Fic: Trapped. SPN. Dean/Sam. G.
Just a little something I wrote after watching SPN 2.01 "In My Time of Dying"
Title:Trapped
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters: Sam,Dean, Sam/Dean implied
Rating: G
Summary: Dealing with the aftermath. Or not.
Warnings: SPOILERS!!! for ep. 2.01. Unbeta'd. Emo.
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt
There’s a spider in the upper right corner of the room. Each time it moves the strands of its web shiver, making the complex structure shimmer like a silver charm reflecting the moonlight. It’s distorted, a knot a little off centre breaking the symmetry. The fly inside the knot stopped moving two days ago. He wonders how long ago it stopped feeling fear.
“Dean?”
Sam is looming over him, a pillar of anxiety in the corner of his vision. Dean concentrates on the spider, watching it skitter across the web making it shakeshakeshake…
“Come on, man. Don’t do this. Don’t… Dean?”
It’s cold. The skin on his arms is raised in goosebumps, tiny dots showing his only reaction to the world around him. Sounds hardly penetrate his shell, smell and taste too insignificant to matter. All he sees is the spider and its natural cruelty doesn’t affect him. Which leaves only touch.
Sam tried to touch him once. Dean struck out, hitting Sam so hard in the face he now has a black eye to match the yellowing one on the other side. Sam crashed to the floor where he stayed for the longest time, breathing heavily, before getting slowly to his feet. Dean could feel Sam watching him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the spider, his body shaking violently, until Sam finally figured it out and stepped back.
Sam hasn’t touched him since. Dean’s not sure how he feels about that. He’s not sure he feels anything at all. About anything.
“You think you’re the only one grieving, Dean? You think I’m not… I’m not…Please, Dean. Will you just look at me?”
He should be staring at the fly. At that small cocoon that was once alive and free but is now trapped and being slowly digested. He doesn’t though, does no more than skim over it as he follows the spider with his eyes where it crawls across the web.
“I can’t do this without you. I can’t… This is all too much. Dean, please. I need you to be my big brother again, man, just one last time and I’ll back off. I just need…”
A couple of days ago the rumbling sound of a truck penetrated his state of nothingness. It came closer, until finally, with a screech of tires and spitting gravel, it stopped right outside their motel room. And he had thought…
A door slammed and the high pitched sound of a girl laughing stabbed him so viciously in the gut that he’d sucked in his breath, his bad leg twitching until the trembling traveled up his body like a freight train. Sam came rushing over, hands hovering right over his skin, babbling some shit about how everything would be all right, Dean, please come on.
He almost cried then.
“You need to eat something. You need to take your pills, Dean. I know you’re in pain. Will you just please…”
He’s been out of bed three times since they got here five days ago. Twice to empty his bladder and once to stare into the toilet bowl while his stomach twisted and cramped, only bringing up sour spittle in his mouth. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t drunk anything, so there’s nothing there to hurl. His head, chest and leg hurt but the pain is far away, unconnected to him. Everything is unconnected to him. He is neutral. He is not here.
“I can’t… I can’t sleep, Dean. Can I…? Please don’t freak out on me again. I’ll stay over here, I won’t…”
He hasn’t slept. Just occasionally zoned out, eyes still staring up at the ceiling, fixated on the spider, watching it work. When the spider sleeps he watches the web instead, trying to count the strands or find meaning in its pattern. He doesn’t really count that as thinking. He doesn’t think, refuses to think, his thoughts kept locked in a room deep inside his head. If he lets them out something horrible will happen. And if he closes his eyes the dreams will be back.
It’s the only thing he remembers from the hospital apart from... it. Dreams about dying. About da- About John watching him, silent and disapproving, as he slips away. And Sam crying.
Sam cries.
Dean can feel the bed shaking with his sobs. If he could move he would roll over and put his arm around his little Sammy, allow him to bury his face in his big brother’s neck. If he could speak he would tell Sam everything’s gonna be all right.
If Dean could feel anything he would tell Sam he loved him.
On the sixth day Sam climbs up on a chair and sweeps down the web with the spider and the tiny cocooned fly, brushing them off his hands out the window. Dean blinks. Then he slowly turns his head and looks up at Sam who is glaring at him with defiance.
“You’ve been staring at that goddamn spider since we got here, man. You need to stop. I need you to stop, Dean.”
