Fic: Pack Up The Moon (Supernatural)
Mar. 5th, 2006 04:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosTitle: Pack Up The Moon
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing/Character: Sam/Dean
Spoilers for: "Shadow", although it's futurefic
Warnings: Wincest (although nothing graphic)
Disclaimer: Dear![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trollprincess's gym teacher, please excuse her from class, as she has borrowed these characters without permission and with no intention of making money off this.
Summary: They say to be careful what you wish for, and if Dean's lucky he'll remember that next time.
Author's note: I swear I love the Winchesters, no matter how angsty I make 'em or what horrible things I do to 'em. ;)
*****
Pack Up The Moon
*****
The main drag of Belleview, Wisconsin isn't the best place for Sam to have one of his episodes, which doesn't stop it from starting up anyway. Dean swerves the Impala through the streets with well-practiced ease, the wild dance of mailboxes and lawn ornaments in the air a ballet it's taken him five years to learn the steps for.
Screams slice through the air and townspeople duck and cover. All of this feels so painfully familiar Dean doesn't even flinch anymore.
Sam's curled up in the passenger seat in a tense ball, folded into himself so neatly he doesn't look any bigger than he did the day Dean carried him out of that fire. His shoulders quiver and his eyelids twitch, and when Dean reaches out a hand to calm him, a car they're driving past explodes in a ball of flames.
They say to be careful what you wish for, and if Dean's lucky he'll remember that next time.
*****
Sam tries to go back after everything that happens. Hell, tries. He does go back to Stanford, moves into some rundown apartment and gets back into college and makes a lot of lame cracks about how Dad would have wanted it this way.
Dean hangs around town for a week waiting for the sense to sink into the kid's thick skull. Sometimes, he wonders if a sledgehammer would do the trick, because Dad might have wanted Sammy to go back to college, but he also wanted evil purged from the world and his wife to be alive again. Dreams can seriously fuck up your expectations like that.
Every night, the lights stay off in Sam's apartment, but that same freakishly tall shadow made on the ceiling by the streetlights moves back and forth so many times Dean starts looking for patterns in the pacing in retaliation.
On the seventh day, Dean's leaning against a streetlight a block away watching the bob and weave of that tired form moving back and forth in the apartment when a familiar voice in his head says, Go away, Dean, like doing so isn't the weirdest fucking thing on the planet.
Not if you're still pulling the same parlor tricks, Sammy, Dean thinks back at him.
Especially not then.
*****
They're peeling out of Wisconsin like Dean's trying to break a landspeed record -- not a new thing for him -- and you'd think they were trying to escape the thrash and spin of the chaos in Belleview as if the reason for it weren't twisted up in the passenger seat.
There's a gun tucked into Dean's jeans and a pair of knives in his sleeves, and if Sam were anybody else on the planet, he would have stopped shaking like that a while ago.
*****
Sam hasn't spoken aloud for months when he climbs into Dean's bed a year after he leaves college for the second time. Dean misses it in a way he can't even begin to describe, the snappy banter, the way their voices played off one another like their fists during sparring matches. In his head, the memory of the way Sammy used to talk back to him has sharpened to a crystal-fine edge, and there's more to it than there was before. Dean reimagines Sam's conversations like he was always in the middle of a wild knife fight, the kind that set your blood flowing free on a fucking racecourse, made you feel like you were freebasing lightning or something.
Dean tells people Sam's mute for so long that when Sam slips into bed beside him that night, Dean is almost starting to believe it.
It's innocent, is what it is, because Sam's stopped hovering in the middle of the spectrum and started bouncing back and forth at both shattering extremes. He's either calm and far more intuitive than Dean ever remembers and just that much scarier because of it, or he's that scared little kid who shared so many motel room beds with his big brother he'd gotten used to whispering away his fears under stained worn sheets like they were goddamn confessionals.
He curls up beside Dean's body, and maybe his brain's working right tonight and maybe it isn't, but Dean doesn't care.
After all, whatever stops the screaming, right?
