tatty bojangles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apocalypsos) wrote2006-04-10 12:41 pm
apocalypsos) wrote2006-04-10 12:41 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Living in Limbo (Supernatural)
Title: Living In Limbo
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,416 words
Pairing: Slight Dean/OFC
Spoilers for: "Something Wicked"
Warnings: Bad language
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Somewhere along the line, they switched it around like changing partners at a dance, and some days Sam doesn't even know how the hell he got here.
Author's note: Lines in italics from "Wild" by Poe.
*****
Living In Limbo
*****
'cause you break me open
Sam's sitting in the driver's seat of the Impala at some truck stop in Nebraska when he starts laughing and doesn't stop for twenty minutes straight.
Hysterical laughter, he realizes, the kind of laughter you hear out of crazy people in movies that settles this sick feeling in your stomach. His fingers grip the steering wheel like the car's going to get scared off and make a run for it if he doesn't. Not outside the realm of possiblity, considering the way he lives his life these days.
He chokes on his breath once, twice, like he wants to wheeze but can't, and when he does the heavy garbage can in front of the Impala heaves over and rolls along the sidewalk.
Sam doesn't even flinch. Not anymore.
*****
'cause you left me here
Anna's all right, one of the few girls Dean's gone near that Sam is positive has more than two brain cells to rub together. The first time they passed through town, she served them burgers and onion rings with a teasing grin and slipped them slices of cheesecake for free, and the funny thing was that she started out flirting with Sam and somehow ended up whisked off by Dean. What Sam remembered of her after they left was the look on her face that said she could spot Dean's bullshit lines coming a mile away, the scent of fresh-baked cookies she wore like fine perfume and the way her apron hung low and tempting on her hips as she moved from table to table at the diner.
The baby has Dean's eyes and basic math on her side when they come through town the second time around, and Sam could never blame Dean for that much.
*****
'cause it doesn't make sense
He can go back to Stanford any time he wants, if everything he touches didn't turn into a fucking target.
After Jess on fire on the ceiling, it's Rebecca and Zach with the skinwalker in St. Louis, and six months later it's his buddy Cameron being turned into a werewolf. Dean says it's nothing, just a string of coincidences, but Sam thinks differently, like that string of coincidences has a knot in the end of it with his name on it and everyone he knows is the mass of loose threads fraying from it.
One Saturday, he makes a dozen different phone calls -- his study group, his neighbors from the apartment complex, the guys he played touch football with on the weekends -- and puts away his cell phone afterwards feeling like he called the horror story hotline.
Someone's dipping that frayed knot in blood, and even after they defeat the thing that killed Mom and Jess, it doesn't stop.
*****
'cause there isn't anybody else around
That second time through Buxton, after Anna's walked into the main room of the diner with her hip disturbingly occupied, Sam finds Dean sitting on the curb outside the diner with his head in his hands, occasionally looking up at the Impala parked across the street with something kind of like hatred. If Sam were going crazy, he'd think the car looks like it's offended.
A thousand thoughts tumble through Dean's head wild and flailing like someone dropping a marionette down a flight of stairs, and Sam doesn't need to be a mind-reader to know this isn't going to be pretty.
Sam says nothing -- because really, what the hell is he supposed to say to this? -- and after a few minutes of agonizing silence, Dean tosses him the car keys.
Sam gets up. Dean doesn't.
Ain't nobody more surprised than Sam, and yet not at the same time, and that's saying something.
****
'cause the chips are down
Can't ignore the second vision, not when not believing the first one gets Jess killed. The second saves Jenny and the kids, the third gets them to Max.
Sam knows he's in trouble when he starts waking up in cold sweats with horrific mental images in his head and is actually grateful for it.
They're in this throwaway bar somewhere -- Sam's lost track of where the hell they are since he hauled Dean out of bed in the middle of the night three days ago and ordered him to drive, drive, drive -- and Sam's five beers down and making bad jokes asking Dean if this is what being a superhero is like. No fucking choice in the matter, just some goddamn powers shoved into his head whether he likes it or not.
Dean flashes his usual charming smile, but there's something off-kilter about it that Sam doesn't like. "You're the one who wanted to be a lawyer, Sammy," he says. "You really all that picky about just how legal it is when you take the law in your own hands? Or were you just in it for the paycheck?"
It's just to get a rise out of him and it works, Dean sporting a black eye for the rest of the week that leaves him out of scamming himself as a professional.
