'Day Before Hell' Verse
Firstly, a huge thanks to oxoniensis for the very lovely gesture of support and encouragement! It's really very very kind of you and I appreciate it immensely!
Secondly, Dark Side of the Moon for today will delayed until this evening. I got up at about 3am to write it this morning because my brain has unhelpfully decided that this is when it wants to do its writing. I finished the segment, saved it and went back to bed. And now, this morning, when I try to open it, my computer keeps throwing me out of the program. It's behaving on everything else so I should be grateful it's only a few hundred words I've lost but I hate having to rewrite something I thought was done.
While I try to work up the strength and patience to set about rewriting, please have this short piece set in the The Day Before Hell-verse, featuring Dean's son, Ben, attempting to live with crazy!Anti-Christ!Sam after Dean's death. I do seem to be having a lot of fun playing with this premise so I hope you'll like it. :)
There is no situation so fucked that it cannot get worse. Really. Ben had thought he’d known this since he was nine but is coming to realise the true depths of fucked-upness things can reach when your uncle is the Anti-Christ and you’re his research assistant.
For being the Anti-Christ, Sam isn’t all that difficult to get along with. He likes his coffee and early mornings. He’s got a good sense of humour, if a little off the wall. The only tantrum Ben’s ever seen him throw is when the radio (God knows where the signal’s coming from) started picking up crackles of interference, and even then, Ben didn’t think for one moment that his own life was in danger. He’s not worried at all, actually, about Sam killing him. Somehow, he doesn’t think Sam would, though Ben’s smart enough to realise that one doesn’t get to be the Anti-Christ by having a long list of things that are out of the question.
He doesn’t like the way Sam watches him sometimes. He’s been called ‘Dean’ a couple of times, when Sam’s been concentrating too hard on what he’s reading and not thinking properly, and that makes him deeply uncomfortable, especially as he’s got a fairly good idea that incest was never on that list of things out of the question. He tries not to think too much about his dad because he still can’t help blaming him for this.
The first sign that Ben was approaching an area of extreme Fucked-Upness was the realisation that he had more affection for his uncle than he did his dead father, albeit of a confused, uneasy kind.
There have been more signs since then but this is most definitely the second really unmistakeable one. The point of no return is a dot in the rearview mirror.
:::
It’s not the first time Ben’s been out of Kansas.
He doesn’t like being cooped up in the diner. It drives him out of his head and so sometimes, he just gets in his car and drives. First time he did it, Sam had seemed surprised to see him come back. He’s gradually gotten used to Ben taking off for a day or so at a time, but there’s always a hot cup of coffee waiting on the table in front of Ben’s seat when Ben gets back. Ben never doubts he’s been missed, which is one of those little levels of fucked-upness he doesn’t want to think about.
From time to time, he goes out hunting for books that Sam thinks might be of some use in their research. Sam could go looking for them himself but Ben thinks it’s safer for the world if he doesn’t. There’ll be more world left to save if Sam stays in the diner and Ben goes instead.
So this should be a no big deal trip. Ben can take care of himself pretty well and hasn’t run into any trouble any other time he’s left Kansas. Except, this time, he runs into hunters. They’re not inclined to be friendly. He’s dragged from the car and bundled into the back of a truck. When he comes to, he’s tied to a chair in a cabin with five well-armed hunters, all looking straight at him.
He smiles, even though he can feel his split lip straining, and tries to look harmless and entirely unrelated to the Anti-Christ.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I help you boys?”
He’s answered with a splash of water to the face. He splutters and coughs but his eyes don’t turn black, like he knows they’re expecting them to.
“C’mon, I’m not a demon! Just a hunter, like you. Now, I know you gotta be careful who you trust these days but… I’m no one. Just let me go.”
“You came out of Kansas,” says the hunter who’s closest. He’s a short guy but powerfully built. He’s got some ugly looking burn down one side of his throat, the skin white and blistered. “We saw you. Now, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m just a hunter,” says Ben.
The words are barely out of Ben’s mouth before the guy backhands him hard across the face. Ben’s neck snaps round with the force of the blow and his mouth fills with blood. Slowly, when the explosion in his head has died down a little, Ben turns his face back to him and spits the blood out.
"Like Hell you’re a hunter. You think we’re stupid? You came out of Kansas, alive, not a mark on you-"
“Yeah well you sorted that one right out,” Ben mutters, his split lip still pulsing hotly.
