Side B
Side B
Wordcount: 1876
Rating: umm, PG13...I guess
Pairing: none
Feedback: oh hell yea!
Spoilers: Mystery Spot
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe.
Author's Note: I've seen Sam-codas out the ass for Mystery Spot, and don't get me wrong, they're awesome, but I've never seen one done from Dean's POV and one of the many times I was watching it his face looked so distraught the first time he dies, because he's aware long enough for Sam to get to him, and he knows he's dying, it just made me wonder what he was thinking. I'm not sure this is as powerful as I wanted it to be, but I'm pretty happy with it.
***
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 1
The first one is the worst.
‘Course, it’s not like he can remember any of them, so if you asked him he wouldn’t be able to tell you that. But as the days (weeks?) progressed The Trickster started getting more and more…creative.
But that first one, that first one hurt.
Dean hates guns.
Well, that’s not true. He just hates that there are so many out there in the hands of people that don’t know how to friggin’ use them.
Like this greasy used car salesman in front of him.
He himself yanks his gun up and away from the idiot, because he at least knows you don’t aim at someone unless you have some intention of actually shooting them.
The fact that this guy is so twitchy makes him even more nervous.
He shoots a look at Sam, split second check to see how he’s reacting and even more important to calculate just how quickly he could get in front of him incase this yahoo gets a shot off.
He’s halfway through an aborted attempt to lower his own gun, strictly as a way to placate this lunatic, seeing as he has another safely tucked in his jacket pocket, when he does get a shot off.
Only thing is he’s not aiming for Sam.
It hits him hard, lands him on his back.
Only thing he can think of is, ‘damn, that’s a lot worse than rock salt.’
Then Sam’s sliding into his line of vision, frantic look on his face and all Dean wants to do is tell him it’s gonna be okay. He’s Dean freaking Winchester, some jerk off in Florida ain’t gonna take him down.
But as the edges of his vision start to go dark and he can’t seem to focus on anything other than Sam’s voice and the fear in his eyes he finally realizes some jerk off in Florida just did take him down.
He can feel the blood welling up in the back of his throat, choking him and making him want to retch and get it out so he can breathe damnit.
He tries, he tries real hard to say something, tell Sam it’s okay, he’s gonna be okay, but the blood is too thick, air too thin and he can’t seem to make his vocal cords work.
He sees Sam’s eyes go dark and he starts muttering that Dean’s not allowed to die like this, not yet and the pain in his chest isn’t anywhere remotely as bad as the want, the need, to make Sam feel better. He knows, god how he knows, what it’s like to hold somebody, your brother, while they’re bleeding all over you as the light goes out of their eyes.
And jesusfuck does he not want Sam to see that. Sam’s not supposed to see that damnit.
He wants to apologize, wants to tell Sam that while, yeah, he did sell his soul and had every intention of paying up, he didn’t want to go out like this. He didn’t want to go out in Sam’s arms while Sam cries because there’s nothing he can do.
The last thought he has is ‘I never told him I loved him.’
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 2
The second time he doesn’t even have time to register what happens.
One moment he’s arguing with Sam trying to figure out when he got his grubby little paws on some drugs ‘cause he must be tripping.
He’s going to have to talk to him about that. He knows the deal’s been weighing heavily on both of them but drugs are so not the answer.
The next he’s stepping off the curb towards the Impala and everything goes white and weightless.
What he doesn’t see, doesn’t know, is that a 1967 (how ironic) Ford Galaxie just plowed into him, he did a cartwheel in midair and landed on the baked asphalt broken and bloodied.
Doesn’t see, doesn’t know, the lost and confused look on Sam’s face, the hurt when he picks up his limp body.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 3
The third is even quicker than the second.
He’s arguing with Sam, trying to placate him, trying to figure this whole thing out, figure out a way to take the haunted look from Sam’s eyes.
He’s thinking that a nice, quiet night in the hotel room watching bad TV and eating worse Chinese is the ticket.
And then suddenly he’s not, and his body is crushed under the weight of a desk.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 4
The fourth is a bit ridiculous.
Sam’s looking so lost and alone that Dean will do just about anything to take that look from his eyes.
Switching bacon to sausage is hardly catastrophic.
Except it kinda is, because somewhere between making Sammy feel better and being a dork and taking an extra large bite of grease filled meat, it gets lodged in his throat.
He has a split second thought of ‘holy shit Sam’s right.’
But his last thought is ‘Heimlich.’