Dean purses his lips and then he nods. Getting out of bed is surprisingly hard and when he finally stands he’s swaying, his head too heavy for the rest of his body.
“It wasn’t the spider, Sam. It was the fly.”
His voice is hoarse, strangled with disuse and the bruises from the tube. Sam just stares at him, confused and worried.
Dean goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The face staring back at him from the mirror is grey and shadowed with grief and the beginning of a beard. It’s a face he recognizes from faded photographs and even more faded memories. A face he will never see again.
His hands shake as he grabs the small bag of toiletries, cutting his thumb on the razor in his hurry to get it out. It’s more than he can handle, seeing his father’s ghost staring out at him so he doesn’t bother with lather, just swipes the sharp edge over his dry skin, removing a weeks worth of neglect. He cuts himself again and again, leaving the skin raw and smeared with blood.
Afterward he stands in the shower, staring down at his toes as the pink tinted water slips between them and down the drain. They turn white and wrinkled, like albino raisins. Sam is knocking on the door, then sweeping aside the curtain, and turning off the water, cursing and grabbing his arm, pulling him out. He knows he mixed the water as hot as he could handle but still he’s shivering, his ice cold hair plastered to his skull and he doesn’t understand why.
“Come on. Come on, Dean.” Pulling the towel tight around him. “Shit, man. Didn’t you even feel the hot water run out?”
“I’m all right. Get off me, Sam.” He pushes Sam away before he does something stupid. Like pulling Sam closer.
“You’re not all right. Fuck you, Dean, you’re so far from all right.”
Sam is angry, or maybe scared. Dean can’t tell and he doesn’t want to. He ignores Sam as he stands aside, watching Dean when he lies down again, pulling the covers up to his chin. He suddenly feels tired, so exhausted that even the fear of dreams can’t keep him awake.
“Dean…”
“Just gonna sleep, Sammy.”
“Can I…?”
Silence.
“If you do I’ll break.” He didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t mean to say anything. He isn’t even supposed to be here.
“You’re already broken, Dean. Just… let me help put you back together.”
The bed dips and he goes rigid with tension. Sam’s palm on his arm makes him flinch, Sam’s lips on the back of his neck burn blisters on his skin.
“Sam… I can’t… Don’t…”
“If you fall I will catch you,” Sam whispers as his fingers slide under the covers and splay across Dean’s stomach, pressing firmly.
The thought ‘If I fall I will never get up again’ breaches his mind but it’s too late. The shivering starts from deep within his belly, traveling through his guts and bones and veins until his whole body is shaking. He can’t breathe, his throat locked tight, his lungs paralyzed. His heart beats hard enough to bruise his ribs.
“Just let it go. It’s okay. I’m right here. Come on, Dean.”
He shakes his head because he can not, he can not… He. Can. Not.
He does.
It comes rushing out, a low keening sound that seems to go on forever. Sam’s arm tightens around him, pressing their bodies so close he’s shaking with him, Dean’s head thrown back and jerking on Sam’s shoulder. He can feel his eyes rolling back in his head, the room going black, and then he’s finally gulping in air, filling his lungs until they’re close to bursting. His gasps echo in the quiet room, bouncing off the walls and he can feel Sam breathing with him, matching each gasp with one of his own.
When the tears start running down along his nose and stinging his split lips he hides his face in his hands only resisting slightly when Sam covers them with his own, lacing their fingers together before slowly but firmly moving them away, wrapping their joined arms around Dean’s chest.
“It’s all right, Dean. You’ve earned them. Just let them come.”
Sam’s voice is trembling but he feels so strong and solid against Dean’s back, his arms tight over Dean’s chest, his hands so big where they clutch Dean’s own. And for the first time in over twenty years Dean gives in and gives up. Gives himself over to someone else’s care, surrenders his role as big brother for just a moment and becomes that scared little four year old boy that wanted nothing more than to feel his mother’s arms around him, once again.
He cries, heavy sloppy sobs that tear at his lungs and spit saliva and snot over the pillow. Cries until his eyes dry out and his head pounds and then with a final tremble he falls asleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, Sam’s arms are still tight around him, one leg thrown over Dean’s own. Dean opens his eyes. On the wall across there’s a fly. The sunlight reflects off its shiny black body for a few seconds before it buzzes and flies away out of the open window.
Dean closes his eyes and falls asleep again.
fin
I can't believe I put a fucking spoiler in the cut tag. I'm so sorry. It was only there for about five seconds but still. So so sorry.
