Mini-Nano: Dark Side of the Moon (2)
This icon is my new mini-nano icon, so you can tell at a glance if you want to stop and read or scroll on by. Either option is fine by me; I tend to be a little wary of WsiP myself and don’t want anyone to feel like they’re obliged to read. :)
The Dark Side of the Moon
(614 words)
1:2:3: 4:5:6:7:8:9:10:11:12:13:14:15:16:17:18:19:20:21:22:23: 24:25:26:27:28:29:30
2
"Of course he’s not okay!" Sam snarls down the phone. “He can’t hear and he can’t see! If you mean is he bleeding or does he have any broken bones, then no. But he’s still very much not okay!”
“Maybe I’m not deaf but you’ve gone mute,” says Dean. He’s riding shotgun, staring out at the leathery brown sky of a murky dusk without seeing it. Sam glances over at him and sees he’s got one hand laid on the door and the other curled about the edge of the seat, like he’s bracing himself into the familiar space of the Impala. “Hey, Sam? Are you mute? Pinch me if you’re mute. Wait, that won't work if you're deaf too. So long as you're not blind as well.”
Trying very hard to hang on to the frayed threads of his composure, Sam listens to the distant murmur of Bobby’s voice on the other end of the call. There’s a tone about Bobby’s voice, a slowness that always calms Sam. Used to always calm him. Dean’s sitting next to him, deaf and blind, and he won’t fucking shut up babbling about whether Sam’s mute or not. Panic is a low thrum in everything he says. Sam can hear it. But he doesn’t shut up, like speech is his primary function now and Dean’s damn well going to make the most of it. But he speaks a little too loud, it sounds a little too fake.
He can’t hear his own voice, Sam realises with a sudden lurching feeling. It’s all darkness and silence. The Impala swings halfway off the road and Sam struggles to get it back under control. There’s a squealing of tyres and a screeching of brakes and Dean rocks unsteadily beside him, scrabbling for better purchase.
“Hey, careful with my baby! You do that again and I’ll drive, blind or not!”
“Look,” says Bobby, “if the water wraith did this to Dean, then you’re dealing with a faerie curse and faerie stuff, well, there’s no logic to it, no reason. He might wake up tomorrow with it gone or-”
“Or he might never see or hear again,” Sam cuts in. He flinches and looks over at Dean, then remembers that he could call Dean every name under the sun and Dean would be entirely oblivious to it. “No. I’m not gonna just wait and see! C’mon, Bobby, tell me who I need to see, what kind of books I should be reading.”
“This totally sucks. I’m guessing you’re not mute. Not unless everything else has gone mute too. So, what? That wet bitch made me deaf and blind? How is that fair? C’mon, Sammy, tell me you at least lost your sense of taste or something! Share the pain here, man!” Dean pauses, face crumpled in thought. “Damn, can you imagine not being able to taste stuff anymore? Geez, I’m glad I’m just deaf and blind, not being able to taste stuff would suck. Hey, Sammy, I want a cheeseburger! I wanna count my blessings and taste stuff!”
“I’ll get back to you, Sam,” says Bobby. “I’ll look, I just don’t know if we’re gonna find anything.”
“Y’know,” says Dean, “if I find out you’ve been driving around missing half your face or something, I’m gonna feel like an insensitive jerk.”
Sam focuses everything he has on the road, on the steady roar of the Impala, on the rush of angular, bare-branched trees whipping past outside. Everything on getting back to the motel without breaking down and giving in to the overwhelming need to scream. Then he realises that Dean won’t hear him, and so what the Hell, and does it anyway.
The Dark Side of the Moon
(614 words)
1:2:3: 4:5:6:7:8:9:10:11:12:13:14:15:16:17:18:19:20:21:22:23: 24:25:26:27:28:29:30
2
"Of course he’s not okay!" Sam snarls down the phone. “He can’t hear and he can’t see! If you mean is he bleeding or does he have any broken bones, then no. But he’s still very much not okay!”
“Maybe I’m not deaf but you’ve gone mute,” says Dean. He’s riding shotgun, staring out at the leathery brown sky of a murky dusk without seeing it. Sam glances over at him and sees he’s got one hand laid on the door and the other curled about the edge of the seat, like he’s bracing himself into the familiar space of the Impala. “Hey, Sam? Are you mute? Pinch me if you’re mute. Wait, that won't work if you're deaf too. So long as you're not blind as well.”
Trying very hard to hang on to the frayed threads of his composure, Sam listens to the distant murmur of Bobby’s voice on the other end of the call. There’s a tone about Bobby’s voice, a slowness that always calms Sam. Used to always calm him. Dean’s sitting next to him, deaf and blind, and he won’t fucking shut up babbling about whether Sam’s mute or not. Panic is a low thrum in everything he says. Sam can hear it. But he doesn’t shut up, like speech is his primary function now and Dean’s damn well going to make the most of it. But he speaks a little too loud, it sounds a little too fake.
He can’t hear his own voice, Sam realises with a sudden lurching feeling. It’s all darkness and silence. The Impala swings halfway off the road and Sam struggles to get it back under control. There’s a squealing of tyres and a screeching of brakes and Dean rocks unsteadily beside him, scrabbling for better purchase.
“Hey, careful with my baby! You do that again and I’ll drive, blind or not!”
“Look,” says Bobby, “if the water wraith did this to Dean, then you’re dealing with a faerie curse and faerie stuff, well, there’s no logic to it, no reason. He might wake up tomorrow with it gone or-”
“Or he might never see or hear again,” Sam cuts in. He flinches and looks over at Dean, then remembers that he could call Dean every name under the sun and Dean would be entirely oblivious to it. “No. I’m not gonna just wait and see! C’mon, Bobby, tell me who I need to see, what kind of books I should be reading.”
“This totally sucks. I’m guessing you’re not mute. Not unless everything else has gone mute too. So, what? That wet bitch made me deaf and blind? How is that fair? C’mon, Sammy, tell me you at least lost your sense of taste or something! Share the pain here, man!” Dean pauses, face crumpled in thought. “Damn, can you imagine not being able to taste stuff anymore? Geez, I’m glad I’m just deaf and blind, not being able to taste stuff would suck. Hey, Sammy, I want a cheeseburger! I wanna count my blessings and taste stuff!”
“I’ll get back to you, Sam,” says Bobby. “I’ll look, I just don’t know if we’re gonna find anything.”
“Y’know,” says Dean, “if I find out you’ve been driving around missing half your face or something, I’m gonna feel like an insensitive jerk.”
Sam focuses everything he has on the road, on the steady roar of the Impala, on the rush of angular, bare-branched trees whipping past outside. Everything on getting back to the motel without breaking down and giving in to the overwhelming need to scream. Then he realises that Dean won’t hear him, and so what the Hell, and does it anyway.