(This is the only fic ever where I am going to label POV switches. It's an integral part of my work. So, enjoy.)
Chapter One:
Dean pushed away from the toilet bowl with a slight gag. Heaving himself up off the floor, he splashed water onto his face hoping Sam wouldn't notice. Or would have come in later, or even better, left early. Knowing that he hadn't come in until some time around one or two in the morning, Dean figured Sam would have slept through him puking. It wasn't like he needed to worry about alcohol poisoning any more. Not with his one year ticking slowly away. Brushing his teeth, the same as he did every single morning, Dean forced himself to keep from sighing, or from showing signs of his sleep deprivation and sick stomach. Sammy would get overprotective and yell at him, and he didn't feel like dealing with it.
Having been on a hunt the night before last, they had beaten back the succubus easily enough, despite having failed to save three or four victims of the creature. The guilt weighed heavily on both Dean and Sam, but Dean felt as though his brother wasn't feeling quite guilty enough for their failure to do anything more than kill the demon. Which had resulted in him barhopping, to avoid his brother, and to avoid thinking. It was currently too painful. He'd spent the night in a few different and equally willing beds, but nothing cleansed from him the pain of the loss. Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean grinned at Sam, quirking his eyebrow at his brother's morning hair. It looked like an animal had died and gone to hell perched upon Sammy's head. Dean was tempted to explain this, but let it slide, there would be ample opportunity to mock Sam later. The boy always set himself up, the doofus.
"So Sammy, where to now?" Dean asked, almost saying 'Sammeh' as he slurred the name.
"It's Sam," the younger Winchester snapped, as he almost always did when Dean called him Sammy. It annoyed him to no end to be called 'Sammy' considering he related the name to his childhood –something both boys preferred to forget for the majority of the time. However, it always gave Dean a certain amount of amusement to see how far he could push his brother before getting yelled at. Throwing a pair of socks at Sam's head, Dean grinned when they hit his brother in the face, and then slipped out the door, hearing enraged shouting muffled by the door. Score one for Dean. Not that Sam was the only one capable of playing pranks, the truth be told. He'd pulled some majorly evil stunts more than once. Knowing that his younger brother would find a way to get revenge, Dean debated pulling the "I'm going to die soon, don't be mean to me, you'll regret it" card, but that was just cruel. And it hurt to be reminded of the fact that his time was running out. Hearing Sam's footsteps coming towards the door, he put his hands on the doorknob, holding onto it, and keeping the door steady in its frame, as his brother got increasingly more frustrated with the fact it wouldn't open. Waiting a small amount of time more, Dean let go, the door swung open, and Sam fell backwards to the floor.
Waiting until Sam was up on his feet, Dean took off with a yelp more like a puppy dog than anything else. Eventually Sam's annoyed curses stopped, and turned to laughter, joining Dean. No longer having enough energy to pound his brother, Sam put his hands on his knees and panted. "You suck," Sammy informed his brother between gasps for air.
--DeanPOV
My headache was so much worse from the run, but it was worth it, to see Sammy smile like that. I do love him, for all he's my idiot baby brother, but…it's my job to take care of him, and to protect him no matter what. I guess it's almost counter productive, what I did. Sacrificing myself to save him, but…there'll be no one to look after him when I'm gone. Dad's gone, too, after all. He made a deal for me. Maybe Sammy's right, maybe I do suck. Irrelevant. Woah, I used a big word, okay bigger than usual. I look over at him, wondering if he's really tired, or just faking it. Because I don't feel like being thrown into the grass and sat on until I promise not to do whatever it was that set him off ever again. Because, for one thing, I don't like breaking promises, and then for another, I hate making stupid promises I have no intention of keeping. And Sammy's fat. I always feel like my ribs are going to be broken when he does things like that. I love my brother so much.
--SamPOV
Dean just stands there, like he's not winded at all. He comes in some time well past midnight, and he stinks of sex, booze, and cigarettes. That always means he was at a bar. Because Dean doesn't smoke, and he tends not to choose chicks that do. He tells me they taste bad. I don't really want to think about his sexcapades. I operate just fine without being further scarred for life. At least I'd like to think so. Y'know, I always figured that Dean and I would go out together in this huge blaze of glory, not…not with a sad little whimper of despair. But, that's life, I guess. For hunters at least. Bobby was sure pissed when he found out, from what Dean says. Told me Bobby was gonna throttle him and everything, actually shook him, too. Yelled at him plenty. Good, I found myself thinking. Someone had to yell at him. Lord knows he won't listen to me, the pain in the ass.
--Omniscient Narrator
"Dean you're such a jerk."
"Well, you're just a little bitch," Dean said with a shrug. It always amused Dean to call his brother 'bitch' and to hear 'jerk' in return.
"So, I heard about some hunt up near Seattle. Some sort of ocean monster."
"Seattle? You're freakin' joking! We gotta go to a beach, where there're beach babes, but no, we have to go to the same miserable little place, with it's icy cold freeze-you-to-death-in-an-instant-cold waters…Sammy, you suck at picking hunts," Dean grumbled irritably.
--SamPOV
It's my turn to drive. Dean's asleep in the passenger seat. I stare at him, instead of the road for a bit, remembering what Bobby said to me the last time we were at his place. We stayed for a week, and sleeping in the same bed for a full seven days was the strangest experience of my life. Really. I don't think we've ever been in one place so long. At least not somewhere comfortable where we sort of managed to belong. I remember Dean sitting there drawing, cars of course. Then again, I don't know what I expected. I remember Bobby asking me about Dean's good qualities.
"Sam, what can you actually say that's nice about your brother?" He sounded irritated with me, I'd been complaining about Dean, blowing off steam. I do that sometimes, but Dean has to go and bitch to chicks about me to get laid…I don't think telling Bobby my frustrations are the same thing.
