Genre: gen, hurt/comfort, angst/drama, ostensibly case!fic, brothersss, amorphously post-S13
Characters: Sam (POV), Dean
Word Count: ~22k
Warnings: PTSD (both/mostly Sam since it's his POV), depression (both), alcoholism/alcohol abuse (Dean), a small amount of body horror (Sam), toxic codependence (both), unreliable narrator, the worst possible medical decision almost all of the time
Notes: For the amazing finchandsparrow, who bid on me for the SPN "Seasons" Gen Anthology fundraising auction. (♥!) The prompt(s) of hers I chose were:
1) Everyday, in-between, realistic, and/or (seemingly) mundane moments that are too "boring" to be shown on TV.
2) Sam and Dean are apart for a little while, for whatever reason. Just staying somewhere that is not the Bunker. Exploring the area, maybe settling in a little. Meeting locals. Working, or not. Just life-ing. By themselves.
3) Unflattering portrayals/perceptions of well-liked characters, because they're human too.
Summary: Sam and Dean end up on the messy side of a curse they're trying to break. Or at least, that's how this is supposed to go. But then it's been three months, with no way out. Then six. Then more.
Dean keeps him awake. They talk about Jack Nicholson's filmography, and alligator gar. Whether or not Roswell had ever been worth watching. The likelihood that Sam will bleed into his brain and die. The new Metallica album, which somehow Sam had heard about but Dean had not. It'd come up on NPR.
Dean announces, “Rock is dead.”