sam winchester (![]() ![]() @ 2013-10-10 18:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, !trigger warning, dean winchester, sam winchester |
Who: Angel!Sam and Dean
What: watching the Supernatural premiere and then coping with it.
When: Tuesday, October 8; nighttime (backdated)
Where: Dean/Charlie’s apartment → out on the roofs of buildings
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SUPERNATURAL 9X01, TRIGGER WARNING (mentions of suicide, kind of, depression, and all the other crappy things that go on in their lives at home). At least it ends on a happy note?
Status: logged, complete
Sam had been reading and watching interviews for information about his future while their show had been on hiatus. Most of it had given him a certain amount of hope. He’d learned that he was going to be healed, and he almost didn’t care that there would be a terrible secret that Dean was going to be keeping from him about how that had happened, because he really didn’t want to watch himself die. He didn’t want to die. Because of this damn show, this damn universe, he was now more aware of the importance of his life than ever, particularly to his brother. He’d recovered from having all those suicidal insecurities dumped into his head, enough that he only felt the slightest of twinges of it when he thought about Charlie moving into his room, or earlier today when Dean had seemed more amused by Angel in Sam’s body than he was by Sam.
Those small fears were easily quashed, because the darkness inside him had retreated in the nine-- nearly ten-- months he’d been here in this universe. He had been capable of taking even this switch into a vampire’s body in stride, despite the fact that it was messing with his head, dredging up all the cravings of an ex-junkie that he didn’t want to deal with. He was able to handle that, he still could.
What was far more difficult was watching himself on screen, wanting to die. Trying desperately to die, still, even when faced with the image of his brother trying to save him. Wanting to die for good.
But the hardest part of it was watching his brother try desperately to save him even when he didn’t want to be saved. Because that was the part he’d never really seen before he’d gotten to see it on screen: Dean’s raw vulnerability and horror and brokenness at the very idea of losing Sam, and the contrast between the two of them was almost too much. Worse was that this time, Dean was watching it with him. That had been a very bad idea.
About halfway through, while watching it, they’d both gone for the alcohol. At one point, Sam had actually reached out and grabbed hold of Dean’s forearm for maybe thirty seconds, maybe a minute, as they were watching Dean get beaten to hell by angels. And then… it was over.
Sam didn’t even know what to do with himself now, really. He didn’t know how to erase or undo or even begin to heal whatever had broken in Dean from watching Sam try to leave him behind. What he wanted was just to hug his brother properly, give him the physical reminder that Sam was here and alive, but he wasn’t in his own body, so he didn’t feel like that would quite cover it.
Actually, he just wanted his own body back, period. He wanted to feel like himself again, the self that was here in this universe, that wasn’t anywhere near suicidal. The one that was happy and healthy and strong and enjoying his life. The one that wasn’t possessed by an angel without even realizing it. He wanted… well, it didn’t matter that he wanted to be himself again, he wasn’t going to get it. Not yet, anyway.
He finished off his drink and looked over at his brother. There were a million things he wanted to say, but what he said was, “Still want to go leaping tall buildings in a single bound?” It was the idea he’d offered earlier, when he’d heard that it was something Angel was capable of doing. But if not, if the episode had totally ruined the mood, they could stay here and drink. He was okay with that too.
The trouble with being a fictional character of an unfinished story was precisely that the story was unfinished. Having been in New York for almost four months now, he had come to terms with the idea that he existed, somehow, in a "fictional" universe. He had come to understand that Purgatory, and Heaven, and Hell did not exist here as they did back in his world. Everything that he knew was, for lack of a better term, fictional. But none of that compared to the idea that his future was unknown, not unknown because he hadn't lived it yet, but because it hadn't been written.
Somewhere, three thousand miles away from where he was currently sitting, a group of people were discussing his future, reenacting his future, receiving the future through whatever stupid communication device they had between this world and his. Really, just thinking about that made his brain hurt because he was Real, with a capital R, not some fictional character to be toyed with on a TV set.
