SPN Quotefic Collection #2
So here are the latest shorts for the spnquotefic community
The longest one is 1300 words, a total of 4000 words, and there are some season 6.01 spoilers.
1.08 Bugs
Dean: We’re brothers.
“You’ve been back for a fuckin’ year!?”
There is no thought, just complete physical reaction as Dean’s fist comes flying at Sam’s face, a year’s worth of anguish powering it.
The violence of the connection reverberates all the way back through his shoulder, and he disconnectedly registers the pain in his knuckles as Sam’s head snaps backward and blood begins streaming from his nose.
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1.09 Home
Sam: What’s happening to me?
Missouri: I know I should have all the answers, but I don’t know.
John listened to the voicemail a second time, then erased it.
Setting his cellphone on the dresser, he grabbed the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle. Brought it to his mouth, hesitated, took a swallow.
He allowed himself only one. He was so tired of the battle in his head, in his gut … But more alcohol wouldn’t stop the argument he kept having with himself. He knew because he’d tried to drink it silent and it didn’t work.
He wanted Dean with him. For back-up. For his steadiness. Perspective. Snarky jokes.
For his support.
And that was the hell of it, having Dean with him would expose his son to a danger so far beyond what they routinely handled that John, in his honest moments, admitted he didn’t expect to survive.
How could he take Dean with him for that?
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Asylum 1.10
Gavin: "Dude, she *kissed* me. I'm scarred for life."
Sam: "Well, trust me. It could've been worse."
“ ‘S not funny, Sam.”
Except, from the way Sam’s head was practically touching his knees he was laughing so hard, Sam clearly found it frickin’ hilarious.
Dean didn’t want to know what was trickling down his forehead into his eyes, and even as he swiped at it with his sludge-dripping hand he knew that was a wasted effort. The proximity of his hand to his nose just made the stink worse. Sort of dead skunk mixed with ripe corpse mixed with essence of elephant shit. Or something.
Sam cackled harder. “Dad isn’t gonna let you anywhere near the car!”
Just Dean’s luck to be right within the blast range when the … thing exploded.
“God, I bet they can smell you three counties over!”
Fuck.
Ten seconds later Sam was flat on his back, Dean pinning his legs and wiping his disgusting hands on Sam’s cheeks and using Sam’s unbuttoned shirt to wipe the crap off his face.
“Hey! Stop it!” Sam tried frantically to push Dean over, but Dean still had the advantage of weight, if not height anymore.
“Just sharing like a good brother,” Dean smirked. “Besides, if I gotta walk back, you’re walking with me.”
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1.10 Asylum
Dr. Ellicott: "Now, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot if you tell me something honest about yourself."
Bobby Singer hated secrets.
He hated them in general, knew that keeping things from people you cared about inevitably led to misunderstandings and hurt. He’d learned that from Karen. Twice.
He didn’t consider being discreet about hunting the same thing as a secret, because it wasn’t something he was deliberately hiding from someone else. It’s not like the ghosts and demons and all the other evil sons-of-bitches were his personal undercover mission, it’s more like he just didn’t broadcast what he did. The facts were out there for anyone who cared to look hard enough.
But goddamn Winchester secrets, they were lethal. Literally. Starting with the secret about Sam that John hid from the boys. Well, from him, too, though Bobby always knew there was something John had a bug up his ass about. Bobby couldn’t help but wonder how much of the whole hellish debacle could have been avoided if John’d been upfront about what he knew.
And Sam, and his whole deal with that demon-bitch Ruby…wasn’t much of a secret by the end, but he’d kept it hidden long enough when Dean first got back that Sam was in too deep by the time Dean figured it out.
Dean had his secrets too, hiding how torn up he really was about the whole Apocalypse thing. That ended up with him coming within a hair of giving it all up to Michael …
But this, this was just the worst. Untenable, he’d told Sam. It was so effin’ wrong what Sam was doing now.
