fic:tweet (sam winchester/lucifer)
idk this is just a samifer hs!au where they all have twitters isn't that great
"Everyone has one now, Sam, just do it," Dean is saying. He's been trying to convince Sam to make a twitter for a month, now, but Sam isn't having any of it. It seems stupid, and what would he even do on it anyway? They only had one computer, and Dean was always on it, tweeting his life away. He would never even get the chance to do anything. But there's Dean again, typing in his email and giving him a username, so what choice does he have? "Look, Sam. Just fill this out and then you're set. I'll do the rest, besides tweet for you, of course." Sam looks at Dean dubiously. What is it with this website?
"What's so great about twitter, Dean? If people want to know what I'm doing every second of the day, why don't they just ask?" Sam looks at the settings page anyway. Name.
"Sam no one wants you to know that they want to know what you're doing all the time. Plus, it's more than that, you can tweet whatever you want," he pauses, "within 140 characters." Sam rolls his eyes and types his name in the box. Location. He skips that one and looks at the next one, Bio.
"What do I put there?"
Dean shrugs. "Whatever you want. W-"
"Within 140 characters, I know," Sam waves him off, "but what should I put?"
"Actually, It's 160 characters for the bio." Sam hits him in the arm. "Ow, okay. I don't know, just put something about you. Or not about you, you could put song lyrics there. Literally whatever." Dean thinks for a second. "But I don't suggest putting song lyrics there, that's gay."
Sam rolls his eyes and types out, "My brother made me do this." Dean, reading over Sam's shoulder, grins.
"Perfect." There's one under that that says web, but Dean just says to ignore it and choose a profile picture.
"Dean, seriously?"
"I'd put the one of you in the hoodie, with your hair all windblown. You look nice." And then, "In a little brother way, of course." Sam laughs and walks away from Dean and the computer.
"Maybe next time Dean," he says over his shoulder, "I don't think twitter is my cup of tea."
"Loser," Dean says back.
~~
"Sam why did you make a twitter, you don't even tweet."
Sam looks up from his phone. He'd been playing tetris. "What?"
"Your twitter account is just sitting there, taking up space. You never use it."
"Dean, I didn't make a twitter." He'd filled out the profile page, but he'd never saved it. Or even been serious about it. In fact he told Dean he didn't want a twitter.
"Yeah you did, that one day. You even included me in your bio, sort of." Dean smiles sheepishly. He'd saved the account after Sam walked away. How lame. Sam sighs and looks back down at his phone. A tower of tetris blocks had formed and there was no way he could fix it. He groans and exits out of the game, standing up and moving over to the computer.
"Dean, you're stupid." He says as he opens up the twitter webpage. He types in the username, but pauses when he gets to the password. Dean never told him what it was. Dean didn't even let him choose his password. "What's my password?"
He shoots a glare at Dean, who smirks and says, "Dean is the best brother ever."
Sam nearly sprains his eyes from rolling them so hard. He can't even fathom how stupid his brother is. "Idiot," he mumbles and types in the super-long, super-annoying password.
When the page loads, there's a bunch of little 'tweets' on his 'timeline' from basically everyone he knows. What. "Oh yeah," Dean says, "I took the liberty of following people for you. But only the cool ones. My baby bro can only interact with cool people."
"Yeah, because Cas is such a cool cat, right?" Sam rolls his eyes.
Dean makes a face. "Don't say cool cat."
"Cool cat, cool cat, cool cat." Sam gets up and pulls out his phone again, getting on the tetris app. "And delete that, would you? I don't need a twitter."
~~
"Did you know you can get the twitter app for your phone?" Dean says, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder.
"Really?" Sam looks down at his smartphone, a way for him to be on twitter without worrying about Dean wanting to be on twitter at the same time. Not that Sam wants to be on twitter.
"Yeah, its cool. And easy. I was hanging out with Cas after school yesterday, and he told me. That's how he tweets." Dean rolls over the back of the couch and into Sam's lap. Sam shoves him off.
"What is even the point of twitter, Dean?" Sam goes to the app store and types 'twitter' into the search bar.
"To stay connected."
Connected to what? Sam downloads the app anyway, though, and leans against Dean. “You happy now?” he asks. Dean smiles and nods. “This is gonna be awesome,” he says.
~~
Sam feels a bead of sweat run down the curve of his back. It's so hot. Mid-August is always the worst. The loud drone of the lawnmower outside keeps him anchored, otherwise he'd float off and become one with the sun, he's so hot. He wants to yell at someone to turn the cooler on, but he knows they can't, money's too tight right now. So he just counts to thirty and pulls his shirt off.
He pulls out his phone and plays Tetris for a while. He faintly hears the sound of his dad coming home, hears the sound of liquor being poured into a cup, hears the TV go on. Sam focuses on his game, his dad is a lost cause.
~~
Sam hates Luc. Hates him. He wants to text him or call him and say everything and nothing all at once, but he can't. He can't say anything. He's just laying there in the grass, waiting to see what Luc says next and hating himself for it.