*****
And yeah, Dean's got his foot down so hard on the gas he's positive it'll never come back up again or he'll send them back in time or some shit, but they don't have much of a fucking choice. It's either get out of Wisconsin or get Sam's ass handed to him at the end of some cop's bullet, if that bullet doesn't swerve right back around and hit the cop with one glance from Sam's narrowed eyes.
Sam is sorry, Sam won't do it again, Sam can't fucking help it, and he might not say any of those things out loud, but he hasn't had to in a while.
Dean feels them just fine on his own, like Sam's painting his emotions on Dean's skin in broad, apologetic brushstrokes.
And Dean wonders for the first time that day how much farther he has to drive before he can pull over the Impala to punch something.
*****
What happens is, Sam's all nice and normal and fucking lying to himself -- which Dean always think of like that, with extra emphasis, because Sam's sure as hell not noticing it so he's just going to have to make a point of it for two people -- and then he gets this vision.
It's already bad enough, because when they helped take down the demon that tore their family apart Sam was positive his freaky new powers were going to go away like a twenty-four-hour case of the flu or something. So when Sam collapses outside one of his classes, he's not exactly too thrilled about the whole thing.
He's less thrilled about seeing Dean stalking towards him with this look on his face that's practically screaming, "I told you so," but there are worse things to worry about.
Even worse than in his vision, it turns out, because Sam winces just so and the garbage can nearby bursts into flames, and Dean's hauling him out of there as people scream for help and there goes the end of his college experience in blistering ruins.
*****
Normal people stop growing when they reach average height, because ... well, hell, that's what "average" means, right? And some don't make it that far, but some -- like Sam -- are such goddamn overachievers that they just keep it up until they have to duck to avoid things like aircraft at cruising altitudes and constellations and shit.
Which always led to Dean thinking sarcastic thoughts all the time like, Where the hell does someone the size of the Jolly Green Giant find baggy jeans?
Honestly, that right there? That was a fucking excellent question.
An even better one, though, is the one that settles in Dean's mind every time his hands slide around the steering wheel as they race out of another small town with Sam mentally flipping out in the passenger seat --
Is there such a thing as a psychic pituitary disorder?
'Cause if Dean were a betting man, and weren't many on the planet who wagered more on a daily basis than he did, he'd put money on the answer being yes.
*****
Take care of your brother is this mantra that repeats itself in his head every day of his life in Dad's rough commanding voice.
Take care of your brother, Dean thinks, and it's hard to do that with Sam pressing up against him in his sleep, quivering and shaking like a goddamn leaf, because the only thing that seems to bring him back in inches is the more of those inches Dean puts his hands on.
*****
Dean keeps a list of the towns in his head. Somerset, Pennsylvania. Wilcox, Montana. Hanson, Georgia.
The towns they don't make it out of fast enough. The ones that lie in ruins.
One of these days, Dean's going to get pulled over for speeding along some highway, trying to make it out of the state so fast the memories that the Winchesters were ever there gets sucked along after them and leaves a vacuum. The cop will walk up to the window clutching what he needs to write out a ticket, not paying attention to the way his car's silently shaking in an ominous fit.
And when Dean rolls down the window, he'll be repeating the names of those towns in his head like a prayer and hoping the cop survives a glance at the passenger seat.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing/Character: Sam/Dean
Spoilers for: "Shadow", although it's futurefic
Warnings: Wincest (although nothing graphic)
Disclaimer: Dear
trollprincess's gym teacher, please excuse her from class, as she has borrowed these characters without permission and with no intention of making money off this.Summary: They say to be careful what you wish for, and if Dean's lucky he'll remember that next time.
Author's note: I swear I love the Winchesters, no matter how angsty I make 'em or what horrible things I do to 'em. ;)
Pack Up The Moon
*****
The main drag of Belleview, Wisconsin isn't the best place for Sam to have one of his episodes, which doesn't stop it from starting up anyway. Dean swerves the Impala through the streets with well-practiced ease, the wild dance of mailboxes and lawn ornaments in the air a ballet it's taken him five years to learn the steps for.
