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Entry tags:
For The Love Of Chuck (Or Not), Sam/Dean, NC17, Part 1
Title: For The Love Of Chuck (Or Not)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runedgirl
Artist:a_biting_smile
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 6360
Summary: After Chuck’s revelation, Sam becomes hopeless enough to want to give up on life itself, so Dean knows he has to take drastic action. What can they do that Chuck would hate enough to give up on his “favorite show” and let the Winchesters make their own choices again?
Warning/Spoilers: Takes place directly after the Season 14 finale. Castiel appears as a side character, no romantic undertones.
A/N: Thanks to my talented collaboratora_biting_smile and her beautiful art, and as always to the mods for the great time! Please check out the art post that's linked in the master post!
Sam and Castiel take the revelation that God – Chuck – isn’t exactly on their side harder than Dean does. Maybe he got it out of his system in those few conversations when he allowed himself to tell Chuck just how fucking disappointed Dean was in his Godly skills, and how ridiculous it made all the “Our Father” bullshit that humans had held onto for all these years. Chuck got defensive eventually, told Dean in a biting voice to stop confusing Chuck with John Winchester. It was a very John Winchester thing to say, but Dean was smart enough not to waste his time arguing that point.
Maybe he had given up more successfully than his brother at that point, after that conversation. Dean had a lot of experience with disappointment, and this was one time his “daddy issues” came in handy. As Chuck blew Jack away and opened the gates of Hell to let out all the monsters they’d worked so hard to kill for the past two decades, Dean found himself pissed but not shocked. God was a dick, so what else was new? Angels were too, Cas and a few others excepted. Why wouldn’t God be?
Sam and Cas took it a lot harder. They had all been close to Jack, but for Castiel it was a responsibility as well as a lost loved one. Dean understood; it didn’t matter that his little brother now had four inches and ten pounds of muscle on him, Sam was Dean’s responsibility and always would be. It made no logical sense anymore, but it was ingrained into his DNA as surely as his genetic code itself. Cas had taken that on for Jack, promised it to Kelly and to himself. There was no coming back from that kind of loss, not really. God knows, he’d tried every time Sam was gone, and failed.
Dean chuckled darkly now every time that phrase crossed his mind. God did know, apparently. Chuck had known everything they’d done, manipulated them like puppets to enact his fantasies and entertain him like the best frothy overly dramatic soap opera. Dean supposed they should have realized earlier that their lives were too dramatic to be entirely unscripted.
Cas fought like he had nothing to lose, now that Jack was gone, and that helped as they went up against zombies and vampires and crocottas and all the other evil sonsofbitches they’d vanquished over the past twenty years. He didn’t have consistent powers, but he wasn’t powerless either; it seemed like Chuck had been so done with them that he’d just left the building without bothering to doom them to a truly tragic and imminent ending. Dean had no illusions that it had anything to do with mercy.
Sam fought like he wanted to slash and burn his way through every monster put in his way just to see if Chuck would be standing on the other side so Sam could slash and burn him too. Sam had always been, of the two of them, the more likely to be optimistic, the one to hang onto hope. Dean still remembered vividly the first time his little brother had stood in front of him and shyly admitted that he prayed every night. Jessica was already gone and Sam’s dreams had gone up in smoke – literally – and he still hung onto a bit of faith that things would get better. That some higher power up there gave a damn about the Winchesters and the tragedies that followed them through life. At the time, Dean had wanted to scoff. But the earnest look on Sam’s face, making him look too much like that six year old who wanted Dean to tell him everything would be all right, stopped his snarky retort. Dean had even tried a little after that to have faith himself. Had called out to God for help when he didn’t know what else to do. He knew now that Chuck was listening all right – just not in order to help. Unless it suited the story, of course.
Dean fought like he was back in Purgatory. There was a clean simplicity to the world again – it was violent and chaotic and the three of them were often bloody, but Dean knew exactly what each day would bring and what his job was. Cas stood guard while the Winchesters slept once exhaustion precluded any more fighting; they found the spaces that were most easily guarded, then expanded their perimeter each night, taking out what monsters they could. The world itself only noticed the change a little; things had been growing darker for a long time, so maybe this seemed like the next incarnation of evil in a slippery slope that had been happening for quite a while.
There wasn’t much time for talking, and mostly Dean was relieved.
In September, a wendigo took a frighteningly large chunk out of Sam’s left arm before Dean and Cas incinerated it.
