What If I Wanted To Break?
May. 2nd, 2008 07:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grianchlochTitle: What If I Wanted To Break?
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG13ish
Beta: The lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cocoajava
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: Hints at incest, kissing, bad language, insane Sam and pissed off Dean. Potential spoliers all the way up to 3.14 I suppose. Speculation on Dean's fate.
Summary: Time is fast running out for Dean, and Sam isn't handling it too well.
Notes: Written forperiwinklesgirl as part of the Anti-Christmas Gift Exchange over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sammessiah. She expressed a fondness for tragic soul destroying angst, and after listening to "The Kill" by Thirty Seconds to Mars way too much, this is what resulted. Enjoy!!
What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do?
Dean wakes groaning softly at a feather-light touch ghosting over his hip through the cotton of his boxers. He arches towards the finger tips, but his brow furrows. His wrists and ankles are firmly tied to the bedstead and he feels groggy, his head muzzy like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool. Sam’s sitting on the bed, his hand now idly trailing down Dean’s thigh.
“Sam?”
“Gotta save you, Dean. Everyone else is dead, can’t let you die, can’t let you go.”
Sam’s eyes are wild, skittering from Dean’s face to his bound wrists and back again, never quite making eye contact.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” Dean mutters, remembering the beer and Jack they’d shared the night before, but that hadn’t been enough on their own to knock him out. His voice is wary and he pulls tentatively at his bonds, testing them. “Untie me, Sammy.”
“No. No, can’t do that, can’t ever let you go. Dean. Don’t want to be him, don’t want to be alone.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say. He can’t give any reassurances, his time is up. He’ll die at the stroke of midnight and nothing can stop that. All of Sam’s extensive research proved to be fruitless, and despite Dean trying to hold him together, Sam started to slowly fall apart days ago.
“Sammy, you have to let me go.”
“No!” Sam yells at him, slamming his hands down on the bed on either side of Dean’s hips. “Don’t have to, don’t want to, can’t ... just can’t do it. Everyone dies, all because of me. Mom, Jess, Dad ... they can’t have you, Dean, can’t take you from me, you’re all I’ve got left.”
Dean blinks, scared now.
“When I was on my own,” Sam avoids Dean’s eyes, picking at a thread on the quilt his brother is lying on. He’s almost rational for a moment, but slips back to the edge of insanity so easily. “After you died the first time? It was too neat, way too neat, it was all Dad with his hospital corners and don’t squeeze the toothpaste tube in the middle and you were gone and the guns were all in the right place because everything had to be in the right place otherwise ... otherwise I would remember you and you died in my arms and I couldn’t save you, couldn’t ever save you ... over and over and over ...”
Sam rocks backwards and forwards, eyes glazed and Dean swallows back the tears that threaten at the sight of Sammy unravelling.
“Please Sammy, I’m begging you, untie me.”
Sam shakes his head, continuing to rock.
“No, this is the only way, only way. Have to do this to save you, Dean.”
“Do what, Sammy?”
Sam gets off the bed and walks towards the small table by the window, his shoulders hunched the way they do when he’s miserable, as if he’s trying to curl back in on himself.
“Do what?” Dean repeats.
Sam picks something off the table, but Dean can’t see what it is.
“You wouldn’t let me, and I have to do it, have to, have to save you. Only you, it’s only ever been you.”
Dean is shaking now, fear and dread merging into anger.
“Do what??” He yells, paling as Sam turns around, the blade in his hand glinting.
Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Sam’s been gone for hours and Dean can’t believe it’s going to end like this, that he’s going to die tied to a fucking bed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
He shouts himself hoarse, hoping that some local might be passing by the cabin and hear him. He shouts until his throat is sore and dry and of course he has no way to soothe it because he’s tied to a fucking bed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Dean growls with frustration and bangs his head back against the pillow for the hundredth time since Sam left. Since Sam left with very little sanity showing in his eyes and a big fucking knife in his hands. A tear of regret slides from the corner of Dean’s eye and tickles his ear.
This is all his fault. If he’d been strong enough to let Sammy go, his baby brother wouldn’t be out there alone doing whatever his broken mind thought would fix Dean, and Dean hopes and prays that it’s not what he thinks it is.
“If you can’t save him, you have to kill him.”
He’s failed. Failed them both. He’s failed his Dad by not following orders but how the hell was he supposed to follow that particular order? Kill Sammy? From the moment Sam drew breath, Dean embraced the role of big brother, cared for him, loved him, raised him and Dad expected him to be able to end the life he’d invested so much of himself in protecting?
“You bastard!!” Dean screams, hating his father. “How could you do that to me?”
