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[personal profile] quillscribe
Title: Make It Right
By: [livejournal.com profile] quillscribe
Fandom: SPN
Rating: PG-13 (language/adult themes)
Category: Dean,Sam (gen)
Words: 994
Disclaimer: Man, one of these days, I'd love to be able to say these are mine. ;-) But not today.
Spoilers: Set after 2.05
Notes: Just playing so far. What do you think? Does it have potential?

“Dude, are you gonna eat that or what? It’s not getting any fresher,” Dean says and shoves Sam’s ham and cheese sandwich nearly into his lap.

They’ve stopped for dinner in one of those towns where, if he blinked, Sam would miss it. One coffee shop, two restaurants, a local grocery store that also sells hunting supplies and farm equipment, and two churches. If they’re lucky, Pudunk will also have a motel, but the way things have been going lately, he’s not willing to lay money on it.

“I’m eating,” Sam protests automatically, even though he’s not.

Dean’s already consumed his meal, a burger and fries, in just a few enormous bites, and is eyeing the menu for dessert. He eats for fuel, Sam realizes, and wonders how much of it he even tastes.

“No, you’re not. You’re looking at it like it’s going to attack you. Which, I must say,” Dean says, reaching across the table to peel back the bread for a second to look at what he’s eating, “is not going to happen any time soon. This is dinner, Sammy, not lunch. If you don’t like it, why not try something like that?” he asks, and points to the steak and baked potato that drifts by their table on a tray. The steak is so big that the potato has to be served on a separate dish. Sam hopes he isn't turning green at the thought.

Ignoring the ‘Sammy’, he shrugs then tries on a smile. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m just not hungry, man.”

“So what? You didn’t eat lunch – I watched you. Quit wasting money and eat your dinner,” Dean scolds, and he tries so hard to act normal, to be like he always is, that it almost makes Sam want to cry.

“Alright, alright,” Sam gives in, and squashes the sandwich a little with his fingers to make it look smaller. Maybe then he’ll eat more of it.

“That’s it? No whining?” Dean asks suspiciously, even as he’s waving for the waitress.

“Your powers of persuasion are simply overwhelming,” Sam teases, then cringes at the look that flashes across Dean’s face for just a second before he recovers and rolls his eyes.

He keeps stepping in these minefields without meaning to. It was too close with Webber. He’d barely been able to move, let alone concentrate, when he’d first woken up after being hit over the head with that branch. If it hadn’t been for Andy…

“So are you going to start practicing that Jedi mind stuff? It sure would make things easier if we didn’t have to keep stealing people’s credit cards,” Dean says practically, and Sam wants to smack him over the head with the menu.

“Could you, oh, not talk about credit card fraud in a restaurant full of people?” he asks, and Dean has the audacity to wave his hand at Sam as if signaling for him to keep it down.

“Do you think you could broadcast that any louder?” Dean asks with wide eyes, and Sam sighs and listens as Dean orders pie for both of them. Even though the waitress looks nearly sixty, he still flirts shamelessly with her, and she takes it with good humor.

“Oh, you’re a hellion, aren’t you? I’ll bet you’ve left a trail of broken hearted waitresses in your path, haven’t you?” she scolds, and Sam stiffens even as Dean smiles wide.

Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Sam thinks as he idly watches Dean’s eyes rove the restaurant, automatically categorizing the threats, the volatile ones, and who might even be packing weapons. And all the pretty girls, too, of course. It doesn’t take long for Sam to spot that some of them are watching back. It’s ironic how naturally social Dean is, considering the life they lead.

What does the Demon want with me? Why did he murder Jess, too? Why go after the mothers sometimes, but not always? There are too many new variables, and Sam’s itching to research. It’s what he does; what he’s always done best. They just need to stay in one place long enough to be able to buy a damn laptop. With dad’s fake credit cards, he discovered a few weeks ago, they can afford it. Dad’s never done anything halfway.

Sam manages to eat half the sandwich, but the steak fries are limp and cold. Thankfully, though, dessert is fresh and obviously homemade. Dean closes his eyes in bliss and grins at Sam when he catches him watching, his teeth red and flecked with strawberry seeds.

“Gross,” Sam says and throws his napkin. “Do I need to give you a moment of privacy with the pie?” he asks, and Dean throws his head back in mock ecstasy, stopping more than one conversation in the room.

Sam drops his head onto his arms in embarrassment, forgetting about his cast as he knocks his forehead against it. “Ouch,” he says, and glares through his hair as he watches Dean snort in laughter.

Dean’s trying too hard, and if Sam didn’t know him like he does, he’d almost believe it. They’ve both got secrets, and wounds they’re trying to hide from each other. Dean feels unnatural for living while dad died. Sam just feels unnatural, and like he’s let both his brother and his dad down in every way imaginable.

He should have known better than to hope they could rebuild their relationship. To dream of a chance to team up with both his brother and his dad again; the only family he’s ever known; and finally not be the dead weight always holding them back. He should have taken the shot – done what dad had begged him to do. Instead, his brother’s falling apart behind a cocky façade, and Sam refuses to think of what else his dad might have traded, other than his life, to save Dean.

Dean asks the waitress about a good motel, and Sam smiles appreciatively when she takes the napkin he threw at Dean to draw up a map. He knows his smile is a little weak around the edges, but they both are lately, and it’s the best he’s got, so it’ll have to do.
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