I'm surprised at you, that's some poor bastard's livelihood."
"Lousy existence." Sam grumbles.
"Hey, c'mon," Dean says, throwing him a glance while trying to drive. "What is it? Go ahead and spill..."
Sam sighs, why the hell does he have to be so transparent to Dean? "It's just you know, you were right about Ketch and," he runs a hand through his hair, looking out the window feeling embarrassed, "and apparently I'm still as naive as ever."
"Hey," Dean says, waits to speak until Sam is looking at him again and he's sure he's got his attention, "Was I right this time? Yes, but that doesn't mean anything Sam. Imagine if you hadn't stood up for the possibility and it was Ketch's twin and he was innocent and we shot an innocent man dead?"
Sam looks at Dean in surprise at that point of view. "So what if you're naive Sammy? I need you, I need you to mellow me out and I'd rather Ketch get away and we give justice a shot instead of just putting bullets in people's heads."
Sam smiles and nods understandingly, "Thanks."
Dean simply gives him a crooked grin.
"You know I need you too?" Sam says and Dean arches a brow at him, "I need those instincts, damn you know how many times over I'd be dead without you and those instincts?"
Dean places a hand over his heart, "Aw Sammm," He coos, "Hit me right in the heart, but are you sure you just need my instincts?"
Sam laughs shaking his head. "I guess I'd be lost without those coffee making abilities of yours." He says, mocking seriousness.
He dodges the slap this time, it's instinct, reacting to Dean irrevocably programmed into him. They exchange light hearted, goofy smiles, still a little high on the adrenaline of the hunt and still being alive. The more they hunt and the older they get every hunt they come out of alive is a victory...it's a testament to their strength, to their connection, their partnership and brotherhood.
Dean turns down the radio, Sam bunches his jacket up under his head and drifts off. Dean sends a fond smile towards his sleeping baby brother and Sam slumbers peacefully, feeling Dean there beside him. Call it instinct, call it whatever you want. The boy's have never labeled it, it just simply is.
...the end
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