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apocalypsos) wrote2006-06-13 03:34 am
apocalypsos) wrote2006-06-13 03:34 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Wound So Tight (Supernatural)
Title: Wound So Tight
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,500 words
Spoilers: Post-"Devil's Trap"
Pairing: Some Dean/OFC, but ... you know, Dean het. ;)
Warnings: Bad language, character death
Disclaimer: If I owned Sam and Dean, I sure as hell wouldn't have two hands free to type this.
Summary: They make a silent deal, the closest thing to a gentleman's agreement Dean's ever made.
*****
Wound So Tight
*****
1.
When Dean woke up the day after the accident, the first thing the doctor did was break the news to him that the other man in the car with him had passed away.
And that's all it took to know, really, even before the doctor asked him where the driver went.
2.
They make a silent deal, the closest thing to a gentleman's agreement Dean's ever made.
At least once a week a message appears in his voicemail. It's Sam's voice and not all at the same time, but it always sounds just like Sammy and that's the worst part.
Sometimes there's more than one message a week, if the bastard's feeling particularly evil. He tells Dean about places he's been to and things he's seen, mentions girls he's fucked that Sam would never touch with a ten-foot pole. He sends Dean a camera photo of a girl tied to a bed and Dean nearly breaks his hand punching a wall. He claims he killed a man in Reno just to watch him die, then laughs like it's the joke Dean's supposed to think it is, like Dean won't go to the library the next chance he gets and check the obits in Reno out of curiosity.
Dean checks every single message for EVP. Most of the time, he isn't even sure whose underlying voice he's looking for.
The only thing missing is a proper fucking handshake.
3.
Dean carries a box of ashes and salt in the weapons case in Dad's pickup for five thousand different reasons.
The major ones are the most obvious. He can't sit in the driver's seat with a box of ashes on his lap all the time. Dad shouldn't sit in the passenger seat. The glove compartment feels like an insult. And he can't get rid of them without Sam's input. Sam should get to complain about where Dad ends up before Dean finally dumps the contents of the box. It's only fair.
He sinks two new insets into the case, one that holds the Colt and one that holds the little wooden box.
Dean knows what his real weapons are.
4.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would shoot him in the head so fucking fast he wouldn't even have time for regret.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would point the Colt at his heart and he wouldn't even have second thoughts.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would kill him. And it wouldn't hurt, and it wouldn't bring him to his knees, and it wouldn't haunt him for the rest of his life. It wouldn't be his curse, the one thing he regrets most. The world wouldn't feel like the next ice age has struck, like everything is cold and empty until the end of his days.
Yeah, that saying about repeating things over and over again until you start to believe them?
Complete and total bullshit.
5.
In Houston is this cocktail waitress who tells him she gets off at two and winks like she knows exactly what Dean and his dirty little mind are thinking when she says that. She struts around the bar for the rest of the night in a skirt so short it's more like a hopeful prayer against public nudity and a top so tight Dean's tempted to guess what she had for breakfast. Any other night and he wouldn't have even bothered with the end of a work shift, dragging her into the nearest bathroom and doing things to her that were probably delightfully illegal around these parts.
But she looks like Jessica, almost frighteningly so, and when he fucks her later on it almost feels like a sick sort of revenge.
When Dean wakes up in his motel room the next morning, Sam's voice is in his inbox asking if Dean liked the present he sent him as if Sam shipped him a cheap T-shirt from some roadside tourist trap.
The cocktail waitress is gone, it's storming like crazy outside, and in the motel room next to Dean's is a family of five on a road trip with their throats slit open and dozens of powerful symbols carved into their flesh like a gruesome codex.
He doesn't know how he manages to race out of town without a single raised eyebrow.
Somewhere out there is Sam's laughter, harsh and bitter. Dean thinks of what the memory of a fine blend of coffee must taste like to someone who's just downed a cup laced with rat poison.
Like this, he thinks. Just like this.
6.
Hey, Dean, it's Sam becomes the phrase Dean hates most in the world.
