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grianchlochA birthday present for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart!!
Title: Shots
Series: Words Unsaid
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Word Count: 1561
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: Vaguest hints of Wincest
Series Notes/Summary: Sam's been writing things down ever since he could first write, and Dean occasionally peeks at his journal to find out what's going on in his head. A set of standalone fics based around that idea set mainly before Sam goes to Stanford.
Fic Notes: There are no details out there about Dean and Sam's first kills, so this is one possible scenario for Sam's with mentions of Dean's. Although Dean tells Gordon in Bloodlust that he embraced the life at 16, I agree with several other opinions I read that Dean would have first killed earlier than that.
Summary: Sam is seventeen and after his first kill, Dean introduces him to a hunter's tradition to mark the occasion.
Shots
Extract from Sam's journal:
I killed it. Oh god, I killed it! And then I threw up. Dean's right, I'm a girl. A stupid sissy girl who hurls after a kill. He's never going to want me along on a hunt again. I hate hunting.
After they'd finished the pizza Dean had ordered for dinner, he slipped out to the liquor store a block away from the small apartment that had been their home for two months and bought a bottle of tequila. He picked up a handful of limes at the store on the corner on the way back, reckoning they had enough salt already. He'd been with Dad and Caleb the first time he'd killed anything, and Caleb had done the honors for him. He turned up with a bottle of cheap stuff as soon as John had left Dean alone, and introduced him to shots.
It had been two days since Sam had taken out the halfbreed black cadejo, as John held Dean back. They were both ready to jump in if it proved to be too much for him, but Sam had absorbed all they'd taught him, and used the machete with deadly precision, despite his fear. He'd taken it out with two well timed swings of the blade and, just as he'd read in the lore on the thing, it had melted away, leaving behind wilted grass and a heavy, cloying stink of sulphur and piss.
Sam stood and looked down at the stain on the ground for a moment, then stumbled off into the trees and Dean had heard him retching. He'd followed him and put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulders, but it had been shrugged him off with a scowl and Sam stomped off back to the car where John was waiting for them.
At first Dean thought Sam's continuing bad mood had been him angsting over killing something, but then he'd read his journal and understood why his brother was twisting himself in knots. And despite his ever increasing height, no way could Dean take Sam out to a bar yet, so he'd have to take the bar to Sam.
"Sammy!" He yelled as he opened the door.
"What?" Sam's sullen reply came from their bedroom.
"Get your ass out here. We've got some celebrating to do."
"What are we celebrating?" Sam slouched barefoot into the room.
"Your first kill. I couldn't get you wasted with Dad around, but since he's not back until tomorrow ..." Dean reached into the bag and pulled out the tequila, grinning.
"I don't want to celebrate, Dean. It wasn't exactly ..." Sam shrugged.
"It wasn't exactly how you thought it would be? Course it wasn't, never is, but this?" He waved the bottle at Sam and put it down on the table. "This is tradition. Grab a couple of glasses." Dean cut the limes up and stuck them in a bowl and made sure the salt shaker was full. He took them over to where Sam was sitting at the small dining table, eyeing the bottle.
"I don't like tequila." Sam huffed.
Dean could have asked him when he'd tried it, but thanks to Sam's journals, he already knew. Richie Morrison's Dad's barn the year before, and Sam had spat it out without swallowing. Dean wasn't exactly proud of digging into Sam's private thoughts, and it wasn't something he did too often, but the kid was so hard to read, it helped Dean to know what was going on in that brain of his sometimes.
"Well, you obviously weren't doing it right." Dean opened the bottle and filled the small glasses almost to the rim. "So it's lick, salt, lick, shot, lime. Okay?"
Sam nodded, and picked up his glass. Dean clinked his against Sam's and Sam followed his lead, licking his hand, sprinkling the salt onto the damp spot, licking it off and slamming back the shot. He grimaced at the harsh taste of the liquor and sucked quickly on a slice of lime. He shook his head as the alcohol hit his system, and Dean grinned at him as he refilled the glasses.
"Again."
After the fourth shot, Sam began to loosen up and whooped and grinned back at Dean.
"So this is tradition?"
"Yeah. Caleb did this for me after my first kill. It wasn't exactly how I thought it would be either. I'd seen Dad do it and thought I knew ... but I didn't."