It takes Sam two days to realize he never called Dean on saying he wanted to be a lawyer rather than wants to be, and dwells on why he didn't for long silent hours in the car.
*****
you've got a lot of nerve to come back here
Anna isn't stupid, and maybe that's why Sam's okay with all of this. Being a Winchester is a curse, is just begging for trouble, and Dean's so full of shit even when he's being serious that he's nothing close to resembling a real catch. A handsome face and a charming smile don't mean a damn thing when they're gracing a dozen different fake IDs, and the only reason Sam doesn't flip out about any of this is because Anna's got enough common sense to know all of that and then some.
Every time he passes through Buxton he goes to her house, because Dean doesn't live there but he might as well. Sam finds salt ground into the gaps in the doorways and a lot of perfectly legal hunting rifles in a cabinet near the front door.
The cabinet's locked but the front is glass. All it's missing is a little sign that says, "Break in case of emergency."
Sam steps over piles of toys and stuffed animals to hear his brother tell his little girl bedtime stories no more glossed over than Sam would expect them to be. He makes fun of Dean for the grease and oil staining his jeans and Dean makes fun of Sam for not worshipping his baby while checking under the hood of the Impala and shaking his head with mock disappointment.
After every visit Marybeth does things like run up to her parents screaming and say, "Look, Mommy, I'm a banshee," and Sam doesn't feel half as guilty about that as he should.
It's three in the morning when Sam rolls through this last time, not even bothering to knock first. He knows where the spare key is, and when he walks into the living room, he only has to fend off Dean's punches for a minute or so before the two of them start fighting over who gets the couch. Sam doesn't even bother to start in on why Dean's there in the middle of the night, his head throbbing like it's ten seconds from bursting.
The next morning, he opens his eyes to see Marybeth clutching the teddy bear he gave her for her last birthday, her green eyes wide and serious.
She climbs up onto the couch next to him, curling up like a trembling kitten. She smells like pancakes and orange juice, and Sam wonders how long they let him sleep.
"I had a bad dream about you, Uncle Sammy," she says, a gut punch in words.
Sam forgets to breathe.
"I had a bad dream about you, too, kiddo," he says, and may not remember how to start breathing again for days.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,416 words
Pairing: Slight Dean/OFC
Spoilers for: "Something Wicked"
Warnings: Bad language
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Somewhere along the line, they switched it around like changing partners at a dance, and some days Sam doesn't even know how the hell he got here.
Author's note: Lines in italics from "Wild" by Poe.
Living In Limbo
*****
'cause you break me open
Sam's sitting in the driver's seat of the Impala at some truck stop in Nebraska when he starts laughing and doesn't stop for twenty minutes straight.
Hysterical laughter, he realizes, the kind of laughter you hear out of crazy people in movies that settles this sick feeling in your stomach. His fingers grip the steering wheel like the car's going to get scared off and make a run for it if he doesn't. Not outside the realm of possiblity, considering the way he lives his life these days.
He chokes on his breath once, twice, like he wants to wheeze but can't, and when he does the heavy garbage can in front of the Impala heaves over and rolls along the sidewalk.
Sam doesn't even flinch. Not anymore.
'cause you left me here
Anna's all right, one of the few girls Dean's gone near that Sam is positive has more than two brain cells to rub together. The first time they passed through town, she served them burgers and onion rings with a teasing grin and slipped them slices of cheesecake for free, and the funny thing was that she started out flirting with Sam and somehow ended up whisked off by Dean. What Sam remembered of her after they left was the look on her face that said she could spot Dean's bullshit lines coming a mile away, the scent of fresh-baked cookies she wore like fine perfume and the way her apron hung low and tempting on her hips as she moved from table to table at the diner.
The baby has Dean's eyes and basic math on her side when they come through town the second time around, and Sam could never blame Dean for that much.
'cause it doesn't make sense
He can go back to Stanford any time he wants, if everything he touches didn't turn into a fucking target.
After Jess on fire on the ceiling, it's Rebecca and Zach with the skinwalker in St. Louis, and six months later it's his buddy Cameron being turned into a werewolf. Dean says it's nothing, just a string of coincidences, but Sam thinks differently, like that string of coincidences has a knot in the end of it with his name on it and everyone he knows is the mass of loose threads fraying from it.
