Title: Swings and Roundabouts, 3/7
Rating: PG-13 for now
Warnings: Non-graphic Wincest
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Spoilers: References events in 1x14 Nightmares.
Notes: Written for stagesoflove 2006, Round 3, 'Seven Deadly Sins' and 'Seven Heavenly Virtues', stage #3 - Envy // Justice.
#1 Pride // Faith, #2 Gluttony // Temperance.
Envy // Justice
Dean tosses the spoon end over end and watches it bounce off the multi-layered covering of Sam's chest. Sam doesn't even flinch, just keeps on reading.
"Dude, you should be working it, not trying to pretend it doesn't exist!"
Sam continues to ignore him.
"I don't believe you, Sammy! You've been given a gift, a goddamn weapon uniquely suited to the job we're doing here, and you are wasting it! You should - I don't know - train for the day you need to use it. If it was me, I'd be…"
Sam slams his book down on the table and twists in his chair to glare at Dean, as he lies stretched out on their bed.
"You'd be what, Dean? Halfway to Vegas?"
A flicker of eyelashes is Dean's only reaction to having his earlier, tension-easing joke thrown back in his face. Surely Sam knew he hadn't been serious, right?
Sam doesn't pause to let him answer.
"You'd make a killing, Dean. No more penny ante pool hustling or backroom poker games. You could make that roulette ball dance the tango if you wanted. Yeah, I know exactly what you'd do with this gift if you had it."
Sam lifts shaking hands to massage his temples, and the ball of indignant rage in Dean's chest crumbles into dust and drifts away on his sigh.
"If I could cut this out and hand it to you, Dean, I…" Sam's shoulders slump in defeat. "I wouldn't. I'm not that cruel. Do you have any real idea what it's like? I watched you die, man. Max put a bullet between your eyes and your brains were splattered across the wall like cherry Jell-O. How do you think that made me feel?"
Dean's hand hovers in the empty space between them, offering apology, comfort and understanding. Sam studies it dispassionately.
"I know I have to figure this out, Dean. Hitting out in anger's not the answer. I want to learn how to control it, I really do, but when I think about Max and what it did to him…"
Sam's moving as he's talking, and by the time his voice fades into nothing he's standing next to the bed, fingers tangled tightly with Dean's. Dean gives a tug and hauls him down to lie beside him on the bleach-stained bedspread.
"You're an idiot, you know that?"
Dean catches Sam's other hand as he tries to land a swat on Dean's uppermost thigh.
"It wasn't his gift that made Max what he was, that was down to his fucked up family. You were raised up to know right from wrong - to only use force against the enemy. Jesus, Sammy, you were going off to law school. Justice, impartiality, equity. This ringing any bells for you, dude? Once you've got a handle on this thing, do you seriously think you'd ever use it to hit out in anger? That's not you."
Sam allows Dean to tangle them into their accustomed sleeping knot, and then closes his eyes.
"We'll call Missouri in the morning, okay, Sam?"
Sam's agreeable hum fades into a quiet, peaceful snore. Dean lies awake and worries.