His chest heaves and he twists and squirms, pulling desperately at the restraints, but Sam knows him too well, and made sure there’s no way he could break free.
“You bastard.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. He longs for his father to walk through the door, untie him and promise him everything will be okay, but his Dad never did that. John chose the “lets be brutally honest” method of parenting and in their world, the fucked up world of the Winchesters, that included teaching Dean every possible way in which things could end badly. Comfort never came into it.
He learned a lot from his Dad, how to survive, how to fight, how to ignore his feelings as if they didn’t exist and bottle them up so tight it almost hurt. But it was Sam who always gave him hope. Sam who could see a different life, a cleaner life, a life lived in the sun, and warmth.
Dean lies back and stares at the ceiling, counting the cracks and wondering if things could have ended differently if he’d chosen a different path or if this truly was his destiny.
What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?
You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I'm not running from you.
“Come with me.” Sam asked, sipping a warm beer and watching the river meander by. “You’re really good with cars, Dean, you could get a job, maybe even go to college.”
Dean turned over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, twiddling a piece of grass between his fingers.
“I can’t, Sammy, you know that.”
“You don’t have to stay with him forever, Dean. You’ve got your own life to lead.”
Dean snorted and ripped the grass into tiny shreds.
“This is my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” There was a sullen edge to Sam’s voice, and he moved closer, angling his body so their hips touched and their shoulders rubbed together.
“I can’t leave Dad.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam frown, heard the soft sigh. He knew what Sam was thinking, but Sam knew better than to say it out loud.
“Mom’s dead and gone and instead of grieving and moving on, Dad’s turned our whole lives into some fucked up crusade.”
The first and only time he voiced that particular opinion was the only time John Winchester had ever truly come close to hitting his youngest son. His fist had flown past Sam’s head and impacted hard on the wall behind him, shocking him enough to send him slamming out of the house, leaving Dean to deal with Sam’s tears.
“You could leave him if you really wanted to.” Sam softened his words with kisses, long, slow and forbidden, as they lay together on the riverbank and Dean felt his heart begin to crack as it was torn in two. He threaded his fingers through the dark strands of Sam’s hair, already knowing he would stay and already knowing he’d hate himself for letting Sam leave alone.
What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do?
Dean watches the minutes count down on the clock on the wall, watches his life slip away, second by second with each deafening tick fucking tock. His muscles begin to cramp as he tenses tighter and tighter, his body trembles as he pulls and strains at the leather that holds him tight. One of his wrists is bleeding where he’s twisted and twisted as he tries his best to find a weak spot that will snap and set him free.
He gasps and sobs and laughs hysterically because of all the ways he thought he’d go, this isn’t one of them.
Five minutes. Five minutes left to live and he’s panicking. Breathing hurts, he’s exhausted and he’s alone. Alone. Above everything, Dean doesn’t want to be alone, never wants to be alone and now he gets to die alone.
“NO!!” He rages, the rest coming out as an incoherent mess, spewing from his mouth that nothing can stop, not even the door banging open and filling the small room with a flood of cold air.
Sam’s by his side in a second and his hand cracks across Dean’s cheek, stunning him into silence. Dean’s eyes widen and he stares at Sam, his face contorting into a snarl.
“You left me to die! Motherfucking bastard, let me the fuck up! Now!”
Sam smiles, his eyes clear and focused and he leans over to untie Dean’s left wrist. There’s blood on the cuff of Sam’s jacket, and it sticks in Dean’s mind even as he rages.
“Where did you go? What was so fucking important that you could leave me alone? Tied to the fucking bed, Sam! When you know what’s going to happen to me.” Dean dug his free hand into Sam’s hair, yanking his head back. “Where the hell have you been?”
Sam smiles at him despite the pain.
“I saved you.”
“What?” Dean’s still shaking with rage as his grip tightens and Sam winces a little.
“I saved you. Look at the clock.”
Dean glances over and stills. It’s five past midnight and he isn’t dead. He swallows and looks at Sam fearfully, his heart still pounding in his chest. There’s a light in Sam’s eyes he hasn’t seen before, not an ugly yellow, but a rich warm gold and Dean whispers as his heart breaks.
“What did you do, Sammy?”
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you.
“Nothing has to change.”
“No?” Sam’s being elusive and Dean needs to buy himself some time to think. “Okay, lets go and see Bobby, let him know you broke this thing after all.” Dean wears his trademark grin like a shield.
“Bobby knows already.”
“He does? Well lets all go celebrate, then.”
Sam has the decency to at least look shifty.
“Bobby didn’t make it.”
