His bottles simply bobbed along the surface of the water. His sexuality? That was one of those bottles. So, not only was he cuddling something that wasn't human, but likely was taking the form of a man too. Quite the jumpscare. And yet, he didn't feel unsafe. Hell. He didn't feel like moving from this spot at all.
The being mumbled against his chest, and his eyes opened again. He watched as the golden hair shifted, as the creature opened its eyes. Sam's pupils blew wide with pure bewilderment, as melting into panic hazel - met gleaming mischievous amber. That was glowing gold, as a smirk spread across the Trickster's face. His voice was groggy with sleep, sounding a bit deeper. Sam wished he could deny the shiver it sent through him.
"Morning, Samalam."
He woke up with a start, banging his head on the top of the car. He groaned and touched the top of his head, pressing his face against the cool window and staring at the rolling fields. He has no idea where they are, it doesn't matter that much. Everyday that they spend hunting, it is a day they waste trying to break Dean's deal. But the man was determined to die. Trying to get his older brother to accept help was like pulling teeth. Sams could guess a million reasons why he was so accepting about just, leaving Sam and the world behind. Most likely, he felt like he didn't deserve to be saved. That he should be dead instead of Dad, instead of that person the faith healer took. Dean eyes him with a soft smirk.
"Morning sleeping beauty." Sam rolls his eyes at his head spinning.
Why the hell was he dreaming about the Trickster? It has only been a few weeks since he had managed to escape the worst: how many times did he even go through that time loop? He had started to lose count after a while. He swallows a bit. Those six months that had followed the time-loop, had somehow been worse. Believing that Dean was dead, lost to him forever. So: he became obsessed. Sam knew that inside of his heart, he has quite an addictive personality. Always doing everything in too much. He found something and he clung to it until it burned him or it lost its value. Especially when stressed. It's why he would spend hours with his nose in a book, escaping the realities around him. He had hunted and hunted, teaching himself to do all the things Dean had done. He had become him. Including drinking habits. He took on nests of vampires all by himself and hacked through werewolf packs. All the while he was keeping tabs on the Trickster. He had dug up every inch of lore. Very crumb of knowledge on the being.
He had become so blind with revenge and anger, that he had been willing to murder an innocent man to get to the beast. To bring the god of mischief, Loki to his feet. All so he could beg for Dean back. Not to kill it. Not to make sure it never hurts anyone again. All for Dean. As much as it sucked ass, a lesson had stuck. But not the lesson he wanted to teach him. Sam found out that without Dean he was nothing but a mess. He also has begun to realize that this rage, hot, ugly, and fiery, is always burning in the back of his mind. In his stomach and in his soul. Able to get its kicks as they slaughtered monsters. Saved people. If he stopped hunting, what would become of him? Where would that rage go? He could see it on his face. Looking just like his father as he stared at himself in mirrors, splashing cold water on his face.
Dean was constantly exploding, even when Sam knew he didn't want to. When he knew that his older brother wanted nothing more than to say anything else. He couldn't help himself, he had burned his fuse down to nothing but a stump. It was expected, Predictable. His anger? His anger was a cold-boiling mass inside of his chest. Waiting for the spark that would force it out onto his tongue. That's when their fights hit new heights. When he cut Dean down into nothing when he got himself punched in the face. When he would swing back. He had never noticed how the fire inside of his body had grown over the years, but it had always been there. When he fought with his Dad as a teenager. When he cut heads off. It had been there, waiting for the perfect time to strike. When he couldn't place that rage on someone else, and more often than not it reflected in. Tearing himself to shreds. So, as he sat there in the car thoughts whirling as the dream replayed in his mind.
Kiss The Skin Off My Lips [M]
Start from the beginning