Much as it eased his heart to know that Sam was back, was out of the pit and free of Lucifer, it hurt Bobby a thousand times worse to know that Dean DIDN’T know. It was wrong on so many levels that Bobby knew but not Dean, and he told Sam that every single time they’d talked. To the point that Sam was keepin’ his contact with Bobby to the absolute minimum now.
And Sam still didn’t get it. Kept sayin’ that Dean had a chance to be happy now, to have that family life he deserved, that he’d wanted but never dared to dream about having. That Dean didn’t need Sam in his life to mess that up.
The idjit was wrong, plain and simple. How Sam could ever think Dean would choose living the white-picket-fence life over Sam …
But it wasn’t Bobby’s secret to tell. He was as bound by his promise to keep Sam’s return from Dean as Dean was bound by his promise to try and live normal with that poor woman and her kid.
There is gonna be hell to pay when Dean finally finds out. Because Bobby would bet every last thing he owned that Sam won’t stay off Dean’s radar forever. And after Dean punches the daylights out of his brother, Bobby will have to take his share of Dean’s wrath, too. Deservedly.
Bobby only hopes that after it bites all of them in the butt they’ll all still be standing to make up.
Bobby Singer hates secrets.
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1.11 Scarecrow
Dean: "I will leave your ass! You hear me?!"
Sam: "That's what I want you to do."
Following Orders
There was a hole where his heart should be.
Years ago, he’d thought he could never feel worse than when Sam left for college. But Dad had been there. Distant, wrecked himself, but still. There.
He’d thought Dad dying was the worst possible pain, especially when he realized that his father had given up his life for Dean’s unworthy ass.
But he’d still had Sam. Sam who’d bullied him and nagged him and talked Dean to death but stuck with him even if he might not have deserved it.
Losing Sam in Cold Oak had done him in. He’d figured out he could live without Dad, but without Sammy … No.
Dean had been stupid but he’d been desperate.
And in the long run it hadn’t made a bit of difference. Because he was still here, and Sam was … in Hell.
Maybe he could handle this better if he hadn’t been there himself, didn’t have firsthand experience how … horrible? He needed a stronger word, but he was too drunk to think of one.
He’d had Bobby drop him off at the first motel out of Kansas. Never setting foot in that effin’ state ever again … Blow the whole state up with a nuclear bomb, that would be fine with him.
He’d made Bobby stop at a liquor store before the motel and he’d stocked up for a twenty-four hour binge to end all binges.
That was his reward. Like when they asked the football players whose team won the Super Bowl and they said “Going to Disney World” Dean was going to Oblivion World. Alone.
He couldn’t take Bobby’s sad face and broken-up eyes while he did this.
Bobby said he get the car taken care of, get the windshield fixed and pick Dean up the day after tomorrow.
He’d be sober by then. Sober enough, anyway, to follow Sam’s orders.
He downed another mouthful from the bottle. He’d given up on bothering with a glass after two shots.
“Imma good soldier, Sammy. I’ll do what you said.”
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1.12 Faith
Dean: "That fabric softener teddy bear. Ooh! I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down."
Bear
His name was Bear.
Mrs. Lester next door said it was a very respectable name. Dean wasn’t sure what ‘respectable’ meant, but Mrs. Lester was smiling when she said it, so Dean figured it was a good thing.
Bear had been with him since he was a little baby. Not that Dean remembered it, but when he and Mommy would look at what Mommy called his ‘Baby Book,’ there was a picture of him and Bear, together in the crib, and Bear was almost as big as him. Dean couldn’t believe he was ever such a little baby, how could he have ever been almost as small as Bear? But when Mommy brought home Baby Sammy, Dean held Bear next to his new brother and they really were almost the same size!
Bear was brown, the color of the bears in the zoo. There were white bears in the zoo too, but Dean liked the brown ones better. ‘Sides, Mommy always said white was the wrong color for little boys, it got dirty too fast. That’s why she always bought him colored t-shirts.