What he doesn’t know is that Sam does try the Heimlich. Tries to do CPR and mouth to mouth. Goes frantic when it doesn’t work because by all medical rules he should be able to bring Dean back after such a short time without air, it’s possible damnit.
But what Sam doesn’t know is there’s no way The Trickster would make it that easy.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 17
Sam’s acting really weird and the fact that he’s telling Dean he can’t even have breakfast is so not cool.
The water in this joint is ridiculously soft and he uses just a bit too much soap, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when his foot slips.
His last though that time is ‘man this is going to hurt.’
Ironic thing is, he never feels it, his head connects too hard with the metal edge of the tub and the lights go dark.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 31
The taco sneaks up on him.
It’s also the one, ironically enough, that gives him the most pain.
He spends sixteen hours in the hospital ER before his heart gives out.
He never understood why they wouldn’t let Sam in to see him.
The doctors never understood how food poisoning could result in a heart attack.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 42
The electrical short hurts, but in sort of a vague disconnected way.
It’s sort of numbing, all his muscles tensing.
It makes him think of the rawhead and the lengths Sam went to to fix his heart that time.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 68
The arrow’s right up there in the pain department.
It’s almost funny how someone could miss the target by so much but yet have it pierce through in just the right place to hit his aorta and leave him to once again bleed out in Sam’s arms.
He doesn’t understand why Sam looks so resigned, even if it is still trimmed out in despair.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 93
He gets that Sam’s upset, he really does. From what he’s been able to piece together from Sam’s bipolar depressed and irate tirades he figures he’d be pretty upset too.
And really, he can understand that Sam wants to tear the Mystery Spot down, because lets face it, if something that weird could happen to anybody it would of course happen to the Winchesters.
But it’s past being understandable, even in a vague way.
Never in his life would he have expected to die by Sam’s own hands.
So when he’s wrestling with him for the axe he actually gets frightened, because Sam’s not letting go and at the precise moment Sam’s grip slips he thinks, ‘this is going to kill him.’
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 100
He never saw that one coming.
Who the hell gets attacked, and killed, by a golden freaking retriever?
Dean apparently.
He understands why Dad never let Sam keep that stray puppy he found, even when he moped for three weeks straight.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 101
That’s the day Sam finds out.
Dean doesn’t die, but he doesn’t remember the next morning either.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 102
Sam’s sort of freaking him out with this silent intense thing he’s got going on and Dean’s one step away from pulling him off the guy in the alley, but he’s learned to trust Sam’s instinct and he gives him the benefit of the doubt.
Turns out it was a good idea as he watches as the air goes liquid and the face morphs into the one he recognizes.
When he says the jokes on Sam, he’s really tempted to grab that stake and finish it himself, no one, god or otherwise fucks with Sam and gets away with it.
The Trickster snaps his fingers before he can act and he wakes up on Wednesday.
Dean: Wednesday No. 1
Sam: Wednesday No. 1
He can’t really remember what happened. He has the vague memory of The Trickster, remembers the snap-pop of his fingers and there’s dull ache in his gut that makes him think of Sam being in pain, but he can’t put a finger on why.
That ache twists and clenches when Sam is so upbeat about it being a particular day in the week and that’s the only reason he agrees with no fuss to get out of town, even if it means no breakfast.
The first one might have been the worst, whether he knows it or not.
But the last one, that one is the hardest.
The twist in his gut leaves him feeling edgy and tense and he thinks they really should stick around and finish The Trickster once and for all.
He turns to ask Sam just that, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize it’s not Sam that’s behind him.
Once again it’s someone that has no business holding a gun.
Man he hates guns.
It’s strangely ironic, poetic, even if he doesn’t remember the first one to know that it is.
The thing is he’ll give this guy his money. He’s got no problem with that, he knows what it’s like to be quite literally broke. And they’ve got a couple credit cards that will hold them over easy until he can make some more cash, he just wants this guy to lower his gun first.
The guy’s too nervous, too high strung and too twitchy. He saw the stash of weapons in the trunk and when Dean reaches behind himself he panics, thinks he’s pulling a gun and he fires, never knowing Dean’s fingers were only searching out the worn leather of his wallet.
He runs.
Dean can feel his heart twitching, shudder-pulse as it tries to keep thumping, can feel the sticky heat soaking through his shirt, sandy asphalt under his cheek.
All he can think about is that Sam’s not there.
And that he never got to tell him he loved him.