It's so casual, the way it shows up on his phone. Sam could be at the beach or at a bar or something. He could be calling for a quick update. Come to that nightclub we went to two weeks ago, man. I was just calling to see if you wanted to play basketball at the gym this weekend. We're meeting at the fucking Olive Garden for Dad's birthday.
That relaxed roll of someone's voice, that easy-handed normal tone people who don't kill for a living use all the time.
Hey, Dean, it's Sam. Just wanted to give you a head's up, tell you I was passing through Missouri and stopped by to see what your old girlfriend's blood tasted like.
You know, that sort of shit.
7.
The man's name is Aidan Scott. His son's name is Damien, and the only reason Dean doesn't make the inevitable joke is because he'd have to be insane to say the words considering the job.
When Dean goes to see Aidan Scott at his new place, there's an ominous tremble to his wrist when he hands Dean a beer and Dean could swear his hair still smells like smoke. Dean's cover story spills from his lips so easy and gentle he doesn't even know where it's coming from. Aidan leads Dean into the house like he doesn't know what else to do with him while he carries his infant son like he's forgotten how to put him down.
Dean says he knew Shelly from the bookstore, from when he'd go in all the time lost and helpless and never knew where anything was. "I'm always taking these stupid classes to pick up girls," he says with a weak smirk.
It doesn't even occur to him that it's such a Sam thing to admit to until the words leave his mouth.
Aidan doesn't seem to notice when he flinches, though. His hand strokes gentle circles on Damien's back as he paces with the baby. If the kid looks a hell of a lot like Sam used to, Dean figures it's just a coincidence.
Aidan's nice about the whole thing, considering. Some guy shows up on his doorstep claiming to know his wife, saying he's sorry for their loss and boy, what a shame. Shelly had such a great smile. She'd definitely be missed. Oh, and did I hear something about some guy showing up at your house that night?
"Yeah," Aidan says. In his daze, his voice settles over Dean like white noise. "Tall, young, needed a haircut. Later on, when I went into the baby's room, I thought ..."
He shakes his head like he'll shake the memory from his mind.
Dean nearly backs away when he does it, like the memory will jump from the other man's mind into his, like he'll finally have to see.
8.
He never calls Sam's number back.
He sits on the bed of whatever lousy motel room he's staying in this week and stares at his cell phone and thinks about all the things he could say.
We should meet up, you and me. You name the place and I'll bring the weapon. We can call it neutral ground if you want. I just want to talk to Sam, that's all. Get the fuck out of my brother, you son of a bitch. A string of profane curses and threats of bodily harm, most of them incoherent.
Dean never calls because even if he did Sam would never answer.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,500 words
Spoilers: Post-"Devil's Trap"
Pairing: Some Dean/OFC, but ... you know, Dean het. ;)
Warnings: Bad language, character death
Disclaimer: If I owned Sam and Dean, I sure as hell wouldn't have two hands free to type this.
Summary: They make a silent deal, the closest thing to a gentleman's agreement Dean's ever made.
Wound So Tight
*****
When Dean woke up the day after the accident, the first thing the doctor did was break the news to him that the other man in the car with him had passed away.
And that's all it took to know, really, even before the doctor asked him where the driver went.
They make a silent deal, the closest thing to a gentleman's agreement Dean's ever made.
At least once a week a message appears in his voicemail. It's Sam's voice and not all at the same time, but it always sounds just like Sammy and that's the worst part.
Sometimes there's more than one message a week, if the bastard's feeling particularly evil. He tells Dean about places he's been to and things he's seen, mentions girls he's fucked that Sam would never touch with a ten-foot pole. He sends Dean a camera photo of a girl tied to a bed and Dean nearly breaks his hand punching a wall. He claims he killed a man in Reno just to watch him die, then laughs like it's the joke Dean's supposed to think it is, like Dean won't go to the library the next chance he gets and check the obits in Reno out of curiosity.
Dean checks every single message for EVP. Most of the time, he isn't even sure whose underlying voice he's looking for.
The only thing missing is a proper fucking handshake.
Dean carries a box of ashes and salt in the weapons case in Dad's pickup for five thousand different reasons.