One Saturday, he makes a dozen different phone calls -- his study group, his neighbors from the apartment complex, the guys he played touch football with on the weekends -- and puts away his cell phone afterwards feeling like he called the horror story hotline.
Someone's dipping that frayed knot in blood, and even after they defeat the thing that killed Mom and Jess, it doesn't stop.
'cause there isn't anybody else around
That second time through Buxton, after Anna's walked into the main room of the diner with her hip disturbingly occupied, Sam finds Dean sitting on the curb outside the diner with his head in his hands, occasionally looking up at the Impala parked across the street with something kind of like hatred. If Sam were going crazy, he'd think the car looks like it's offended.
A thousand thoughts tumble through Dean's head wild and flailing like someone dropping a marionette down a flight of stairs, and Sam doesn't need to be a mind-reader to know this isn't going to be pretty.
Sam says nothing -- because really, what the hell is he supposed to say to this? -- and after a few minutes of agonizing silence, Dean tosses him the car keys.
Sam gets up. Dean doesn't.
Ain't nobody more surprised than Sam, and yet not at the same time, and that's saying something.
'cause the chips are down
Can't ignore the second vision, not when not believing the first one gets Jess killed. The second saves Jenny and the kids, the third gets them to Max.
Sam knows he's in trouble when he starts waking up in cold sweats with horrific mental images in his head and is actually grateful for it.
They're in this throwaway bar somewhere -- Sam's lost track of where the hell they are since he hauled Dean out of bed in the middle of the night three days ago and ordered him to drive, drive, drive -- and Sam's five beers down and making bad jokes asking Dean if this is what being a superhero is like. No fucking choice in the matter, just some goddamn powers shoved into his head whether he likes it or not.
Dean flashes his usual charming smile, but there's something off-kilter about it that Sam doesn't like. "You're the one who wanted to be a lawyer, Sammy," he says. "You really all that picky about just how legal it is when you take the law in your own hands? Or were you just in it for the paycheck?"
It's just to get a rise out of him and it works, Dean sporting a black eye for the rest of the week that leaves him out of scamming himself as a professional.
It takes Sam two days to realize he never called Dean on saying he wanted to be a lawyer rather than wants to be, and dwells on why he didn't for long silent hours in the car.
you've got a lot of nerve to come back here
Anna isn't stupid, and maybe that's why Sam's okay with all of this. Being a Winchester is a curse, is just begging for trouble, and Dean's so full of shit even when he's being serious that he's nothing close to resembling a real catch. A handsome face and a charming smile don't mean a damn thing when they're gracing a dozen different fake IDs, and the only reason Sam doesn't flip out about any of this is because Anna's got enough common sense to know all of that and then some.
Every time he passes through Buxton he goes to her house, because Dean doesn't live there but he might as well. Sam finds salt ground into the gaps in the doorways and a lot of perfectly legal hunting rifles in a cabinet near the front door.
The cabinet's locked but the front is glass. All it's missing is a little sign that says, "Break in case of emergency."
Sam steps over piles of toys and stuffed animals to hear his brother tell his little girl bedtime stories no more glossed over than Sam would expect them to be. He makes fun of Dean for the grease and oil staining his jeans and Dean makes fun of Sam for not worshipping his baby while checking under the hood of the Impala and shaking his head with mock disappointment.
After every visit Marybeth does things like run up to her parents screaming and say, "Look, Mommy, I'm a banshee," and Sam doesn't feel half as guilty about that as he should.
It's three in the morning when Sam rolls through this last time, not even bothering to knock first. He knows where the spare key is, and when he walks into the living room, he only has to fend off Dean's punches for a minute or so before the two of them start fighting over who gets the couch. Sam doesn't even bother to start in on why Dean's there in the middle of the night, his head throbbing like it's ten seconds from bursting.
The next morning, he opens his eyes to see Marybeth clutching the teddy bear he gave her for her last birthday, her green eyes wide and serious.
She climbs up onto the couch next to him, curling up like a trembling kitten. She smells like pancakes and orange juice, and Sam wonders how long they let him sleep.
"I had a bad dream about you, Uncle Sammy," she says, a gut punch in words.
Sam forgets to breathe.
"I had a bad dream about you, too, kiddo," he says, and may not remember how to start breathing again for days.
no subject
Heh. Maybe it's wrong, but from now on, I may take that as a challenge. *cracks knuckles* ;)
And thanks!
no subject