He expects the second punch and braces for it, for all the good that does. The chair he’s in goes over and he crashes to the floor. He tastes sawdust in his mouth, alongside the metallic tang of blood that’s already there. His wrists chafe from the coarse hemp with which they’re tied but he twists and tugs at them, feeling for any give at all.
Then the chair’s hauled back upright and the short guy’s in his face again. The burn looks even nastier up close and Ben wonders what kind of demon could do that. Sam would know.
“What were you doing in Kansas?”
There’s really no convincing explanation as to how Ben got out of Kansas alive. It’s like trying to explain surviving a bomb going off while strapped to your chest. These things just don’t happen and when they do, hunterly types get understandably edgy. Ben opens his mouth to play stupid or something, claim black-out or miraculous escape.
He never gets chance because the cabin door bangs open and another hunter stumbles in. His eyes are wide and staring, like a rabid dog. He looks at Ben and then at the short hunter, all the while trying to catch his breath.
“Micah, he’s coming. I just heard from Harrison and he says Winchester’s left the diner. He’s out of Kansas. He’s coming here.” He looks again at Ben and his face crumples into something childlike. “He’s coming here.”
“Jesus Christ.” Micah breathes out, slow and shuddering, then grabs a handful of Ben’s hair and tilts his face back. “Just who the hell are you?”
From the strained angle of having his head jerked back, Ben looks at the handful of men. He sees the open fear on their faces and starts shaking. He can’t stop it. His body trembles and his breath is stuck in his throat.
“Just let me go. Untie me and I’ll get the hell away from you and he won’t come here. Drive in the opposite direction from me. But you have to let me go now.”
Micah just goes on staring at him and Ben knows what horror is coming and can’t understand why Micah doesn’t see it too.
“For fuck’s sake, just let me go!”
One of the hunters grabs Micah’s arm and tries to tug him away from Ben. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ben, keeps his gaze lowered like he’s trying to avoid being noticed. Ben's whole body is shaking, setting his teeth chattering and his heart bouncing around in his chest so hard it hurts. He can't understand how they're so stupid. A very ugly death is on its way and they're just... standing around.
Outside, the sky goes thick and yellow. Silent arcs of lightning slice through the folds of churning cloud. The hunters look so small against the Hell beyond the windows, like little wax figures about to melt.
"Run," says Ben, looking straight at Micah. "Get away from me, as fast as you can."
Finally, as the silence breaks and there's a sudden roaring wind, Micah comes to his goddamn senses and runs. The hunters scatter, leaving Ben tied to the chair. Blood dribbles from his broken face and drops, fat and loud, into the dust. Just the other side of the cabin, Ben hears someone scream, hear the sickening crack of breaking bones. He turns his face away from the sudden wet splatter of blood against the window.
And then it's silent. The sky clenches in on itself and bleaches out to an almost normal shade of grey.
The door swings open and a long, thin shadow slants across the floor. Ben looks up into his uncle's face and fights to keep down a sob. He drops his gaze and notices, absurdly, that Sam's shirt is on inside out. He dressed in a hurry. He dressed in a hurry to get to Ben.
"Oh God, what have they done to you?" says Sam. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry... It's okay now though, I'm here, I've got you... I won't ever let them hurt you. Not again. I'm so sorry."
Sam's hands move over Ben's face and his lower lip wobbles as his fingers come away bloody. A soft pained noise escapes his lips and then Sam's unknotting the ropes about Ben's wrists and dragging him into a hug. Ben chokes on the mixed-up scent of blood and coffee that clings to Sam's skin but allows Sam to kiss the top of his head and croon soothing nothing words at him.
"I'm all right," says Ben, clapping Sam weakly on the arm. "Little bruised but all right."
Sunlight has broken through the chaos in the sky, shining pervesely on the wet red stain on the windows. Ben feels his stomach turn over and tries to pull free of Sam's rib-cracking hold on him.
"They were scared. You didn't have to..."
"No one gets away with hurting you. You're all I've got left of- you're all I've got left. You think I'd just let them take you and make you bleed and do nothing? Because that's not how it works, Dean. Anyone lays a finger on you, I'll break their whole damn arm." Fury melts away into vulnerability and Ben wonders how he can suddenly be feeling the jerk when there's God knows how many broken bodies outside. "I can't lose you again. I won't."
