Meme reply #3 - starbright
Response to this meme. This one goes to starbright73 . Hope you like it :-)
Title: As I lay me...
Spoiler: 422
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Genre: angst, drama, angsty drama
Warning: The fandom of "Supernatural" matched with "Drama" should be warning enough. Oh, and unbeta'd. Yes, this is a warning, too.
Wordcount: ~1500
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine... the usual. I'm just visiting my sandbox.
Summary: Sometimes, you have to speak out loud the question, you already have the answer to.
Crickets are chirping. They're are loud, louder than they should be. Sam is pretty sure, crickets shouldn't be that loud. Maybe they are the harbingers of death, the heralds of the apocalypse, driving people crazy before drowning mankind in a furious shower of fire and acid and death.
The night around him is flimsy in its darkness. Probably because of the full moon and the nearby city lights of Chicopee. Yeah, sounds like the apocalypse should start there, in a city called Chicopee. Perfect! Sam gurgles, half a laugh, half a sob, then rubs his hand over his face, opening his eyes wide, too stubborn to let them drift shut. Feeling cold inside he moves closer to the fire but the iciness within him can't be chased off by a fire. Tremors are starting feebly and he knows, it's going to start soon. The chills, the hallucination, the pain.
He doesn't want to sleep, doesn't think he actually could with the concert going on around him. The crickets are still getting louder and now the croaking of a toad - or a hundreds of them - has come in. A musical orchestra just to keep him amused. Fine, thank you very much. Can I please re-sell the tickets?
In front of him the small fire dances merrily, the little flames gnawing patiently on a big lump of wood he put in there half an hour ago. Its light throws warm shadows over his sleeping brother's face. His brother who didn't want to fall asleep and had bragged about not needing it either.
“Go to sleep, Sammy. I'll take the first watch.”
Dean had fallen asleep minutes later, his breath evening out while Sam had done his best to appear peaceful and sleeping himself. After making sure Dean was out, Sam had sat up, folded his legs beneath him and put more wood into the fire. That was a few hours ago.
Even deep in sleep, Dean looks tired. There are lines in his face that haven't been there before the... before. Before Sam had lead Lucifer out of hell. Before Sam had condemned the world to its fate.
His fault, his fault.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance”, he whispers to no one in particular... or maybe to everyone who isn't listening... and something in his chest tightens, holds his heart in a merciless grip and squeezes. Hard! He has trouble breathing and closes his eyes. He wishes for a heart attack, something to put him out of his misery, fast. He's not sure he can go through this again, not yet. But the demon blood within him disgusts him and he's torn between craving the power and keeping his sanity. The pain doubles and he suddenly thinks he really might have a heart attack. Pressing his hand against his chest he holds his breath, puffs it out slowly when he can feel his heart beating on steadily under the sensitive skin of his fingers.
The fire darkens for just a second and the blue-ish moonlight gets evident. The second is enough for the cold to creep over Sam and on the other side of the campfire Dean is visibly shaking before unconsciously pulling his jacket closer to his body. Winter is obviously ignoring the fact that spring should have started blooming weeks ago. Hell is advancing, going hand in hand with another ice age, who'd have thought? The air is chilling to the bones, icy gusts of wind trailing through the low grass, playing hide and seek behind the young birches surrounding the clearing. The air holds the smell of earth and moss and humus. A little bit like fresh mowed grass, a fragrant scent full of the illusion of life.
The moon stands high, sends its renegade rays of the sun over the unsuspecting world. The wind creeps through the numerous layers of cloth, sends chills over Sam's feverish body and he shivers, puts up the collar of his jacket and in the next moment he realizes how stupid this is. Not wanting to get a cold. He should enjoy the cold as it lasts before unending fires claim back the earth. How stereotype.
That's when he realizes the stillness. Deafening silence except for the whispering of the leaves and the twigs rustling in the imperturbable wind. Yet the crickets have gone quiet. Just like that.
Sam sits up straight, turns his head and...
“You!” He croaks miserably. He's surprised he doesn't jump up to throttle the newcomer where he's standing. Either he's to far gone to feel the devastating situation or he's too tired to care. Maybe neither. Maybe he just doesn't know how to react to anything any more.
The newcomer does not reply but comes closer, stands waiting next to the fire and sits down slowly when it does not look like Sam is going to scratch his eyes out or anything sudden.
“I have come to apologize.” Castiel's words are earnest, significant and Sam feels like laughing.