Dean’s eyes flick to the blood on the cuff of Sam’s jacket again.
“He didn’t?”
“No. His last words were “he’s like a son to me”.”
Dean stares at his brother and finally understands that this is his crossroads. This is his second chance.
Sam’s staring at him sizing him up and he holds out his hand.
“Come with me?”
Dean’s made some shitty choices in his life, choices that have all, in their own ways, led to him being right here right now, and he knows that so much more rests on this choice than his own expendable life.
He can take a stand, do what the real Sam, his Sammy would want him to do, refuse and yell, be righteous in his indignation and condemn out of hand what Sam has done. And in the process no doubt get himself killed.
Or he can follow orders. Be the good son and do what his Dad told him to do, what his Dad taught him to do. Bury his grief and his rage and his sorrow so deep they’ll never be found, do what he needs to do to survive, and when the moment arises, kill the thing that his brother has become.
The thing that Dean helped bring into being.
He swallows and smiles and puts his hand in Sam’s. It’s warm and familiar and Dean nods his head in acceptance.
“Okay.”
Sam’s smile is bright enough to light up the world, and Dean hopes that when the time comes, he still has the strength to snuff out the light.
I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now, this is who I really am inside.
Finally found myself
Fighting for a chance.
I know now, this is who I really am.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG13ish
Beta: The lovely
cocoajavaDisclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: Hints at incest, kissing, bad language, insane Sam and pissed off Dean. Potential spoliers all the way up to 3.14 I suppose. Speculation on Dean's fate.
Summary: Time is fast running out for Dean, and Sam isn't handling it too well.
Notes: Written for
periwinklesgirl as part of the Anti-Christmas Gift Exchange over at sammessiah. She expressed a fondness for tragic soul destroying angst, and after listening to "The Kill" by Thirty Seconds to Mars way too much, this is what resulted. Enjoy!!What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do?
Dean wakes groaning softly at a feather-light touch ghosting over his hip through the cotton of his boxers. He arches towards the finger tips, but his brow furrows. His wrists and ankles are firmly tied to the bedstead and he feels groggy, his head muzzy like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool. Sam’s sitting on the bed, his hand now idly trailing down Dean’s thigh.
“Sam?”
“Gotta save you, Dean. Everyone else is dead, can’t let you die, can’t let you go.”
Sam’s eyes are wild, skittering from Dean’s face to his bound wrists and back again, never quite making eye contact.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” Dean mutters, remembering the beer and Jack they’d shared the night before, but that hadn’t been enough on their own to knock him out. His voice is wary and he pulls tentatively at his bonds, testing them. “Untie me, Sammy.”
“No. No, can’t do that, can’t ever let you go. Dean. Don’t want to be him, don’t want to be alone.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say. He can’t give any reassurances, his time is up. He’ll die at the stroke of midnight and nothing can stop that. All of Sam’s extensive research proved to be fruitless, and despite Dean trying to hold him together, Sam started to slowly fall apart days ago.
“Sammy, you have to let me go.”
“No!” Sam yells at him, slamming his hands down on the bed on either side of Dean’s hips. “Don’t have to, don’t want to, can’t ... just can’t do it. Everyone dies, all because of me. Mom, Jess, Dad ... they can’t have you, Dean, can’t take you from me, you’re all I’ve got left.”
Dean blinks, scared now.
“When I was on my own,” Sam avoids Dean’s eyes, picking at a thread on the quilt his brother is lying on. He’s almost rational for a moment, but slips back to the edge of insanity so easily. “After you died the first time? It was too neat, way too neat, it was all Dad with his hospital corners and don’t squeeze the toothpaste tube in the middle and you were gone and the guns were all in the right place because everything had to be in the right place otherwise ... otherwise I would remember you and you died in my arms and I couldn’t save you, couldn’t ever save you ... over and over and over ...”
Sam rocks backwards and forwards, eyes glazed and Dean swallows back the tears that threaten at the sight of Sammy unravelling.
“Please Sammy, I’m begging you, untie me.”
Sam shakes his head, continuing to rock.
“No, this is the only way, only way. Have to do this to save you, Dean.”
“Do what, Sammy?”
Sam gets off the bed and walks towards the small table by the window, his shoulders hunched the way they do when he’s miserable, as if he’s trying to curl back in on himself.
“Do what?” Dean repeats.
Sam picks something off the table, but Dean can’t see what it is.
“You wouldn’t let me, and I have to do it, have to, have to save you. Only you, it’s only ever been you.”
Dean is shaking now, fear and dread merging into anger.
“Do what??” He yells, paling as Sam turns around, the blade in his hand glinting.
Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Sam’s been gone for hours and Dean can’t believe it’s going to end like this, that he’s going to die tied to a fucking bed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
He shouts himself hoarse, hoping that some local might be passing by the cabin and hear him. He shouts until his throat is sore and dry and of course he has no way to soothe it because he’s tied to a fucking bed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Dean growls with frustration and bangs his head back against the pillow for the hundredth time since Sam left. Since Sam left with very little sanity showing in his eyes and a big fucking knife in his hands. A tear of regret slides from the corner of Dean’s eye and tickles his ear.
This is all his fault. If he’d been strong enough to let Sammy go, his baby brother wouldn’t be out there alone doing whatever his broken mind thought would fix Dean, and Dean hopes and prays that it’s not what he thinks it is.
“If you can’t save him, you have to kill him.”
He’s failed. Failed them both. He’s failed his Dad by not following orders but how the hell was he supposed to follow that particular order? Kill Sammy? From the moment Sam drew breath, Dean embraced the role of big brother, cared for him, loved him, raised him and Dad expected him to be able to end the life he’d invested so much of himself in protecting?
“You bastard!!” Dean screams, hating his father. “How could you do that to me?”
His chest heaves and he twists and squirms, pulling desperately at the restraints, but Sam knows him too well, and made sure there’s no way he could break free.
“You bastard.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. He longs for his father to walk through the door, untie him and promise him everything will be okay, but his Dad never did that. John chose the “lets be brutally honest” method of parenting and in their world, the fucked up world of the Winchesters, that included teaching Dean every possible way in which things could end badly. Comfort never came into it.
He learned a lot from his Dad, how to survive, how to fight, how to ignore his feelings as if they didn’t exist and bottle them up so tight it almost hurt. But it was Sam who always gave him hope. Sam who could see a different life, a cleaner life, a life lived in the sun, and warmth.
Dean lies back and stares at the ceiling, counting the cracks and wondering if things could have ended differently if he’d chosen a different path or if this truly was his destiny.
What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?
You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I'm not running from you.
“Come with me.” Sam asked, sipping a warm beer and watching the river meander by. “You’re really good with cars, Dean, you could get a job, maybe even go to college.”
Dean turned over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, twiddling a piece of grass between his fingers.
“I can’t, Sammy, you know that.”
“You don’t have to stay with him forever, Dean. You’ve got your own life to lead.”
Dean snorted and ripped the grass into tiny shreds.
“This is my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” There was a sullen edge to Sam’s voice, and he moved closer, angling his body so their hips touched and their shoulders rubbed together.
“I can’t leave Dad.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam frown, heard the soft sigh. He knew what Sam was thinking, but Sam knew better than to say it out loud.
“Mom’s dead and gone and instead of grieving and moving on, Dad’s turned our whole lives into some fucked up crusade.”
The first and only time he voiced that particular opinion was the only time John Winchester had ever truly come close to hitting his youngest son. His fist had flown past Sam’s head and impacted hard on the wall behind him, shocking him enough to send him slamming out of the house, leaving Dean to deal with Sam’s tears.
“You could leave him if you really wanted to.” Sam softened his words with kisses, long, slow and forbidden, as they lay together on the riverbank and Dean felt his heart begin to crack as it was torn in two. He threaded his fingers through the dark strands of Sam’s hair, already knowing he would stay and already knowing he’d hate himself for letting Sam leave alone.
What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do?
Dean watches the minutes count down on the clock on the wall, watches his life slip away, second by second with each deafening tick fucking tock. His muscles begin to cramp as he tenses tighter and tighter, his body trembles as he pulls and strains at the leather that holds him tight. One of his wrists is bleeding where he’s twisted and twisted as he tries his best to find a weak spot that will snap and set him free.
He gasps and sobs and laughs hysterically because of all the ways he thought he’d go, this isn’t one of them.
Five minutes. Five minutes left to live and he’s panicking. Breathing hurts, he’s exhausted and he’s alone. Alone. Above everything, Dean doesn’t want to be alone, never wants to be alone and now he gets to die alone.
“NO!!” He rages, the rest coming out as an incoherent mess, spewing from his mouth that nothing can stop, not even the door banging open and filling the small room with a flood of cold air.
Sam’s by his side in a second and his hand cracks across Dean’s cheek, stunning him into silence. Dean’s eyes widen and he stares at Sam, his face contorting into a snarl.
“You left me to die! Motherfucking bastard, let me the fuck up! Now!”
Sam smiles, his eyes clear and focused and he leans over to untie Dean’s left wrist. There’s blood on the cuff of Sam’s jacket, and it sticks in Dean’s mind even as he rages.
