On the fifth day of Christmas, Supernatural gave to me, FIVE BURNT CEILINGS (four bags of salt, three demons, two fake ID's, and an Angel watching pornography)
Dean swallowed uneasily, glancing up at the fifth burnt ceiling they'd encountered in this hunt (they still didn't know what had done it) He looked nervously over at Sam. Sam had been quieter recently. After the case with those demons that Cas had saved him from, he'd seemed… distracted. Depressed? He certainly had enough of the signs of depression, he didn't get enough sleep (not even the hunter's four hours), he snapped at Dean if he asked him if everything was okay, he really was distracted, and he would go to the bar more- though not to drink with Dean, but to sit in the corner and drink alone, and to ignore when the waitress started flirting with him. Obviously, being a Winchesters, he'd kept it all to himself, and neglected to tell Dean anything. The strangest thing, though, from what Dean saw was once when Dean had seen him sitting in an armchair by the motel window, fiddling with a DVD in his hands. Dean focused his attention back on the blackened ceiling. He frowned as he remembered Azazel's 'special children'. Sam's death. That bastard Jake that stabbed him.
*:*:*:*:*
It was strange, he'd decided, knowing that Sam'd died. Less strange, he had then realized, than knowing that he would die. He, Dean Winchester was going to die. Because of a damned (literally) demon deal. Like father, like son, he often figured bitterly. It took second glances at Sam to realize what he was really doing. Not just reading, but eyebrows furrowed and teeth grinding. There was a constant solid look of determination in his eyes. It didn't take long for Dean to realize what his sweet little brother was doing. He was looking for something to put an end to Dean's deal. He realized that Sam was almost doing this for his own sanity, probably. A sort of mad desperation that Dean knew because he'd felt it too. Twice now. It'd been less so with his dad, just a blind panic to find him, yet there was a deep feeling that he was okay. When Sam had died, it'd been so much worse (then even dying himself later on), he was desperate. Which should've been pretty damn clear, considering he sold his soul to a demon
*:*:*:*:*
Dean shook his head out of his memories, glancing back over at Sam, who nodded his head in an answer to Dean's silent question of whether he was okay.
Even though it was obvious that he wasn't.
A/N: ... Sorry. Sorry. Should I try to update up to Chapter 8 today, or just pretend that the last few days never existed, and that tomorrow is day six? Whichever, although even then I might not get to 8 today, just cause I have stuff. Happy new year everyone! (If (like my father keeps pointing out) you're going by the Gregorian calander).
Should I write a New Years story?
Please like and comment. Thanks!