FIC: Power of... (SPN)
I'm totally not supposed to be writing anything that isn't An End In Sight right now. Shit.
FIC: Power of...
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (12)
NO PAIRING
Spoilers: SEASON 5 episode 3
Warnings: Language, violence and "written spontaneously at 11pm with no beta"-ness
Dean put his whole hand over Sam's mouth, pulling him close in to his side and moving them both closer against the wall. He ignored the hot tears pooling between his hand and Sam's skin, praying it would be enough. Praying Sam could be quiet just for long enough to…
There was a crash, and Dean rolled away from the wall, pushing Sam down on the ground and standing to cover him with the salt-loaded shotgun. Sam whimpered, but stayed mercifully quiet as four men stared back at him with loathing from the devil's trap that held them. Dean hesitated a second, didn't look down at Sam lying on the floor behind him, just started reciting the latin. Some days it seemed strange to him that he hadn't known these words all his life.
Four jets of black burst towards the centre of the devil's trap and disappeared into the ground. When the sound of exorcised demons quietened, it was Sam who was still screaming. Dean looked down at his brother, still on the ground, and hated himself for thinking about walking away and leaving him there.
As much as Lucifer liked to think he could bring back Sam every time he killed himself, it wasn't true. At first, Dean had thought it had been a challenge on Sam's part. Another hunter died, victim of the apocalypse, and he hadn't known that Sam had emptied their first aid kit of painkillers until he'd gone looking for something to get Sam's fever down the next day.
Sam had been sick for three days - punishment for the first attempt. Dean had demanded to know what he was doing running around the country trying to stop the fucking Apocalypse if Sam was planning on taking matters into his own hands. Sam'd said; if Lucifer didn't know where they were, how could he bring him back? His eyes had been blank and hollow in a way Dean had never seen before. Lost. The point was kind of moot anyway, Sam was alive and he shouldn't have been.
There was a moment when Sam looked at him and said - 'If you salted and burned me, do you think that would work?' Dean chalked it up to the fever and walked to the nearest bar, where he threw up in a dirty public toilet and disguised the taste with a stomach full of alcohol. Everyone had their little coping mechanisms. If Sam needed this one, that was fine with him. Putting his faith in Lucifer to keep bringing his brother back was obscene to a whole new level.
It turned into some kind of dark ritual. Every time a hunter died, Sam made an attempt on his life. Physical attempts left their mark, scars on his wrists, his neck, his temple, his chest. He started to look like a patchwork quilt. And then there were drugs and poisons and salt and holy water and dead man's blood and fucking AIDS (a needle full of contaminated blood - Sam wasn't allowed in any hospitals after that one). His body was healthy and alive.
In a lot of ways, Dean resented Sam the opportunity to express quite how fucked up their lives were. Dean couldn't rail against Michael in the same way. It wasn't in his make-up, this over emotional and hugely destructive reaction to the pressures of apocalyptic life. He was closed up inside, sure, getting colder every day, but death wasn't his *way*.
One day, Sam looked at him, looked him straight in the eye - standing in a puddle of his own blood and still bleeding - and said 'Sing me a nursery rhyme?' He hadn't been quite the same after that. Maybe Dean hadn't been paying enough attention, maybe he hadn't asked what it was like in between blowing your brains out and wiping the wall clean, but he hadn't expected this…
"They saw us, Sam. They saw us, we have to get out of here." His voice was quieter than it used to be, like talking to a little child - don't shout, Sammy'll cry. He gathered up Sam's arms, pulling him upright. Sam looked scared - terrified even - but he stood on his own and followed Dean when he ran.
Some days, Dean thought Sam might just have been a genius. After all, Sam always knew he wasn't strong enough to say no to the devil. Now Dean owns a piece of paper saying Sam can't make any decisions for himself. And Dean's strong. When it comes to Sam, Dean is the strongest. And if the Devil comes asking, he can't have him. Dean makes the decisions now.
AN: I've read a lot of fics now (amazing, gripping, terrifying, saddening fics) where Sam tries to or successfully takes his life in order to get away from Lucifer and his threat. This is just another perspective, I guess. Hope it makes sense to everyone.