“He needs to rest,” Cas said, when Sam didn’t rouse easily the next morning. “He might need a hospital.”
They made do with stolen antibiotics and clean bandages, but Cas was right. They found a safe house abandoned when too many monsters moved into the town and settled in, planning for a week. It was the first time they’d stopped in three months.
Sam was tucked into a room upstairs, too out of it to protest when Dean pulled the covers up to his chin and allowed himself a moment to stroke his brother’s hair off his forehead. It was dirty, slick between his fingers. Sam’s brow furrowed, but then he leaned into the touch with a soft exhale that cut through Dean’s numbness like a razor. Regret washed over him, followed by a stab of rage that this was Sam’s life now. Sam, who deserved every win that he got, who felt comforted by the knowledge of the monsters they’d killed and the people they’d saved. Sam didn’t deserve this life in which everything was pointless; it didn’t suit him.
“Dean,” Sam had murmured, still mostly out of it.
Dean pushed his hair back again, let his fingers linger.
“Get some rest, Sammy,” he said before he went downstairs.
Castiel was still in the mood for talking, unfortunately.
“I tried to trade myself for Jack,” Castiel said abruptly as Dean sat down at the broken kitchen table and bit into a cold burger.
“You what?”
“With the Empty,” Cas said. His expression was defeated; that was how he always looked now. “I know the Empty wants me, why not take me early and let Jack go?”
“I’m not so sure that would’ve been such a great idea,” Dean said carefully. “Jack wasn’t – he didn’t know how to not hurt people, and he would’ve needed you there to help with that.”
Castiel shrugged. He was sipping one of the beers Dean had put on ice in the cooler, not that they had any effect on him. Dean thought he liked them because Sam and Dean did.
“I was supposed to take care of him.”
“I know,” Dean said, and hoped that Castiel knew that he did.
“What are we even doing here?” Cas frowned even more, put the beer down too hard on the table. “Just still providing amusement for Chuck so he can sit up there and laugh at the few creatures we manage to kill all over again? What’s the use if that’s all this is for?”
It was the big unasked question that Dean was happy to have avoided for months. There was no real answer, so Dean didn’t like thinking about the question.
“What’s the use of thinking about that? We don’t fuckin’ know what Chuck is thinking or doing anyway.”
Castiel bristled. “I do not want to keep letting him pull the strings. How can you stand it, knowing what we know? How can you go on?”
Dean wanted to say, I can go on because Sam is here, and as long as Sam is here, I’m not giving up. No matter what. He wasn’t sure that would help though, because Cas no longer had Jack to feel that way about.
“Maybe he’ll lose interest in us,” he said instead.
Cas scoffed and went back to his beer, but Dean kept thinking about it.
He went out for supplies two days later and came back to find Cas and Sam having the same discussion in what used to be the abandoned house’s living room.
“That’s all I think about,” Sam was saying, and Dean paused in the entry way and strained to listen. Any time he was offered a glimpse into how Sam’s big brain worked, he took it.
“I keep thinking, what can I do that would be so abhorrent to him, that he’d give up on us – that he’d stop watching this “show” that he’s had us putting on for our entire lives? It’s like, what made people give up on watching Game of Thrones, or Lost, or whatever show they were obsessed with and then abandoned? What makes people say nope, that jumped the shark, that’s not for me?”
Cas was silent for a few moments.
“We could be very boring,” he finally suggested, and Dean had to stifle a laugh so they wouldn’t know he was shamelessly eavesdropping. Cas could definitely manage that, he thought, but Sam? He was the least boring person Dean had ever known. Sam was, in fact, the antithesis of boring. Dean was sure everyone was fascinated with Sam, Chuck included. I mean, who wouldn’t be? He was not only one of the best looking people on the entire planet, he was smart and strong and a lethal fighter. But he also had that quiet studious serious side, that way of slanting his eyes up at you and going all soft when he was feeling affectionate…. or something.
From the other room, Sam snorted. “Maybe he’ll get bored of watching us nearly get our throats ripped out every single day.”
“I don’t know, he seems to be a sadist,” Cas replied with sincerity, and Dean closed the front door more loudly than necessary to let them know he was back before he walked into the room.
“Who?”
“Chuck,” they both said in unison, as though Dean couldn’t have figured that out even if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Motherfucker,” Dean agreed, and went to put away the groceries.
The gas was still on so he made one of Sam’s childhood favorites, Rice A Roni in the skillet and some chicken breasts he chopped up and added in and a big pile of green beans beside it. Sam looked up in surprise when he walked in with the full plates.
