No Reply At All


Aaannd, wouldn’t you know, I’ve written myself into another [short?] series, apparently. Nice work, me. Schoolwork? Pshaw! I blame Phil Collins. 

Because the series? Is called Abacab

So. This is a Sam and Dean pre-slash story that follows “Take A Look At Me Now.” In this story, Dean considers the advantages of being underestimated by the one person who should sure as hell know better.

No Reply At All

I swear, Sammy is the master of the buzzkill.

Really, I think it’s his natural talent.

I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t have a reason to be a little down or whatever, with Ava missing and all, but still. Boy could out Eeyore Eeyore some days.

He’s been mopey like all fucking day now, and in that way where he thinks that I don’t notice. Just goes all zen master and silent and deep thoughts and ignores me, which sucks, ’cause he’s not doing it in a way I can give him shit about, not really. It’s too quiet, he’s too quiet, when he’s like this.

It’s annoying as fuck.

And the worst part is that he thinks he’s bein’ too subtle for me to notice, which is just crap. Just shows you how much he underestimates me.

He didn’t always. He used to think I was like, god or something, except with better hair and no pesky nails in my palms to slow me down.

Now? He’d fuckin’ slam those nails into his own hands, if I let him. Every damn day.

I mean, I love the boy, but holy crap has he got a martyr complex. And he’d be like, oh, no, Dean, that’s you! You’re just projecting all of this stuff on me. I don’t mentally flog myself every night when I should be whacking off, or something. I don’t beat myself up every waking moment for shit I should have done, will never do, couldn’t have stopped. Hell no. That’s on you, Dean. Not me.

Pfft. Whatever. Which is exactly why I don’t have to have that conversation with him, because I know exactly what he’d say. I know exactly how he feels, about everything, although I’ll bet you he thinks I have no fucking clue.

Because, again. Underestimating.

I mean, I can kinda understand it. Him not properly ascribing god-like powers to me anymore. He’s not a kid, now, and he was away long enough for my sheen to lose its luster, or whatever. For him to escape the magnetic glow of my personality long enough to see it for the house of mirrors that it really is, most of the time. Continue reading “No Reply At All”