Instead, he doesn't reply but keeps staring into the dying embers of the fire, watches the still burning soot twirl in little circles into the air, climbing upwards. He can feel the tremors in his body grow in strength and knows, he doesn't have much time before detoxification sets in full mode. Doesn't look forward to it and already he can feel his muscles stiffen. Wriggling the fingers in his lap he wants to keep them warm and from cramping. Castiel glances at the motion carefully and Sam is amused when he imagines his fingers curling around Castiel's neck, squeezing hard and unrelenting. As if that'd change anything. At least it'd be a way to show the anger that's probably hidden somewhere deep inside of him. Right now, he can't find the strength to look for it, doesn't want to pop the cork, afraid he can't stop the vulcan from exploding.
“Yeah, thanks. Anything else?”
Castiel seems a little surprised because he blinks, his eyes stupidly large and innocent.
“No.”
So Sam concentrates back on the fire, looking for it to spit out an answer, that he has no question to. The heat of it is scalding hot on his face. It even burns through closed eyelids. And yeah, that's the only reason for the tears pooling against his lashes.
The silence is getting heavy and uncomfortable, the tremors in Sam's body more accentuated. He blinks and the fire is growing in height.
“Why?” He finally asks and maybe this is the question he wants the answers for. Or maybe not, he doesn't know. On the other hand, maybe it's just the first question of many and there's only one answer for all of them.
Castiel obviously has no idea what exactly Sam is asking because his face shows confusion, more than usual at the least. “Why should I go on?” Sam finally rasps and when he looks at Dean, he adds “We, why should we go on? What's left for us to fight for?”
Castiel's answer comes as expected as feared. “I don't understand the question.” And Sam feels hysterical laughter bubble in his throat again. It tastes bitter and he wants to spit it out.
“Why don't you just ask your brother?”
This answer, as irritating as it is, somehow makes sense.
“I know what he'd answer,” Sam sighs and Castiel's eyebrow twitches almost non-visibly.
“Are you not satisfied with it?”
For a moment, Sam thinks about the question. His brother, whom he had disappointed, pushed away and lied to. Yet, Dean's faith in him never seems to crumble. Waver, yes, but not crumble. The trust may be gone but there's something in Dean that can see Sam. Can see something, Sam himself had lost out of sight a long time ago.
“I can't be the answer to everything,” He whispers and when he looks back up, Castiel is gone and the fire is almost out. His body is too tired and putting more wood into the fire seems too much effort. So he just closes his eyes and when he wakes, the fire is back, dancing more forcefully than before. It's still dark and Dean sits across the flames, stares at him with a strange expression in his face. And his voice is calm and soothing and warms him so much than any hell fire could.
“Go back to sleep, Sammy. I told you, I don't need to sleep.”
The End
Title: As I lay me...
Spoiler: 422
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Genre: angst, drama, angsty drama
Warning: The fandom of "Supernatural" matched with "Drama" should be warning enough. Oh, and unbeta'd. Yes, this is a warning, too.
Wordcount: ~1500
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine... the usual. I'm just visiting my sandbox.
Summary: Sometimes, you have to speak out loud the question, you already have the answer to.
Crickets are chirping. They're are loud, louder than they should be. Sam is pretty sure, crickets shouldn't be that loud. Maybe they are the harbingers of death, the heralds of the apocalypse, driving people crazy before drowning mankind in a furious shower of fire and acid and death.
The night around him is flimsy in its darkness. Probably because of the full moon and the nearby city lights of Chicopee. Yeah, sounds like the apocalypse should start there, in a city called Chicopee. Perfect! Sam gurgles, half a laugh, half a sob, then rubs his hand over his face, opening his eyes wide, too stubborn to let them drift shut. Feeling cold inside he moves closer to the fire but the iciness within him can't be chased off by a fire. Tremors are starting feebly and he knows, it's going to start soon. The chills, the hallucination, the pain.
He doesn't want to sleep, doesn't think he actually could with the concert going on around him. The crickets are still getting louder and now the croaking of a toad - or a hundreds of them - has come in. A musical orchestra just to keep him amused. Fine, thank you very much. Can I please re-sell the tickets?
In front of him the small fire dances merrily, the little flames gnawing patiently on a big lump of wood he put in there half an hour ago. Its light throws warm shadows over his sleeping brother's face. His brother who didn't want to fall asleep and had bragged about not needing it either.
“Go to sleep, Sammy. I'll take the first watch.”
Dean had fallen asleep minutes later, his breath evening out while Sam had done his best to appear peaceful and sleeping himself. After making sure Dean was out, Sam had sat up, folded his legs beneath him and put more wood into the fire. That was a few hours ago.
Even deep in sleep, Dean looks tired. There are lines in his face that haven't been there before the... before. Before Sam had lead Lucifer out of hell. Before Sam had condemned the world to its fate.