He had not wanted to watch the bastardized version of his life that this world called Supernatural. Too much of it reminded him of Chuck's books, and hell, even the thought of that was starting to make him homesick. He'd have taken Chuck's books any day over watching some model-like Hollywood wannabe pretending to be his brother, pretending to be his brother wanting to die. He'd take the conventions, and the weird fake, actually real ghost hunts, and the monsters, and the dick angels.
Yes, even the dick angels, who appeared to be bigger dicks than Dean had ever imagined.
He hated them all. He hated the Hollywood fake him, and the Hollywood fake Sam, and Cas, and the angels, and Heaven, and Hell. And he hated the Tesseract for making his brother look like a vampire from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which seemed like a more kick ass female version of Supernatural, once you got down to it.
And he hated being here, because it meant that he wasn't there. Which, in turn, meant that his brother was being possessed by a dick angel, and the only thing Dean could do was watch it on TV.
"Yeah." Even though jumping from buildings sounded like a suicide pact, anything had to be better than just sitting here, and drinking, and thinking about - whatever the hell he had just experienced. "Let's get the hell out of this apartment."
There were so many things going on in Sam’s mind, but more than his own head, he was worried about Dean’s. He might have been the suicidal one on television, in the show, but seeing that-- he could only guess at what seeing that had done to his brother’s head.
But there weren’t words that he could say to fix that, or if there were, he didn’t know what they could possibly be. He wasn’t suicidal, obviously, but Dean knew that. There was nothing they could do to change that future, so far as they knew. That was why Sam wanted to soak up as much of this world as he possibly could before they went home, in the hopes that even if the memories didn’t survive the trip back through the tesseract, the sentiments would. The emotional memory of being happy, having something to live for, wanting to make things right with his brother. God, just being willing to fight for his life a few years down the road could make all the difference.
He’d learned a lot from watching the show, from being able to see his life from an omniscient perspective. But in many ways, he was still just as helpless to deal with the problems that arose here. He didn’t know if he was doing the right thing here, asking Dean to do something with him instead of pushing him to talk about it. He’d stopped pushing Dean so much as time had gone on, and he didn’t think that was helping. So, he was going to push, because he had to. If nothing else, he felt like he ought to push just to make sure Dean could still feel him there. He had worried that moving out might make his brother feel like he was slipping away and leaving him behind, and he was even more worried now, now that it seemed that future-him had been ready to leave Dean behind for good. He understood why, because the bone deep exhaustion and sense of utter failure that he was going to feel in his future had sunk deep into his bones during his sleep. But it had been pushed back by his current enthusiasm for life, for the way this world and the people he loved in it made him feel younger than he had in years, and so he disagreed with his future self. It wasn’t time for him to give up. Not then, certainly not now.
“I’m going to live, you know,” he said, as he fell into step beside his brother, heading for the roof. “You did the impossible, you found a way to heal me. And I’ll pull myself back together. I always do.”
He wanted to believe what he was saying, he really did. He certainly believed the first part, that his life had been saved. But he remembered what he had said to Dean when he’d been staring down the end of his one year before hell: that it was impossible to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. Now the roles were reversed and he was the one that needed to learn to save himself.
"Yeah, I...saved you." Dean led the way out onto the roof, trying not to think about how he had saved his brother.
He knew that if he had been put in that same situation today he'd have done the same damn thing. And he knew that he wouldn't have told Sam because even if a part of him knew that his brother should know. A part of him hoped that maybe Sam would be okay with being possessed in order to live. And what wouldn't – what hadn't he given to keep his brother alive? His own life was worthless compared to Sam's.
Or, it had been. He tried not to think in those terms anymore because he wanted to accept that this new life was different. In this universe, they could live on their own terms. They could decide to live in fancy Manhattan apartments, with girlfriends or platonic lesbian friends, respectively. Hell, they could have girlfriends, long-term relationships, something that Dean had never expected, and certainly didn't expect in whatever fictional universe existed on his television set. This was life now. Not bitterness or misery or betrayal, but this vague sense of happiness.
But none of that mattered when his brother wanted to kill himself. None of that mattered when he'd eventually betray his brother's trust and have him possessed by an angel. Dean stood, surveying the New York skyline, a slight autumnal chill in the hazy urban air. Things might be different here, but they weren't different enough. In the end, they would find themselves in that inevitable future, and he'd fight. He'd fight until it either had to be inevitable or not at all, but the fact that Sam came to the point where he didn't want to fight anymore…
That fact stung more than all the rest.
