Untitled #2 (Gen, PG-13)
May. 7th, 2007 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pixel_0Title: Untitled #2
Rating: PG-13
Category: (Most likely AU) gen episode tag
Word Count: 827
Characters: Dean and Sam
Spoilers: “Born Under a Bad Sign”
Summary: Immediately following Bobby’s, Sam discovers that it was more than intuition that stopped Dean from shooting when Sam asked.
Author’s Notes: Originally written February 9, 2007 following “Born Under a Bad Sign.” I tried to turn this into some dramatic, rambly epic story with backstory about why Dean “just knew” that Sam was possessed instead of completely turned evil, but I became way too frustrated with all the details I tried to create and ending up scrapping that one in favor of this. Apparently, less is more.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
Sam touches his forearm gingerly and looks down at the blistered, now broken, binding mark on his skin. He sighs raggedly and bends his head over the bathroom sink where his hands grip the edges with white knuckles. On the swell of his tongue, he can still taste ash. Taste the bitter smoke of the cigarette and the burning sting of the alcohol down his throat. No matter how long has passed since then, he cannot rid himself of the demon’s taste for fire.
The faucet creaks when he turns the handle, and he lets the water run cold before cupping it in his hands to splash on his face. A part of him, that primal and instinctive part that men cannot control, recoils at the memory of how the holy water sizzled and steamed on his skin. But this is not holy water, he has to remember, and he is not possessed.
There are things, he decides with the water dripping down his face and seeping into his shirt, that he’ll never be able to tell Dean. Not just for months or years after this is finished when they can look back and laugh and say, Damn, that was something, wasn’t it? No, never. Dean has enough on his shoulders now without his little brother coming to him and admitting, This is what I did. This is who I hurt. Yes, yes, this is my damage. Do you still believe that I’m not a monster? Do you still believe that I can’t become a monster?
Do you?
Sam winces at the memories that slip through his aching head. Not just of the hunter’s death and the attack on Jo. The vaguer ones with dark, fuzzy edges and bouncing, echoing noises. He sees babies, chubby little faces twisted terrified red, crying as they shrieked to get away from him, and he only laughed. He sees pretty girls, torn clothing sagging from their bodies, screaming as they shoved him away, and he ignored their pleas to take what he wanted. And, he sees Dean. Dean, who had so many chances to kill him so easily, but rather would have died himself rather than turn his gun on his own brother.
Briefly, Sam wonders what it would have been like to die. If his mom would be waiting for him like the Bible tells him. If his dad would be there too and not in Hell with the monsters below. He does not wonder if Dean would join him. Sam only wonders how long Dean would wait before following.
Sam exhales heavily and opens the bathroom door to enter the bedroom. The lights are off, save for a solitary bedside lamp that casts the room in an eerie golden tone. Dean, bruised face turned away from Sam, is sitting on his bed and looking out the window. There is a bottle of whiskey, uncapped, between his legs. When Sam sits down on the bed next to him, Dean offers a drink. Sam refuses with a silent shake of the head.
“Dean,” Sam finally says, his voice seeming rough even to his ears. He can still hear the yelling and laughing of the demon and the bellow of his own vocal cords when the monster finally surged from him. The sensation causes him to bring a curled fist to his mouth to hide his grimace.
“Yeah?”
“How…” Sam stops, picks at a thread on his jeans. “How’d you know that I wasn’t completely gone? How’d you know I could still be saved?”
“Haven’t we already talked about this?” Dean asks impassively. He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks soundlessly, throat bobbing with each swallow.
“What was it though? Did I say something? Do something? I want to know…”
Dean chews on his lip and brings his hand to rest on his opposite arm. “You know when you see something and you think you’ve seen it before, but you can’t remember where?”
Sam nods. “Like déjà vu?”
“Sure…I mean…afterwards, Dad wouldn’t tell me and I—” Dean’s voice breaks, and he takes another long slug of the alcohol. His words are forced and pinched. “I just forgot about it, but then Bobby, and he said…The mark? I guess that was when I remembered why everything you were seemed so familiar.”
Dean’s twitching fingers catch Sam’s attention, and Sam gazes down at the small patch of raised skin of his brother’s arm. Dean rubs a scar that Sam believed was merely an old burn from an accident that Dean couldn’t remember and Dad wouldn’t discuss. Only an accident that Sam must never know about. Now, though, Sam watches his brother and says nothing.
He has his answer.
“You just know,” Dean repeats weakly. “Because even though you think you’ve forgotten some things, deep down, you really haven’t.” He shakes his head. Dean touches his forearm gingerly and looks down at the scarred, now broken, binding mark on his skin.
