mattzerella-sticks:

Baggage (Coda to 14×05 “Nightmare Logic”) (ao3)

Sam thought he knew what he was doing with his life. He thought he knew his brother, Dean. He thought he knew all there was about killing monsters.

But here he is, feeling at home leading a crew of hunters in a war against empowered creatures they haven’t a clue on how to fight, and getting to know his brother all over again, in a new light.

Sometimes the years strip you away until you’re left with who you really are.

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           The bustle of the Bunker nearly put him to sleep, the hunters’ movements slow and hypnotic. Watching his friends dance around each other, exchanging weapons and ammunition as if they were greetings. It brought a smile to Sam’s lips to see how comfortable they’ve become with the Bunker. He knew their network would be strong, but Sam never suspected the other world’s refugees would choose his home as theirs. Figuring that, like all hunters, they would prefer the open roads and cheap motels. He should have realized they were nothing like the old breed of hunters – especially since they prefer working together.

           ‘It seems it’s not just the monsters that are evolving…’

           “I thought I told you to get some sleep.”

           Sam turns. Dean stands in the archway, his arms paternally crossed – an image so familiar it’s burned in his mind. As is Dean’s ‘I-know-better-listen-to-me’ scowl. The title needs work, but his brother patented “bitch-face” and while he’s loath to admit it, it’s a great name. So great, he slips into one he’s perfected that, when paired with the right words, will have Dean disarmed in no time.

           He frowns. “I was. Figured if I did a bit more tonight I’d be able to sleep in. Although… weren’t you supposed to be sleeping, too?” The blow lands, and Dean staggers backwards. The tips of his ears burn an incriminating scarlet, and he can’t meet Sam’s eyes anymore. ‘Point for me.’

           “So we both have trouble sleeping,” he says, “Not surprising.”

           “Not at all.”

           “Anyway…” Dean clears his throat, unsticking his gaze from the floor to the scene behind Sam. “Didn’t know if you wanted to… talk.”

           Sam’s eyes widen. “Talk?”

           “Yeah?”

           “Um… okay.” They’ve been having a lot of discussions lately. As if they were tying up loose ends or buttoning scenes in a television show – the types of things that make you feel like something’s finished when in reality, the story’s only just beginning. But never at Dean’s behest: Sam always making the opening parlay. If he wants to open the lines of communication first then it must be important.

           He looks to Dean, waiting. His brother stalls as well, skittish, his jaw working through the words he wants to say. It’s all for naught, as a hunter squeezes past them and upends all of Dean’s thoughts. “Why don’t we do this somewhere else?”

           “Kitchen.”

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