:::
The Anti-Christ has a softer side and part of it is revealed in the way that Sam's pretty damn good at pampering. He cleans and dresses Ben's wounds, fixes him some painkillers and frets about finding a place for Ben to get comfortable where he can still keep an eye on him. Ben's never been particularly good at being mothered but it's clearly more about making Sam feel better than it is Ben - even if Sam doesn't realise it.
Sam sits beside him and watches him, hands twisted fretfully in his lap.
"You know," he says at last, "you won't be able to leave Kansas again. I think it's best if you stay in the diner now. With me."
Even before he's considered the idea thoroughly, Ben knows it'd drive him as mad as Sam is. The very basic lines of the suggestion - forever, in a diner, with the Anti-Christ - leaves Ben more terrified than he can remember being in a long time. Fate worse than death, anyone?
"Nah," says Ben. "Just means I gotta be more careful. C'mon, you can't expect me to hole up here for the rest of my life. What use am I gonna be to you like that?"
"More use to me than you are dead," Sam snaps. His jaw is tight, lips a thin displeased line. He shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry, Ben, but you're not leaving the diner again."
"Dude, I'm twenty-four, you can't ground me."
"Watch me." Sam's a little breathless, shaky as if this isn't a fight he wants but intends to win all the same. He shakes his head again and doesn't meet Ben's eyes as he rises to his feet. "I know you're not used to being told what to do but with Dean gone - gone - it's up to me to take care of you. You're his, which makes you mine. And I'm not gonna let you leave here to get beaten up and hurt and maybe even... I'm just not."
Having said his piece, escaping before Ben can create a fuss about it is obviously the next thing on Sam's mind. He's heading for the door before Ben can even haul himself to his feet. His muscles ache in protest but Ben's looking at spending the rest of his life in close quarters with his fucked-to-hell uncle. He grabs at Sam's arm, realising as his fingers curl about his elbow that this is the first time he's ever touched Sam rather than the other way round, and Sam stops.
"Sam, c'mon, don't do this. Please."
Sam gazes at him and shakes his head. He cups Ben's cheek in his palm, his touch warmer and more soothing than Ben would have expected.
"Don't ask me to let you die too, Ben. Because this world is almost over and I don't have another one to end."
Secondly, Dark Side of the Moon for today will delayed until this evening. I got up at about 3am to write it this morning because my brain has unhelpfully decided that this is when it wants to do its writing. I finished the segment, saved it and went back to bed. And now, this morning, when I try to open it, my computer keeps throwing me out of the program. It's behaving on everything else so I should be grateful it's only a few hundred words I've lost but I hate having to rewrite something I thought was done.
While I try to work up the strength and patience to set about rewriting, please have this short piece set in the The Day Before Hell-verse, featuring Dean's son, Ben, attempting to live with crazy!Anti-Christ!Sam after Dean's death. I do seem to be having a lot of fun playing with this premise so I hope you'll like it. :)
There is no situation so fucked that it cannot get worse. Really. Ben had thought he’d known this since he was nine but is coming to realise the true depths of fucked-upness things can reach when your uncle is the Anti-Christ and you’re his research assistant.
For being the Anti-Christ, Sam isn’t all that difficult to get along with. He likes his coffee and early mornings. He’s got a good sense of humour, if a little off the wall. The only tantrum Ben’s ever seen him throw is when the radio (God knows where the signal’s coming from) started picking up crackles of interference, and even then, Ben didn’t think for one moment that his own life was in danger. He’s not worried at all, actually, about Sam killing him. Somehow, he doesn’t think Sam would, though Ben’s smart enough to realise that one doesn’t get to be the Anti-Christ by having a long list of things that are out of the question.
He doesn’t like the way Sam watches him sometimes. He’s been called ‘Dean’ a couple of times, when Sam’s been concentrating too hard on what he’s reading and not thinking properly, and that makes him deeply uncomfortable, especially as he’s got a fairly good idea that incest was never on that list of things out of the question. He tries not to think too much about his dad because he still can’t help blaming him for this.
The first sign that Ben was approaching an area of extreme Fucked-Upness was the realisation that he had more affection for his uncle than he did his dead father, albeit of a confused, uneasy kind.
There have been more signs since then but this is most definitely the second really unmistakeable one. The point of no return is a dot in the rearview mirror.