"I saved you, and I fought for you, and none of it matters. After all we've been through, and what, we give up? Is that what the Tesseract wants to show us?" Dean turned to observe his brother. He wasn't angry at Sam. He didn't know what he felt, except frustration, mostly directed at a probably partially sentient glowing blue box. "Because if it is, I'm done. We can go back now and forget this ever happened."
“Of course it matters,” Sam said. He was so stunned by that statement, that none of it mattered, that the words had burst out of him without him really realizing it. And they’d come out of his mouth in Angel’s voice, which was… disconcerting. But he was too incensed by the need to make sure that it mattered to care. “All of it matters, Dean. All of it. We’ve both stared death in the face, and sometimes we wanted to die, or at least told ourselves we did. Maybe we meant it. But as long as we’re alive, it matters.”
God, he wanted his own body back. Just the feeling of being himself, being alive in his own form-- that wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d miss until right at this moment. Angel was probably still reveling in it, in the feeling of being human. Just the fact that being inside his body and feeling the life in it could make someone that happy, weird as it was, was a drastic contrast to what they’d just seen. Sam’s body at home in the future was not a fully functioning vessel even for an angel, although it had looked like Ezekiel was allowing him to have control over his body without him needing to fight for it. For now, anyway.
“I want to live, Dean,” he said, more quietly. “Maybe I didn’t right in that moment because I spent so much time convincing myself that it was better that you were finally at rest when I thought you were dead, instead of in purgatory; maybe because after everything we’ve seen, I just hated the thought of every crazy way we manage to scrape through and beat Death. We both know that it causes more chaos and disorder, and it’s not just our lives that it’s disrupting. You saw it, when you made that deal with Death to get my soul back.” He was putting his thoughts into coherent order as he was saying them; the logic in them surprised him as much as it probably surprised his brother. “I think we were brought here to find out that our life at home is going to involve more crap and more crazy than we can even imagine right now, and it might not make any sense, and it’ll probably get harder and harder to keep living it, for both of us.” He paused for breath. “But I don’t care. If I take anything back with me from this universe, I hope it’s the fact that I want to live through it, all of it. Even if it never gets better. I still don’t want to go home yet, but I will. It’s important that I get back there and live that life, too.”
"I know," said Dean, equally quiet. "I know you're not that person, not yet. Maybe not ever. But I can't -"
Seeing his brother, whatever essence made his brother who he was, in another's body was off-putting. It didn't help that this other person happened to be a vampire. It seemed too much of a reminder that, in the future, Dean let his brother be possessed by an angel, actually encouraged said possession in order to save Sam's life. The entire idea repelled him.
"Four months, and I still feel like I just got out of Purgatory. That we're meant to be fighting some sort of epic battle against...fuck, everything. And now, good ol' blue box decided that we should come back on TV, and give us this, and this…" He gestured to his brother. "...shit, you're a vampire. We've made some crazy stuff happen, but I'd take all of it over that box, and this coming and going nonsense, and the dead people…"
"I can't live as though I'm living a double life. Knowing what happens in the future, and being here, for all of this, it's just - it's too damn much. We got through the Apocalypse without knowing it was coming. I think we can handle not knowing how you decide to off yourself next. Or...me… Or...Cas… Or anyone else."
Knowing that Dean didn’t want to be here in the same way he did was hard. But it was something Sam had known for a while, really. Each time Dean had been here, he’d had trouble with it. He’d thought it was going better this time, but maybe tonight-- maybe watching that episode-- was the thing that tipped the scale. Maybe in a few weeks, or a few days, or tomorrow, he’d be losing his brother again. He stared down at his hands for a moment, then crossed his arms and looked up, out at the city, instead of at Dean.