Wordcount: 1876
Rating: umm, PG13...I guess
Pairing: none
Feedback: oh hell yea!
Spoilers: Mystery Spot
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe.
Author's Note: I've seen Sam-codas out the ass for Mystery Spot, and don't get me wrong, they're awesome, but I've never seen one done from Dean's POV and one of the many times I was watching it his face looked so distraught the first time he dies, because he's aware long enough for Sam to get to him, and he knows he's dying, it just made me wonder what he was thinking. I'm not sure this is as powerful as I wanted it to be, but I'm pretty happy with it.
***
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 1
The first one is the worst.
‘Course, it’s not like he can remember any of them, so if you asked him he wouldn’t be able to tell you that. But as the days (weeks?) progressed The Trickster started getting more and more…creative.
But that first one, that first one hurt.
Dean hates guns.
Well, that’s not true. He just hates that there are so many out there in the hands of people that don’t know how to friggin’ use them.
Like this greasy used car salesman in front of him.
He himself yanks his gun up and away from the idiot, because he at least knows you don’t aim at someone unless you have some intention of actually shooting them.
The fact that this guy is so twitchy makes him even more nervous.
He shoots a look at Sam, split second check to see how he’s reacting and even more important to calculate just how quickly he could get in front of him incase this yahoo gets a shot off.
He’s halfway through an aborted attempt to lower his own gun, strictly as a way to placate this lunatic, seeing as he has another safely tucked in his jacket pocket, when he does get a shot off.
Only thing is he’s not aiming for Sam.
It hits him hard, lands him on his back.
Only thing he can think of is, ‘damn, that’s a lot worse than rock salt.’
Then Sam’s sliding into his line of vision, frantic look on his face and all Dean wants to do is tell him it’s gonna be okay. He’s Dean freaking Winchester, some jerk off in Florida ain’t gonna take him down.
But as the edges of his vision start to go dark and he can’t seem to focus on anything other than Sam’s voice and the fear in his eyes he finally realizes some jerk off in Florida just did take him down.
He can feel the blood welling up in the back of his throat, choking him and making him want to retch and get it out so he can breathe damnit.
He tries, he tries real hard to say something, tell Sam it’s okay, he’s gonna be okay, but the blood is too thick, air too thin and he can’t seem to make his vocal cords work.
He sees Sam’s eyes go dark and he starts muttering that Dean’s not allowed to die like this, not yet and the pain in his chest isn’t anywhere remotely as bad as the want, the need, to make Sam feel better. He knows, god how he knows, what it’s like to hold somebody, your brother, while they’re bleeding all over you as the light goes out of their eyes.
And jesusfuck does he not want Sam to see that. Sam’s not supposed to see that damnit.
He wants to apologize, wants to tell Sam that while, yeah, he did sell his soul and had every intention of paying up, he didn’t want to go out like this. He didn’t want to go out in Sam’s arms while Sam cries because there’s nothing he can do.
The last thought he has is ‘I never told him I loved him.’
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 2
The second time he doesn’t even have time to register what happens.
One moment he’s arguing with Sam trying to figure out when he got his grubby little paws on some drugs ‘cause he must be tripping.
He’s going to have to talk to him about that. He knows the deal’s been weighing heavily on both of them but drugs are so not the answer.
The next he’s stepping off the curb towards the Impala and everything goes white and weightless.
What he doesn’t see, doesn’t know, is that a 1967 (how ironic) Ford Galaxie just plowed into him, he did a cartwheel in midair and landed on the baked asphalt broken and bloodied.
Doesn’t see, doesn’t know, the lost and confused look on Sam’s face, the hurt when he picks up his limp body.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 3
The third is even quicker than the second.
He’s arguing with Sam, trying to placate him, trying to figure this whole thing out, figure out a way to take the haunted look from Sam’s eyes.
He’s thinking that a nice, quiet night in the hotel room watching bad TV and eating worse Chinese is the ticket.
And then suddenly he’s not, and his body is crushed under the weight of a desk.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 4
The fourth is a bit ridiculous.
Sam’s looking so lost and alone that Dean will do just about anything to take that look from his eyes.
Switching bacon to sausage is hardly catastrophic.
Except it kinda is, because somewhere between making Sammy feel better and being a dork and taking an extra large bite of grease filled meat, it gets lodged in his throat.
He has a split second thought of ‘holy shit Sam’s right.’
But his last thought is ‘Heimlich.’