Title:Trapped
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters: Sam,Dean, Sam/Dean implied
Rating: G
Summary: Dealing with the aftermath. Or not.
Warnings: SPOILERS!!! for ep. 2.01. Unbeta'd. Emo.
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt
There’s a spider in the upper right corner of the room. Each time it moves the strands of its web shiver, making the complex structure shimmer like a silver charm reflecting the moonlight. It’s distorted, a knot a little off centre breaking the symmetry. The fly inside the knot stopped moving two days ago. He wonders how long ago it stopped feeling fear.
“Dean?”
Sam is looming over him, a pillar of anxiety in the corner of his vision. Dean concentrates on the spider, watching it skitter across the web making it shakeshakeshake…
“Come on, man. Don’t do this. Don’t… Dean?”
It’s cold. The skin on his arms is raised in goosebumps, tiny dots showing his only reaction to the world around him. Sounds hardly penetrate his shell, smell and taste too insignificant to matter. All he sees is the spider and its natural cruelty doesn’t affect him. Which leaves only touch.
Sam tried to touch him once. Dean struck out, hitting Sam so hard in the face he now has a black eye to match the yellowing one on the other side. Sam crashed to the floor where he stayed for the longest time, breathing heavily, before getting slowly to his feet. Dean could feel Sam watching him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the spider, his body shaking violently, until Sam finally figured it out and stepped back.
Sam hasn’t touched him since. Dean’s not sure how he feels about that. He’s not sure he feels anything at all. About anything.
“You think you’re the only one grieving, Dean? You think I’m not… I’m not…Please, Dean. Will you just look at me?”
He should be staring at the fly. At that small cocoon that was once alive and free but is now trapped and being slowly digested. He doesn’t though, does no more than skim over it as he follows the spider with his eyes where it crawls across the web.
“I can’t do this without you. I can’t… This is all too much. Dean, please. I need you to be my big brother again, man, just one last time and I’ll back off. I just need…”
A couple of days ago the rumbling sound of a truck penetrated his state of nothingness. It came closer, until finally, with a screech of tires and spitting gravel, it stopped right outside their motel room. And he had thought…
A door slammed and the high pitched sound of a girl laughing stabbed him so viciously in the gut that he’d sucked in his breath, his bad leg twitching until the trembling traveled up his body like a freight train. Sam came rushing over, hands hovering right over his skin, babbling some shit about how everything would be all right, Dean, please come on.
He almost cried then.
“You need to eat something. You need to take your pills, Dean. I know you’re in pain. Will you just please…”
He’s been out of bed three times since they got here five days ago. Twice to empty his bladder and once to stare into the toilet bowl while his stomach twisted and cramped, only bringing up sour spittle in his mouth. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t drunk anything, so there’s nothing there to hurl. His head, chest and leg hurt but the pain is far away, unconnected to him. Everything is unconnected to him. He is neutral. He is not here.
“I can’t… I can’t sleep, Dean. Can I…? Please don’t freak out on me again. I’ll stay over here, I won’t…”
He hasn’t slept. Just occasionally zoned out, eyes still staring up at the ceiling, fixated on the spider, watching it work. When the spider sleeps he watches the web instead, trying to count the strands or find meaning in its pattern. He doesn’t really count that as thinking. He doesn’t think, refuses to think, his thoughts kept locked in a room deep inside his head. If he lets them out something horrible will happen. And if he closes his eyes the dreams will be back.
It’s the only thing he remembers from the hospital apart from... it. Dreams about dying. About da- About John watching him, silent and disapproving, as he slips away. And Sam crying.
Sam cries.
Dean can feel the bed shaking with his sobs. If he could move he would roll over and put his arm around his little Sammy, allow him to bury his face in his big brother’s neck. If he could speak he would tell Sam everything’s gonna be all right.
If Dean could feel anything he would tell Sam he loved him.
On the sixth day Sam climbs up on a chair and sweeps down the web with the spider and the tiny cocooned fly, brushing them off his hands out the window. Dean blinks. Then he slowly turns his head and looks up at Sam who is glaring at him with defiance.
“You’ve been staring at that goddamn spider since we got here, man. You need to stop. I need you to stop, Dean.”
Dean purses his lips and then he nods. Getting out of bed is surprisingly hard and when he finally stands he’s swaying, his head too heavy for the rest of his body.