“Where did you go? What was so fucking important that you could leave me alone? Tied to the fucking bed, Sam! When you know what’s going to happen to me.” Dean dug his free hand into Sam’s hair, yanking his head back. “Where the hell have you been?”
Sam smiles at him despite the pain.
“I saved you.”
“What?” Dean’s still shaking with rage as his grip tightens and Sam winces a little.
“I saved you. Look at the clock.”
Dean glances over and stills. It’s five past midnight and he isn’t dead. He swallows and looks at Sam fearfully, his heart still pounding in his chest. There’s a light in Sam’s eyes he hasn’t seen before, not an ugly yellow, but a rich warm gold and Dean whispers as his heart breaks.
“What did you do, Sammy?”
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you.
“Nothing has to change.”
“No?” Sam’s being elusive and Dean needs to buy himself some time to think. “Okay, lets go and see Bobby, let him know you broke this thing after all.” Dean wears his trademark grin like a shield.
“Bobby knows already.”
“He does? Well lets all go celebrate, then.”
Sam has the decency to at least look shifty.
“Bobby didn’t make it.”
Dean’s eyes flick to the blood on the cuff of Sam’s jacket again.
“He didn’t?”
“No. His last words were “he’s like a son to me”.”
Dean stares at his brother and finally understands that this is his crossroads. This is his second chance.
Sam’s staring at him sizing him up and he holds out his hand.
“Come with me?”
Dean’s made some shitty choices in his life, choices that have all, in their own ways, led to him being right here right now, and he knows that so much more rests on this choice than his own expendable life.
He can take a stand, do what the real Sam, his Sammy would want him to do, refuse and yell, be righteous in his indignation and condemn out of hand what Sam has done. And in the process no doubt get himself killed.
Or he can follow orders. Be the good son and do what his Dad told him to do, what his Dad taught him to do. Bury his grief and his rage and his sorrow so deep they’ll never be found, do what he needs to do to survive, and when the moment arises, kill the thing that his brother has become.
The thing that Dean helped bring into being.
He swallows and smiles and puts his hand in Sam’s. It’s warm and familiar and Dean nods his head in acceptance.
“Okay.”
Sam’s smile is bright enough to light up the world, and Dean hopes that when the time comes, he still has the strength to snuff out the light.
I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now, this is who I really am inside.
Finally found myself
Fighting for a chance.
I know now, this is who I really am.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 12:38 am (UTC)Thanks so much for participating in this exchange!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 11:51 am (UTC)It was fun, taking part in the exchange, and I look forward to the next one :)
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Date: 2008-05-03 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 11:56 am (UTC)They've both been so through so much, but it's always Dean's situation that strikes me as being the most heartbreaking. *pets him*
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Date: 2008-05-03 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 11:58 am (UTC)Yep, I'd say that sums it up perfectly ;)
Thanks for reading and I'm so glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 12:00 pm (UTC)Made me sniffle a little too while I was writing it. Poor Dean!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 12:11 pm (UTC)Once that song wormed it's way into my head, the story kind of wrote itself.
Is it bad that my brain is screaming "don't do it Dean"?
Maybe Sam will be able to persuade him that being evil isn't so bad after all *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 05:45 am (UTC)Poor Dean, left alone and thinking he's going to die like that. Had to be almost the worst thing for him.
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Date: 2008-05-04 12:16 pm (UTC)Being alone is bad enough for him, so yeah, I saw the possibility of him dying alone as being the worst ever scenario. Poor woobie!
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Date: 2008-05-03 03:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 05:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 12:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 10:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-04 12:23 pm (UTC)Thank you!
And awesome layout!
And I believe you've met my interior designer. *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-05-05 04:10 am (UTC)Well done!
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Date: 2008-05-05 03:48 pm (UTC)OMG Dean's going to keep his promise.
Yep, looks like he is. *can't bear to watch*
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Date: 2008-05-16 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-02 12:05 am (UTC). . .
Okay, that sounded much snottier than I had intended. I was mid-flail & my fingers ran away from my brain, please forgive. ;)
Just for fun, & for the sake of my still-flailing psyche, please tell me that ultimately, Bobby was willing? You kind of gave that to us, but...I just want to be sure! *wibbles*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-03 10:29 am (UTC)Nothing to forgive! It's awesome to get to know someone's immediate gut reaction to a fic like that :)
Now about Bobby being willing ... I kind of left it ambiguous, but for me, given that this is a seriously disturbed version of Sam who wouldn't necessarily tell Dean the truth about Bobby's last words ...
You get the picture?
Sorry! *pets*