He's staring at his phone--literally staring. Just waiting for the little notification thing to pop up. Waiting to see what's gonna happen. /I'll come to you. And on you./ The words are swimming through his mind, diving and dipping, making his head hurt from all the stupid. He's drowning. He's drowning and all he can do is look at the life-raft floating at arms length.
"Beach party this weekend, anyone?" Luc tweeted. He's having a party. At a beach. And it sounds awesome, but it doesn't because Luc will be there with his smile and charm and Sam can't deal with seeing him hit on girls. "Bring towels. Sand gets in.. places." Who gave him the right? Who said he could be okay when Sam wasn't?
Minutes pass, hours pass, Sam isn't paying attention. He doesn't care. He really doesn't care about anything right now. THe sprinklers come on, the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground. Otherwise, he thinks he'd float away and become part of the atmosphere. He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to walk home , or talk to Dean, or look at his Dad. He doesn't want to deal with anything, which is stupid and immature but he's fucking fifteen so why does he have to be an adult all the time? He calls Dean.
Ten minutes later he's in the impala, engulfed in silence. He shivers and looks over at Dean, but Dean is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. He doesn't say anything, for which Sam is grateful, but he also doesn't turn on the heater, which sucks. The drive is short, but feels like an eternity with the silence stretching out on the dark pavement in front of them.
Finally, they pull into the driveway of their house. Dean kills the engine and, when Sam makes to get out of the car, locks the doors. "Sam," he says, staring straight ahead, "who is it?" Sam exhales loudly, slumping down in the seat. His head is full of ideas, things he could say, reasons he could be so sad, but in the end it wouldn't matter. Dean would have to know eventually, why try to hide it any longer?
"Dean, I-" his words get choked off by a sob and immediately, Dean is by scooting over, pulling Sam into his arms. Sam buries his face in Dean's chest. "I love him," he cries, saying it out loud for the first time. "I really do." Dean just shushes him, pulling him closer and rocking him in his arms. Sam feels like he's five and just scraped his knee, but it hurts worse and Dean's arms are so much stronger now.
~~
*random little snippets of things i might incorporate into this fic*
Because how do you tell someone that you’re a year older than everyone else because your dad was so depressed he couldn’t dress himself? How do you tell someone you have to work every second you can to have enough money for your house? How do you explain that you have a low self-esteem because your dad comes home and verbally abuses you every day? How do you tell someone that you hate yourself, your life, and everything that happens to you because of the death of one person?
“We are never going to work out Luc, because you are never going to stop being an arrogant dick.”
"Everyone has one now, Sam, just do it," Dean is saying. He's been trying to convince Sam to make a twitter for a month, now, but Sam isn't having any of it. It seems stupid, and what would he even do on it anyway? They only had one computer, and Dean was always on it, tweeting his life away. He would never even get the chance to do anything. But there's Dean again, typing in his email and giving him a username, so what choice does he have? "Look, Sam. Just fill this out and then you're set. I'll do the rest, besides tweet for you, of course." Sam looks at Dean dubiously. What is it with this website?
"What's so great about twitter, Dean? If people want to know what I'm doing every second of the day, why don't they just ask?" Sam looks at the settings page anyway. Name.
"Sam no one wants you to know that they want to know what you're doing all the time. Plus, it's more than that, you can tweet whatever you want," he pauses, "within 140 characters." Sam rolls his eyes and types his name in the box. Location. He skips that one and looks at the next one, Bio.
"What do I put there?"
Dean shrugs. "Whatever you want. W-"
"Within 140 characters, I know," Sam waves him off, "but what should I put?"
"Actually, It's 160 characters for the bio." Sam hits him in the arm. "Ow, okay. I don't know, just put something about you. Or not about you, you could put song lyrics there. Literally whatever." Dean thinks for a second. "But I don't suggest putting song lyrics there, that's gay."
Sam rolls his eyes and types out, "My brother made me do this." Dean, reading over Sam's shoulder, grins.
"Perfect." There's one under that that says web, but Dean just says to ignore it and choose a profile picture.
"Dean, seriously?"
"I'd put the one of you in the hoodie, with your hair all windblown. You look nice." And then, "In a little brother way, of course." Sam laughs and walks away from Dean and the computer.
"Maybe next time Dean," he says over his shoulder, "I don't think twitter is my cup of tea."
"Loser," Dean says back.
~~
"Sam why did you make a twitter, you don't even tweet."
Sam looks up from his phone. He'd been playing tetris. "What?"
"Your twitter account is just sitting there, taking up space. You never use it."
"Dean, I didn't make a twitter." He'd filled out the profile page, but he'd never saved it. Or even been serious about it. In fact he told Dean he didn't want a twitter.
"Yeah you did, that one day. You even included me in your bio, sort of." Dean smiles sheepishly. He'd saved the account after Sam walked away. How lame. Sam sighs and looks back down at his phone. A tower of tetris blocks had formed and there was no way he could fix it. He groans and exits out of the game, standing up and moving over to the computer.
