Title: American Standard
Author's Notes: 10 100-word drabbles and 1 200-word double drabble inspired by the titles to Seven Mary Three's album American Standard. Focuses on Dean.
1. Cumbersome
The dark, dank warehouse hallway seemed to stretch for miles. Holding the battered, broken, unconscious body of his brother as he struggled toward the exit. His gangly form was more cumbersome than he remembered it being years ago.
His adrenaline rush slowly began to deplete and his own wounds became more apparent. Then, the windows began to appear distorted, jumping out at him and then snapping back into place when he tried to fight back.
His knees buckled as a wave of nausea racked his body and his mind drifted to other thoughts as the curtains closed over his eyes.
2. Anything
Dean would give anything to give Sam everything.
It would be hard for him to let Sam go, but in the end he would if it was what Sammy wanted. He had done it before; he could do it again. Then again, he hadn't really been given a choice. Sam didn't give him a choice and dad didn't give Sam a choice, at least not a choice that fit in with the everything Sam wanted, needed.
Dean wonders if Sam would give anything to give Dean everything. He knows the answer, he just doesn't know if he wants the gift.
3. Headstrong
Sam is headstrong just like his father. Just like his brother. Just like his mother, so Dad has said a few times when he things no one's listening.
Sam's headstrong nature has got him hurt more times than Dean can count. One of these days it's going to get Sam killed.
It might not kill him physically, but one day he'll try to save someone who is already gone, just because Dean tells him not to and the inability to save them will devastate him. Maybe it already has.
Or maybe, Dean could just as easily be thinking about himself.
4. Roderigo
Dean met a man once who gave him some good advice. The man, Roderigo, his words dripping in a Colombian accent, sat down next to Dean in the bar he had picked to drown his sorrows in this week.
He ordered a Corona and a cup of coffee and starred at nothing in particular while he slowly drained the bottle. Setting the empty bottle down, he rubbed a nonexistent spot.
"No one ever leaves because of someone, it's always because of themselves."
When Dean looked up, the man was gone and the coffee replaced the scotch in front of Dean.
5. Favorite Dog
Hunting, for Dean at least, is like a favorite dog. It's man's best friend. It comforts you when you're down and won't leave you because it needs you as much as you need it.
You buy all the best things and read all the books. When you meet someone else with a 'favorite dog,' you swap stories, all the while trying to one up each other.
Most of all, you can't imagine life without it, especially if it's all you've known. When it's gone, you might try to replace it with something, but it does not compare. It never will.
6. Margaret
When Dean was twelve years old, he got his first kiss. It was a peck on the cheek really, but he still counts it.
Margaret was thirteen and a grade ahead, which in Dean's eyes made her an older woman, and something to be very proud of.
The actual kiss didn't matter; it was what she said to him before she kissed him: "I love you." He hadn't heard those words in so long and hearing them from Sammy didn't count.
Disregarding the chick flick potential of such a moment, Dean does think back on it every now and then.
7. Lame
"Dude, you don't get to pick the bar ever again," Dean said, stopping at the entrance.
Sarah McLaughlin was being piped through the speakers and a few couples were out on the dance floor.
"It serves beer, doesn't it?" Sam said, still walking toward the bar.
"One can only hope," Dean muttered under his breath. "They better because I am not drinking any fruity drink with an umbrella," he said a little louder.
Dean suddenly spotted a 'hot chick' at the bar.
"You and your lame ass can go find a table. I'll get the drinks," Dean said pushing past Sam.
8. Devil Boy
It's 3:30 in the morning and Dean can't sleep. He mutes the television so not to disturb Sam, and turns on the closed captioning, and wonders if this counts as reading. He stops on Walker Texas Ranger. 'What's the deal with Chuck Norris?' You can't change the channel without seeing him on some series, movie, or infomercial. The man obviously sold the devil his soul. Dean actually has some proof of it.
What's so fucking fantastic about Chuck fucking Norris.
Sam stirs on the bed next to Dean's and Dean turns off the tv.
"I could so take Chuck Norris."
9. Punch In, Punch Out
Dad told Dean once he had to think of hunting like any other job.
Dean hadn't ever had another job.
Dad said "You punch in when you find a case and you don't punch out until you solve it. Even if you've got to work overtime."
Dean didn't understand the concept of overtime, there were only twenty-four hours in a day. How do you get more? And he doubted any other job would let a nine-year-old use a shotgun.
"How much do you get paid to do this job anyway?" Dean asked.
Dad didn't try to explain hunting after that.
10. Water's Edge
Something forces itself in through Dean's nose and mouth. Smoke. He struggles to wake up, tries to remember what has happened.
Warmth envelopes him and he feels at peace. He stops trying to remember where he is, instead just taking in the moment.
Then, the warmth begins to escalate. Its spiny fingers sear his skin and he wishes for relief. Images of a swimming hole permeate his mind's eye; tentatively walking up to the water's edge and then strong but delicate arms whisking him away before waves brought the water up over his feet.
He yearns to be there again.
11. My, My
A voice breaks into Dean's mind, with words harsh and taunting. It's a voice he has heard before, but he cannot put a face to it, "My, My. Dean Winchester, you've really done it this time. All you had to do was take care of your brother, but you just can't seem to handle even that small task."
"Small task, my ass. Have you seen my brother? Have you seen the trouble he gets into? I think not. Small task. I should kick your ass," Dean slurs, as he struggles to pick himself and his brother up off the littered ground. "I can handle this."
He stands and begins his trek again. A new burst of adrenaline courses through his system. The windows seem to retreat from his presence, afraid of his new resolve.
Once again, in his arms he carries the still form of his brother from a building as the flames dance inside. Once again he saves his brother from the fires. It wasn't the first time, but it would be the last. His job was finished.
A second voice enters his mind, with words comforting and familiar, as he finally makes it home, "That's my little man."