Screams slice through the air and townspeople duck and cover. All of this feels so painfully familiar Dean doesn't even flinch anymore.
Sam's curled up in the passenger seat in a tense ball, folded into himself so neatly he doesn't look any bigger than he did the day Dean carried him out of that fire. His shoulders quiver and his eyelids twitch, and when Dean reaches out a hand to calm him, a car they're driving past explodes in a ball of flames.
They say to be careful what you wish for, and if Dean's lucky he'll remember that next time.
Sam tries to go back after everything that happens. Hell, tries. He does go back to Stanford, moves into some rundown apartment and gets back into college and makes a lot of lame cracks about how Dad would have wanted it this way.
Dean hangs around town for a week waiting for the sense to sink into the kid's thick skull. Sometimes, he wonders if a sledgehammer would do the trick, because Dad might have wanted Sammy to go back to college, but he also wanted evil purged from the world and his wife to be alive again. Dreams can seriously fuck up your expectations like that.
Every night, the lights stay off in Sam's apartment, but that same freakishly tall shadow made on the ceiling by the streetlights moves back and forth so many times Dean starts looking for patterns in the pacing in retaliation.
On the seventh day, Dean's leaning against a streetlight a block away watching the bob and weave of that tired form moving back and forth in the apartment when a familiar voice in his head says, Go away, Dean, like doing so isn't the weirdest fucking thing on the planet.
Not if you're still pulling the same parlor tricks, Sammy, Dean thinks back at him.
Especially not then.
They're peeling out of Wisconsin like Dean's trying to break a landspeed record -- not a new thing for him -- and you'd think they were trying to escape the thrash and spin of the chaos in Belleview as if the reason for it weren't twisted up in the passenger seat.
There's a gun tucked into Dean's jeans and a pair of knives in his sleeves, and if Sam were anybody else on the planet, he would have stopped shaking like that a while ago.
Sam hasn't spoken aloud for months when he climbs into Dean's bed a year after he leaves college for the second time. Dean misses it in a way he can't even begin to describe, the snappy banter, the way their voices played off one another like their fists during sparring matches. In his head, the memory of the way Sammy used to talk back to him has sharpened to a crystal-fine edge, and there's more to it than there was before. Dean reimagines Sam's conversations like he was always in the middle of a wild knife fight, the kind that set your blood flowing free on a fucking racecourse, made you feel like you were freebasing lightning or something.
Dean tells people Sam's mute for so long that when Sam slips into bed beside him that night, Dean is almost starting to believe it.
It's innocent, is what it is, because Sam's stopped hovering in the middle of the spectrum and started bouncing back and forth at both shattering extremes. He's either calm and far more intuitive than Dean ever remembers and just that much scarier because of it, or he's that scared little kid who shared so many motel room beds with his big brother he'd gotten used to whispering away his fears under stained worn sheets like they were goddamn confessionals.
He curls up beside Dean's body, and maybe his brain's working right tonight and maybe it isn't, but Dean doesn't care.
After all, whatever stops the screaming, right?
And yeah, Dean's got his foot down so hard on the gas he's positive it'll never come back up again or he'll send them back in time or some shit, but they don't have much of a fucking choice. It's either get out of Wisconsin or get Sam's ass handed to him at the end of some cop's bullet, if that bullet doesn't swerve right back around and hit the cop with one glance from Sam's narrowed eyes.
Sam is sorry, Sam won't do it again, Sam can't fucking help it, and he might not say any of those things out loud, but he hasn't had to in a while.
Dean feels them just fine on his own, like Sam's painting his emotions on Dean's skin in broad, apologetic brushstrokes.
And Dean wonders for the first time that day how much farther he has to drive before he can pull over the Impala to punch something.
What happens is, Sam's all nice and normal and fucking lying to himself -- which Dean always think of like that, with extra emphasis, because Sam's sure as hell not noticing it so he's just going to have to make a point of it for two people -- and then he gets this vision.
