SPN Fanfic: Ugly Yellow Blanket
Title: Ugly Yellow Blanket
Rating: GEN, PG13
Characters: Sam and Dean
Word Count: 775
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 3X05
Summary: Missing/alternate scene/coda for 3X05
A/N: Okay, this is kind of weird, arty and stream of consciousness-y, sort of, and totally not what I usually write (and obviously not what I'm supposed to be writing, arg). It contains present tense, abuse of parallel construction, way too many 'ands' and horribly, horribly ungrammatical run-on sentences. And some dubious characterization, maybe. This kind of ambushed me in entirety in the car tonight.
-
Ugly Yellow Blanket
by CaffieneKitty
-
Dean wakes sometime after the Impala wakes, but after it leaves. Knows that Sam has gone, and what he's likely gone to do. And Dean runs. No shoes, no jacket, just explodes out of the bed with its ugly yellow blanket, out the door, running after Sam. But he's gone. He's gone, glow of the taillights on wet pavement long faded around the corner and away.
His chest tightens and though the run was short, he suddenly can't breathe, can't get air past the fist of fear gripping his trachea, and looks around, looking for a car to steal and follow Sam but there are none at the hotel with the ugly yellow blankets, and he is standing in the light autumn drizzle barefoot in his shorts and a t-shirt and has no tools to steal a car with.
He runs back to the room and pulls on pants and boots and knows, knows that he's screwed everything up again, that he never should have told Sam to let him go, not yet. Knows that in minutes Sam will be dead, dead and rotting on some crossroads somewhere in the anonymous miles around the hotel where Dean will never find him in time and can't deal with it.
Dean picks up his cell and calls Sam but it goes straight to voicemail, and Dean disconnects before the message plays because he can't hear Sam's automated voice right now or he'll start breaking things and never stop.
He sits on the ugly yellow blanket, shaking in the dark room, thumbing through the names on his cellphone, scrolling through and through blindly, wondering if he'll even know when it happens, and how could Sam do this? And how could he be such an idiot? And what if it works? And that thought jerks Dean's head around like a hard slap because it can't work, he can't think that it will work, nothing will work and even trying is dangerous and where the hell is Sam?
-
Sam wants Dean to be awake when he comes back. He wants his brother to have heard the rumble of the Impala's engine leaving the hotel and woken, and have worked up a good solid fury at Sam for doing what he's done at the crossroads.
He wants to open the door of the hotel room and see Dean, sitting in the shadows, waiting for him to come back. He wants Dean to surge up at him in rage for what an idiot he's been, and how can you do this Sam?
He wants Dean not to have to ask what he's done, wants Dean to know from the smell of earth and ash and gunpowder, know from the dirt on his hands, the split of a fingernail, the one less bullet in the Colt. Wants Dean to yell at him, scream and shout and call him a moron because that's what he's doing in his own head.
Of course the red-eyed demon didn't keep the claim on Dean's soul. Of course it had passed to someone else, bigger, harder to reach. Of course killing her and her host did nothing but kill another innocent human, caught up in this war. Of course it was all useless, useless, useless, futile, stupid, useless.
He rolls into the hotel parking lot, not bothering to keep the engine quiet or douse the lights before they shine on the window of the room.
He wants Dean to demand answers. He wants Dean to know. He wants Dean to know everything.
-
Dean hears the roar of the engine and the window flashes from the headlights as the Impala returns to the hotel with the ugly yellow blankets, and Dean wants to stand up and shout and rage at his brother, but can't, he can't. Sam is still alive, didn't do something so stupid as summon the Crossroads Demon and try to shoot her, of course not this is Sam, he's not that much of an idiot and there's no way he's going to rage at Sam and fire his little brother into going out again and going through with it this time. Sam is still alive and Dean's not going to question it.
He slides off his boots and rolls under his ugly yellow blanket as the key turns the lock.
-
The hotel door swings open, nearly hits the doorstop, but Sam catches it at the last second seeing his brother laying quiet under the ugly yellow blanket. Not seeing the barely slitted eyes watching, not seeing the tense lump of muscle and bone that is Dean relax as Sam guides the door to a silent close.
No raging tonight.
Not tonight.