“I’ll be that person eventually,” he said. “And I’ll get through it. That’s why I keep watching. Because eventually, somehow, we seem to get through it. I thought I had died when I first got here, that Lucifer had killed me; I watched myself survive it. I watched myself come back from the pit, get my soul back, defeat Eve and the leviathans, now I’m going to survive the trials that God designed specifically to kill people.” He gave a wry laugh. “I know it’s going to suck each time, it hurts for me too, but maybe something good will happen, too. I honestly believe that, even after watching four years of my crappy future on television. Maybe we’ll get lucky and this Ezekiel thing will actually work, without side effects. Although I’m probably going to be pissed when I find out, at home.” His voice caught a little, and he shook his head. “But the me that’s here, that’s… dealing with not being in my own body, with having so much out of my hands-- the me that actually watched you wrestle with the decision before you made it-- I’m not mad at you, Dean. I hope it works.”
He knew himself well enough to know that he would eventually find out about the angel inside him, one way or another. When had secrets actually worked for them in the past? And he also knew that, in that future mindset, finding that out was going to hit him hard. As he’d said, he’d probably be pissed-- well, he’d probably be absolutely distraught over not having his body all to himself, yet again. Maybe the vampire thing was easier because he hadn’t actually lived all of that yet. He hadn’t actually dealt with being possessed by Lucifer or having his soul leave his body. He felt more comfortable, more in control of his own sense of self. Which was an ironic thing to think when he wasn’t, in fact, himself.
“So, what now?” he asked. “How are you going to deal with it? Are you going to give up and go home again?” There wasn’t any judgment in his voice. He didn’t know that Dean had actually given up before, he didn’t know whether being taken home had anything to do with that. But he was fairly certain that had happened to other people. So if Dean gave up now, it probably meant that the countdown until he returned through the tesseract would start ticking away even faster.
"Is that how it works?"
Dean didn't know anything about the Tesseract, except that it was an extremely bothersome son of a bitch. If he could give up and go home, would he? He didn't want to live a double life, to know what happened back home and to survive what happened here. The hope that Sam seemed to see in their overcoming all of the garbage that had filled their lives… He didn't feel any of that. All he saw was something, something that he yet again seemed to have no control over, dictating his existence.
And he hated it. He hated it as much as he hated Lucifer and the Archangels. Because if there was one thing that Dean valued over any other, it was control. He liked to be in control of his life, to have the free will to choose to stand and fight, or leave. Either way, it should be his choice, not an angel's, not God's, and certainly not a dumb blue box.
"I don't think that's how it works. And even if it were...I'm not going to just leave you here. Look, you're my brother, and for most of this shit that we've been through, we've gone through it together, and if I have to go back to fighting Leviathans and other Purgatory monsters and whatever the hell else… I don't want to do it without you."
"I'm staying, Sam. And I'll fight like hell if that blue box tries to decide otherwise but…" He shifted, looking from his brother to the world around them. It was somehow calmer all the way up here on the roof, different from the city that he seemed to see every day. "I don't want to know what happens on the show. I don't want to know if we win, or lose, until we're standing on that battlefield, and ready to fight. Because right now, not being able to do what we always do… I just can't."
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I know that people have gotten unhappy here, and then left. I think it might be one possibility, but it’s not the only one. I know it’s not why you left, before.” He gave a slight smile, and the movement of his face reminded him that it didn’t actually look like his smile. It was his smile on someone else’s face. “If it ever gets that bad, and you’re ready to give up, I’ll give that a try with you. Jo might kick our asses for it, though.”
He said that last lightly, though he meant it to remind Dean of what else he had here, too. Not that he wanted to throw that in Dean’s face, because he understood it, he really did. He didn’t blame him for wanting to go home. Sam had been that way for months after getting here, even after he’d been with Veronica. There had still been a part of him that was devoted to the fight and to the importance of what they did in their world and felt that his happiness here didn’t matter, should be sacrificed, in order to go back to his responsibilities. In a way, watching the show-- watching himself fight that fight, save their world over and over-- had somehow reassured him that the timeline would continue. That if it did end, it would be because he went back home and died, and not because he had selfishly chosen to be happy in this universe for a while.
It was a very strange, morbid sort of logic, but it worked for him. What mattered now was that Dean needed to find a way to make this universe work for him, too.
