SPN FIC - P.O.W.
The Muse saw The Dark Knight, you see. So the Muse is in a dark mood. (Although she loves her some Lucius Fox. Heh.) Post No Rest for the Wicked. Non-spoilery for Season 4.
He screams and he almost can't hear himself, like his ears are plugged with something, like something's soaking up the sound, so he screams again and thrashes because it doesn't matter if he tears himself apart, he can't stay here foreverforeverforev
Characters: Dean and Bobby
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: 3.16
Rating: PG
Length: 1216 words
P.O.W.
By Carol Davis
He's alone.
There's no fire Ruby said there would be fire there would be real hellfire and there's not but he's alone there's no one to help him.
"SAM," he cries, but there's no answer.
He can't move. Can't move his arms and legs they're stretched out and held tight and there are hooks in him in his side and his shoulder and if he moves he'll tear himself apart.
Forever, they said.
No one can help him.
He'll be here forever forever foreverforeverforever
Alone.
There's no one here, no one at all.
"SAM!" he screams, and it doesn't even echo. "SAAAAAAAM!"
foreverforeverfo
He screams and he almost can't hear himself, like his ears are plugged with something, like something's soaking up the sound, so he screams again and thrashes because it doesn't matter if he tears himself apart, he can't stay here foreverforeverforev
foreverforev
"Dean. Stop now. You're all right."
No he's not, not all right, he can't move his arms and legs and he's
"Dean."
There's something.
Hands. Is it hands? Touching him. Taking away the things that hold him, freeing his arms, his legs. Lifting him. Something solid there, and he gropes and clings, finds something warm, something that doesn't go away. He doesn't open his eyes, can't open them, doesn't want to see anything wrong, anything false. They tell lies in this place, he knows that, he's known it most of his life.
His life? He doesn't have a life any more. He traded it for Sam's.
"Saaaaaam," he sobs.
The solid doesn't go away and he doesn't care what it is. It's warm and it's there and it's something, when there was so much nothing before.
"Wake up now. Wake up. It's all right."
No. Not all right. He's here foreveralways because he sold himself for Sam.
Sam couldn't save him.
Nobody could save him.
The solid moves a little and he huddles against it. His fingers are knotted in something, gripping it tight because he can hold it instead of it holding him.
But there is something holding him.
Warm.
And he wails, because that's wrong, everything here is wrong. They'll come to torment him make him suffer foreveralwaysforever
"All right now. Come on, now."
It will start now, he thinks, the fire will start now because this isn't right, this something, this warm thing. They're tormenting him, making him think he's been saved when no one could save him not Sam not anybody.
The something moves again. Gently.
It's rocking him.
Rubbing his back.
Mom?
No. Not Mom.
Sammy.
NoSamno don't you do it you promised you told me you promised don't you dare do it
He sobs and pushes at the something but it holds on, it holds him and doesn't let him go, doesn't let him tumble away. His arms and legs move don't move he can't remember how to move them and it doesn't matter, he can't get away from this place it's foreverforeverforever
"DEAN."
Dean.
That's who he is. Isn't it?
"Wake up, now. Wake up and look at me."
Sammy?
They're lying to him.
"It's all right."
No. Not all right.
But he knows this…smell. This…something. Knows this.
"Come on, now, son. It's all right. It's a nightmare. You're all right."
He looks, just a little, a little bit, but all he can make out is a blur of color. Then the something moves him, holds him up, lets him see.
It's Bobby.
"You're all right, son," Bobby says.
All…
No.
"You with me, now?" Bobby asks.
He came back. They brought him back. From there, from that place. It wasn't forever.
"Wound yourself all up in the sheets," Bobby says. "Had yourself done up like a mummy, for God's sake."
His fingers are knotted in Bobby's shirt.
He looks around. Bed. Sheets all messed up, pushed to one side. Night table with a lamp turned on. Chair over near the door, with his clothes tossed on it, boots shoved underneath. Bobby's house. He's in Bobby's house.
"Where…Sam?" he rasps, throat raw from the screaming.
Screaming?
He screamed for Sam.
"Outside," Bobby says.
"Why?"
"Wanted some fresh air."
Dean blinks at Bobby. Can't figure out what's wrong with what Bobby said. Why there would be some other reason for Sam to go outside in the middle of the night. Why Bobby looks mad, like he's been arguing with somebody about something.
Bobby reaches over to the night table and picks up a cup and something else. A pill. He shows it to Dean, in the palm of his hand.