“You cooked?” he asked incredulously.
Dean felt caught out for some reason, rubbed the back of his neck and put his own plate down too roughly.
“Whatever, it’s cheaper than constantly getting take out. And don’t pretend you’re not longing for something green, I know you!”
Sam didn’t deny it. There was the hint of a smile on his face when he looked up at Dean, and Dean realized that was the first time he’d seen Sam’s smile since the day the world changed. And for some time before that.
Dean’s stomach sunk at the realization. Sam was different. Dean could deal with the world the way it was now, could keep fighting and put one foot in front of the other and kill as many evil sonsofbitches as they could, without driving himself insane thinking that it was all Chuck’s doing. He had learned to compartmentalize as a child, and it was a survival skill he’d never lost. But Sam.
Sam needed to think more deeply. He needed to make sense of the world in a way that Dean no longer hoped for; he needed to believe that they could make a difference. He needed to believe that his actions were his own. Sam was no puppet, and now that he knew that Chuck was pulling his strings, nothing they did had meaning for Sam anymore.
And that? That Dean couldn’t stand.
He took advantage of the few days they had left before Sam started insisting he was healed, attempting to return that little smile to Sam’s face however he could. They watched ‘Raiders Of The Lost Ark’ and Dean made popcorn on the stove in a pot the way he did when they were kids, slathered it in butter and salt so Sammy could complain about how it wasn’t good for them. He cajoled both Sam and Cas into a card game the next night. Cas had no poker face at all, but he was lucky as hell; that did make Sam smile.
Dean’s tendency to avoid thinking too far ahead kicked him in the butt when the few days of relative normalcy only served to make Sam feel worse as those days were about to come to an end. Dean was ambushed by an angry zombieghost on his way back to the car after stocking up on ammo from a place in the nearest town and came back bruised and bloody.
“What the hell happened to you?” Sam demanded as Dean threw the bags of ammo down and sunk into a chair.
“Thing got the jump on me comin’ out of Joe’s Hardware in town. Sucker caught me by surprise and got in a few good hits before I could take it out.”
“Was it looking for you?” Sam asked, and he sure as hell wasn’t smiling now.
Dean shrugged, and that just made Sam more angry. He leapt up from the sofa and looked up at the ceiling, fists clenched.
“Is this fun for you, Chuck? Were you bored these last few days, huh? Needed to make Dean bleed so you could get your jollies again? You sick sorry son of a bitch, you fucking coward! Is this what you’re gonna do to us for the rest of our lives? What makes you think we’re gonna stick around long enough, huh? How about we just check out right now and fuck you over?!”
Dean and Cas were both on their feet at that, because Sam had drawn the knife from his boot and was holding it perilously close to his own throat. His eyes were wild, chest heaving. He looked like a madman and Dean was a million times more scared than he’d been when the zombieghost had tried to kill him an hour ago.
“Sam!” Dean yelled, and it startled Sam enough that he lowered the knife so that Dean could knock it out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, hitting an end table on the way down. Sam threw a punch at Dean instead, adrenaline fueled and sloppy, and it went wide by a mile but it was enough to convince Dean that Sam wasn’t even close to okay.
“Sammy, cut it out,” he said, not yelling anymore, and Sam turned away, shaking his head. His shoulders were still going up and down way too fast and his fists were still clenched.
“It’s not worth it, Dean – nothing’s ever gonna change. There’s nothing we can do to make him stop.”
“Sam,” Castiel said softly from the other side of the room. “You don’t know that. He might get bored of us, might get tired.”
Sam made a dismissive sound and waved his hand in Castiel’s general direction. “He’ll just make us do something he does want to watch,” he said sadly.
The resignation in Sam’s voice, the fact that he’d thought about slitting his own throat to make this stop, the fact that Sam never smiled anymore and Dean needed to see that more than anything – those were the things that later he’d say were the reason he did what he did.
“Maybe it’s not boring that’s gonna do it,” Dean said, but Sam didn’t turn around. Dean took a few steps toward his brother.
“Maybe it’s saying fuck you, you think you can control me, but this time you’re not going to. Everything you set up, it’s not enough to stop me from doing what I want for a change. Even if it’s not gonna entertain you – even if it’s gonna turn your stomach, Chuck, you fucking bastard. How you gonna feel about that, Chuck?”