The major ones are the most obvious. He can't sit in the driver's seat with a box of ashes on his lap all the time. Dad shouldn't sit in the passenger seat. The glove compartment feels like an insult. And he can't get rid of them without Sam's input. Sam should get to complain about where Dad ends up before Dean finally dumps the contents of the box. It's only fair.
He sinks two new insets into the case, one that holds the Colt and one that holds the little wooden box.
Dean knows what his real weapons are.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would shoot him in the head so fucking fast he wouldn't even have time for regret.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would point the Colt at his heart and he wouldn't even have second thoughts.
If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would kill him. And it wouldn't hurt, and it wouldn't bring him to his knees, and it wouldn't haunt him for the rest of his life. It wouldn't be his curse, the one thing he regrets most. The world wouldn't feel like the next ice age has struck, like everything is cold and empty until the end of his days.
Yeah, that saying about repeating things over and over again until you start to believe them?
Complete and total bullshit.
In Houston is this cocktail waitress who tells him she gets off at two and winks like she knows exactly what Dean and his dirty little mind are thinking when she says that. She struts around the bar for the rest of the night in a skirt so short it's more like a hopeful prayer against public nudity and a top so tight Dean's tempted to guess what she had for breakfast. Any other night and he wouldn't have even bothered with the end of a work shift, dragging her into the nearest bathroom and doing things to her that were probably delightfully illegal around these parts.
But she looks like Jessica, almost frighteningly so, and when he fucks her later on it almost feels like a sick sort of revenge.
When Dean wakes up in his motel room the next morning, Sam's voice is in his inbox asking if Dean liked the present he sent him as if Sam shipped him a cheap T-shirt from some roadside tourist trap.
The cocktail waitress is gone, it's storming like crazy outside, and in the motel room next to Dean's is a family of five on a road trip with their throats slit open and dozens of powerful symbols carved into their flesh like a gruesome codex.
He doesn't know how he manages to race out of town without a single raised eyebrow.
Somewhere out there is Sam's laughter, harsh and bitter. Dean thinks of what the memory of a fine blend of coffee must taste like to someone who's just downed a cup laced with rat poison.
Like this, he thinks. Just like this.
Hey, Dean, it's Sam becomes the phrase Dean hates most in the world.
It's so casual, the way it shows up on his phone. Sam could be at the beach or at a bar or something. He could be calling for a quick update. Come to that nightclub we went to two weeks ago, man. I was just calling to see if you wanted to play basketball at the gym this weekend. We're meeting at the fucking Olive Garden for Dad's birthday.
That relaxed roll of someone's voice, that easy-handed normal tone people who don't kill for a living use all the time.
Hey, Dean, it's Sam. Just wanted to give you a head's up, tell you I was passing through Missouri and stopped by to see what your old girlfriend's blood tasted like.
You know, that sort of shit.
The man's name is Aidan Scott. His son's name is Damien, and the only reason Dean doesn't make the inevitable joke is because he'd have to be insane to say the words considering the job.
When Dean goes to see Aidan Scott at his new place, there's an ominous tremble to his wrist when he hands Dean a beer and Dean could swear his hair still smells like smoke. Dean's cover story spills from his lips so easy and gentle he doesn't even know where it's coming from. Aidan leads Dean into the house like he doesn't know what else to do with him while he carries his infant son like he's forgotten how to put him down.
Dean says he knew Shelly from the bookstore, from when he'd go in all the time lost and helpless and never knew where anything was. "I'm always taking these stupid classes to pick up girls," he says with a weak smirk.
It doesn't even occur to him that it's such a Sam thing to admit to until the words leave his mouth.
Aidan doesn't seem to notice when he flinches, though. His hand strokes gentle circles on Damien's back as he paces with the baby. If the kid looks a hell of a lot like Sam used to, Dean figures it's just a coincidence.
Aidan's nice about the whole thing, considering. Some guy shows up on his doorstep claiming to know his wife, saying he's sorry for their loss and boy, what a shame. Shelly had such a great smile. She'd definitely be missed. Oh, and did I hear something about some guy showing up at your house that night?