"You take this," Bobby says.
"Donwanit."
"Don't much care what you don't want. You need some rest."
"No," Dean replies.
"Damn it, Dean."
He's all wet, his t-shirt and shorts, his skin, all drenched with sweat. "Shower," he mumbles.
He's in Bobby's house.
With Bobby scowling at him like he's the most offensive thing on Planet Earth, he shifts his weight and inches off the bed. He wobbles when he tries to stand and has to balance himself by sticking his arms out, like a tightrope walker. That goes away after a minute, the wobbling, the sense that the ground will drop out from under him if he's not careful.
He's in Bobby's house.
It's Sam's birthday.
And Sam is outside, standing guard. With Ellen and Jo, and a couple other people Bobby recruited.
In case the hellhounds come back.
He takes a couple of steps and then his legs fold up underneath him. He goes down clumsily and hard.
Bobby moves pretty fast, as old as he is. He gets hold of Dean and hauls him back up, sits him at the end of the bed.
Forever.
They said it would be forever, but it wasn't.
It might still be, though.
Bobby sees that in his eyes.
It's been a year, and he's had the nightmare every night for more than a week. Before that, off and on for…months. That they'll come for him again. Take him to that place.
When Bobby shows him the pill again he shakes his head. "No dreams," Bobby says. "You need to get some rest," and Dean shakes his head no, no.
He touches his side, where the hook was. Looks at his hands and feet, all unmarked. His shoulders bears only the old scars, from wounds he got here, in this world. Bobby watches him do all of that and finally sets the cup back down on the night table, deposits the pill beside it. Then he nudges Dean into lying down on the bed, curled up like a caterpillar somebody poked. He retrieves the crumpled sheet, smoothes it out, lays it over Dean, then pulls the chair up beside the bed and sits on it, on top of Dean's clothes.
"You go back to sleep," he says. "I ain't goin' anywhere."
"'M scared, Bobby," Dean says, and looks at Bobby like he wants something. Some kind of blessing.
"Ain't gonna happen again, son."
"You don't know that."
Bobby glances at the door, the windows. He's carved sigils into the woodwork, laid salt and herbs and a lot of other things he didn't explain. The bed's been blessed; so has the house.
And Sam's outside.
"Yeah, I do," Bobby says. "We ain't makin' the same mistake twice."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He screams and he almost can't hear himself, like his ears are plugged with something, like something's soaking up the sound, so he screams again and thrashes because it doesn't matter if he tears himself apart, he can't stay here foreverforeverforev
Characters: Dean and Bobby
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: 3.16
Rating: PG
Length: 1216 words
P.O.W.
By Carol Davis
He's alone.
There's no fire Ruby said there would be fire there would be real hellfire and there's not but he's alone there's no one to help him.
"SAM," he cries, but there's no answer.
He can't move. Can't move his arms and legs they're stretched out and held tight and there are hooks in him in his side and his shoulder and if he moves he'll tear himself apart.
Forever, they said.
No one can help him.
He'll be here forever forever foreverforeverforever
Alone.
There's no one here, no one at all.
"SAM!" he screams, and it doesn't even echo. "SAAAAAAAM!"
foreverforeverfo
He screams and he almost can't hear himself, like his ears are plugged with something, like something's soaking up the sound, so he screams again and thrashes because it doesn't matter if he tears himself apart, he can't stay here foreverforeverforev
foreverforev
"Dean. Stop now. You're all right."
No he's not, not all right, he can't move his arms and legs and he's
"Dean."
There's something.
Hands. Is it hands? Touching him. Taking away the things that hold him, freeing his arms, his legs. Lifting him. Something solid there, and he gropes and clings, finds something warm, something that doesn't go away. He doesn't open his eyes, can't open them, doesn't want to see anything wrong, anything false. They tell lies in this place, he knows that, he's known it most of his life.
His life? He doesn't have a life any more. He traded it for Sam's.
"Saaaaaam," he sobs.
The solid doesn't go away and he doesn't care what it is. It's warm and it's there and it's something, when there was so much nothing before.
"Wake up now. Wake up. It's all right."
No. Not all right. He's here foreveralways because he sold himself for Sam.
Sam couldn't save him.
Nobody could save him.
The solid moves a little and he huddles against it. His fingers are knotted in something, gripping it tight because he can hold it instead of it holding him.
But there is something holding him.
Warm.