Sam only got half turned around before Dean grabbed his brother by the shoulders and pulled him in and kissed him full on the mouth.
Part Two
Author:
runedgirlArtist:
a_biting_smilePairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 6360
Summary: After Chuck’s revelation, Sam becomes hopeless enough to want to give up on life itself, so Dean knows he has to take drastic action. What can they do that Chuck would hate enough to give up on his “favorite show” and let the Winchesters make their own choices again?
Warning/Spoilers: Takes place directly after the Season 14 finale. Castiel appears as a side character, no romantic undertones.
A/N: Thanks to my talented collaborator
a_biting_smile and her beautiful art, and as always to the mods for the great time! Please check out the art post that's linked in the master post!Sam and Castiel take the revelation that God – Chuck – isn’t exactly on their side harder than Dean does. Maybe he got it out of his system in those few conversations when he allowed himself to tell Chuck just how fucking disappointed Dean was in his Godly skills, and how ridiculous it made all the “Our Father” bullshit that humans had held onto for all these years. Chuck got defensive eventually, told Dean in a biting voice to stop confusing Chuck with John Winchester. It was a very John Winchester thing to say, but Dean was smart enough not to waste his time arguing that point.
Maybe he had given up more successfully than his brother at that point, after that conversation. Dean had a lot of experience with disappointment, and this was one time his “daddy issues” came in handy. As Chuck blew Jack away and opened the gates of Hell to let out all the monsters they’d worked so hard to kill for the past two decades, Dean found himself pissed but not shocked. God was a dick, so what else was new? Angels were too, Cas and a few others excepted. Why wouldn’t God be?
Sam and Cas took it a lot harder. They had all been close to Jack, but for Castiel it was a responsibility as well as a lost loved one. Dean understood; it didn’t matter that his little brother now had four inches and ten pounds of muscle on him, Sam was Dean’s responsibility and always would be. It made no logical sense anymore, but it was ingrained into his DNA as surely as his genetic code itself. Cas had taken that on for Jack, promised it to Kelly and to himself. There was no coming back from that kind of loss, not really. God knows, he’d tried every time Sam was gone, and failed.
Dean chuckled darkly now every time that phrase crossed his mind. God did know, apparently. Chuck had known everything they’d done, manipulated them like puppets to enact his fantasies and entertain him like the best frothy overly dramatic soap opera. Dean supposed they should have realized earlier that their lives were too dramatic to be entirely unscripted.
Cas fought like he had nothing to lose, now that Jack was gone, and that helped as they went up against zombies and vampires and crocottas and all the other evil sonsofbitches they’d vanquished over the past twenty years. He didn’t have consistent powers, but he wasn’t powerless either; it seemed like Chuck had been so done with them that he’d just left the building without bothering to doom them to a truly tragic and imminent ending. Dean had no illusions that it had anything to do with mercy.
Sam fought like he wanted to slash and burn his way through every monster put in his way just to see if Chuck would be standing on the other side so Sam could slash and burn him too. Sam had always been, of the two of them, the more likely to be optimistic, the one to hang onto hope. Dean still remembered vividly the first time his little brother had stood in front of him and shyly admitted that he prayed every night. Jessica was already gone and Sam’s dreams had gone up in smoke – literally – and he still hung onto a bit of faith that things would get better. That some higher power up there gave a damn about the Winchesters and the tragedies that followed them through life. At the time, Dean had wanted to scoff. But the earnest look on Sam’s face, making him look too much like that six year old who wanted Dean to tell him everything would be all right, stopped his snarky retort. Dean had even tried a little after that to have faith himself. Had called out to God for help when he didn’t know what else to do. He knew now that Chuck was listening all right – just not in order to help. Unless it suited the story, of course.
Dean fought like he was back in Purgatory. There was a clean simplicity to the world again – it was violent and chaotic and the three of them were often bloody, but Dean knew exactly what each day would bring and what his job was. Cas stood guard while the Winchesters slept once exhaustion precluded any more fighting; they found the spaces that were most easily guarded, then expanded their perimeter each night, taking out what monsters they could. The world itself only noticed the change a little; things had been growing darker for a long time, so maybe this seemed like the next incarnation of evil in a slippery slope that had been happening for quite a while.
There wasn’t much time for talking, and mostly Dean was relieved.
In September, a wendigo took a frighteningly large chunk out of Sam’s left arm before Dean and Cas incinerated it.
“He needs to rest,” Cas said, when Sam didn’t rouse easily the next morning. “He might need a hospital.”