Sammy had a bear too, but it was blue, which was very silly because bears weren’t blue. Sammy’s bear didn’t have a name yet, either, because Sammy couldn’t talk yet and tell Dean what its name was.
Dean’s favorite thing about Bear was how soft he was. Bear was the softest thing Dean had ever felt, even softer than Mommy. Sometimes when Mommy couldn’t hold him because ‘In a minute, sweetie, I’m making dinner’ or ‘You can come on my lap as soon as Sammy’s done nursing,’ then rubbing Bear’s soft skin would help Dean wait. Sometimes it took so long for Mommy that when she was ready for Dean he had petted Bear enough to not need Mommy anymore and he was busy doing something else. But then Mommy would call him ‘her little man’ and Dean would run over to hug her anyway.
Because Bear was very soft, but he couldn’t give hugs and kisses like Mommy.
Dean hadn’t seen Bear since the bad fire. Daddy had handed him Sammy and told him to go and Dean forgot all about Bear until he was in Mr. Mike’s house. Mrs. Mike was holding Sammy and Daddy was sitting in a chair with his face in his hands and Dean suddenly realized Bear was missing. He wanted to go tell Daddy to get Bear, but when he walked up to Daddy, Daddy’s shoulders were shaking and he was making a funny noise, only it wasn’t happy funny, and Dean was scared because he didn’t think Daddy should be making that noise. So Dean went back to the big chair and curled himself up in it and tried not to think about Bear and about Mommy and about the sound Daddy was making.
Mrs. Mike told Mr. Mike ‘that old crib is in the garage’ and he came back with a bunch of pieces that he took upstairs, and when it was bedtime Daddy put Sammy in the ugly crib and tucked Dean in the big bed that was in the same room, and he told Dean to go to sleep and Daddy would come to bed soon, and he turned out the light and shut the door.
Dean laid there for a minute, and then he heard Sammy whimper, and Dean crawled out from the covers and figured that if he just used the nightstand like a stool, he could climb over the railing and get to his brother.
Curled against Sammy’s warm body, Dean petted his brother’s fuzzy hair, and Sammy’s unhappy noises stopped. And as he fell asleep, Dean thought he didn’t have Bear any more. But he still had Sammy.
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1.13 Route 666
Sam: "Our big family rule number one, we do what we do, and we shut up about it."
The Watcher
It was none of her business.
That’s what Keisha was always telling her. That she was a nosy busybody.
But someone had to be the neighborhood watchdog.
If Mariella hadn’t needed to get up to pee, she would have ignored the unfamiliar growling motor. But it kept thrumming and so she went to the window instead of back to bed.
It was a big black mother of a car, shimmering in the streetlight. Maybe it was a Cadillac? She hadn’t seen anything like it for long time, everyone drove little tiny rustbuckets nowadays. This was a car like her Uncle William’d had. The one her daddy’d called a ‘pimpmobile’ and then Momma’d hushed him up. It had been a few more years till she understood what that meant.
When the engine shut off there was a hole in the night for a moment. Then the doors on both sides opened up at the same time and two enormous men got out. From the second floor window she could see the gleam of the gun as the driver flipped back the side of his dark jacket and tucked it into the back of his jeans. The passenger said something that caused the driver to shake his head.
Mariella inched the curtain in front of her face, not wanting to be seen if they looked up.
She should call 911. But her cell phone was in the bedroom, and she should see where these men were going to tell the police.
They were walking side-by-side now. The one who’d been the passenger was taller, and he brushed his shaggy hair from his face as he walked. The driver had a bit of a bow-legged walk.
Both of them walked like they owned the night. Dangerous men. Even Leon’s thugs would cross the street from them.
She didn’t expect them to go into the Stevens’ house. Where that family’d been murdered just last week. There’d been gangbanger shootings and knifings all summer in the area, and the couple in the next block where the husband had stabbed the wife (but she didn’t die.) But this murder’d been something else entirely. Family’d only moved in a month ago. Mom and three little kids, all tore up and gutted.