His fault, his fault.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance”, he whispers to no one in particular... or maybe to everyone who isn't listening... and something in his chest tightens, holds his heart in a merciless grip and squeezes. Hard! He has trouble breathing and closes his eyes. He wishes for a heart attack, something to put him out of his misery, fast. He's not sure he can go through this again, not yet. But the demon blood within him disgusts him and he's torn between craving the power and keeping his sanity. The pain doubles and he suddenly thinks he really might have a heart attack. Pressing his hand against his chest he holds his breath, puffs it out slowly when he can feel his heart beating on steadily under the sensitive skin of his fingers.
The fire darkens for just a second and the blue-ish moonlight gets evident. The second is enough for the cold to creep over Sam and on the other side of the campfire Dean is visibly shaking before unconsciously pulling his jacket closer to his body. Winter is obviously ignoring the fact that spring should have started blooming weeks ago. Hell is advancing, going hand in hand with another ice age, who'd have thought? The air is chilling to the bones, icy gusts of wind trailing through the low grass, playing hide and seek behind the young birches surrounding the clearing. The air holds the smell of earth and moss and humus. A little bit like fresh mowed grass, a fragrant scent full of the illusion of life.
The moon stands high, sends its renegade rays of the sun over the unsuspecting world. The wind creeps through the numerous layers of cloth, sends chills over Sam's feverish body and he shivers, puts up the collar of his jacket and in the next moment he realizes how stupid this is. Not wanting to get a cold. He should enjoy the cold as it lasts before unending fires claim back the earth. How stereotype.
That's when he realizes the stillness. Deafening silence except for the whispering of the leaves and the twigs rustling in the imperturbable wind. Yet the crickets have gone quiet. Just like that.
Sam sits up straight, turns his head and...
“You!” He croaks miserably. He's surprised he doesn't jump up to throttle the newcomer where he's standing. Either he's to far gone to feel the devastating situation or he's too tired to care. Maybe neither. Maybe he just doesn't know how to react to anything any more.
The newcomer does not reply but comes closer, stands waiting next to the fire and sits down slowly when it does not look like Sam is going to scratch his eyes out or anything sudden.
“I have come to apologize.” Castiel's words are earnest, significant and Sam feels like laughing.
Instead, he doesn't reply but keeps staring into the dying embers of the fire, watches the still burning soot twirl in little circles into the air, climbing upwards. He can feel the tremors in his body grow in strength and knows, he doesn't have much time before detoxification sets in full mode. Doesn't look forward to it and already he can feel his muscles stiffen. Wriggling the fingers in his lap he wants to keep them warm and from cramping. Castiel glances at the motion carefully and Sam is amused when he imagines his fingers curling around Castiel's neck, squeezing hard and unrelenting. As if that'd change anything. At least it'd be a way to show the anger that's probably hidden somewhere deep inside of him. Right now, he can't find the strength to look for it, doesn't want to pop the cork, afraid he can't stop the vulcan from exploding.
“Yeah, thanks. Anything else?”
Castiel seems a little surprised because he blinks, his eyes stupidly large and innocent.
“No.”
So Sam concentrates back on the fire, looking for it to spit out an answer, that he has no question to. The heat of it is scalding hot on his face. It even burns through closed eyelids. And yeah, that's the only reason for the tears pooling against his lashes.
The silence is getting heavy and uncomfortable, the tremors in Sam's body more accentuated. He blinks and the fire is growing in height.
“Why?” He finally asks and maybe this is the question he wants the answers for. Or maybe not, he doesn't know. On the other hand, maybe it's just the first question of many and there's only one answer for all of them.
Castiel obviously has no idea what exactly Sam is asking because his face shows confusion, more than usual at the least. “Why should I go on?” Sam finally rasps and when he looks at Dean, he adds “We, why should we go on? What's left for us to fight for?”
Castiel's answer comes as expected as feared. “I don't understand the question.” And Sam feels hysterical laughter bubble in his throat again. It tastes bitter and he wants to spit it out.
“Why don't you just ask your brother?”
This answer, as irritating as it is, somehow makes sense.
“I know what he'd answer,” Sam sighs and Castiel's eyebrow twitches almost non-visibly.
“Are you not satisfied with it?”
For a moment, Sam thinks about the question. His brother, whom he had disappointed, pushed away and lied to. Yet, Dean's faith in him never seems to crumble. Waver, yes, but not crumble. The trust may be gone but there's something in Dean that can see Sam. Can see something, Sam himself had lost out of sight a long time ago.
“I can't be the answer to everything,” He whispers and when he looks back up, Castiel is gone and the fire is almost out. His body is too tired and putting more wood into the fire seems too much effort. So he just closes his eyes and when he wakes, the fire is back, dancing more forcefully than before. It's still dark and Dean sits across the flames, stares at him with a strange expression in his face. And his voice is calm and soothing and warms him so much than any hell fire could.
“Go back to sleep, Sammy. I told you, I don't need to sleep.”
The End