And he wasn’t surprised that Dean had chosen not to watch the show. If anything, he was surprised Dean had stuck it out this long. Before, he’d made it through one episode before quitting. “Works for me,” he said. “No more talk about the show with you. We’re just here until we go back there, and then we’ll fight it through.” He frowned slightly, and tilted his head, almost amused. “I’d give you a hug right now, but it’d feel kinda weird doing that while I’m in some other dude’s body. So I’ll save that for when I’m me again, okay?”
"Jo would definitely kick my ass for saying any of this."
He returned his brother's smile, a wry sort of half-smile that didn't quite fit his feelings. There would always be that part of Dean that recklessly, hopelessly, endearingly wanted to keep fighting, long after everyone else had given up. Sometimes, the fight itself was self-defeating, a means to an end, a permanent end, that he had considered far too many times to be considered healthy. And he had experienced that end enough times to wonder if it ever would be permanent, and if it were, where would he go? There was no where that he could go now that he had not already been, that he not already fought with the half the inhabitants, and won, at least by his own standard of winning.
But there was another part of Dean. There was the part of Dean that built nesting apartments, and collected books, and annotated guides on home improvement. There was the Dean who loved Jo, and who took care of his friends, even when he had no idea what to do. As much as he hated being here, he liked it, too. And he hated himself for liking it. He hated himself because he knew this, too, would end, and he'd be back home. And either he'd remember this place, and constantly try to recapture this elusive sense of happiness, or he'd forget all of it.
He was doing his best not think about it in those terms. He wanted to be happy, and he could be. He knew that he just needed time. He'd never forget who he was, or who he wanted, and needed, to be, but maybe given time, and the right circumstances, he could adjust as Sam had. He could be content, if not happy, that he'd been given this opportunity. He could do that. He just needed time. And to feel separate from his TV persona, no matter how hard that might prove to be.
"Yeah, okay. It'd be kinda weird even if you were in your body." Dean smiled for real this time, teasing his brother. "Are we going to leap from these buildings, or do I need to build a bat signal first?"
“I won’t tell her,” Sam promised, and as weird as his smile had felt initially, it stayed. He knew that Dean wasn’t overly fond of conversations like this, but this felt like it had been a good one. Distressing, but the conclusion had reached a good end. He’d talked, Dean had talked, and they’d reached an understanding.
Which left them with the other part of what he had come up here to do, which he suddenly realized he was scared shitless of doing. Jumping from one building to another? That was insane. He had never been scared of heights-- and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t made scarier jumps in his life, such as the one that led straight down to hell-- but it was nevertheless terrifying. Although, the part that scared him the most was that he might drop Dean, or otherwise break his brother. He could feel how difficult it was to break the vampire body he was wearing, but Dean was human, and very breakable. They weren’t at the very highest part of the tower, even, but a fall from up here would still kill him.
“Um,” he said, “Do you mind if I try that leap first, on my own? Just to make sure I have the hang of it? I’m a lot less fragile than you are.” Although he was also aware that watching him leap by himself might be even harder for Dean than taking the risk with his own life. And after what they’d just watched, he didn’t want to put his brother through that, but he’d personally prefer it very much to being responsible for getting Dean hurt. What mattered to him right now, though, was not ruining the moment, so although it terrified him, he left it up to his brother. “Or are you going to insist on jumping with me anyway?”
Under ordinary circumstances, Dean thought that he might be against leaping buildings in a single bound. They weren't as high up as they might be, if they were actual superheroes and not a fake vampire and a human. But still they were pretty high up, and a fall might be disastrous (if not for Sam, than for him).
"You're not -" He had to keep reminding himself that Sam was a vampire, or in a vampire's body. He could do this. Sam could do this. He had to believe in his brother. If he wanted to do any crazy jumping around the New York skyline, he had to believe.
"Fine. You go first, but if you get hurt… Don't put it past me to take down Other You. After...we eat ice cream."
Sam wasn’t sure what Dean had been about to say. That he wasn’t really less fragile? That he wasn’t going to jump alone? Neither of those things would have surprised him, even though the former wasn’t true. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to test this himself, but he’d fought those vampires from Angel’s universe before, and after Angel had mentioned it, he’d looked up clips on the internet to see that it was possible. That yes, Angel was capable of jumping from great heights and not dying. Which meant that Sam should be, too, since he was currently inside Angel’s body.