"Dean, you're stupid." He says as he opens up the twitter webpage. He types in the username, but pauses when he gets to the password. Dean never told him what it was. Dean didn't even let him choose his password. "What's my password?"
He shoots a glare at Dean, who smirks and says, "Dean is the best brother ever."
Sam nearly sprains his eyes from rolling them so hard. He can't even fathom how stupid his brother is. "Idiot," he mumbles and types in the super-long, super-annoying password.
When the page loads, there's a bunch of little 'tweets' on his 'timeline' from basically everyone he knows. What. "Oh yeah," Dean says, "I took the liberty of following people for you. But only the cool ones. My baby bro can only interact with cool people."
"Yeah, because Cas is such a cool cat, right?" Sam rolls his eyes.
Dean makes a face. "Don't say cool cat."
"Cool cat, cool cat, cool cat." Sam gets up and pulls out his phone again, getting on the tetris app. "And delete that, would you? I don't need a twitter."
~~
"Did you know you can get the twitter app for your phone?" Dean says, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder.
"Really?" Sam looks down at his smartphone, a way for him to be on twitter without worrying about Dean wanting to be on twitter at the same time. Not that Sam wants to be on twitter.
"Yeah, its cool. And easy. I was hanging out with Cas after school yesterday, and he told me. That's how he tweets." Dean rolls over the back of the couch and into Sam's lap. Sam shoves him off.
"What is even the point of twitter, Dean?" Sam goes to the app store and types 'twitter' into the search bar.
"To stay connected."
Connected to what? Sam downloads the app anyway, though, and leans against Dean. “You happy now?” he asks. Dean smiles and nods. “This is gonna be awesome,” he says.
~~
Sam feels a bead of sweat run down the curve of his back. It's so hot. Mid-August is always the worst. The loud drone of the lawnmower outside keeps him anchored, otherwise he'd float off and become one with the sun, he's so hot. He wants to yell at someone to turn the cooler on, but he knows they can't, money's too tight right now. So he just counts to thirty and pulls his shirt off.
He pulls out his phone and plays Tetris for a while. He faintly hears the sound of his dad coming home, hears the sound of liquor being poured into a cup, hears the TV go on. Sam focuses on his game, his dad is a lost cause.
~~
Sam hates Luc. Hates him. He wants to text him or call him and say everything and nothing all at once, but he can't. He can't say anything. He's just laying there in the grass, waiting to see what Luc says next and hating himself for it.
He's staring at his phone--literally staring. Just waiting for the little notification thing to pop up. Waiting to see what's gonna happen. /I'll come to you. And on you./ The words are swimming through his mind, diving and dipping, making his head hurt from all the stupid. He's drowning. He's drowning and all he can do is look at the life-raft floating at arms length.
"Beach party this weekend, anyone?" Luc tweeted. He's having a party. At a beach. And it sounds awesome, but it doesn't because Luc will be there with his smile and charm and Sam can't deal with seeing him hit on girls. "Bring towels. Sand gets in.. places." Who gave him the right? Who said he could be okay when Sam wasn't?
Minutes pass, hours pass, Sam isn't paying attention. He doesn't care. He really doesn't care about anything right now. THe sprinklers come on, the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground. Otherwise, he thinks he'd float away and become part of the atmosphere. He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to walk home , or talk to Dean, or look at his Dad. He doesn't want to deal with anything, which is stupid and immature but he's fucking fifteen so why does he have to be an adult all the time? He calls Dean.
Ten minutes later he's in the impala, engulfed in silence. He shivers and looks over at Dean, but Dean is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. He doesn't say anything, for which Sam is grateful, but he also doesn't turn on the heater, which sucks. The drive is short, but feels like an eternity with the silence stretching out on the dark pavement in front of them.
Finally, they pull into the driveway of their house. Dean kills the engine and, when Sam makes to get out of the car, locks the doors. "Sam," he says, staring straight ahead, "who is it?" Sam exhales loudly, slumping down in the seat. His head is full of ideas, things he could say, reasons he could be so sad, but in the end it wouldn't matter. Dean would have to know eventually, why try to hide it any longer?
"Dean, I-" his words get choked off by a sob and immediately, Dean is by scooting over, pulling Sam into his arms. Sam buries his face in Dean's chest. "I love him," he cries, saying it out loud for the first time. "I really do." Dean just shushes him, pulling him closer and rocking him in his arms. Sam feels like he's five and just scraped his knee, but it hurts worse and Dean's arms are so much stronger now.
~~
*random little snippets of things i might incorporate into this fic*
Because how do you tell someone that you’re a year older than everyone else because your dad was so depressed he couldn’t dress himself? How do you tell someone you have to work every second you can to have enough money for your house? How do you explain that you have a low self-esteem because your dad comes home and verbally abuses you every day? How do you tell someone that you hate yourself, your life, and everything that happens to you because of the death of one person?
“We are never going to work out Luc, because you are never going to stop being an arrogant dick.”