To Know No War (Supernatural fic)
PLEASE NOTE: This piece has been rewritten since it's original posting.
Title: To Know No War
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Title is from The Who song 'I've Known No War'
Word Count: 1,154
Summary: Sam makes one of the most important decisions in his life at an entirely inappropriate time.
Running away--we'll do it. Why sit around, resigned?
Trouble is, son, the farther you run,
The more you feel undefined
For what you've left undone
And more, what you've left behind.
We disappoint,
We leave a mess,
We die but we don't
-- 'No More' (from Into the Woods)
Sam unbuttons his shirt aggressively, and the material makes worrying noises as he goes.
Behind the walls of the room he shares with Dean, the front door slams. John storms in yelling, "Sam!"
Sam swallows and strips off his dress shirt. As he hurls it toward the small laundry pile near their bags he can hear Dean snap, "Will you lay off him right now?"
Their guns clatter onto their linoleum tabletop, nearly drowning out the words.
Experience tells Sam that Dean is pulling their father back by one one shoulder, tentatively keeping his distance.
Sam assumes his father is shaking.
"And where were you, Dean? Your brother ran off back there and your instinct is to let him go?"
"I told him to go home," Dean replies - his voice a terrifying mix of self-doubt and blind courage.
Still hiding in their room, Sam clenches his fists.
"Bullshit you did. Your brother's a stubborn punk. You're the one with the common sense to stay close until a hunt is over!" Dad always was smarter than Sam liked to give him credit for. It is a single fault in his otherwise solid list of absolutes at age sixteen. "Why don't you stop covering up for him and teach him to do as he's told?"
The conversation turns suddenly to extra drills and new towns.
Sam throws his belt across the room in a sudden fit, furious with his own inability to step out and join the fight. It clunks around his floor, coming to a stop by Dean's bed.
Out front, the voices stop.
In the Winchester household you learn to fear silence. Silence means someone will say something stupid, clawing for ways to fill the silence. Silence could mean their father is getting a bottle to go hide in his room with. Silence could mean Dean's facade is finally breaking and ruining that perfect soldier complex he so relies on to keep their father happy.
Barely, Sam hears Dean through the plaster. "Dad, she was Sammy's friend. He talked about her all the time, they--I mean she's been to the house for chrissake!" The words become unintelligible for a moment, before Dean raises his voice again, "You can't expect him to treat this like nothing." And this tone comes from the Dean that made Sam do an extra hundred push-ups one Saturday to prove how unprepared Sam was. This is the side of Dean that leaks assurance and control. This voice belongs to men and hunters, not the young man Sammy fought with over curly fries.
Footsteps begin a loud path towards the bedroom door.
Sam shakes himself and yanks on an undershirt, diving toward the bed.
If he's asleep, John is less likely to create a fuss until tomorrow. One more word from him, and Sam just might call that Stanford representative - ask about his FAFSA options.
The footsteps stop short of the door, and a heavy fist slams into their kitchen table.
Jumping, Sam bites back a startled shout and reminds himself that neither his dad nor his brother can hear his internal conspiracies.
"Dammit Dean, he> insisted on coming tonight. He shouldn't have been there if he couldn't handle it." John's voice quiets, taking on a terrifying resonance in the small house, "He knows that. You know that. It's what we train for."
Guilt curls up in Sam's stomach, unwelcome alongside his dinner.
"He shouldn't have run," Dean agrees, "but you can't expect a sixteen year old to just stand by and watch the girl he likes get mutilated for a fucking water break!"
Whatever John says in reply is lost behind the sudden rushing in Sam's ears.
He can still picture Nicole: bent over the basement drinking fountain, sweat on her half bare back from too much dancing in the crowded gym. He can hear her laugh, talking about the fountains on that level. 'They're nice and cold. You know you want some,' She had sing-song'd, hands on his hips as she urged him to dance with her in the hall.
Only a Winchester.
Sam finds a girl that relaxes him, lets him laugh; and while she gets a drink of water, she's mauled by some monster his father splattered on the walls.
Sam remembers how similar the scraps of her rouge dress looked to the bright red chunks beside them.
He was supposed to stay and cover for them. The teachers would never notice two chaperones cleaning up bodies if Sam had "turned on the charm".