Dean lined up another pair of shots, and this time when they raised their glasses, Sam nudged his against Dean's with a sombre face, and Dean nodded at him, understanding. It was another thing that they shared now, another thing that bound them together in a world that was blind to the horrors they lived with day in, day out.
"You were younger than me, right?"
"Yeah, by a few years, which is why Caleb waited until Dad wasn't around." Tequila sloshed into the small glasses again and Dean pushed the salt across to Sam.
"Caleb also told me that it was okay, he'd hurled the first time he'd taken something out too. Told me it was nothing to be ashamed of."
Sam stared at him, realizing what Dean was telling him. Dean nodded towards the full glass in front of him, and another round of shots went down.
"You puked? Really?" Sam's words were starting to slur a little.
"Yeah. All over Dad's shoes." Dean grinned.
"No way!" Sam burst out laughing.
"He looked down at his feet and said "Son, that's one hell of an aim you've got". Then he toed them off and left them right there in the woods."
Sam howled, not sure what was funnier, Dean's impersonation of Dad or the thought of Dad's puke covered shoes still standing there on their own. He laughed until his sides ached, and Dean joined in, wiping his eyes before filling the glasses again.
"Why haven't you told me that before?"
"I guess it's one of those stories that needs to be told in the right place at the right time." Dean shrugged and swallowed and bit down on a piece of lime.
"I guess." Sam agreed. "So you don't think I'm a girl for throwing up?"
"Nah, Sammy, not for that." Dean's smile turned into a grin. "For the long hair and the soccer, maybe, but not for that."
"What? You ..." Sam snorted with laughter and reached over to swat Dean across the table. Dean sat back, smirking, as Sam's hand missed him by a mile.
"Gotta be faster than that, Samantha. The tequila slowing you down?"
Sam launched himself at Dean, pulling him out of the chair and tackling him to the floor. Dean snickered, hardly able to catch his breath for laughing as Sam tickled him mercilessly. He squirmed away, batting at Sam's hands. Once he was free, he launched an attack of his own, fingers digging into the sensitive spots on Sam's ribs, until Sam was hiccuping and writhing helplessly.
"Truce?" Sam wheezed out and Dean eased up on him for a moment before initiating a last fierce attack that left Sam gasping for breath.
"Okay, truce." Dean grasped Sam's hands and pulled him into a sitting position beside him, their backs against the wall as they got their breath back. He reached up to the table, where the bottle had miraculously survived their thrashing and filled their glasses again, licking and salting Sam's hand for him and another round of shots went down, quick and easy.
"Dean?"
"What?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For this."
"It's tradition, Sammy."
"And for being an awesome big brother." Sam put his head on Dean's shoulder.
"Well, I suppose I am pretty awesome." Dean grinned.
"Yeah, you are." Sam yawned and snuggled further into Dean's neck.
"Come on, Sasquatch, time for bed." Dean petted Sam's hair and stood up, pulling him to his feet.
"But I want more tequila!" Sam pouted.
"I thought you didn't like tequila?" Dean steered Sam into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed.
"I lurrrrrve tequila!" Sam slurred and grinned, wiggling his bare toes.
"Oookay, I don't think you're gonna be saying that in the morning." Since it was obvious Sam wasn't going to do it himself, Dean pushed him back to lie on the bed and unfastened his jeans, tugging them down his legs as Sam watched sleepily.
"So awesome." Sam yawned.
Dean snickered and pulled the blankets over Sam as his eyes closed.
"And I'm so gonna remind you of that tomorrow."
He cleared away the glasses and stuck the tequila at the back of one of the cupboards, just in case John arrived back before they hauled their asses out of bed the next morning.
Back in their bedroom, he stared down at Sam, now wrapped around a pillow and snoring softly. In sleep, he looked younger than his seventeen years and Dean wished he could have stayed a kid for a while longer. But nothing could stop him from growing up, Dean knew that. With a small sigh, he pulled his own clothes off, and pushed Sam over so he could curl around his back. He got comfortable with his face buried in Sam's hair and mumbled against his shoulder.
"Sleep tight, Sammy." And within minutes, he'd followed Sam into dreamless sleep.
Classroom Furniture
seleneheart!!Title: Shots
Series: Words Unsaid
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Word Count: 1561
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: Vaguest hints of Wincest
Series Notes/Summary: Sam's been writing things down ever since he could first write, and Dean occasionally peeks at his journal to find out what's going on in his head. A set of standalone fics based around that idea set mainly before Sam goes to Stanford.