They made do with stolen antibiotics and clean bandages, but Cas was right. They found a safe house abandoned when too many monsters moved into the town and settled in, planning for a week. It was the first time they’d stopped in three months.
Sam was tucked into a room upstairs, too out of it to protest when Dean pulled the covers up to his chin and allowed himself a moment to stroke his brother’s hair off his forehead. It was dirty, slick between his fingers. Sam’s brow furrowed, but then he leaned into the touch with a soft exhale that cut through Dean’s numbness like a razor. Regret washed over him, followed by a stab of rage that this was Sam’s life now. Sam, who deserved every win that he got, who felt comforted by the knowledge of the monsters they’d killed and the people they’d saved. Sam didn’t deserve this life in which everything was pointless; it didn’t suit him.
“Dean,” Sam had murmured, still mostly out of it.
Dean pushed his hair back again, let his fingers linger.
“Get some rest, Sammy,” he said before he went downstairs.
Castiel was still in the mood for talking, unfortunately.
“I tried to trade myself for Jack,” Castiel said abruptly as Dean sat down at the broken kitchen table and bit into a cold burger.
“You what?”
“With the Empty,” Cas said. His expression was defeated; that was how he always looked now. “I know the Empty wants me, why not take me early and let Jack go?”
“I’m not so sure that would’ve been such a great idea,” Dean said carefully. “Jack wasn’t – he didn’t know how to not hurt people, and he would’ve needed you there to help with that.”
Castiel shrugged. He was sipping one of the beers Dean had put on ice in the cooler, not that they had any effect on him. Dean thought he liked them because Sam and Dean did.
“I was supposed to take care of him.”
“I know,” Dean said, and hoped that Castiel knew that he did.
“What are we even doing here?” Cas frowned even more, put the beer down too hard on the table. “Just still providing amusement for Chuck so he can sit up there and laugh at the few creatures we manage to kill all over again? What’s the use if that’s all this is for?”
It was the big unasked question that Dean was happy to have avoided for months. There was no real answer, so Dean didn’t like thinking about the question.
“What’s the use of thinking about that? We don’t fuckin’ know what Chuck is thinking or doing anyway.”
Castiel bristled. “I do not want to keep letting him pull the strings. How can you stand it, knowing what we know? How can you go on?”
Dean wanted to say, I can go on because Sam is here, and as long as Sam is here, I’m not giving up. No matter what. He wasn’t sure that would help though, because Cas no longer had Jack to feel that way about.
“Maybe he’ll lose interest in us,” he said instead.
Cas scoffed and went back to his beer, but Dean kept thinking about it.
He went out for supplies two days later and came back to find Cas and Sam having the same discussion in what used to be the abandoned house’s living room.
“That’s all I think about,” Sam was saying, and Dean paused in the entry way and strained to listen. Any time he was offered a glimpse into how Sam’s big brain worked, he took it.
“I keep thinking, what can I do that would be so abhorrent to him, that he’d give up on us – that he’d stop watching this “show” that he’s had us putting on for our entire lives? It’s like, what made people give up on watching Game of Thrones, or Lost, or whatever show they were obsessed with and then abandoned? What makes people say nope, that jumped the shark, that’s not for me?”
Cas was silent for a few moments.
“We could be very boring,” he finally suggested, and Dean had to stifle a laugh so they wouldn’t know he was shamelessly eavesdropping. Cas could definitely manage that, he thought, but Sam? He was the least boring person Dean had ever known. Sam was, in fact, the antithesis of boring. Dean was sure everyone was fascinated with Sam, Chuck included. I mean, who wouldn’t be? He was not only one of the best looking people on the entire planet, he was smart and strong and a lethal fighter. But he also had that quiet studious serious side, that way of slanting his eyes up at you and going all soft when he was feeling affectionate…. or something.
From the other room, Sam snorted. “Maybe he’ll get bored of watching us nearly get our throats ripped out every single day.”
“I don’t know, he seems to be a sadist,” Cas replied with sincerity, and Dean closed the front door more loudly than necessary to let them know he was back before he walked into the room.
“Who?”
“Chuck,” they both said in unison, as though Dean couldn’t have figured that out even if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Motherfucker,” Dean agreed, and went to put away the groceries.
The gas was still on so he made one of Sam’s childhood favorites, Rice A Roni in the skillet and some chicken breasts he chopped up and added in and a big pile of green beans beside it. Sam looked up in surprise when he walked in with the full plates.
