Timestamps
Timestamps. I have a few more I want to tackle but I don't know quite how yet. So I hope you'll like these for now. ♥
A few months down the line from This thing of ours. There is so much more of this 'verse to come but the piece from when Dean is 18 and Sam is 14 started to get a little looooong. :/
It's past midnight and the only light in her office is the red haze that filters through the drapes from the bar across the street. Sam is sitting on the corner of her desk, his gun held loose in his hand, resting against his thigh. He hears the click of her heels in the hallway outside as she approaches and rises to his feet as she comes into the room.
Her footsteps skitter to a halt as she sees him. Despite the hour, she's still immaculately turned out in her business suit and her long dark hair is wound into a tight coil at the back of her head. A wary expression registers briefly on her face and is then replaced with a smile. Sam doesn't mirror it.
"I don't appreciate getting summoned in the middle of the night," she says. She takes a step closer and looks him up and down. "And I certainly wasn't expecting you. I take it Ruby told you how to contact me?"
Sam simply raises an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away, and she smiles more broadly and nods.
"One of these days, someone's going to explain to her just what a bad idea it is to play one side off against the other." She brushes past him and takes her seat behind the desk. Rustling some papers off her desk and into a drawer, she glances up at him. "So… I finally get a visit from the youngest Winchester. About time too. There's a lot we can do for you. You think you're powerful now? It's nothing compared to what we can gi-"
"Let him go."
Sighing, she leans back in her chair.
"Your brother made a deal. Nothing I can do. And why would I want to? Your brother screwed up, Sam. He screwed up so good I'd almost believe he did it on purpose, except he's got a pretty pathetic dependency on his family."
"You want to because I'll kill you if you don't," says Sam. "Incentive enough?"
She waves a hand dismissively and her red lips stretch into a grin. "I've heard that threat so many times and from guys a whole lot tougher than you, baby. I'm disappointed. I figured you'd come up with something more original. Definitely something more compelling." She steeples her fingers and scrutinises Sam carefully. "Or maybe… Sam, you see the angles on this, right? Your brother, well, he's kind of like an attack dog, y'know? Toughest decision his brain is capable of figuring out is whether this job needs a gun or a knife!"
Her laugh is deceptively girlish. She half-rises from her seat, smoothing out Sam's tie along the front of his shirt. Her voice drops to a flirtatious whisper as she leans in towards Sam.
"He's kind of an embarrassment, if we're honest. He let Daddy take the fall for him and he almost got you killed! The family'd be better off without him around, you know. You'd be better off without him around."
"Shut. Your mouth." The muzzle of Sam's gun rests on her forehead and he pushes until she sinks back into her seat. "He belongs to me. And if I have to kill you to get him out of this deal…?" Sam cocks his gun and his lips twitch into a thin, humourless smile. "Don't think it'd give me a single sleepless night."
There's a shift in the air, the atmosphere turning sharper. She crosses her legs, her black skirt cutting high on her thighs, and takes a long moment before she speaks again.
"What difference do you think killing me's going to make, Sam? You think I'm at the top of this pyramid? I'm flattered… but no. I'm just a foot soldier, Sam. I brokered the deal, sure, but your brother sold himself to someone else, and he's not giving this one up."
"Who?"
"I can't tell you." As Sam levels the gun at her, she raises her hands in surrender. "I can't tell you! I'm not trying to be obstructive but… knowing his name isn’t going to help you out on this one! And neither is killing me - he's got plenty just like me, someone else will just step into my place. You're just going to have to let your brother go."
:::
The body of Miranda Denver, assistant DA, is found in her office the next morning by the cleaning crew. There are five bullet wounds to her chest and one to the head. It doesn't alter the deal Dean made any but it made Sam feel better for all of five minutes.
~
Before Moths on the Mirror begins.
The first time Sam sees Dean in Red Haven, he's been gone for nine months. Sam's had a day full of induction stuff with Dr Somerville, endless trivial crap about emergency exits and fire drills and Sam's had to listen to it all because he's still looking for that little detail he's gonna be able to use to get Dean out of here. And he's been so caught up in listening and being Harrison and doing everything he's supposed to do as Harrison that when he rounds a corner and sees Dean, his breath gets punched clean out of his lungs.
His brother is right down the far end of the corridor with a nurse who's escorting him God knows where. Sam feels himself start to tremble with nerves and anticipation. He doesn't know if Dean will be able to cope with the sudden shock of seeing him, whether he'll give him away by accident. And he doesn't even know if he's going to give himself away because it's Dean. His brother.
Maybe it'll be too much when he draws close and really sees Dean. Sees him properly. Maybe desperation will take over and he'll just grab Dean and not let go and he'll end up in a cell right next door to Dean's. His breathing is coming quick and light and he has to fight to keep his stride even because he can't wait the minute or so it will take for him to reach Dean.