Fic Notes: There are no details out there about Dean and Sam's first kills, so this is one possible scenario for Sam's with mentions of Dean's. Although Dean tells Gordon in Bloodlust that he embraced the life at 16, I agree with several other opinions I read that Dean would have first killed earlier than that.
Summary: Sam is seventeen and after his first kill, Dean introduces him to a hunter's tradition to mark the occasion.
Shots
Extract from Sam's journal:
I killed it. Oh god, I killed it! And then I threw up. Dean's right, I'm a girl. A stupid sissy girl who hurls after a kill. He's never going to want me along on a hunt again. I hate hunting.
After they'd finished the pizza Dean had ordered for dinner, he slipped out to the liquor store a block away from the small apartment that had been their home for two months and bought a bottle of tequila. He picked up a handful of limes at the store on the corner on the way back, reckoning they had enough salt already. He'd been with Dad and Caleb the first time he'd killed anything, and Caleb had done the honors for him. He turned up with a bottle of cheap stuff as soon as John had left Dean alone, and introduced him to shots.
It had been two days since Sam had taken out the halfbreed black cadejo, as John held Dean back. They were both ready to jump in if it proved to be too much for him, but Sam had absorbed all they'd taught him, and used the machete with deadly precision, despite his fear. He'd taken it out with two well timed swings of the blade and, just as he'd read in the lore on the thing, it had melted away, leaving behind wilted grass and a heavy, cloying stink of sulphur and piss.
Sam stood and looked down at the stain on the ground for a moment, then stumbled off into the trees and Dean had heard him retching. He'd followed him and put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulders, but it had been shrugged him off with a scowl and Sam stomped off back to the car where John was waiting for them.
At first Dean thought Sam's continuing bad mood had been him angsting over killing something, but then he'd read his journal and understood why his brother was twisting himself in knots. And despite his ever increasing height, no way could Dean take Sam out to a bar yet, so he'd have to take the bar to Sam.
"Sammy!" He yelled as he opened the door.
"What?" Sam's sullen reply came from their bedroom.
"Get your ass out here. We've got some celebrating to do."
"What are we celebrating?" Sam slouched barefoot into the room.
"Your first kill. I couldn't get you wasted with Dad around, but since he's not back until tomorrow ..." Dean reached into the bag and pulled out the tequila, grinning.
"I don't want to celebrate, Dean. It wasn't exactly ..." Sam shrugged.
"It wasn't exactly how you thought it would be? Course it wasn't, never is, but this?" He waved the bottle at Sam and put it down on the table. "This is tradition. Grab a couple of glasses." Dean cut the limes up and stuck them in a bowl and made sure the salt shaker was full. He took them over to where Sam was sitting at the small dining table, eyeing the bottle.
"I don't like tequila." Sam huffed.
Dean could have asked him when he'd tried it, but thanks to Sam's journals, he already knew. Richie Morrison's Dad's barn the year before, and Sam had spat it out without swallowing. Dean wasn't exactly proud of digging into Sam's private thoughts, and it wasn't something he did too often, but the kid was so hard to read, it helped Dean to know what was going on in that brain of his sometimes.
"Well, you obviously weren't doing it right." Dean opened the bottle and filled the small glasses almost to the rim. "So it's lick, salt, lick, shot, lime. Okay?"
Sam nodded, and picked up his glass. Dean clinked his against Sam's and Sam followed his lead, licking his hand, sprinkling the salt onto the damp spot, licking it off and slamming back the shot. He grimaced at the harsh taste of the liquor and sucked quickly on a slice of lime. He shook his head as the alcohol hit his system, and Dean grinned at him as he refilled the glasses.
"Again."
After the fourth shot, Sam began to loosen up and whooped and grinned back at Dean.
"So this is tradition?"
"Yeah. Caleb did this for me after my first kill. It wasn't exactly how I thought it would be either. I'd seen Dad do it and thought I knew ... but I didn't."
Dean lined up another pair of shots, and this time when they raised their glasses, Sam nudged his against Dean's with a sombre face, and Dean nodded at him, understanding. It was another thing that they shared now, another thing that bound them together in a world that was blind to the horrors they lived with day in, day out.
"You were younger than me, right?"