There was of course the possibility that he would return to his own body mid-flight, and smash to the ground. His mind helpfully offered this scenario, but he ignored it: it would be their minds or souls that traded places, not their bodies. His mind would go to wherever his body was, and Angel’s would end up back in his own. It would still be Angel’s body that was doing the jumping, with Angel inside it. Which would still be weird, but wouldn’t involve anyone getting hurt or dying.
And it seemed that Dean trusted him not to get hurt, or was trying to make himself believe it. That did surprise him, but in a good way. He smiled, and even gave a little huff of laughter when Dean tacked on the part about ice cream, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he said. He felt warm with the knowledge that even after what they’d just watched, Dean still believed in him enough to watch him jump. That gave him the courage to move back to get a running start, eying the distance between them and the next building over. He could do this. Even if he didn’t make it to the other rooftop, he wouldn’t die when he hit the ground.
He took a deep breath, then headed for the edge of the roof at a run, and leaped. It was a far more powerful leap than anything he’d experienced before, much more powerful than his own body could have managed. He had no idea how to land without hurting himself, but the vampire’s muscles and instincts seemed to have some idea of what they were doing. He stuck the landing, feet coming down on the other building’s rooftop much more softly than they should have, and his knees bent until he was in a crouch, hands pressing to the roof to keep himself from falling forward. That was probably more just out of surprise than anything else; he straightened up and looked back where he had come.
“Holy shit,” he said aloud, not loud enough for Dean to hear across the buildings. He raised one hand in a thumbs up to indicate that he was just fine. And then he took the same running start, and leaped back across to where his brother was standing.
This time the landing was even easier. He bent his knees, but didn’t go all the way down into a crouch. It did hurt a little, but not in any lasting way-- just the ache of his muscles and joints absorbing the impact. He stood up, grinning from the adrenaline rush. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready to try carrying you.”
Dean watched his brother leap from the roof. It was one of those surreal moments, in which his brother was standing next to him, and then he was falling inhumanly through the air. Dean felt his own hands clench involuntarily, suddenly worried about what might happen if Angel had been wrong, or if his brother swapped souls (or whatever) in mid-jump. But his brother landed. There had been no reason to worry.
The thought didn't comfort Dean much, even as he watched Sam leap back across the buildings and land again. And then, there was the other worry - what if Sam didn't change back? Would he be stuck with a vampire brother forever? He definitely didn't want to think about that.
"Okay," he said, a little bit hesitantly. "Ready?" He approached Sam and climbed up onto his back, holding onto Sam's shoulders as tightly as possible. He was definitely not going to falling in this scenario. Unless they got attacked by the Green Goblin or something… which could probably happen in this world.
It was a little weird to feel like he was giving his brother a piggyback ride, but mostly because… well, when they were younger, it had been Dean that carried him. It was still Dean that was usually doing the carrying, in a less literal sense. Except in the cases when Dean was the one injured, in which case Sam carried-- or supported-- him. Dean wasn’t injured right now, but he wasn’t the one that could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Sam adjusted to the weight more easily than he would have in his own form, despite the fact that Angel was actually shorter than him (albeit only by a few inches). He took a few steps back and tested his ability to run while carrying his brother on his back. It was easier than he’d expected; between his own instincts and the vampire body’s abilities, the extra weight was easy enough to adjust to. He grabbed hold of Dean’s knees to keep him secure, because Dean falling off was still the absolute worst case scenario he could possibly imagine, and any awkwardness involved was more than worthwhile to ensure it didn’t happen.
“Here we go,” he said, trying to ignore the voice in his mind that was telling him that this could go horribly wrong. Then he backed up further, and took the same running start, leaping across the space between the buildings. For a moment they were airborne, and it was a hell of a lot scarier now that he was more aware of the fragility of the human being on his back-- and then they landed. Dean’s weight made him top-heavy, and he had to let go of his brother to put his hands down and stop himself from landing flat on his face. He landed in a crouch instead, feeling adrenaline running through him-- or whatever the vampire equivalent was. Maybe it was just an emotional sentiment, since the heart inside him wasn’t actually pumping anything through his veins. “You alright, Dean?”
