you're desperately selling skeletons.

[hollowly]

Who: sam ( hollowly ) and dean ( kickingand ) winchester.
What: dean has been acting increasingly aggressive lately, disappearing off into the caves for hours at a time, and it's Time something was Said about it. ( aka sam is being a worrywart and dean is … well. coping with the mark the best he can. )
Where: the caves.
When: presently.
Warnings: probably some violent imagery if he catches him mid-killing creatures, language? winchesters being winchesters. dean is his own warning.


( all things considered, he likes to think things have been going well for dean and himself; his older brother is acclimating to his new surroundings better than he might have thought, but then again, both of them had been bred and trained to be prepared for anything, and the fact that sam had felt a little more than a little out of place when he'd first gotten here just adds to the thought that he's never fit quite like dean into the winchester way of life.

but, hey. to each their own, and he's not about to wax poetic about that level of difference between them. the point is that he's pleasantly surprised by it all, even if – lately – the other has been acting a little more cagey than usual. aggressive. secretive beyond the normal gain of dean winchester. not that he isn't a ticking time bomb at the best of times, just waiting for the fuse to be lit, but sam has noticed an increase of the whole of it, especially with dean leaving their apartment as often as he does and staying gone for as long as he does, and while he could very well leave well enough alone, that isn't his style.

he decides to follow him one day, hanging well back out of his peripheral vision and away from the eyes he seems to have in the back of his head, that older-brother-intuition thing going for him even now, when they're both adults and can take care of their own. ( that's one thing that won't leave, he doesn't think, no matter what happens between them. it's ingrained into dean's dna, his subconscious. )

he's a little confused when his following leads him into the caves, maybe even a little more so when he watches dean for a while, taking far too much delight in slaughtering ( that's the only thing he can think to call what he's watching ) the creatures that dwell inside them, hollow cries and the squicking sound of blood spilled echoing off the walls around him, and something in the pit of his stomach drops straight through the ground beneath his feet.

sam waits until there seems to be a break, rounding a corner and making himself both seen and heard with the heavy fall of his boots echoing much in the same way as the sounds of killing, and his expression is pinched, concerned, confused. )

… Dean? What the hell?

Comments

[kickingand]

[ It's not his fault.

Or maybe it is, though the guilt is something that Dean can do nothing about, just like he's never been able to. It's a cloud that hangs over his head, resilient and quiet, a lingering feeling that he isn't doing right by either side of the war that's raging constantly inside his mind. It's not enough and yet it's too much all at once, all of this killing, and while he wants to make it stop, the only thing that does it is the killing in the first place.

The ever present urge to tear his way through everything is inescapable and yet Dean still doesn't want to talk much about it. Cas has already cornered him once, pleaded with him to try meditation, but he has yet to give in to the calmer idea of it, still preferring the messier means of tearing his way through flesh with the only weaponry he has on him. And while he still finds himself craving the Blade more often than he'd dare admit to, the knife he has works well enough to suit. He gets by with it, digging into the monsters he can get his hands on, the first spray of blood the only thing that quells the loudest urges to sacrifice bone and body to some needy part of the curse.

This time, just like every time, he's sure he's on his own. Thankful for it, even. That he's once again doing this without the watch of prying eyes, and so he makes his way off to the caves, collar pulled across his neck and shoulders curled inward, once more giving in to the things he cannot contain. It's his private sacrifice, this killing, this near possession he gives into to destroy and take and demolish. There's nothing pretty about it and the blood drips faster than it can congeal, messy over his fingers as he plunges his blade hilt deep again and again and--

Oh.

Dean had only just kicked a shattered carcass off to the side when footfalls echo around the corner and Dean stills for a moment, gaze lifting into the shadowy air until Sam makes his appearance and Dean can do nothing but look utterly stubborn. His chin even lifts sternly, bravado rolling off him in waves. It's not so much that he thinks he deserves this - that it's owed to him - no, but he's already pushing at the space between them, just waiting for further condemnation. ]

What is this, Nanny Cam?

[hollowly]

( guilt is always going to be something that follows them both around, no matter how desperately they try to leave it behind. it's just a part of the gig, he thinks, a part of the life they live from day to day and it all just continues to build up, to wreak havoc on frayed consciences, and even though there's no way for him to have a full understanding of the mark's effect on his brother, there always has to be an outlet, always has to be an out.

sam doesn't like the idea that he's effectively spying on his brother, because his business is his own, has always been his own, even though when their positions had been reversed, dean had always made a point of knowing exactly what the younger winchester was doing with his free time when he was being sketchy about something. dodging questions, being purposely flippant and aloof with responses to direct inquiries. he tells himself that this is all for the greater good, because if he figures out some way to help him through the turmoil that has him turning himself inside out, it will only makes things better. for the both of them.

there is no condemnation here, but there is concern for his older brother, clear in his expression that he only wants to figure out some way around this, to help in a way that neither of them have previously been able to think of. ) What? No. I – ( he fumbles for words, brows furrowing with the effort, and shoves his hands into his pockets. )

You've just been disappearing a lot. I wanted to see where you went. ( better to just let it all out in the open, because he's learned not to keep things to himself, at least for now, and lying by omission is always going to be an outright lie whether he acknowledges it or not. )

Have you been coming in here just to kill stuff?

