han_solo | (no subject)

(no subject)

Dean is waiting.

They seem to spend a lot of time doing that, lately.

At least here in Hippie Hollow there's plenty to eat while you wait. And he can mess with Sam's car.

As long as Sam doesn't catch him at it.

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Sam stares at him. It's very obvious that he's trying (and failing) to hide a smirk.

"Somehow, Dean, I don't think threatening it with 'We don't know how to get you out of there but we'd like you to leave' is going to work real well."

"I said I had ideas," Dean grumbles. "I didn't say they were good."

His gaze returns to Sam's research, and he so-casually leans over to palm the notebook.

Sam is still smirking, shaking his head, reaching for his books.

He sees Dean's hand coming and pauses like he might grab for it but... honestly, how much of a surprise is it going to be? If Dean was anything but expecting it, Sam will be stunned.

The journal is half-filled with theories and notes on transporting displaced spirits and re-possessing them in their original bodies.

It also includes some details about healing the physical body.

It's way more than a week's work.

Dean flips through silently, expression darkening with each page.

Sam opens another book and flips through it, studious.

He isn't reading a word. Just waiting.

Dean reaches the end and starts again from the beginning, fingers tapping slightly on the table.

Sam shifts, uncomfortable.

"The words aren't going to change on the second read."

"There's a lot of work here."

Dean continues reading, grimly.

Sam doesn't make a sound, other than to flip the book closed and wait.

Of course there's a lot of work there.

Dean reaches the end and puts the journal down on the table with a slap.

"Dude. Seriously. Reanimating corpses?"

A hand lifts to rub at his forehead and Sam looks at Dean with both brows lifted.

What did he expect?

"Corpses?"

Dean's face is set in grim, angry lines.

"It's not what you think."

It's amazing how calm and patient that came out, with Dean looking at him like that.

"It's exactly what I think," Dean snarls, pushing away from the table and standing up, glaring at Sam.

"I made a deal. To keep you safe. That means sane too! You don't go fucking raising zombies, even if they're me!"

"It's not what you think," Sam repeats firmly, glaring back, jaw set and serious. "It isn't 'reanimating a corpse,' it's not like an old monster movie. I was trying to figure out how to do exactly what you're trying to do here, put a soul back in its body."

"Sam, my body was dead!"

"Only because there wasn't a soul in it!"

"No!" Dean slams his hand down on the table, furious. "This is not up for discussion! I die, you live, that's the deal!"

"No!" Sam yells in return, jumping to his feet with both hands flat to the table. "No, Dean, the deal was that I die and you live! You lasted forty-eight hours before you made a deal that I never wanted you to make! I went without you for four months!

"What makes you think we're so different?! What did you think I would do when I couldn't save you?!"

"I thought you'd live, not find a way to bring me back as a fucking zombie!" Dean snarls. "I'm your brother! I look after you! You're off the deep end, Sam!"

Sam scoffs, harsh and angry and disbelieving. "Right, I'm off the deep-end! Trying to save my brother through magic and ritual, that's fucking crazy, but selling your soul to a demon, that's perfectly sane!

"You're my brother, Dean, but I'm yours, too, and I wasn't going to let you follow in Dad's footsteps!"

Dean's fists clench, sharply. His voice is low and furious.

"That was out of line."

"Why? Because it was true?" Sam spits back. His hands are still flat on the table and he glares with sharply narrowed eyes.

"When I died... you could have told yourself I was better off, I was in a better place. You were in Hell because of me. I don't care why you did it, I wasn't leaving you there."

"Enough!" Dean lifts his fist sharply. "Stop it. My deal - that was supposed to be the end. No more! No more stupid deaths! That included you!"

Shaking his head, Sam straightens. It's such a Dean argument, he has to look away, run a hand through his hair, because the simultaneous urge to smile and scream is giving him a headache.

"It doesn't work that way," he grumbles a moment later. "It doesn't stop just because you want it to. You're my brother, Dean. That means as much as you won't give up on me, I won't give up on you. So you keep throwing you life away all you want, I'll just keep trying to save it."