He was supposed to stay and help clean up.
He was supposed to come home and help clean the guns.
Leaping to his feet, Sam stumbles toward the bathroom. He spews a few chunks of his own into the un-flushed toilet bowl, the rising stench urging him to hurl again.
Beyond the expanse of porcelein and odor he vaguely recognizes silence.
A voice too low to be Deans breaks the silence eventually.
Dean comes to the door a moment later, knocking.
"Sammy? You alright?"
Sam flushes the toilet and brushes past his brother silently.
"Hey Sam, listen--"
Sam shakes Deans hand off his shoulder and mumbles "Fuck off."
"Alright, you're upset, I get--"
"You don't get anything Dean! Just g--" But the next words catch on some part of his conscience and refuse to come out.
Raking his fingers through his hair violently, Sam sighs. "Can you just get out?"
He stalks to the bed without meeting Dean's eyes. As he crawls in, his dress pants tangle in the sheets, and his shoes dangle over the end of the bed.
Dean heads for the door without question, but stops in the doorway to say "Take your shoes off, doofus."
The door shuts behind him without a sound.
In the other room John murmurs something and Dean replies with something like a grunt. Beer bottles clink, a little too loud, before the tv volume blares up and back down as they adjust for Sam to sleep.
--- --- ---
Even after the horrors of the night, Sam doesn't have a nightmare. The freezeframes of Nicole - both before and after - are nothing but vague background scenes, something on a television or behind a closed door in his mind.
When their father comes in to wake him up, he can hear Dean in the dining room, banging dishes around--getting ready for the day.
"C'mon Sam. You're not slipping out of target practice cause you had a late night."
The unapologetic demand is just what Sam needs. He waits until his father leaves before pulling out the Stanford brochures. Folding them neatly and putting them in his backpack, he promises himself that come Monday he'll have taken the first step to life apart from this constant horror show.
By the time Sam stands, he has entirely missed Dean's silent entrance and exit in the doorway. He doesn't notice that when they shoot, his brother is more silent than usual.
And he never sees Dean dig out the papers, reading them over thoroughly before putting them back, and getting ready for Nicole's funeral as Sam argues with John about the luncheon afterwards.
Title: To Know No War
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Title is from The Who song 'I've Known No War'
Word Count: 1,154
Summary: Sam makes one of the most important decisions in his life at an entirely inappropriate time.
Running away--we'll do it. Why sit around, resigned?
Trouble is, son, the farther you run,
The more you feel undefined
For what you've left undone
And more, what you've left behind.
We disappoint,
We leave a mess,
We die but we don't
-- 'No More' (from Into the Woods)
Sam unbuttons his shirt aggressively, and the material makes worrying noises as he goes.
Behind the walls of the room he shares with Dean, the front door slams. John storms in yelling, "Sam!"
Sam swallows and strips off his dress shirt. As he hurls it toward the small laundry pile near their bags he can hear Dean snap, "Will you lay off him right now?"
Their guns clatter onto their linoleum tabletop, nearly drowning out the words.
Experience tells Sam that Dean is pulling their father back by one one shoulder, tentatively keeping his distance.
Sam assumes his father is shaking.
"And where were you, Dean? Your brother ran off back there and your instinct is to let him go?"
"I told him to go home," Dean replies - his voice a terrifying mix of self-doubt and blind courage.
Still hiding in their room, Sam clenches his fists.
"Bullshit you did. Your brother's a stubborn punk. You're the one with the common sense to stay close until a hunt is over!" Dad always was smarter than Sam liked to give him credit for. It is a single fault in his otherwise solid list of absolutes at age sixteen. "Why don't you stop covering up for him and teach him to do as he's told?"
The conversation turns suddenly to extra drills and new towns.
Sam throws his belt across the room in a sudden fit, furious with his own inability to step out and join the fight. It clunks around his floor, coming to a stop by Dean's bed.
Out front, the voices stop.
In the Winchester household you learn to fear silence. Silence means someone will say something stupid, clawing for ways to fill the silence. Silence could mean their father is getting a bottle to go hide in his room with. Silence could mean Dean's facade is finally breaking and ruining that perfect soldier complex he so relies on to keep their father happy.
