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"Not usually one t'believe in karma because lets face it, even the good get the short end of the stick most of the time. But from what I've heard--it's a bitch."

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thesoldier-son:

"See? Dude, told you." Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching as the other Winchester played with the puppy. “I hate dogs, not puppies. Plus, this lil’ dude is pretty awesome." Tilting his head, a small smile appeared. “He acts like he’s drunk all the time."

"Puppies turn into dogs, or had you forgotten the basics?" The hint of sarcasm was there, but just barely as a grin spread to brighten each inch of the younger's facial features. A smile so scarce it surprised the owner with it's appearance. "If that's the case, you two should get along swell for months to come." Picking up the bundle of golden fur, hopeful eyes glanced upwards. "So, you're being for real? We're gonna keep em'?"

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"Dean, since when do you--holy crap." Words fall short as hazel eyes lock with a lab pup, couldn't be more than 6 weeks old. Crouching down, a tender palm ruffled the lil' guys belly, watching him squirm and yip happily. "I though you hated dogs?" Thrilled, but trying to keep his cool--the younger didn't want to seem over the top...but this was really something. 

"Hey, Sammy— not much for gifts, but I found somethin and I think you might wanna have ‘em.."

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They grow still, the small plea from his older brother still ringing in his eardrums. Taking the inch given and running a whole god damn mile--somehow they always ended up at this impasse. One spewing hope of the other carrying on, while the one left behind falls off the earth. Sam wouldn't allow that, he couldn't make that promise. He had in the past, and where had it gotten him?

Frowning, the younger shakes his head; midlength mahogany strands falling into his line of vision but no motion to swipe them away was made. "I just can't...not again, Dean."

Somehow he'd just have to understand. The whole damn family had a way of pissing away their lives for one another, time and time again. It would be no different then. It was no different now. "The job does that--look what it's done to me. I've gone crazy a few times." Literally. "But I do see the light at the end of the tunnel...and we can make it. Together." 

   Dean continued to look at the floor, as if it were the only thing in the world other than hearing his brother’s voice. He could feel his own body stiffen, unable to relax by the way he had just opened up. Times were rare when he did, since the eldest was used to focusing on Sam. Take care of Sam, watch after Sam, make sure Sam is okay. There was no Dean, and that was okay.

   But he knew that perhaps he should make some of the walls crumble while he was still alive. That way, Sam didn’t have to second guess if he was gone. The youngest would understand why Dean did some of the things he did.

   "But if it comes down to either me or you— I want you to promise me you’ll take it. I need to know that if I’m gone, you’ll be okay. I’m fine with you not looking for me." The man lets out a small chuckle, “I’m just tired. I think this huntin’ stuff is makin’ me feel older than I am."

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Sam felt his whole body stiffen, hearing sensitive from the years of being trained to pay close attention to faintest traces of sound. Tuning in, taking in account each syllable uttered from his sibling's gruff baritone--he exhales, glancing back over his shoulder. "And I want the very same for you. It doesn't have to be one or the other!"

Frankly, He just couldn't see a life without his older brother. It hurt to think that far, it hurt to live through it. Waking each day expecting to hear the tenor of snide comments and mild jabs to be met with nothing other than the hum of the central air. Hell, even the eating habits and the raunchy porn sites his computer locked up on were welcomed...anything just to have some semblance of Dean back. But each time he was left alone; weary eyes cracking open to meet the expanse of another day. 

"We are all we've got, Dean. I just...I want you to see that. I need you to see that." Turning slowly, the taller Winchester steps forward, his hand outstretched. "I want to fight on so the both of us can make it out. Leave this shit behind us--because I'm not doing it without you." 

   Dean didn’t reply to who said what. It was mostly Dean’s decision now, since their father was six feet under. This argument was getting old, and in the end the two Winchesters were annoyed with each other.

   Watching Sam turn around, Dean let out a small sigh. Head lowering, the eldest looked down at the floor. “I want you to have a family. Want you to live a normal life— have a wife, kids. Whatever. Just want you out of this huntin’ life. Let me have it— I don’t care."

   Frowning slightly, Dean tilted his head. “I want you to be safe wherever you are, even if I’m not there. But I’m too scared to do that; if somethin’ ever happened to you, it would always be my fault." The words were whispered, but they weren’t that quiet.

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"big brother"

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"Says who? Dad?" Because somehow, after all these years what he instilled within his brother still resonated clearly. Breathing in, Sam let go. Head shaking as he turned to pace in the opposite direction. Fighting with him over this subject had happened way too many times. One can only beat a dead horse so much.

"You never share, that's the problem." You're one to talk. "...but you know? Fine. Just bottle it all up until it just floods over the gates again. Like it always does." 

   "It is my job, and you fuckin’ know it." That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Their father had requested that Dean look after Sam ever since he was born, and that was what he would do. Sam just needed to be careful. “Don’t ask me what I want— there’s a huge list and I ain’t sharin’ right now."

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"Nor is it your job to worry about me but you still do--" And when does Sam ever just drop things? Maybe they are put aside, perhaps they lose top priority, but soon enough they rise to the surface to make impact once again. "So why should it be any different for me? Why should I bite my tongue? You want me to say I don't care? Well I can't, Dean. I won't." 

  "Funny, we haven’t been able to live right since we were on the road. ‘m fine, Sam. Don’t worry about me, that ain’t your job." — And Dean just doesn’t care about himself, so Sam should drop it. At least, that’s how Dean thinks.

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"...that doesn't mean you have to treat your body like a landfill. Dying is just something that comes with the Winchester name, but while you are up and kicking you should at least live right--" Sam just wants better for his brother because, dammit--there was a light at the end of this tunnel and if he had to drag the older's ass kicking and screaming he would. 

   "Not like I haven’t died before."

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"Yeah, because ending up with a blocked artery or worse is something to strive for."

   "I’d take indigestion over rabbit food any day."

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"Or you know, the best way to end up with indigestion in the morning."

   "I don’t care what people think— eatin’ at midnight is the best time to eat anything."

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"Excuse me, have you seen any strange green rocks around here? Maybe mistaken for an emerald or something?"

Strange green rocks? Sounds like something one would remember seeing—and Sam couldn’t recall any situation, job or not, that he or Dean had stumbled across anything remotely looking like an emerald. Those were rare gemstones…it’s not like you’d see one sticking up out of the ground like ordinary gravel. “Can’t say I have. Any particular reason you’d be searching for these weird stones?" 

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"Psh, it's not a big deal." She assured him, smiling gratefully as he took the massive box. The young woman followed behind the hunter, whistling in awe as she glanced around the bunker. "Swanky. I like the new digs." she mused, taking a seat on the edge of one of the tables.

With nothing more than a grunt signalling Sam’s effort, the box was rightfully placed upon the long. Dusting off his palms against his faded jeans, he shrugs; but cannot help the swell of pride that radiates throughout his chest. The bunker was their home—something left to himself and Dean as result of their heritage. Of course, said linage was unknown til’ recently—but still. This beat musty, old motel rooms by a long shot. “Yeah? Dean want’s to clutter the place up with petty crap. Last I heard he wanted a pool table…but he’s always spouting off different things, it’s hard to keep up." Chuckling to himself, the younger Winchester turns fully towards Wynter, crossing his arms in the process. “Good thing you decided to pay a visit before hand."