"Yeah, by a few years, which is why Caleb waited until Dad wasn't around." Tequila sloshed into the small glasses again and Dean pushed the salt across to Sam.
"Caleb also told me that it was okay, he'd hurled the first time he'd taken something out too. Told me it was nothing to be ashamed of."
Sam stared at him, realizing what Dean was telling him. Dean nodded towards the full glass in front of him, and another round of shots went down.
"You puked? Really?" Sam's words were starting to slur a little.
"Yeah. All over Dad's shoes." Dean grinned.
"No way!" Sam burst out laughing.
"He looked down at his feet and said "Son, that's one hell of an aim you've got". Then he toed them off and left them right there in the woods."
Sam howled, not sure what was funnier, Dean's impersonation of Dad or the thought of Dad's puke covered shoes still standing there on their own. He laughed until his sides ached, and Dean joined in, wiping his eyes before filling the glasses again.
"Why haven't you told me that before?"
"I guess it's one of those stories that needs to be told in the right place at the right time." Dean shrugged and swallowed and bit down on a piece of lime.
"I guess." Sam agreed. "So you don't think I'm a girl for throwing up?"
"Nah, Sammy, not for that." Dean's smile turned into a grin. "For the long hair and the soccer, maybe, but not for that."
"What? You ..." Sam snorted with laughter and reached over to swat Dean across the table. Dean sat back, smirking, as Sam's hand missed him by a mile.
"Gotta be faster than that, Samantha. The tequila slowing you down?"
Sam launched himself at Dean, pulling him out of the chair and tackling him to the floor. Dean snickered, hardly able to catch his breath for laughing as Sam tickled him mercilessly. He squirmed away, batting at Sam's hands. Once he was free, he launched an attack of his own, fingers digging into the sensitive spots on Sam's ribs, until Sam was hiccuping and writhing helplessly.
"Truce?" Sam wheezed out and Dean eased up on him for a moment before initiating a last fierce attack that left Sam gasping for breath.
"Okay, truce." Dean grasped Sam's hands and pulled him into a sitting position beside him, their backs against the wall as they got their breath back. He reached up to the table, where the bottle had miraculously survived their thrashing and filled their glasses again, licking and salting Sam's hand for him and another round of shots went down, quick and easy.
"Dean?"
"What?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For this."
"It's tradition, Sammy."
"And for being an awesome big brother." Sam put his head on Dean's shoulder.
"Well, I suppose I am pretty awesome." Dean grinned.
"Yeah, you are." Sam yawned and snuggled further into Dean's neck.
"Come on, Sasquatch, time for bed." Dean petted Sam's hair and stood up, pulling him to his feet.
"But I want more tequila!" Sam pouted.
"I thought you didn't like tequila?" Dean steered Sam into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed.
"I lurrrrrve tequila!" Sam slurred and grinned, wiggling his bare toes.
"Oookay, I don't think you're gonna be saying that in the morning." Since it was obvious Sam wasn't going to do it himself, Dean pushed him back to lie on the bed and unfastened his jeans, tugging them down his legs as Sam watched sleepily.
"So awesome." Sam yawned.
Dean snickered and pulled the blankets over Sam as his eyes closed.
"And I'm so gonna remind you of that tomorrow."
He cleared away the glasses and stuck the tequila at the back of one of the cupboards, just in case John arrived back before they hauled their asses out of bed the next morning.
Back in their bedroom, he stared down at Sam, now wrapped around a pillow and snoring softly. In sleep, he looked younger than his seventeen years and Dean wished he could have stayed a kid for a while longer. But nothing could stop him from growing up, Dean knew that. With a small sigh, he pulled his own clothes off, and pushed Sam over so he could curl around his back. He got comfortable with his face buried in Sam's hair and mumbled against his shoulder.
"Sleep tight, Sammy." And within minutes, he'd followed Sam into dreamless sleep.
Classroom Furniture
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 02:01 am (UTC)I love the idea of Dean teaching Sam to do shots. (And I'll personally be imagining them a few years later, when Dean teaches him to do body shots. *purrs*)
Wonderful look at the brotherly relationship.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 05:17 pm (UTC)And of course, as soon as you mentioned body shots, my muses perked up ... in more ways than one ;) *writes*
no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-24 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-22 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-24 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-31 08:43 pm (UTC)Yes he is an awesome brother despite that, and Sam will call him on it in a future fic :)