Barely, Sam hears Dean through the plaster. "Dad, she was Sammy's friend. He talked about her all the time, they--I mean she's been to the house for chrissake!" The words become unintelligible for a moment, before Dean raises his voice again, "You can't expect him to treat this like nothing." And this tone comes from the Dean that made Sam do an extra hundred push-ups one Saturday to prove how unprepared Sam was. This is the side of Dean that leaks assurance and control. This voice belongs to men and hunters, not the young man Sammy fought with over curly fries.
Footsteps begin a loud path towards the bedroom door.
Sam shakes himself and yanks on an undershirt, diving toward the bed.
If he's asleep, John is less likely to create a fuss until tomorrow. One more word from him, and Sam just might call that Stanford representative - ask about his FAFSA options.
The footsteps stop short of the door, and a heavy fist slams into their kitchen table.
Jumping, Sam bites back a startled shout and reminds himself that neither his dad nor his brother can hear his internal conspiracies.
"Dammit Dean, he> insisted on coming tonight. He shouldn't have been there if he couldn't handle it." John's voice quiets, taking on a terrifying resonance in the small house, "He knows that. You know that. It's what we train for."
Guilt curls up in Sam's stomach, unwelcome alongside his dinner.
"He shouldn't have run," Dean agrees, "but you can't expect a sixteen year old to just stand by and watch the girl he likes get mutilated for a fucking water break!"
Whatever John says in reply is lost behind the sudden rushing in Sam's ears.
He can still picture Nicole: bent over the basement drinking fountain, sweat on her half bare back from too much dancing in the crowded gym. He can hear her laugh, talking about the fountains on that level. 'They're nice and cold. You know you want some,' She had sing-song'd, hands on his hips as she urged him to dance with her in the hall.
Only a Winchester.
Sam finds a girl that relaxes him, lets him laugh; and while she gets a drink of water, she's mauled by some monster his father splattered on the walls.
Sam remembers how similar the scraps of her rouge dress looked to the bright red chunks beside them.
He was supposed to stay and cover for them. The teachers would never notice two chaperones cleaning up bodies if Sam had "turned on the charm".
He was supposed to stay and help clean up.
He was supposed to come home and help clean the guns.
Leaping to his feet, Sam stumbles toward the bathroom. He spews a few chunks of his own into the un-flushed toilet bowl, the rising stench urging him to hurl again.
Beyond the expanse of porcelein and odor he vaguely recognizes silence.
A voice too low to be Deans breaks the silence eventually.
Dean comes to the door a moment later, knocking.
"Sammy? You alright?"
Sam flushes the toilet and brushes past his brother silently.
"Hey Sam, listen--"
Sam shakes Deans hand off his shoulder and mumbles "Fuck off."
"Alright, you're upset, I get--"
"You don't get anything Dean! Just g--" But the next words catch on some part of his conscience and refuse to come out.
Raking his fingers through his hair violently, Sam sighs. "Can you just get out?"
He stalks to the bed without meeting Dean's eyes. As he crawls in, his dress pants tangle in the sheets, and his shoes dangle over the end of the bed.
Dean heads for the door without question, but stops in the doorway to say "Take your shoes off, doofus."
The door shuts behind him without a sound.
In the other room John murmurs something and Dean replies with something like a grunt. Beer bottles clink, a little too loud, before the tv volume blares up and back down as they adjust for Sam to sleep.
--- --- ---
Even after the horrors of the night, Sam doesn't have a nightmare. The freezeframes of Nicole - both before and after - are nothing but vague background scenes, something on a television or behind a closed door in his mind.
When their father comes in to wake him up, he can hear Dean in the dining room, banging dishes around--getting ready for the day.
"C'mon Sam. You're not slipping out of target practice cause you had a late night."
The unapologetic demand is just what Sam needs. He waits until his father leaves before pulling out the Stanford brochures. Folding them neatly and putting them in his backpack, he promises himself that come Monday he'll have taken the first step to life apart from this constant horror show.
By the time Sam stands, he has entirely missed Dean's silent entrance and exit in the doorway. He doesn't notice that when they shoot, his brother is more silent than usual.
And he never sees Dean dig out the papers, reading them over thoroughly before putting them back, and getting ready for Nicole's funeral as Sam argues with John about the luncheon afterwards.