"I guess he's stubborn…and really good at getting laid."
Rolling his eyes, Bobby sighed. "Ever occur to you he's smart, too?"
Raising my eyebrow, I think about it. Well, yeah, Dean's not stupid. He can put a car together –and he has, he knows more about guns than anyone should ever need to. It takes me a while, I have to admit. Dean's smart. Going through with this train of thought, just because Dean never worried about school didn't mean he was stupid. It's hard for me to think about that. I'm the one who got a scholarship to Stanford, and Dean's the one who barely graduated high school. But … he was trying to do what Dad wanted, what would make Dad happy. Learn the things that Dad wanted him to, so even if my brother had cared about school, he never would have had the chance. I didn't care about what Dad wanted for me, and Dean did. Well that totally didn't screw us over when we were young. Come to think of it, Dad got mad at me for having straight A's, because I drew attention to myself, and I think Dean probably got bad grades so Dad would leave me alone. I hope I'm wrong. I usually hope I'm wrong when it comes to our dad. I'm still shocked Dean ever graduated, though.
Focusing back on the road, I know in about an hour it's Dean's turn to drive.
--Omniscient Narrator
Driving calmly, Dean ignores his brother, sleeping in the passenger seat. The soft thrum of the engine coupled with the gentle sound of the tires over new pavement comforts the older Winchester. It's just a good sound, and it means the world is being easy. When the road is happy and open, Dean is, too. North Dakota to Seattle isn't the fastest drive, but it's not like he's ever minded. They're safe, nothing attacking them yet.
--DeanPOV
I should probably find a motel soon. The sun's starting to come up, and even though I've let Sammy sleep an extra four hours, I don't think he's going to be a safe driver. I barely am, and I know it. Not wanting to be responsible for us getting in a wreck, I turn off at the first motel I see. It's not like we're paying for anything anyway, fake credit cards and ID's take care of everything for us. Sometimes I feel guilty about it, and then other times I choose to think its compensation. We are being paid. Illegally, but we are. "Sammy, wake up," I say, shaking his shoulder. Stupid girl, he's got his face pressed against the glass and he's drooling. That's disgusting. "Bitch, wake up!" I snap, this time really meaning the word for its literal meaning. Rolling my eyes I have so many ways I could wake him up. Instead, I get out. Slamming the door hard, I walk over to Sammy's side and wrench the door open, watching him first wake up, look up in shock, and then hit the gravel. Satisfied that he won't sleep through my telling him to get his stupid ass up, I grab my duffel out of the back seat, and head towards the inside of the motel. The crunch of gravel behind me warns me before Sam can attack. However, I'm an idiot, and don't anticipate the fact he might realize I can hear him.
--O.N.
Sam threw his duffel bag hard into Dean's back, annoyed at the rude and unpleasant awakening. "Jerk!" He snapped, kicking some gravel at his brother before moving quickly into the motel. Dean can't retaliate with people watching.
"Bitch," Dean replies easily, following his brother. Moving into the motel, they are given a room, and walking back outside of the lobby, Dean glances at Sammy. "Wow. Sam, I think we found the missing link….and all this time here I was thinking it was you," he says with a certain sparkle in his eye, before darting into the motel room and closing the door, locking it. Hearing a thud, he knew that Sam had meant to hit him. Hearing the swearing, Dean chuckled to himself. He'd let his brother in very soon. Just, not quite yet. When everything was finally silent, he opened the door, staying behind it, and circumventing any chance of Sammy tackling him. Not that Sam bothered. He knew that Dean was just as wily as he was, and he wasn't stupid enough to hurt himself further. He'd get Dean back later, and payback was going to be a bitch. Both Dean and Sam go through their usual night routine, setting up the room and preparing for sleep. Not that either one really sleeps anymore.
--DeanPOV
I'm really tired, but for some reason I haven't been sleeping well. It's these nightmares. Having dreams about what hell is going to be like. And for some reason, I just don't want to sleep through these. Considering I've had a few coffees it's not like I'm going to sleep for a while anyway. Sitting up in the bed, I 'borrow' Sammy's laptop. And no, I'm not looking at porn, which surprises even me a little. Instead, I'm looking up lore on Hell, and what it's like. The demons, the torture, and hope it's not like Little Nicky. Because while I may not be as bad as Hitler, the demons certainly hate me more than they ever hated him, and if a pineapple up the ass is his punishment, what're they going to do to me? Although that movie was killer funny. Did I just say 'killer funny'? Oh god…beer. I should have a beer. Just one. Because I don't feel like having a sick stomach tonight. Not with everything else, because I just haven't been feeling well. My little life ticker is running out. Like the…the grains of sand in the little…hourglass. Those things. The hourglass. I'm running out of sand Sammy, and each little grain is taking a part of me away. I'm so torn up on the inside. Wow, I've turned into a sissy. Time to be a man again, Dean. God, grow up.
I don't know when it happens, but soon enough I'm asleep. Well, I assume I am, because in my waking hours I generally don't spend my time in chains. Not even for the really hot chicks. I'm not really into the leather and chains thing. Not even the pink fluffy handcuffs some chicks dig. Not after having been cuffed for real more than once. And shot. Sonuvabitch that hurts. And then Sammy had to be all protective, and I was fine. Hell I was better in that fight then he was, even with a lame shoulder. Well he's my little sister, and maybe one day he'll grow a pair. Until then, I'd better be around to take care of the candy-ass. But in my dreams…it hurts. God it hurts so bad, it's like my skin's being burned off inch by inch, layer by layer, and I can't move. I know on a more conscious level that because I've suffered third degree burns before, it's only my imagination re-conjuring the pain in my subconscious where I'm unable to escape.