End
Rating: PG-13
Category: (Most likely AU) gen episode tag
Word Count: 827
Characters: Dean and Sam
Spoilers: “Born Under a Bad Sign”
Summary: Immediately following Bobby’s, Sam discovers that it was more than intuition that stopped Dean from shooting when Sam asked.
Author’s Notes: Originally written February 9, 2007 following “Born Under a Bad Sign.” I tried to turn this into some dramatic, rambly epic story with backstory about why Dean “just knew” that Sam was possessed instead of completely turned evil, but I became way too frustrated with all the details I tried to create and ending up scrapping that one in favor of this. Apparently, less is more.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
Sam touches his forearm gingerly and looks down at the blistered, now broken, binding mark on his skin. He sighs raggedly and bends his head over the bathroom sink where his hands grip the edges with white knuckles. On the swell of his tongue, he can still taste ash. Taste the bitter smoke of the cigarette and the burning sting of the alcohol down his throat. No matter how long has passed since then, he cannot rid himself of the demon’s taste for fire.
The faucet creaks when he turns the handle, and he lets the water run cold before cupping it in his hands to splash on his face. A part of him, that primal and instinctive part that men cannot control, recoils at the memory of how the holy water sizzled and steamed on his skin. But this is not holy water, he has to remember, and he is not possessed.
There are things, he decides with the water dripping down his face and seeping into his shirt, that he’ll never be able to tell Dean. Not just for months or years after this is finished when they can look back and laugh and say, Damn, that was something, wasn’t it? No, never. Dean has enough on his shoulders now without his little brother coming to him and admitting, This is what I did. This is who I hurt. Yes, yes, this is my damage. Do you still believe that I’m not a monster? Do you still believe that I can’t become a monster?
Do you?
Sam winces at the memories that slip through his aching head. Not just of the hunter’s death and the attack on Jo. The vaguer ones with dark, fuzzy edges and bouncing, echoing noises. He sees babies, chubby little faces twisted terrified red, crying as they shrieked to get away from him, and he only laughed. He sees pretty girls, torn clothing sagging from their bodies, screaming as they shoved him away, and he ignored their pleas to take what he wanted. And, he sees Dean. Dean, who had so many chances to kill him so easily, but rather would have died himself rather than turn his gun on his own brother.
Briefly, Sam wonders what it would have been like to die. If his mom would be waiting for him like the Bible tells him. If his dad would be there too and not in Hell with the monsters below. He does not wonder if Dean would join him. Sam only wonders how long Dean would wait before following.
Sam exhales heavily and opens the bathroom door to enter the bedroom. The lights are off, save for a solitary bedside lamp that casts the room in an eerie golden tone. Dean, bruised face turned away from Sam, is sitting on his bed and looking out the window. There is a bottle of whiskey, uncapped, between his legs. When Sam sits down on the bed next to him, Dean offers a drink. Sam refuses with a silent shake of the head.
“Dean,” Sam finally says, his voice seeming rough even to his ears. He can still hear the yelling and laughing of the demon and the bellow of his own vocal cords when the monster finally surged from him. The sensation causes him to bring a curled fist to his mouth to hide his grimace.
“Yeah?”
“How…” Sam stops, picks at a thread on his jeans. “How’d you know that I wasn’t completely gone? How’d you know I could still be saved?”
“Haven’t we already talked about this?” Dean asks impassively. He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks soundlessly, throat bobbing with each swallow.
“What was it though? Did I say something? Do something? I want to know…”
Dean chews on his lip and brings his hand to rest on his opposite arm. “You know when you see something and you think you’ve seen it before, but you can’t remember where?”
Sam nods. “Like déjà vu?”
“Sure…I mean…afterwards, Dad wouldn’t tell me and I—” Dean’s voice breaks, and he takes another long slug of the alcohol. His words are forced and pinched. “I just forgot about it, but then Bobby, and he said…The mark? I guess that was when I remembered why everything you were seemed so familiar.”
Dean’s twitching fingers catch Sam’s attention, and Sam gazes down at the small patch of raised skin of his brother’s arm. Dean rubs a scar that Sam believed was merely an old burn from an accident that Dean couldn’t remember and Dad wouldn’t discuss. Only an accident that Sam must never know about. Now, though, Sam watches his brother and says nothing.
He has his answer.
“You just know,” Dean repeats weakly. “Because even though you think you’ve forgotten some things, deep down, you really haven’t.” He shakes his head. Dean touches his forearm gingerly and looks down at the scarred, now broken, binding mark on his skin.
End
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 05:59 pm (UTC)