He tries to distract himself by concentrating on the nurse with Dean. He's built big and Sam remembers a smirk on his face when they were introduced. Sam remembers not liking him much too. But he can’t find a name for him. It doesn't really matter. He's not here to make friends.
He's here for Dean, who's close enough now that Sam can see his face, see the faint frown drawing his brows together as he watches his bare feet move across the floor. His brother doesn't move like he used to. There's too much of a shuffle in the way he walks. He doesn’t hold himself right either. Dean used to attract attention even when he was trying not to, just because he expected people to be looking at him like they always were. He used to hold himself like someone accustomed to being watched. But that self-awareness has entirely disappeared. Dean's not here.
The realisation strikes just as the moment arrives and they're right there in front of each other. Nine months gone and Sam's done the impossible and got himself into Red Haven.
"G'night," Sam says to the nurse, his voice falsely hearty.
The nurse treats it like the lame little conversational gambit it is and flashes a perfunctory smile at Sam but Sam's intent on Dean's response. Waiting. Dean's gaze slides up the length of Sam and Sam swallows hard as the green-gold eyes fix on him.
And then his heart goes dead.
There's nothing. Dean's looking right at him and there's nothing in his eyes. There's still nothing when the nurse is grabbing hold of Dean's arm and saying, "C'mon, sweetheart, let's not fucking dawdle around. Time to get you to bed."
Dean goes with him, doesn't even look back.
~
An indeterminate period after Dread the passing. Sam and Dean are… not particularly nice boys anymore.
The fires have long since burnt themselves out but the air is still smudged with heat. Ash drifts down over them like apple blossom. Dean's head is cradled in Sam's lap as they sit together on the blood-soaked grass. His eyes are open, green and glassy and fixed on the branches overhead.
Sam doesn't know why they put the corpses in the trees. Dean did it first - lodged one between the branches and the leaves had come down in a bloodstained rustle. And then Sam had tried it and, then Dean had done another, and then… then, before they knew it, they had a forest of dead bodies, trees strung out with red-brown garlands of mangled internal organs and clumps of flesh like so much rotted fruit.
"Do you feel guilty?" Dean says.
"About what?" Sam says. He cards his fingers through Dean's hair, tugging gently at the clots of blood.
"This? All of it?" Dean gestures in the vague direction of the husk of the town.
Sam looks around, takes in the scorch marks that run stark and black down the length of the street, the sunlight flashing colours on the shards of stained glass from the blown out windows of the church. He shakes his head slowly and Dean's lips go soft and parted, ready to smile if Sam should choose to make him.
"It's like… like a phantom limb," Sam says. "I know how it should feel but… it doesn't. There's nothing there." He frowns because he remembers what guilt feels like but can't find the buttons to push in his brain to summon it up. Then he shrugs and shoots Dean a sullen little look. "I don't like humans very much anymore. I don't think I'm going to feel guilty ever again."
Dean nods and settles his head comfortably back into Sam's lap.
"Good," he says. "Me neither."
The ash looks like confetti in Dean's hair, Sam decides.
~
A timestamp for Your Favourite Innocence. This is them fixed. Kind of, sort of. :/
Dean has no idea it wasn't Sam last night. The knowledge is hot and bitter in Sam's belly. The person who knows him best in the world looked him straight in the eye and didn't see the demon sitting there.
Sam wants to be angry at him, wants to think that Dean should know better than to believe Sam would ever have treated Dean like that, hurt Dean like that. He can't.
Some demon wearing Sam's flesh punched Dean out, dragged him onto the bed while he was still unconscious, fucked him until he regained consciousness and then kept fucking him. And worse than Dean not realising that it wasn't Sam that did that to him, worse than him easily believing that Sam is capable of treating him like that, is that Dean is happy about it.
He's happy. He thinks Sam got crazy drunk, gave in to this thing between them and finally crossed the line. Without the line, Sam feels out of control and so very wrong deep down inside. Exactly how he guesses this little demonic stunt is supposed to have left him feeling.
Dean is in the shower, singing off-key but cheerful. Sam sits on the end of the bed where, as far as he's concerned, he raped his brother, even if his brother is so fucking screwed in the head that he does not understand that that is what happened. He sits there and listens to Dean sing and tries to catch his breath.
He's still sitting there when Dean gets out of the shower and Sam can only stare at him because the marks his hands and mouth left on his skin are everywhere. Sam was 'there' for all of it, cramped down beneath the malice and black smoke, but it's only looking at Dean now that he really understands how brutal it was.
The smile on Dean's face is damn near insane with joy.
And there it is, damage limitation. Hesitantly, Sam reaches out and takes Dean's hand in his, brings it up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles - feels himself shudder right down to his bruised soul. Because there's only one way that Sam could hurt Dean more than he already has done, and that's by taking this away from him now.
