affectingly (affectingly) wrote in 4tires4walls,

Ficlet: Nothing But (Sam/Dean, PG-13, 500 Words)

[Nothing But (Sam/Dean, PG-13, 500 Words)]

The world swims around him, images of the things, the people he’s killed flickering on a reel through his mind. His future stretches out before him, nothing but blue skies and black eyes.

Then it shifts and he’s at a crossroads and when he looks up there’s Dean and Ruby. The colt is in Dean’s capable hands, trained on Ruby’s already dead heart.

“Sam?” Dean calls out, his voice shaky and unsure. Something about this isn’t right. “Sam, what are you doing?”

Glancing down, Sam finds himself holding his own gun, aiming it steadily at Dean’s head.

“What’s it going to be, Sammy? Him or me? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, I don’t think he’s going to forgive you for making deals with devils like you did him.”

“Shut up, bitch. Sam, I forgive you, just tell this nasty piece of work to go back to hell where she came from.”

Sam shivers because Dean’s words are cold, forced and hollow. He doesn’t mean them. Ruby knows, too. She winks at Sam. “He can’t kill me with that thing, anyway. You know who I am, Sam. That colt was never meant to deal with someone like me.”

He knows it’s true.

“Kill him and together we’ll bring him back, make him forget how much he hates you now.”

Tears burning at the corner of his eyes, Sam shakes his head, but not because he doesn’t see the logic in Ruby’s suggestion. It's because he knows he has no other choice.

Dean’s hand begins to shake on the colt and Sam can see he’s crying. “Sam, no.”

He closes his eyes and tries to think and when he opens them, Dean’s got the colt pointed at Sam’s heart instead of Ruby’s. “Sam, put that gun down.”

“No, Dean, I can’t do that.”

Dean takes a deep breath, nods like he’s thinking about something. Finally, he lowers his arms, lets the gun drop to the ground. “Okay.”

Sam cocks his head to the side, doesn’t let the gun drop even an inch. “Okay, what?”

“Okay, so shoot me then. Make me forget this, Sammy.”


Sam sits up in bed, eyes wide and gun in his hand. He swallows, takes a deep breath with the pistol pointed steadily forward. “Dean?”

He scans the bedroom, hands and arms remaining steady as he waits for confirmation that it was nothing but another nightmare.

“Yeah, Sam?”

Sam relaxes, pushes the gun’s safety back into place and tucks it under his pillow again. “What the hell was that noise? I almost shot something.”

Dean comes into view, striding through the open door into their bedroom with a smirk on his face. “I’m remodeling!”

“You’re remodeling. Right… Since when did you know how to remodel?”

Dean meets this question with another broad smirk and shuffles out of sight again. Sam groans when he hears another wall-quaking bang. It’s louder than a hammer would be, and with sudden dread Sam remembers the sledgehammer in the Impala’s trunk. “Dean…”
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