“You cooked?” he asked incredulously.
Dean felt caught out for some reason, rubbed the back of his neck and put his own plate down too roughly.
“Whatever, it’s cheaper than constantly getting take out. And don’t pretend you’re not longing for something green, I know you!”
Sam didn’t deny it. There was the hint of a smile on his face when he looked up at Dean, and Dean realized that was the first time he’d seen Sam’s smile since the day the world changed. And for some time before that.
Dean’s stomach sunk at the realization. Sam was different. Dean could deal with the world the way it was now, could keep fighting and put one foot in front of the other and kill as many evil sonsofbitches as they could, without driving himself insane thinking that it was all Chuck’s doing. He had learned to compartmentalize as a child, and it was a survival skill he’d never lost. But Sam.
Sam needed to think more deeply. He needed to make sense of the world in a way that Dean no longer hoped for; he needed to believe that they could make a difference. He needed to believe that his actions were his own. Sam was no puppet, and now that he knew that Chuck was pulling his strings, nothing they did had meaning for Sam anymore.
And that? That Dean couldn’t stand.
He took advantage of the few days they had left before Sam started insisting he was healed, attempting to return that little smile to Sam’s face however he could. They watched ‘Raiders Of The Lost Ark’ and Dean made popcorn on the stove in a pot the way he did when they were kids, slathered it in butter and salt so Sammy could complain about how it wasn’t good for them. He cajoled both Sam and Cas into a card game the next night. Cas had no poker face at all, but he was lucky as hell; that did make Sam smile.
Dean’s tendency to avoid thinking too far ahead kicked him in the butt when the few days of relative normalcy only served to make Sam feel worse as those days were about to come to an end. Dean was ambushed by an angry zombieghost on his way back to the car after stocking up on ammo from a place in the nearest town and came back bruised and bloody.
“What the hell happened to you?” Sam demanded as Dean threw the bags of ammo down and sunk into a chair.
“Thing got the jump on me comin’ out of Joe’s Hardware in town. Sucker caught me by surprise and got in a few good hits before I could take it out.”
“Was it looking for you?” Sam asked, and he sure as hell wasn’t smiling now.
Dean shrugged, and that just made Sam more angry. He leapt up from the sofa and looked up at the ceiling, fists clenched.
“Is this fun for you, Chuck? Were you bored these last few days, huh? Needed to make Dean bleed so you could get your jollies again? You sick sorry son of a bitch, you fucking coward! Is this what you’re gonna do to us for the rest of our lives? What makes you think we’re gonna stick around long enough, huh? How about we just check out right now and fuck you over?!”
Dean and Cas were both on their feet at that, because Sam had drawn the knife from his boot and was holding it perilously close to his own throat. His eyes were wild, chest heaving. He looked like a madman and Dean was a million times more scared than he’d been when the zombieghost had tried to kill him an hour ago.
“Sam!” Dean yelled, and it startled Sam enough that he lowered the knife so that Dean could knock it out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, hitting an end table on the way down. Sam threw a punch at Dean instead, adrenaline fueled and sloppy, and it went wide by a mile but it was enough to convince Dean that Sam wasn’t even close to okay.
“Sammy, cut it out,” he said, not yelling anymore, and Sam turned away, shaking his head. His shoulders were still going up and down way too fast and his fists were still clenched.
“It’s not worth it, Dean – nothing’s ever gonna change. There’s nothing we can do to make him stop.”
“Sam,” Castiel said softly from the other side of the room. “You don’t know that. He might get bored of us, might get tired.”
Sam made a dismissive sound and waved his hand in Castiel’s general direction. “He’ll just make us do something he does want to watch,” he said sadly.
The resignation in Sam’s voice, the fact that he’d thought about slitting his own throat to make this stop, the fact that Sam never smiled anymore and Dean needed to see that more than anything – those were the things that later he’d say were the reason he did what he did.
“Maybe it’s not boring that’s gonna do it,” Dean said, but Sam didn’t turn around. Dean took a few steps toward his brother.
“Maybe it’s saying fuck you, you think you can control me, but this time you’re not going to. Everything you set up, it’s not enough to stop me from doing what I want for a change. Even if it’s not gonna entertain you – even if it’s gonna turn your stomach, Chuck, you fucking bastard. How you gonna feel about that, Chuck?”
Sam only got half turned around before Dean grabbed his brother by the shoulders and pulled him in and kissed him full on the mouth.
Part Two