A few months down the line from This thing of ours. There is so much more of this 'verse to come but the piece from when Dean is 18 and Sam is 14 started to get a little looooong. :/
It's past midnight and the only light in her office is the red haze that filters through the drapes from the bar across the street. Sam is sitting on the corner of her desk, his gun held loose in his hand, resting against his thigh. He hears the click of her heels in the hallway outside as she approaches and rises to his feet as she comes into the room.
Her footsteps skitter to a halt as she sees him. Despite the hour, she's still immaculately turned out in her business suit and her long dark hair is wound into a tight coil at the back of her head. A wary expression registers briefly on her face and is then replaced with a smile. Sam doesn't mirror it.
"I don't appreciate getting summoned in the middle of the night," she says. She takes a step closer and looks him up and down. "And I certainly wasn't expecting you. I take it Ruby told you how to contact me?"
Sam simply raises an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away, and she smiles more broadly and nods.
"One of these days, someone's going to explain to her just what a bad idea it is to play one side off against the other." She brushes past him and takes her seat behind the desk. Rustling some papers off her desk and into a drawer, she glances up at him. "So… I finally get a visit from the youngest Winchester. About time too. There's a lot we can do for you. You think you're powerful now? It's nothing compared to what we can gi-"
"Let him go."
Sighing, she leans back in her chair.
"Your brother made a deal. Nothing I can do. And why would I want to? Your brother screwed up, Sam. He screwed up so good I'd almost believe he did it on purpose, except he's got a pretty pathetic dependency on his family."
"You want to because I'll kill you if you don't," says Sam. "Incentive enough?"
She waves a hand dismissively and her red lips stretch into a grin. "I've heard that threat so many times and from guys a whole lot tougher than you, baby. I'm disappointed. I figured you'd come up with something more original. Definitely something more compelling." She steeples her fingers and scrutinises Sam carefully. "Or maybe… Sam, you see the angles on this, right? Your brother, well, he's kind of like an attack dog, y'know? Toughest decision his brain is capable of figuring out is whether this job needs a gun or a knife!"
Her laugh is deceptively girlish. She half-rises from her seat, smoothing out Sam's tie along the front of his shirt. Her voice drops to a flirtatious whisper as she leans in towards Sam.
"He's kind of an embarrassment, if we're honest. He let Daddy take the fall for him and he almost got you killed! The family'd be better off without him around, you know. You'd be better off without him around."
"Shut. Your mouth." The muzzle of Sam's gun rests on her forehead and he pushes until she sinks back into her seat. "He belongs to me. And if I have to kill you to get him out of this deal…?" Sam cocks his gun and his lips twitch into a thin, humourless smile. "Don't think it'd give me a single sleepless night."
There's a shift in the air, the atmosphere turning sharper. She crosses her legs, her black skirt cutting high on her thighs, and takes a long moment before she speaks again.
"What difference do you think killing me's going to make, Sam? You think I'm at the top of this pyramid? I'm flattered… but no. I'm just a foot soldier, Sam. I brokered the deal, sure, but your brother sold himself to someone else, and he's not giving this one up."
"Who?"
"I can't tell you." As Sam levels the gun at her, she raises her hands in surrender. "I can't tell you! I'm not trying to be obstructive but… knowing his name isn’t going to help you out on this one! And neither is killing me - he's got plenty just like me, someone else will just step into my place. You're just going to have to let your brother go."
:::
The body of Miranda Denver, assistant DA, is found in her office the next morning by the cleaning crew. There are five bullet wounds to her chest and one to the head. It doesn't alter the deal Dean made any but it made Sam feel better for all of five minutes.
~
Before Moths on the Mirror begins.
The first time Sam sees Dean in Red Haven, he's been gone for nine months. Sam's had a day full of induction stuff with Dr Somerville, endless trivial crap about emergency exits and fire drills and Sam's had to listen to it all because he's still looking for that little detail he's gonna be able to use to get Dean out of here. And he's been so caught up in listening and being Harrison and doing everything he's supposed to do as Harrison that when he rounds a corner and sees Dean, his breath gets punched clean out of his lungs.
His brother is right down the far end of the corridor with a nurse who's escorting him God knows where. Sam feels himself start to tremble with nerves and anticipation. He doesn't know if Dean will be able to cope with the sudden shock of seeing him, whether he'll give him away by accident. And he doesn't even know if he's going to give himself away because it's Dean. His brother.
Maybe it'll be too much when he draws close and really sees Dean. Sees him properly. Maybe desperation will take over and he'll just grab Dean and not let go and he'll end up in a cell right next door to Dean's. His breathing is coming quick and light and he has to fight to keep his stride even because he can't wait the minute or so it will take for him to reach Dean.