:::
It’s not the first time Ben’s been out of Kansas.
He doesn’t like being cooped up in the diner. It drives him out of his head and so sometimes, he just gets in his car and drives. First time he did it, Sam had seemed surprised to see him come back. He’s gradually gotten used to Ben taking off for a day or so at a time, but there’s always a hot cup of coffee waiting on the table in front of Ben’s seat when Ben gets back. Ben never doubts he’s been missed, which is one of those little levels of fucked-upness he doesn’t want to think about.
From time to time, he goes out hunting for books that Sam thinks might be of some use in their research. Sam could go looking for them himself but Ben thinks it’s safer for the world if he doesn’t. There’ll be more world left to save if Sam stays in the diner and Ben goes instead.
So this should be a no big deal trip. Ben can take care of himself pretty well and hasn’t run into any trouble any other time he’s left Kansas. Except, this time, he runs into hunters. They’re not inclined to be friendly. He’s dragged from the car and bundled into the back of a truck. When he comes to, he’s tied to a chair in a cabin with five well-armed hunters, all looking straight at him.
He smiles, even though he can feel his split lip straining, and tries to look harmless and entirely unrelated to the Anti-Christ.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I help you boys?”
He’s answered with a splash of water to the face. He splutters and coughs but his eyes don’t turn black, like he knows they’re expecting them to.
“C’mon, I’m not a demon! Just a hunter, like you. Now, I know you gotta be careful who you trust these days but… I’m no one. Just let me go.”
“You came out of Kansas,” says the hunter who’s closest. He’s a short guy but powerfully built. He’s got some ugly looking burn down one side of his throat, the skin white and blistered. “We saw you. Now, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m just a hunter,” says Ben.
The words are barely out of Ben’s mouth before the guy backhands him hard across the face. Ben’s neck snaps round with the force of the blow and his mouth fills with blood. Slowly, when the explosion in his head has died down a little, Ben turns his face back to him and spits the blood out.
"Like Hell you’re a hunter. You think we’re stupid? You came out of Kansas, alive, not a mark on you-"
“Yeah well you sorted that one right out,” Ben mutters, his split lip still pulsing hotly.
He expects the second punch and braces for it, for all the good that does. The chair he’s in goes over and he crashes to the floor. He tastes sawdust in his mouth, alongside the metallic tang of blood that’s already there. His wrists chafe from the coarse hemp with which they’re tied but he twists and tugs at them, feeling for any give at all.
Then the chair’s hauled back upright and the short guy’s in his face again. The burn looks even nastier up close and Ben wonders what kind of demon could do that. Sam would know.
“What were you doing in Kansas?”
There’s really no convincing explanation as to how Ben got out of Kansas alive. It’s like trying to explain surviving a bomb going off while strapped to your chest. These things just don’t happen and when they do, hunterly types get understandably edgy. Ben opens his mouth to play stupid or something, claim black-out or miraculous escape.
He never gets chance because the cabin door bangs open and another hunter stumbles in. His eyes are wide and staring, like a rabid dog. He looks at Ben and then at the short hunter, all the while trying to catch his breath.
“Micah, he’s coming. I just heard from Harrison and he says Winchester’s left the diner. He’s out of Kansas. He’s coming here.” He looks again at Ben and his face crumples into something childlike. “He’s coming here.”
“Jesus Christ.” Micah breathes out, slow and shuddering, then grabs a handful of Ben’s hair and tilts his face back. “Just who the hell are you?”
From the strained angle of having his head jerked back, Ben looks at the handful of men. He sees the open fear on their faces and starts shaking. He can’t stop it. His body trembles and his breath is stuck in his throat.
“Just let me go. Untie me and I’ll get the hell away from you and he won’t come here. Drive in the opposite direction from me. But you have to let me go now.”
Micah just goes on staring at him and Ben knows what horror is coming and can’t understand why Micah doesn’t see it too.
“For fuck’s sake, just let me go!”
One of the hunters grabs Micah’s arm and tries to tug him away from Ben. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ben, keeps his gaze lowered like he’s trying to avoid being noticed. Ben's whole body is shaking, setting his teeth chattering and his heart bouncing around in his chest so hard it hurts. He can't understand how they're so stupid. A very ugly death is on its way and they're just... standing around.
