?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
18 October 2008 @ 04:02 pm
 
Author: [info]claudia_lexan
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 3,324
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Thank you to my beta Mago186.
Notes: Au, univerise. The title opf this story is from the Blue October song - Hate Me. Very short first part as livejournal wouldn't let me post this chapter in one go.
Disclaimer: These are not characters of my own creation
Summary: what if Dean was the little brother. Sam still went away to college but he left his little brother with his dad figuring, foolishly, that he could trust his old man to take care of him.


Hate Me - Part One

Hate Me - Part Two

Hate Me - Part Three


Patience had always been something he had too much of. He had spent a lifetime taking orders from his dad and never once disobeyed them. He has spent too many cold nights in a graveyard searching for some fucked up spirit’s final resting place. So he had patience, more than is necessary.

 

However, that patience was being pushed to its limit. He had been waiting for Sam in a crowded bar for nearly an hour.

 

Despite spending nearly every hour of the last two months together, they had arranged to meet in a bar. A bar had been the venue of choice, as neither of them was willing to have the talk in a local diner or their motel room. As part of this planned meeting, they had agreed to spend the day apart. Time away from each other before the conversation. He knew it would not be a meeting Sam forgot.

 

It didn’t stop him from wondering where Sam was and what excuse he had for being so damn late.

 

This type of bar was not a place he felt comfortable in. It was packed with people and lame ass pop music was playing in the background. All around him people were having conversations. Conversation filled with information about normal, everyday life. That kind of normal was a foreign concept to him. He felt out of place in the bar, because the people he was surrounded by had no idea what horrors he faced on a daily basis.

 

He had been to bars like this one countless times before, but it had always been purely for business. Bars were simply a source of income. He couldn't go into any bar without automatically singling out who would make him the most money. From the crowd of people tonight, he could pick out at least twenty who could make him some money. Money that would be easy to earn. The money he earned would be used to fund his lifestyle for another month. To blend into the crowd, he had learned to react as any other twenty year old would in a bar packed with scantily clad women and men. He laughed at strangers’ jokes and smiled when it was expected of him. No one ever seemed to notice that it was a lie. He could never fully relax in a place like this. He was always on the lookout for a person to hustle for money and thinking about the next hunt.

It wasn’t just his being a hunter of the supernatural that meant he could find no enjoyment in bars or places like them. It had nothing to do with the fact that he felt far older than his twenty years. It was because of the way he had been raised. Nearly everyone he met in these places had at least one good, reliable parent in their life. He wasn't that lucky. His mom had died before he could form his own memories of her and his dad wasn’t what you would call a “good parent.” He knew those kind of thoughts were selfish, but he didn't care. He was entitled to feel selfish once in a while.

 

Staring at the half empty beer bottle in his hand, he came to a decision. He had waited for Sam long enough. Quickly and with ease he walked though the crowd of people and out of the bar. Once outside, he headed towards his Impala


Sam was late

 

He should have been at the bar an hour ago, but a conversation with the receptionist of the motel they were staying in had dragged on. Instead of telling the receptionist he had places to be he patiently listened to the woman speak. He now knew all about receptionist’s unhappiness with her job and her rat bastard husband. It wasn't a conversation he would care to repeat.

 

Now he was at the bar and it briefly occur to him that he could walk away, but he was done walking away from Dean. He was about to walk into the bar when something made him turn around. It wasn’t a sound, but just an instinct that there was something he had to see. Knowing that it would be foolish to ignore his instincts, he turned around. He could see Dean sitting on the hood of his Impala finishing of what looked like a bottle of beer. Swallowing down the irrational anger he felt towards Dean’s drinking, he walked over to his brother.

 

“Dean,” Sam said resisting the urge he had to take the bottle of beer from Dean and to berate him for underage drinking, but he didn’t want to start an argument with his brother so early on in the conversation.

 

“You’re late,” Dean replied.

 

“I got stuck talking to our motel receptionist. I now know how crappy her job is and all about her rat bastard husband. If I could have gotten away any quicker, I would have,” Sam informed.

 

“I’m not interested in hearing about a receptionist’s life story. You had all day to talk to her Sam so you can’t really use her as an excuse for being late,” Dean said as he got off the car. He wiped the hood of the Impala with his jacket sleeve, taking care to wipe away any dirt.

Dean, we don’t need to argue. All I want to do is talk.

Part B