He tries to distract himself by concentrating on the nurse with Dean. He's built big and Sam remembers a smirk on his face when they were introduced. Sam remembers not liking him much too. But he can’t find a name for him. It doesn't really matter. He's not here to make friends.
He's here for Dean, who's close enough now that Sam can see his face, see the faint frown drawing his brows together as he watches his bare feet move across the floor. His brother doesn't move like he used to. There's too much of a shuffle in the way he walks. He doesn’t hold himself right either. Dean used to attract attention even when he was trying not to, just because he expected people to be looking at him like they always were. He used to hold himself like someone accustomed to being watched. But that self-awareness has entirely disappeared. Dean's not here.
The realisation strikes just as the moment arrives and they're right there in front of each other. Nine months gone and Sam's done the impossible and got himself into Red Haven.
"G'night," Sam says to the nurse, his voice falsely hearty.
The nurse treats it like the lame little conversational gambit it is and flashes a perfunctory smile at Sam but Sam's intent on Dean's response. Waiting. Dean's gaze slides up the length of Sam and Sam swallows hard as the green-gold eyes fix on him.
And then his heart goes dead.
There's nothing. Dean's looking right at him and there's nothing in his eyes. There's still nothing when the nurse is grabbing hold of Dean's arm and saying, "C'mon, sweetheart, let's not fucking dawdle around. Time to get you to bed."
Dean goes with him, doesn't even look back.
~
An indeterminate period after Dread the passing. Sam and Dean are… not particularly nice boys anymore.
The fires have long since burnt themselves out but the air is still smudged with heat. Ash drifts down over them like apple blossom. Dean's head is cradled in Sam's lap as they sit together on the blood-soaked grass. His eyes are open, green and glassy and fixed on the branches overhead.
Sam doesn't know why they put the corpses in the trees. Dean did it first - lodged one between the branches and the leaves had come down in a bloodstained rustle. And then Sam had tried it and, then Dean had done another, and then… then, before they knew it, they had a forest of dead bodies, trees strung out with red-brown garlands of mangled internal organs and clumps of flesh like so much rotted fruit.
"Do you feel guilty?" Dean says.
"About what?" Sam says. He cards his fingers through Dean's hair, tugging gently at the clots of blood.
"This? All of it?" Dean gestures in the vague direction of the husk of the town.
Sam looks around, takes in the scorch marks that run stark and black down the length of the street, the sunlight flashing colours on the shards of stained glass from the blown out windows of the church. He shakes his head slowly and Dean's lips go soft and parted, ready to smile if Sam should choose to make him.
"It's like… like a phantom limb," Sam says. "I know how it should feel but… it doesn't. There's nothing there." He frowns because he remembers what guilt feels like but can't find the buttons to push in his brain to summon it up. Then he shrugs and shoots Dean a sullen little look. "I don't like humans very much anymore. I don't think I'm going to feel guilty ever again."
Dean nods and settles his head comfortably back into Sam's lap.
"Good," he says. "Me neither."
The ash looks like confetti in Dean's hair, Sam decides.
~
A timestamp for Your Favourite Innocence. This is them fixed. Kind of, sort of. :/
Dean has no idea it wasn't Sam last night. The knowledge is hot and bitter in Sam's belly. The person who knows him best in the world looked him straight in the eye and didn't see the demon sitting there.
Sam wants to be angry at him, wants to think that Dean should know better than to believe Sam would ever have treated Dean like that, hurt Dean like that. He can't.
Some demon wearing Sam's flesh punched Dean out, dragged him onto the bed while he was still unconscious, fucked him until he regained consciousness and then kept fucking him. And worse than Dean not realising that it wasn't Sam that did that to him, worse than him easily believing that Sam is capable of treating him like that, is that Dean is happy about it.
He's happy. He thinks Sam got crazy drunk, gave in to this thing between them and finally crossed the line. Without the line, Sam feels out of control and so very wrong deep down inside. Exactly how he guesses this little demonic stunt is supposed to have left him feeling.
Dean is in the shower, singing off-key but cheerful. Sam sits on the end of the bed where, as far as he's concerned, he raped his brother, even if his brother is so fucking screwed in the head that he does not understand that that is what happened. He sits there and listens to Dean sing and tries to catch his breath.
He's still sitting there when Dean gets out of the shower and Sam can only stare at him because the marks his hands and mouth left on his skin are everywhere. Sam was 'there' for all of it, cramped down beneath the malice and black smoke, but it's only looking at Dean now that he really understands how brutal it was.
The smile on Dean's face is damn near insane with joy.
And there it is, damage limitation. Hesitantly, Sam reaches out and takes Dean's hand in his, brings it up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles - feels himself shudder right down to his bruised soul. Because there's only one way that Sam could hurt Dean more than he already has done, and that's by taking this away from him now.