“It wasn’t the spider, Sam. It was the fly.”
His voice is hoarse, strangled with disuse and the bruises from the tube. Sam just stares at him, confused and worried.
Dean goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The face staring back at him from the mirror is grey and shadowed with grief and the beginning of a beard. It’s a face he recognizes from faded photographs and even more faded memories. A face he will never see again.
His hands shake as he grabs the small bag of toiletries, cutting his thumb on the razor in his hurry to get it out. It’s more than he can handle, seeing his father’s ghost staring out at him so he doesn’t bother with lather, just swipes the sharp edge over his dry skin, removing a weeks worth of neglect. He cuts himself again and again, leaving the skin raw and smeared with blood.
Afterward he stands in the shower, staring down at his toes as the pink tinted water slips between them and down the drain. They turn white and wrinkled, like albino raisins. Sam is knocking on the door, then sweeping aside the curtain, and turning off the water, cursing and grabbing his arm, pulling him out. He knows he mixed the water as hot as he could handle but still he’s shivering, his ice cold hair plastered to his skull and he doesn’t understand why.
“Come on. Come on, Dean.” Pulling the towel tight around him. “Shit, man. Didn’t you even feel the hot water run out?”
“I’m all right. Get off me, Sam.” He pushes Sam away before he does something stupid. Like pulling Sam closer.
“You’re not all right. Fuck you, Dean, you’re so far from all right.”
Sam is angry, or maybe scared. Dean can’t tell and he doesn’t want to. He ignores Sam as he stands aside, watching Dean when he lies down again, pulling the covers up to his chin. He suddenly feels tired, so exhausted that even the fear of dreams can’t keep him awake.
“Dean…”
“Just gonna sleep, Sammy.”
“Can I…?”
Silence.
“If you do I’ll break.” He didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t mean to say anything. He isn’t even supposed to be here.
“You’re already broken, Dean. Just… let me help put you back together.”
The bed dips and he goes rigid with tension. Sam’s palm on his arm makes him flinch, Sam’s lips on the back of his neck burn blisters on his skin.
“Sam… I can’t… Don’t…”
“If you fall I will catch you,” Sam whispers as his fingers slide under the covers and splay across Dean’s stomach, pressing firmly.
The thought ‘If I fall I will never get up again’ breaches his mind but it’s too late. The shivering starts from deep within his belly, traveling through his guts and bones and veins until his whole body is shaking. He can’t breathe, his throat locked tight, his lungs paralyzed. His heart beats hard enough to bruise his ribs.
“Just let it go. It’s okay. I’m right here. Come on, Dean.”
He shakes his head because he can not, he can not… He. Can. Not.
He does.
It comes rushing out, a low keening sound that seems to go on forever. Sam’s arm tightens around him, pressing their bodies so close he’s shaking with him, Dean’s head thrown back and jerking on Sam’s shoulder. He can feel his eyes rolling back in his head, the room going black, and then he’s finally gulping in air, filling his lungs until they’re close to bursting. His gasps echo in the quiet room, bouncing off the walls and he can feel Sam breathing with him, matching each gasp with one of his own.
When the tears start running down along his nose and stinging his split lips he hides his face in his hands only resisting slightly when Sam covers them with his own, lacing their fingers together before slowly but firmly moving them away, wrapping their joined arms around Dean’s chest.
“It’s all right, Dean. You’ve earned them. Just let them come.”
Sam’s voice is trembling but he feels so strong and solid against Dean’s back, his arms tight over Dean’s chest, his hands so big where they clutch Dean’s own. And for the first time in over twenty years Dean gives in and gives up. Gives himself over to someone else’s care, surrenders his role as big brother for just a moment and becomes that scared little four year old boy that wanted nothing more than to feel his mother’s arms around him, once again.
He cries, heavy sloppy sobs that tear at his lungs and spit saliva and snot over the pillow. Cries until his eyes dry out and his head pounds and then with a final tremble he falls asleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, Sam’s arms are still tight around him, one leg thrown over Dean’s own. Dean opens his eyes. On the wall across there’s a fly. The sunlight reflects off its shiny black body for a few seconds before it buzzes and flies away out of the open window.
Dean closes his eyes and falls asleep again.
fin
I can't believe I put a fucking spoiler in the cut tag. I'm so sorry. It was only there for about five seconds but still. So so sorry.