Flying through the air was both terrifying and amazing. It wasn't something that he could ever be ready for. When they landed, Dean was clinging to Sam with both his knees and hands, doing his best not to fall off. This was a challenge, especially when Sam let go, but not as much as if he had been holding onto regular ol' moose-like Sam. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body. Psychologically, he felt as though he were still back on the other rooftop.
"Yeah," he said, still holding onto his brother. Because, really, he had no idea what else he was supposed to be doing with his limbs right now, or even if they still functioned. "Yeah, yeah…I'm fine."
Aside from the bloodlust, and general evil nature, he thought it was worth having his brother be swapped with a vampire. At least, for a hopefully short and definite period of time. Because - flying - was one of the weirdest, coolest experiences ever. "Dude, that was awesome."
It took a moment for Sam to register that the heartbeat pounding in his ears was, in fact, his brother’s. He still felt the thrill of being airborne way up in the air, this body just didn’t respond to it in quite the same way. He carefully shifted his weight back onto his feet and grabbed hold of Dean again to keep him from falling as he stood up, looking around.
“Yeah, it was,” he agreed, grinning into the night air. It made him feel alive, or as alive as he could be in an undead body, and since he couldn’t really see himself, he could almost forget that he wasn’t actually himself. Except when he heard his voice, which was definitely not his own.
Even if he didn’t miss hunting when he wasn’t doing it (or not nearly as much), he kind of missed the adrenaline rush of it. Like Dawn Summers had said, lives like theirs were exciting, even if they weren’t fun. “Maybe we should take up a new hobby,” he said. “Like zip lining, or something. Something… like this.” They both could probably use the extra excitement, and it would be nice to have something else in common with his brother. Something other than hunting.
But in the meantime-- “Want to do it again?”
Dean was all too ready to agree to any hobby that partially resembled the thrill of jumping from rooftops. Being in this world had its terrible moments, particularly when faced with the knowledge that in another universe, he and Sam were still out there, still hunting, still fighting for their lives. He was looking forward to the day when they returned to their world, and their usual thrills. Even if those were mostly raiding vampire nests, and curing the King of Hell (honestly, they should get a hobby back home, if they ever had time for one).
But there were good things, too. There were even good things in situations that didn't immediately seem great, like Sam swapping his body with a vampire. Their television show, which Dean was starting to think was just a melodramatic reinterpretation of his life, sucked, but being here didn't have to.
"Ziplining sounds pretty great. Or uh… paintball?" He knew there were probably a hundred other things that they could do now that they didn't have to spend their entire lives hunting things. Or eating in gas stations. Or driving halfway across America because Dean was terrified of planes, and having a love affair with a 1967 Impala.
But for now - "Absolutely."
Somehow, despite the less than pleasant way the evening had begun, they were both having a ridiculous amount of fun. There was a part of Sam that was in tune with the world of hunting and always would be: a part of him that liked the adrenaline rush, the fulfillment of saving people, even the satisfaction of beating the shit out of an evil son of a bitch. He wasn’t entirely made for that life, but neither was he entirely made for a completely normal one.
And right now, he thought that he’d probably be even happier with having a little more excitement in his life. Preferably of the adrenaline rush variety, not the body-swapping variety, but given that it was the latter which had gotten him into the idea of the former, he wasn’t going to complain about that too much.
“We’d kick ass at paintball,” Sam agreed. He’d tried it with Veronica, and while the toy guns they’d rented were not exactly ideal, he figured there were probably better ways of going about it. If he and Dean got really into it, they could invest in some better weapons. Right now, he wanted to shoot guns and zip down lines and climb up cliffs and maybe even dive out of a plane, just to have this kind of dangerous fun without actually having to worry about dying. Or at least, in a way that his chances of dying were a lot lower than hunting. Which was ironic, probably, since those were usually things that other people found very risky.
But right now, he wanted to jump from building to building. And now that he had his brother’s permission, he intended to do it-- just run and jump and keep going until he couldn’t anymore. Dean might not have signed up for quite that long of a go at it, but he figured his brother would probably enjoy it. And he’d survive it.
“Hold on tight,” he said with a grin, and jumped.