Outside, the sky goes thick and yellow. Silent arcs of lightning slice through the folds of churning cloud. The hunters look so small against the Hell beyond the windows, like little wax figures about to melt.
"Run," says Ben, looking straight at Micah. "Get away from me, as fast as you can."
Finally, as the silence breaks and there's a sudden roaring wind, Micah comes to his goddamn senses and runs. The hunters scatter, leaving Ben tied to the chair. Blood dribbles from his broken face and drops, fat and loud, into the dust. Just the other side of the cabin, Ben hears someone scream, hear the sickening crack of breaking bones. He turns his face away from the sudden wet splatter of blood against the window.
And then it's silent. The sky clenches in on itself and bleaches out to an almost normal shade of grey.
The door swings open and a long, thin shadow slants across the floor. Ben looks up into his uncle's face and fights to keep down a sob. He drops his gaze and notices, absurdly, that Sam's shirt is on inside out. He dressed in a hurry. He dressed in a hurry to get to Ben.
"Oh God, what have they done to you?" says Sam. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry... It's okay now though, I'm here, I've got you... I won't ever let them hurt you. Not again. I'm so sorry."
Sam's hands move over Ben's face and his lower lip wobbles as his fingers come away bloody. A soft pained noise escapes his lips and then Sam's unknotting the ropes about Ben's wrists and dragging him into a hug. Ben chokes on the mixed-up scent of blood and coffee that clings to Sam's skin but allows Sam to kiss the top of his head and croon soothing nothing words at him.
"I'm all right," says Ben, clapping Sam weakly on the arm. "Little bruised but all right."
Sunlight has broken through the chaos in the sky, shining pervesely on the wet red stain on the windows. Ben feels his stomach turn over and tries to pull free of Sam's rib-cracking hold on him.
"They were scared. You didn't have to..."
"No one gets away with hurting you. You're all I've got left of- you're all I've got left. You think I'd just let them take you and make you bleed and do nothing? Because that's not how it works, Dean. Anyone lays a finger on you, I'll break their whole damn arm." Fury melts away into vulnerability and Ben wonders how he can suddenly be feeling the jerk when there's God knows how many broken bodies outside. "I can't lose you again. I won't."
:::
The Anti-Christ has a softer side and part of it is revealed in the way that Sam's pretty damn good at pampering. He cleans and dresses Ben's wounds, fixes him some painkillers and frets about finding a place for Ben to get comfortable where he can still keep an eye on him. Ben's never been particularly good at being mothered but it's clearly more about making Sam feel better than it is Ben - even if Sam doesn't realise it.
Sam sits beside him and watches him, hands twisted fretfully in his lap.
"You know," he says at last, "you won't be able to leave Kansas again. I think it's best if you stay in the diner now. With me."
Even before he's considered the idea thoroughly, Ben knows it'd drive him as mad as Sam is. The very basic lines of the suggestion - forever, in a diner, with the Anti-Christ - leaves Ben more terrified than he can remember being in a long time. Fate worse than death, anyone?
"Nah," says Ben. "Just means I gotta be more careful. C'mon, you can't expect me to hole up here for the rest of my life. What use am I gonna be to you like that?"
"More use to me than you are dead," Sam snaps. His jaw is tight, lips a thin displeased line. He shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry, Ben, but you're not leaving the diner again."
"Dude, I'm twenty-four, you can't ground me."
"Watch me." Sam's a little breathless, shaky as if this isn't a fight he wants but intends to win all the same. He shakes his head again and doesn't meet Ben's eyes as he rises to his feet. "I know you're not used to being told what to do but with Dean gone - gone - it's up to me to take care of you. You're his, which makes you mine. And I'm not gonna let you leave here to get beaten up and hurt and maybe even... I'm just not."
Having said his piece, escaping before Ben can create a fuss about it is obviously the next thing on Sam's mind. He's heading for the door before Ben can even haul himself to his feet. His muscles ache in protest but Ben's looking at spending the rest of his life in close quarters with his fucked-to-hell uncle. He grabs at Sam's arm, realising as his fingers curl about his elbow that this is the first time he's ever touched Sam rather than the other way round, and Sam stops.
"Sam, c'mon, don't do this. Please."
Sam gazes at him and shakes his head. He cups Ben's cheek in his palm, his touch warmer and more soothing than Ben would have expected.
"Don't ask me to let you die too, Ben. Because this world is almost over and I don't have another one to end."