Mariella hadn’t slept well since then, even with the new locks on the doors. She hadn’t heard a thing that night and truth to tell, felt a little guilty. Had been asleep on her job as neighborhood watchdog. Wasn’t gonna make that mistake again.
She watched the tough guys saunter right through the crime scene tape and up to the door. They might’ve been arguing, they way the short one was waving his hands and the tall one was shaking his head. But then the tall one crouched down in front of the door, did something, and the door opened.
They went in.
Mariella figured it was time to call the cops. She chickened out and just gave the address across the street and said something was going on. Just in case. She didn’t want those scary guys figuring out who’d called.
Mariella brought her phone with her back to the window just in time to be startled by a loud boom and yellow flash from the Stevens’ front window, and then the two guys came tearing out the door like the devil himself was after them. The short one was holding his shoulder and she heard him yell, “You okay, Sammy?,” his partner said something back, and then the short one hollered “So you drive!”
The pulse of the black car’s engine and its tires squealing as it pulled away from the curb merged with the incoming police sirens. Mariella watched from her window as the police swarmed the building, watched other neighbors come out to see what was going on, watched the excitement dissipate until there was just one lone cop car left.
Then she went back to bed.
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1.14 Nightmare
Dean: Don't do that.
Sam: Do what?
Dean: Torture yourself.
The Domestication of Dean Winchester
He made it through the first weeks on alcohol. He needed to be numb, to not think. He really needed to not exist, but that wasn’t an option, however much he wanted it.
He’s not sure why Lisa put up with him during those weeks. He doesn’t remember eating or talking or showering … just drinking and not-thinking.
Then one afternoon he became aware of clothing stuck to him with bodily fluids, and a hand to his chin discovered a full-blown matted beard, and he smelled. Stunk, actually. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against a bed guest bedroom and the floor was littered with empty bottles.
“Can’t go on like this,” he thought, and stumbled upright. His duffle was in the corner and he staggered over to it, pulled out clothes that were cleaner than wheat he had on, and made his way to the bathroom down the hall after croaking, “Hello, anybody home?” and getting no answer.
Showering put him on the same continent as feeling human, and he returned to the room to retrieve razor and shave cream and toothbrush. When he was done he wiped down the tub and sink, and pondered what to do with his rancid clothing.
Lisa must have a washer and dryer - talk about a lightbulb moment - so Dean gathered all the dirty clothes he had and went exploring until he found the appliances. Next was getting rid of the trash. Opening kitchen cabinets uncovered the stash of garbage bags, and he took three bags to the alley.
As long as he stayed focused on the task in front of him, he could function. No thinking.
A key clicked in the back door lock and Dean instinctively whirled to meet the threat, realized he was weaponless, and looked around for the kitchen knives. But before he could act, he recognized Ben’s voice.
“So your mom said you can stay for dinner, and my mom’ll drive you home. Oh, hi Dean.” There was wary hesitation when Ben saw Dean at the counter.
“Hi, Ben.” It came out gravelly, like he hadn’t spoken for a long time. “Just … doing some laundry.”
The skinny blonde boy who had come in the door with Ben looked curiously between them.
“This is Dean. He’s a family friend. This is Danny. We’re working on a school project.”
“I’ll just get out of your way.” That came out a little closer to his normal speaking voice.
Dean switched the wash to the dryer, went back upstairs to clean up the room he’d been hiding in, and then was at a loss. Danny and Ben had closeted themselves in Ben’s room, and he could hear them chattering away. He knocked on the door.
“Ben? Do you know what your mom is making for dinner? And when she’ll be home?”
“I think she said spaghetti or something. She’ll be home in about an hour?”
Back in the kitchen, Dean set himself the task of memorizing the kitchen contents. Which cabinets had dishes, which contained food. He studied the canned goods and boxes of cereal, looking for a pattern in how things were stored. He found the spoons and forks and knives, the pots and the mixing bowls.
