Title: Swings and Roundabouts, 1/7
Rating: PG-13 for now
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: Written for stagesoflove 2006, Round 3, 'Seven Deadly Sins' and 'Seven Heavenly Virtues', #1 Pride // Faith.
Also posted here.
Pride // Faith
Everything's going great - until the second black dog appears out of nowhere.
With one swipe of a paw the size of a dinner plate, it knocks Dean into the corner of a badly crumbling crypt.
Dean feels a wrenching pop as his arm is tugged free of its socket. His shotgun, still fully loaded with rock salt, falls to the ground from suddenly slack, nerveless fingers.
"Dean! Stay down!"
And Dean does. He doesn't even think about disobeying that voice, for all that Sam's only been doing this on a regular basis again for a few short months.
"I can do it, Dean!"
Sam is adamant - not that Dean is arguing, but Sam's still relearning how to trust himself in situations like this - and if the gun wobbles, it's only for an instant. Then it's steady as a rock again, cocked and ready, aimed square between the glowing eyes of the fast approaching hound.
Dean cradles his dislocated arm to his chest and watches the massive beast bound ever closer to his brother.
He sees the hours - the years - of regular practice in Sam's almost perfect stance. Remembers tapping knees and elbows into position with his father's training stick; tugging shoulders back and down until Sammy stopped curling himself around the weapon of the moment, setting himself up to suffer the bone-deep bruises of uncontrolled recoil. Happy times.
The sound of a second shot merges with the first, so close together they almost sound like one. But the dog jerks twice before it drops like a stone, just one short stride away from Dean's own earlier kill.
Dean feels the warm glow of pride for a job well done, though he's unsure whether it's for the death of the dogs or the extra hours he spent on Sam's training after Dad threw up his hands in disgust.
He decides it's both.
"Dude, nice shooting! I knew you could do it. Hell, you were trained by the best."
And if Sam isn't quite as gentle as he might have been, helping to put Dean's shoulder back into place, Dean doesn't mention it. He's still revelling in the heated look he'd got for his teasing, and the muttered threats of retribution Sam is tossing his way as he salts and burns the twin bloated canine corpses.
It sounds to Dean like corporal punishment is on this evening's playtime agenda. He can live with that.