- - -
(that's all. See what I mean? Weird.)
Rating: GEN, PG13
Characters: Sam and Dean
Word Count: 775
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 3X05
Summary: Missing/alternate scene/coda for 3X05
A/N: Okay, this is kind of weird, arty and stream of consciousness-y, sort of, and totally not what I usually write (and obviously not what I'm supposed to be writing, arg). It contains present tense, abuse of parallel construction, way too many 'ands' and horribly, horribly ungrammatical run-on sentences. And some dubious characterization, maybe. This kind of ambushed me in entirety in the car tonight.
-
Ugly Yellow Blanket
by CaffieneKitty
-
Dean wakes sometime after the Impala wakes, but after it leaves. Knows that Sam has gone, and what he's likely gone to do. And Dean runs. No shoes, no jacket, just explodes out of the bed with its ugly yellow blanket, out the door, running after Sam. But he's gone. He's gone, glow of the taillights on wet pavement long faded around the corner and away.
His chest tightens and though the run was short, he suddenly can't breathe, can't get air past the fist of fear gripping his trachea, and looks around, looking for a car to steal and follow Sam but there are none at the hotel with the ugly yellow blankets, and he is standing in the light autumn drizzle barefoot in his shorts and a t-shirt and has no tools to steal a car with.
He runs back to the room and pulls on pants and boots and knows, knows that he's screwed everything up again, that he never should have told Sam to let him go, not yet. Knows that in minutes Sam will be dead, dead and rotting on some crossroads somewhere in the anonymous miles around the hotel where Dean will never find him in time and can't deal with it.
Dean picks up his cell and calls Sam but it goes straight to voicemail, and Dean disconnects before the message plays because he can't hear Sam's automated voice right now or he'll start breaking things and never stop.
He sits on the ugly yellow blanket, shaking in the dark room, thumbing through the names on his cellphone, scrolling through and through blindly, wondering if he'll even know when it happens, and how could Sam do this? And how could he be such an idiot? And what if it works? And that thought jerks Dean's head around like a hard slap because it can't work, he can't think that it will work, nothing will work and even trying is dangerous and where the hell is Sam?
-
Sam wants Dean to be awake when he comes back. He wants his brother to have heard the rumble of the Impala's engine leaving the hotel and woken, and have worked up a good solid fury at Sam for doing what he's done at the crossroads.
He wants to open the door of the hotel room and see Dean, sitting in the shadows, waiting for him to come back. He wants Dean to surge up at him in rage for what an idiot he's been, and how can you do this Sam?
He wants Dean not to have to ask what he's done, wants Dean to know from the smell of earth and ash and gunpowder, know from the dirt on his hands, the split of a fingernail, the one less bullet in the Colt. Wants Dean to yell at him, scream and shout and call him a moron because that's what he's doing in his own head.
Of course the red-eyed demon didn't keep the claim on Dean's soul. Of course it had passed to someone else, bigger, harder to reach. Of course killing her and her host did nothing but kill another innocent human, caught up in this war. Of course it was all useless, useless, useless, futile, stupid, useless.
He rolls into the hotel parking lot, not bothering to keep the engine quiet or douse the lights before they shine on the window of the room.
He wants Dean to demand answers. He wants Dean to know. He wants Dean to know everything.
-
Dean hears the roar of the engine and the window flashes from the headlights as the Impala returns to the hotel with the ugly yellow blankets, and Dean wants to stand up and shout and rage at his brother, but can't, he can't. Sam is still alive, didn't do something so stupid as summon the Crossroads Demon and try to shoot her, of course not this is Sam, he's not that much of an idiot and there's no way he's going to rage at Sam and fire his little brother into going out again and going through with it this time. Sam is still alive and Dean's not going to question it.
He slides off his boots and rolls under his ugly yellow blanket as the key turns the lock.
-
The hotel door swings open, nearly hits the doorstop, but Sam catches it at the last second seeing his brother laying quiet under the ugly yellow blanket. Not seeing the barely slitted eyes watching, not seeing the tense lump of muscle and bone that is Dean relax as Sam guides the door to a silent close.
No raging tonight.
Not tonight.
- - -
(that's all. See what I mean? Weird.)