He was doing fine until he hit the spice rack and saw the fennel. The label made him think of a spell Bobby’d given him and Sam.
Sam.
He couldn’t breathe.
He wanted to run and he wanted to never move again at the same time.
Don’t think, he ordered himself. Forced himself to focus on that order like a mantra while he stared at the spice bottle.
That’s how Lisa found him.
“Dean?” She said his name several times before it registered that she was talking to him.
“Lisa.” He set the fennel back on the wooden rack. “I, uh …”
“You up to helping make dinner?”
“Uh, sure.”
Dean followed directions without talking. Lisa made inconsequential remarks that didn’t require a response and Dean was able to keep his mind on task.
Ben and Danny talked non-stop through the meal, about the approaching end of school, the baseball team they were both on, and the day camp they were going to attend together.
Dean started washing dishes while Lisa was still clearing the table. She stopped in surprise.
“Thanks, Dean, but you don’t have to do that, there’s a dishwasher.”
Somehow that had escaped him on his kitchen survey.
“Oh. Guess you’ll have to show me how to work it next time. But I don’t mind this.”
Lisa came up behind him and put a hand gently on his back. “I’m really glad to see you down here tonight, Dean.”
“I, uh, cleaned up the room and did some laundry …”
“Want to watch some TV?”
“Sure.”
Dean focused his attention on Dancing with the Stars - “Everyone gets a guilty pleasure,” Lisa joked - as if his life depended on it. He thought maybe it did.
Even the commercials were riveting.
He managed to not think for several hours. Until Lisa had taken Danny home and made Ben go to bed and then stood in the doorway studying Dean with a concerned look that he didn’t want to meet.
“Good night, Dean.”
“ ‘Night, Lisa. I’m gonna watch a little more, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, Dean. If, uh, you need anything, just let me know.”
Dean didn’t want to see the sadness in Lisa’s eyes.
Around two a.m. he found himself losing focus on the TV and his mind starting to revisit the forbidden territory of what had gone down in Stull Cemetery and he knew he couldn’t go there, so admitting his cowardliness, Dean went to the kitchen cupboard where he’d seen a bottle of Christian Brothers brandy tucked behind the baking ingredients. Out of deference to Lisa, he used a glass, but it took three of them before he was able to resume his vigil staring at infomercials.
Lisa found him on the couch, TV still on. Dean jerked to awareness when he felt someone reaching over him and just stopped himself from hitting Lisa as she was picking up the remote.
“Sorry!” they offered simultaneously.
Lisa picked up the brandy and the glass, and Dean felt he should say something but didn’t know what, so he followed her to the kitchen, watched as she ate a yogurt and a banana ,then poured a bowl of cereal just as Ben came yawning down the stairs.
“Hey, is there anything that needs fixing around here that I could do for you?”
Lisa considered. “Leaky faucet?”
“Which one?”
“The tub in my bathroom.”
Dean managed to turn that into an almost all-day project by dint of needing to find the tools, and then repairing the sink plumbing to within an inch of its life. He was just finishing when Ben came in the house.
“Think your mom would like it if dinner was ready when she came home?”
“Yeah … I guess …” Ben clearly didn’t get where Dean was going.
“So you want to help me make some awesome chili?”
“You can cook?”
“You bet your as … last dollar I do! Come on, you can show me where stuff is.”
He’d learned how to make chili from Bobby’s very flexible recipe years ago, and he set Ben to chopping after showing him how to hold the knife so as not to accidentally take off a finger. Dean firmly pushed down each flashback to doing this with Sam as his assistant. There was just this kitchen and Ben and now.
As Dean had hoped, Lisa sparkled when she entered the kitchen with the question of “What smells so good?” and saw the chili bubbling.
“I didn’t know you could cook!”
“Hey, I have lots of hidden talents.” His smile was forced, but he could do this.
He would follow Sam’s last order. Even if it killed him.