What he doesn’t know is that Sam does try the Heimlich. Tries to do CPR and mouth to mouth. Goes frantic when it doesn’t work because by all medical rules he should be able to bring Dean back after such a short time without air, it’s possible damnit.
But what Sam doesn’t know is there’s no way The Trickster would make it that easy.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 17
Sam’s acting really weird and the fact that he’s telling Dean he can’t even have breakfast is so not cool.
The water in this joint is ridiculously soft and he uses just a bit too much soap, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when his foot slips.
His last though that time is ‘man this is going to hurt.’
Ironic thing is, he never feels it, his head connects too hard with the metal edge of the tub and the lights go dark.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 31
The taco sneaks up on him.
It’s also the one, ironically enough, that gives him the most pain.
He spends sixteen hours in the hospital ER before his heart gives out.
He never understood why they wouldn’t let Sam in to see him.
The doctors never understood how food poisoning could result in a heart attack.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 42
The electrical short hurts, but in sort of a vague disconnected way.
It’s sort of numbing, all his muscles tensing.
It makes him think of the rawhead and the lengths Sam went to to fix his heart that time.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 68
The arrow’s right up there in the pain department.
It’s almost funny how someone could miss the target by so much but yet have it pierce through in just the right place to hit his aorta and leave him to once again bleed out in Sam’s arms.
He doesn’t understand why Sam looks so resigned, even if it is still trimmed out in despair.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 93
He gets that Sam’s upset, he really does. From what he’s been able to piece together from Sam’s bipolar depressed and irate tirades he figures he’d be pretty upset too.
And really, he can understand that Sam wants to tear the Mystery Spot down, because lets face it, if something that weird could happen to anybody it would of course happen to the Winchesters.
But it’s past being understandable, even in a vague way.
Never in his life would he have expected to die by Sam’s own hands.
So when he’s wrestling with him for the axe he actually gets frightened, because Sam’s not letting go and at the precise moment Sam’s grip slips he thinks, ‘this is going to kill him.’
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 100
He never saw that one coming.
Who the hell gets attacked, and killed, by a golden freaking retriever?
Dean apparently.
He understands why Dad never let Sam keep that stray puppy he found, even when he moped for three weeks straight.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 101
That’s the day Sam finds out.
Dean doesn’t die, but he doesn’t remember the next morning either.
Dean: Tuesday No. 1
Sam: Tuesday No. 102
Sam’s sort of freaking him out with this silent intense thing he’s got going on and Dean’s one step away from pulling him off the guy in the alley, but he’s learned to trust Sam’s instinct and he gives him the benefit of the doubt.
Turns out it was a good idea as he watches as the air goes liquid and the face morphs into the one he recognizes.
When he says the jokes on Sam, he’s really tempted to grab that stake and finish it himself, no one, god or otherwise fucks with Sam and gets away with it.
The Trickster snaps his fingers before he can act and he wakes up on Wednesday.
Dean: Wednesday No. 1
Sam: Wednesday No. 1
He can’t really remember what happened. He has the vague memory of The Trickster, remembers the snap-pop of his fingers and there’s dull ache in his gut that makes him think of Sam being in pain, but he can’t put a finger on why.
That ache twists and clenches when Sam is so upbeat about it being a particular day in the week and that’s the only reason he agrees with no fuss to get out of town, even if it means no breakfast.
The first one might have been the worst, whether he knows it or not.
But the last one, that one is the hardest.
The twist in his gut leaves him feeling edgy and tense and he thinks they really should stick around and finish The Trickster once and for all.
He turns to ask Sam just that, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize it’s not Sam that’s behind him.
Once again it’s someone that has no business holding a gun.
Man he hates guns.
It’s strangely ironic, poetic, even if he doesn’t remember the first one to know that it is.
The thing is he’ll give this guy his money. He’s got no problem with that, he knows what it’s like to be quite literally broke. And they’ve got a couple credit cards that will hold them over easy until he can make some more cash, he just wants this guy to lower his gun first.
The guy’s too nervous, too high strung and too twitchy. He saw the stash of weapons in the trunk and when Dean reaches behind himself he panics, thinks he’s pulling a gun and he fires, never knowing Dean’s fingers were only searching out the worn leather of his wallet.
He runs.
Dean can feel his heart twitching, shudder-pulse as it tries to keep thumping, can feel the sticky heat soaking through his shirt, sandy asphalt under his cheek.
All he can think about is that Sam’s not there.
And that he never got to tell him he loved him.