And he wails, because that's wrong, everything here is wrong. They'll come to torment him make him suffer foreveralwaysforever
"All right now. Come on, now."
It will start now, he thinks, the fire will start now because this isn't right, this something, this warm thing. They're tormenting him, making him think he's been saved when no one could save him not Sam not anybody.
The something moves again. Gently.
It's rocking him.
Rubbing his back.
Mom?
No. Not Mom.
Sammy.
NoSamno don't you do it you promised you told me you promised don't you dare do it
He sobs and pushes at the something but it holds on, it holds him and doesn't let him go, doesn't let him tumble away. His arms and legs move don't move he can't remember how to move them and it doesn't matter, he can't get away from this place it's foreverforeverforever
"DEAN."
Dean.
That's who he is. Isn't it?
"Wake up, now. Wake up and look at me."
Sammy?
They're lying to him.
"It's all right."
No. Not all right.
But he knows this…smell. This…something. Knows this.
"Come on, now, son. It's all right. It's a nightmare. You're all right."
He looks, just a little, a little bit, but all he can make out is a blur of color. Then the something moves him, holds him up, lets him see.
It's Bobby.
"You're all right, son," Bobby says.
All…
No.
"You with me, now?" Bobby asks.
He came back. They brought him back. From there, from that place. It wasn't forever.
"Wound yourself all up in the sheets," Bobby says. "Had yourself done up like a mummy, for God's sake."
His fingers are knotted in Bobby's shirt.
He looks around. Bed. Sheets all messed up, pushed to one side. Night table with a lamp turned on. Chair over near the door, with his clothes tossed on it, boots shoved underneath. Bobby's house. He's in Bobby's house.
"Where…Sam?" he rasps, throat raw from the screaming.
Screaming?
He screamed for Sam.
"Outside," Bobby says.
"Why?"
"Wanted some fresh air."
Dean blinks at Bobby. Can't figure out what's wrong with what Bobby said. Why there would be some other reason for Sam to go outside in the middle of the night. Why Bobby looks mad, like he's been arguing with somebody about something.
Bobby reaches over to the night table and picks up a cup and something else. A pill. He shows it to Dean, in the palm of his hand.
"You take this," Bobby says.
"Donwanit."
"Don't much care what you don't want. You need some rest."
"No," Dean replies.
"Damn it, Dean."
He's all wet, his t-shirt and shorts, his skin, all drenched with sweat. "Shower," he mumbles.
He's in Bobby's house.
With Bobby scowling at him like he's the most offensive thing on Planet Earth, he shifts his weight and inches off the bed. He wobbles when he tries to stand and has to balance himself by sticking his arms out, like a tightrope walker. That goes away after a minute, the wobbling, the sense that the ground will drop out from under him if he's not careful.
He's in Bobby's house.
It's Sam's birthday.
And Sam is outside, standing guard. With Ellen and Jo, and a couple other people Bobby recruited.
In case the hellhounds come back.
He takes a couple of steps and then his legs fold up underneath him. He goes down clumsily and hard.
Bobby moves pretty fast, as old as he is. He gets hold of Dean and hauls him back up, sits him at the end of the bed.
Forever.
They said it would be forever, but it wasn't.
It might still be, though.
Bobby sees that in his eyes.
It's been a year, and he's had the nightmare every night for more than a week. Before that, off and on for…months. That they'll come for him again. Take him to that place.
When Bobby shows him the pill again he shakes his head. "No dreams," Bobby says. "You need to get some rest," and Dean shakes his head no, no.
He touches his side, where the hook was. Looks at his hands and feet, all unmarked. His shoulders bears only the old scars, from wounds he got here, in this world. Bobby watches him do all of that and finally sets the cup back down on the night table, deposits the pill beside it. Then he nudges Dean into lying down on the bed, curled up like a caterpillar somebody poked. He retrieves the crumpled sheet, smoothes it out, lays it over Dean, then pulls the chair up beside the bed and sits on it, on top of Dean's clothes.
"You go back to sleep," he says. "I ain't goin' anywhere."
"'M scared, Bobby," Dean says, and looks at Bobby like he wants something. Some kind of blessing.
"Ain't gonna happen again, son."
"You don't know that."
Bobby glances at the door, the windows. He's carved sigils into the woodwork, laid salt and herbs and a lot of other things he didn't explain. The bed's been blessed; so has the house.
And Sam's outside.
"Yeah, I do," Bobby says. "We ain't makin' the same mistake twice."
~~~~~~~~~~~~