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Title: Dancing On My Own
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: M
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 1251
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. I just decided to break the boy's hearts a little.

Summary: He stood in the corner and watched Dean kiss her. Songfic.


This is my first real songfic. The song is the King's of Leon cover of Dancing On My Own It breaks my heart a little.

As always, thanks to BookwormBaby2580, for reading my SPN stuff even though she really can't delve into another fandom;-) I broke her heart a little.

I may continue this. I may not... I'm marking it complete for now. Enjoy!

Once again, he was on the periphery.

Sam had been so fucking relieved when Dean showed up outside his motel door. If Bobby hadn’t been there, Sam knew what he would’ve done, and looking back, he shudders at what he now knows would’ve been Dean’s reaction. He had barely spared a thought for Ruby, who had been seething in the corner, but Bobby’s presence had kept Sam from engulfing his brother and holding him inside for as long as possible.

And sure, Dean had been happy to see him. He’d gotten The Hug, and The Smile, and The Twinkle in his brother's eye, but something felt off. Something was missing. Sam felt the absence, as absolutely as he felt the absence of Dean’s necklace as he took it from around his own neck and put it back where it belonged, hanging next to Dean’s heart.

The first night he’d gone to go work with Ruby after Dean returned from Hell, he’d stood over Dean’s bed for at least twenty minutes before he could leave. His brother was sleeping as peacefully as he’d ever seen him. His face was totally relaxed and Sam took the time to take in the features he had so lovingly traced with his hands before. He didn’t dare touch him. After all, Dean had made no move to touch Sam, aside from the occasional pat on the shoulder, since he’d gotten back. Sam didn’t know if Dean didn’t remember what they’d given in to, in their desperation to save him from Hell, or worse, if he was trying to forget it, to pretend it didn’t happen. But Sam was going to follow his big brother’s lead on this—as he did with most things—and until Dean made the first move, Sam was going to keep his hands to himself. So he’d just stood, moving his eyes slowly from Dean’s closed eyes, those long lashes resting on freckle dusted cheeks. Those freckles continued along the bridge of Dean’s nose, and from his nose—no longer crooked from being broken numerous times, but straight and perfect—Sam’s eyes were drawn to Dean’s lips. Those lips. Those lips that had whispered love and lust and sweet and filthy things to him the dark. Those lips that had looked so good wrapped around him and had felt even better. Those lips that had been so soft and warm when they kissed, frantically trying to hold on to each other. The same lips that had given that crooked smile just before the Hell Hounds had ripped the flesh from his brother’s body as Sam had watched and screamed and prayed he would die too. The lips from which the last puff of breath had left Dean’s body as Sam had knelt over him, sobbing like a little girl.

Sam had catalogued each of these features while standing over the sleeping form of Dean, had taken in a deep breath and had turned and walked out the door, feeling as if he were committing the worst betrayal against his brother. His brother who no longer remembered, so what was the point anyway? As he walked away, it felt as if a big, black sky had loomed over Sam. He hadn't been able to shake that feeling since.

And through the whole mess with the angels and vessels and demon blood and all the pushing and pulling, Sam had felt like his heart was slowly being ripped out, leaving a gaping hole in its place. Just like when those Hell Hounds had torn into his brother, torn apart the one thing that meant the world to Sam. Only, when his brother returned, whole and perfect, Sam’s heart began to tear apart, becoming some deformed, unrecognisable thing.

Sam had silently watched while Dean went back to flirting with all and any women they came into contact with. And he watched the flirting lead to kisses in the dark and fumbling hands that were not his own, dreading the moment when Dean would take a random woman into a back room or to their motel room, or worse, to the back seat of the Impala, and fuck her. And now they were at another bar. And somebody had just nudged Sam as he stood at the bar, ordering more beer.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy you came in with? Looks like you’re leaving alone tonight, man.” A wink and a nudge, and Sam had felt like he might puke.
He turned to look in the direction the stranger was winking and had to catch himself on the bar as he felt his knees buckle. Dean was on the dance floor with a pretty little blonde nobody, his hands on her ass, pulling her into him, while her hands were in Dean’s hair, holding his face to hers.

The breath left Sam’s lungs, forced out as if he had been punched. The stranger was still making lewd comments but Sam couldn’t hear him. All he could hear was a roaring in his ears and his own mind screaming, “Does she love you better than I can?”

He knew it was stupid, knew he was just hurting himself, but he had to see it for himself. He moved towards a corner of the room, where it was dark and where nobody would see that he was dying. He stood in the corner and watched Dean kiss her.

”I’m right over here! Why can’t you see me?!” His mind had howled at his brother, willing him to just look over, to just look over and see that he was killing Sam.

Dean didn’t look over though. Not once. It was as if Sam didn’t exist, as if what they had shared had been erased and Sam was the only one who had to live with the anguish of those memories. Slowly, a bottle of whisky in his hand—Sam had no idea how it got there, but he took a deep, grateful swig from it—he started to sway to the music, a slow beat, a raw guitar and a gritty voice singing about love lost. Sam closed his eyes, surprised to feel a trail of wetness slipping down his cheeks, and continued to sway, turning away from Dean, realising that, despite giving it his all, he would never again be the one that Dean was taking home. "So," he decided, "I'll keep dancing on my own."

“I’m just gonna dance all night, I’m all messed up…”

Sam’s thoughts were getting thick, and it was hard to focus. The whisky bottle slipped out of his hand and joined the broken bottles that crunched under his boots as he spun around in slow circles.

“You're so far away, but still so near,” Sam thought desperately. He didn’t know if he could go on like this. He couldn’t stand around and watch Dean, his everything, fuck woman after woman while his own heart shattered every fucking time.

Sam noticed the lights go on as the music died. “But,” Sam thought helplessly, willing his brother to just look at him, “you don’t see me standing here.”

And suddenly, Sam remembered Ruby, and how she always wanted him. He thought about what she was teaching him and how he could still make a difference. And, looking over at his brother one last time, Sam wiped first one cheek and then the other, and made up his mind.

“I just came to say goodbye,” he thought, as he turned around and walked away.
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