FIC: Power of...
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (12)
NO PAIRING
Spoilers: SEASON 5 episode 3
Warnings: Language, violence and "written spontaneously at 11pm with no beta"-ness
Dean put his whole hand over Sam's mouth, pulling him close in to his side and moving them both closer against the wall. He ignored the hot tears pooling between his hand and Sam's skin, praying it would be enough. Praying Sam could be quiet just for long enough to…
There was a crash, and Dean rolled away from the wall, pushing Sam down on the ground and standing to cover him with the salt-loaded shotgun. Sam whimpered, but stayed mercifully quiet as four men stared back at him with loathing from the devil's trap that held them. Dean hesitated a second, didn't look down at Sam lying on the floor behind him, just started reciting the latin. Some days it seemed strange to him that he hadn't known these words all his life.
Four jets of black burst towards the centre of the devil's trap and disappeared into the ground. When the sound of exorcised demons quietened, it was Sam who was still screaming. Dean looked down at his brother, still on the ground, and hated himself for thinking about walking away and leaving him there.
As much as Lucifer liked to think he could bring back Sam every time he killed himself, it wasn't true. At first, Dean had thought it had been a challenge on Sam's part. Another hunter died, victim of the apocalypse, and he hadn't known that Sam had emptied their first aid kit of painkillers until he'd gone looking for something to get Sam's fever down the next day.
Sam had been sick for three days - punishment for the first attempt. Dean had demanded to know what he was doing running around the country trying to stop the fucking Apocalypse if Sam was planning on taking matters into his own hands. Sam'd said; if Lucifer didn't know where they were, how could he bring him back? His eyes had been blank and hollow in a way Dean had never seen before. Lost. The point was kind of moot anyway, Sam was alive and he shouldn't have been.
There was a moment when Sam looked at him and said - 'If you salted and burned me, do you think that would work?' Dean chalked it up to the fever and walked to the nearest bar, where he threw up in a dirty public toilet and disguised the taste with a stomach full of alcohol. Everyone had their little coping mechanisms. If Sam needed this one, that was fine with him. Putting his faith in Lucifer to keep bringing his brother back was obscene to a whole new level.
It turned into some kind of dark ritual. Every time a hunter died, Sam made an attempt on his life. Physical attempts left their mark, scars on his wrists, his neck, his temple, his chest. He started to look like a patchwork quilt. And then there were drugs and poisons and salt and holy water and dead man's blood and fucking AIDS (a needle full of contaminated blood - Sam wasn't allowed in any hospitals after that one). His body was healthy and alive.
In a lot of ways, Dean resented Sam the opportunity to express quite how fucked up their lives were. Dean couldn't rail against Michael in the same way. It wasn't in his make-up, this over emotional and hugely destructive reaction to the pressures of apocalyptic life. He was closed up inside, sure, getting colder every day, but death wasn't his *way*.
One day, Sam looked at him, looked him straight in the eye - standing in a puddle of his own blood and still bleeding - and said 'Sing me a nursery rhyme?' He hadn't been quite the same after that. Maybe Dean hadn't been paying enough attention, maybe he hadn't asked what it was like in between blowing your brains out and wiping the wall clean, but he hadn't expected this…
"They saw us, Sam. They saw us, we have to get out of here." His voice was quieter than it used to be, like talking to a little child - don't shout, Sammy'll cry. He gathered up Sam's arms, pulling him upright. Sam looked scared - terrified even - but he stood on his own and followed Dean when he ran.
Some days, Dean thought Sam might just have been a genius. After all, Sam always knew he wasn't strong enough to say no to the devil. Now Dean owns a piece of paper saying Sam can't make any decisions for himself. And Dean's strong. When it comes to Sam, Dean is the strongest. And if the Devil comes asking, he can't have him. Dean makes the decisions now.
AN: I've read a lot of fics now (amazing, gripping, terrifying, saddening fics) where Sam tries to or successfully takes his life in order to get away from Lucifer and his threat. This is just another perspective, I guess. Hope it makes sense to everyone.