[kickingand]

[ Dean sure as hell would spy on his little brother were the situations reversed - he knows this and feels not an ounce of hypocrisy over the idea. It's simply Big Brother Prerogative, the kind of thing that dictates what gives him rights and what doesn't, the kind of hold he's allowed to have on any situation that involves Sammy, whether or not it's in his right to be involved.

But the situations aren't reversed and Sam isn't the one with the Mark, a good thing as far as Dean is concerned. An incredibly good thing, considering he's already the violent asshole, the one who cracks too easy under pressure, itching to snap bone and listen to slow release of death beneath his fingers. He's only ever been hot headed but this turns it all the way to eleven, marks the kind of notches on his murderous bedpost that even Dean can't cope with. There's no escaping this and he'd hate to see it trying to crawl its way out from under Sam's skin.

Instead, Dean is simply a hundred times more of what he already is to begin with. Violent. Desperate. Inches from cracking at most given moments. But this time he's an addict to it, lying and fouling far too many hours just to breathe in the scent of death. ]

That's what it's here for, isn't it?

[ Dean asks off-handed, completely brushing away the sentiment that Sam is worried about him because there's nothing to worry about here. Nothing to see, nothing to consider, nothing to concern yourself over. Stop fussing, turn around and walk away. Dean just wipes his demon blade off on his thigh, gives it a furtive little wave before shrugging, as if this is everyday behavior, like he isn't off kilter in any way shape or form and is simply fitting the same mold he's always existed within. ]

I mean, unless someone's been rallying for monster rights when I wasn't looking.

[hollowly]

( yeah, he knows that. beyond a shadow of a doubt, because it's always been that way, and even if sam likes to think he's finally old enough that dean won't automatically revert to that Big Brother Prerogative, what he hasn't yet realized – and possibly never will – is that he's forever going to suffer from Little Brother Syndrome, and dean is always going to come looking after him without any concrete reason, and he's just going to have to get over it.

which means, of course, that he should feel entirely justified in doing the same for himself. and while he might feel just the slightestbit guilty for sneaking up on him like this, he's gotten to the point of needing answers more than anything else – and it's why he doesn't bother hiding his approach, doesn't act like he has anything to hide, because technically, he doesn't.

because it's been dean that has been sneaking off, not talking when poked or prodded, brushing it all off like he does every damn thing else, and while sam has more than come to expect it, being in a place like this, it's not going to be good to keep secrets. even if he'd started out his brother's initial arrival with a lie by omission, he isn't going to go that route again, is going to keep everything in him from making the same sort of mistake twice.

he looks at his brother now, head tilted to the side, contemplative and concerned and a slew of other c-words that coincide with worried, because even though he can't blame him for wanting to blow off some steam, there's something just a little off about the whole thing, like there's some sort of underlying reason that he hasn't quite gotten to yet.

which, technically, is how they start all conversations like this, taking all these roundabout twists and turns until they finally get to the bottom of what it is they're avoiding with fervor.

sam's eyes fall to the demon blade, then flit back up to his brother's face. ) Well, yeah, I guess, but. ( he shakes his head. )

You've been coming out here a lot. And far be it from me to deny you some stress-relief – ( because that's about as far from it as one can get without being completely off the map. ) It just seems a little … excessive. ( again, his eyes settle on the blade, but not for long. it may just be a blade, with a little extra oomph added in for the ease of killing demons, but he can't help but to feel something altogether different radiating off of his brother. it's unsettling, to say the very least, and that's all he's going to allow himself to think for the moment. )

It's the Mark, isn't it?

[kickingand]

[ Dean knows, in some annoying way, that Sam has every right to his questions. That he's brought this on himself as much as anything else, this inescapable urge to flee to find safety in his own killings. And it's left a gaping hole where his presence is supposed to be, when he's supposed to be back at the apartment, keeping an eye on Cas, when he's supposed to be acting like some sort of a sane human who has a grip on his urges.

And Sam- Sam's never been able to keep a grip on his questions. Always asking about this or that, ever since childhood, wanting to know about every shadow and the shape of every cloud. It's always been frustrating, even now, and Dean can't help but glance off at nothing in particular, not wanting to be dissected by Sam's every staring second.

It's excruciating, becuase he knows he's made them worry. Cas, and now Sam, and now all of this - all this that he's trying so hard to run from and only finding himself sinking deeper into, as if the quagmire just won't let go. But he can't do anything to fix it and he's trying his ass off, trying to find some release in all of this. He's just trying in equal measure to keep the stain of his existence something hidden to the shadows, where it doesn't have to come to the light any further than it already has.

Eventually, Dean's gaze snaps back at the words, falls over the height of his brother and his expression shifts into defiance, frustrated and puffed up, like a dog that's been stared at for just a little too long. Because Dean wants to stand up for himself in this, convince everyone he can damn well deal with it on his own, but maybe it looks as if he can do anything but.

Maybe he's losing this war, inch by inch. ]

Yeah, because i'd be out here for fun. Just go on a little monster hunting target practice, 'cause i'm already thinking we don't get damn well enough of that here. [ That's not... altogether a lie, but it's an attempt at driving things under the rug where Sam can't poke at them, where this doesn't have to be something he has to face. And if he does, he's doing it alone. ]

What the hell do you think it is, Sam? I'm out here trying to get a goddamn breather.