It's already bad enough, because when they helped take down the demon that tore their family apart Sam was positive his freaky new powers were going to go away like a twenty-four-hour case of the flu or something. So when Sam collapses outside one of his classes, he's not exactly too thrilled about the whole thing.
He's less thrilled about seeing Dean stalking towards him with this look on his face that's practically screaming, "I told you so," but there are worse things to worry about.
Even worse than in his vision, it turns out, because Sam winces just so and the garbage can nearby bursts into flames, and Dean's hauling him out of there as people scream for help and there goes the end of his college experience in blistering ruins.
Normal people stop growing when they reach average height, because ... well, hell, that's what "average" means, right? And some don't make it that far, but some -- like Sam -- are such goddamn overachievers that they just keep it up until they have to duck to avoid things like aircraft at cruising altitudes and constellations and shit.
Which always led to Dean thinking sarcastic thoughts all the time like, Where the hell does someone the size of the Jolly Green Giant find baggy jeans?
Honestly, that right there? That was a fucking excellent question.
An even better one, though, is the one that settles in Dean's mind every time his hands slide around the steering wheel as they race out of another small town with Sam mentally flipping out in the passenger seat --
Is there such a thing as a psychic pituitary disorder?
'Cause if Dean were a betting man, and weren't many on the planet who wagered more on a daily basis than he did, he'd put money on the answer being yes.
Take care of your brother is this mantra that repeats itself in his head every day of his life in Dad's rough commanding voice.
Take care of your brother, Dean thinks, and it's hard to do that with Sam pressing up against him in his sleep, quivering and shaking like a goddamn leaf, because the only thing that seems to bring him back in inches is the more of those inches Dean puts his hands on.
Dean keeps a list of the towns in his head. Somerset, Pennsylvania. Wilcox, Montana. Hanson, Georgia.
The towns they don't make it out of fast enough. The ones that lie in ruins.
One of these days, Dean's going to get pulled over for speeding along some highway, trying to make it out of the state so fast the memories that the Winchesters were ever there gets sucked along after them and leaves a vacuum. The cop will walk up to the window clutching what he needs to write out a ticket, not paying attention to the way his car's silently shaking in an ominous fit.
And when Dean rolls down the window, he'll be repeating the names of those towns in his head like a prayer and hoping the cop survives a glance at the passenger seat.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 11:12 pm (UTC)I'm just going to be over in the corner wibbling.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 12:01 am (UTC)Well done! Scary, utterly depressing, but well done!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 02:56 am (UTC)You did great. *nodsnodsnods*
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 03:22 am (UTC)But again. Fabulous.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 05:53 am (UTC)A brilliantly sketched future.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 06:30 am (UTC)(How do you do it?! You snap out these gorgeous pieces, just bam bam bam. I am in awe.)
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 10:37 am (UTC)Where do you get these ideas, man? Freaking brilliant.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 07:58 pm (UTC)Love that.
Utter horror in leaving towns in *ruins*. Horror in Dean's having to deal with a Sam who's not in control and *won't* be in control, and...
Yeah.
Beautiful stuff.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 08:57 pm (UTC)Oh, Dean. Oh, Sam. I just am in awe. This was brilliantly fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-07 01:42 am (UTC)Also, the question about baggy jeans was a nice little bit of comedy. I am in constant awe at how you always manage to nail the characters right on the head.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 05:21 pm (UTC)What happens is, Sam's all nice and normal and fucking lying to himself -- which Dean always think of like that, with extra emphasis, because Sam's sure as hell not noticing it so he's just going to have to make a point of it for two people --
Oh, Dean. I love the way you write him.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-30 12:12 pm (UTC)You. Argh.
Do the coolest things.
Is there such a thing as a psychic pituitary disorder?
Gah!
And aiee! Dean still looking after his little bro, trying to keep the body count down, and just hoping he can save him and (secondly) everyone else...
no subject
Date: 2006-04-02 01:58 pm (UTC)That was the sound of someone laughing the laugh of the supremely pleased fic-reader. Much love for this, oh so very much love
no subject
Date: 2006-04-05 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-03 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-30 05:32 am (UTC)