"Yeah," Aidan says. In his daze, his voice settles over Dean like white noise. "Tall, young, needed a haircut. Later on, when I went into the baby's room, I thought ..."
He shakes his head like he'll shake the memory from his mind.
Dean nearly backs away when he does it, like the memory will jump from the other man's mind into his, like he'll finally have to see.
He never calls Sam's number back.
He sits on the bed of whatever lousy motel room he's staying in this week and stares at his cell phone and thinks about all the things he could say.
We should meet up, you and me. You name the place and I'll bring the weapon. We can call it neutral ground if you want. I just want to talk to Sam, that's all. Get the fuck out of my brother, you son of a bitch. A string of profane curses and threats of bodily harm, most of them incoherent.
Dean never calls because even if he did Sam would never answer.
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If Sam were standing in front of him right now, Dean would kill him. And it wouldn't hurt, and it wouldn't bring him to his knees, and it wouldn't haunt him for the rest of his life. It wouldn't be his curse, the one thing he regrets most. The world wouldn't feel like the next ice age has struck, like everything is cold and empty until the end of his days.
Yeah, that saying about repeating things over and over again until you start to believe them?
The demon was so twisted in Devil's Trap and you've got his number perfectly, he would love torturing Sam and Dean like this.
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You're amazing.
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(altho "tall, young, needed a haircut" made me snerk....)
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Also this:
Dad shouldn't sit in the passenger seat. The glove compartment feels like an insult.
It perfect.
Thanks for sharing!
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This was amazing. Each section just had such a bite to it, jabs going a little deeper.
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Aww, so sad ... all of it so sad. *sniffle* A great, moody piece. You nicely captured how horrifying if would be if Sam got possessed by that demon, how much it would torment Dean. The demon continually calling Dean is just chilling. To that end, this was my favorite line, because it's sad and creepy all at once:
Hey, Dean, it's Sam becomes the phrase Dean hates most in the world.
Thanks for a great read.
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That last sentence is so loaded. omg.
FANTASTIC.
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Poor Dean. Poor Sam.
You realize you're making me long all the more for the beginning of season 2, right? : )
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Talk about a kick in the guts...
Lovely and horrible and utterly desperate and lost and... Just perfect. And perfectly awful. You evol genius, you.
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it always sounds just like Sammy
The distinction there--Sammy--just makes it that much more of a gut punch.
Most of the time, he isn't even sure whose underlying voice he's looking for.
Ow. Ow ow OW. Because you know how helpless and frustrated and scared he would be.
Sam should get to complain about where Dad ends up before Dean finally dumps the contents of the box.
This is where I started to tear up. Because...yes.
And it wouldn't hurt, and it wouldn't bring him to his knees, and it wouldn't haunt him for the rest of his life. It wouldn't be his curse, the one thing he regrets most. The world wouldn't feel like the next ice age has struck, like everything is cold and empty until the end of his days.
Dean has no defenses here. You know this. I know this. People on MARS know this. Dean has never had an adequate defense against Sam. And he never will.
Dean never calls because even if he did Sam would never answer.
And of course, the final killing blow. Because I don't have any defenses either. *sniffles*
I'd hate you if I wasn't reeling in admiration.
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You just killed me.
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That was seriously creepy. And by creepy I mean brilliant.
Hey, Dean, it's Sam becomes the phrase Dean hates most in the world.
That just kills. *sigh*
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Ow.
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Because, of course, the demon is letting him see everything he's doing in his body. Poor boys.
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If so, this is the creepiest, saddest, most heart-wrenching thing ever. I don't generally leave feedback, but this piece struck a chord. Very nice.
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Also, of course, I want to save some of the hurty goodness for tomorrow :D
So, yeah, this was just ... *shudder*. And that's all it took to know, really, even before the doctor asked him where the driver went. I read that line and was like 'Nuh uh, she's NOT gonna do that'. And then you went ahead and DID IT and it was awesome. In a horrible, heartbreaking, crushing way.
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