Guns and knives
Title: Guns and Knives
Author: marlowe78
Genre/pairing: gen, no pairing
Rating: Uhm... suitable for all ages that are allowed to watch 'Supernatural' on TV
Summary:
Sam keeps finding sharp instruments in his wake wherever he goes, Bobby is worried and Dean... where is Dean?
Slightly AU, since it was written before s5 started.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, sad though it is. All of the characters (yes, ALL) belong to Eric Kripke and the CW and ... well hell, I don't care. They are not mine.
There is another one. Lying on the kitchen-table, gleaming in the sun shining through the dusty window into the Singer-household. It shines, and Sam could swear it sparkles, taunting him to pick it up, caress it - fucking use it. It’s the third he has found so far, not counting the knifes. Those keep popping up nearly everywhere, in every shape, every colour, every material. Silver, steel, iron. Deadly, all of them.
He looks at the gun on the table, it is freshly cleaned, as all the weapons he sees have been so far. He highly suspects it to be loaded - it would be a sad day his brother would leave a useless gun somewhere.
But… it should not lie there so alone. He takes two steps, hears Bobby enter the room from the door behind him, hears his sudden intake of air, feels him move past him, much faster than anyone not knowing him would give the old guy credit for. He grabs the gun, tugs it into his belt and mutters something about him loosing his head if it wasn’t screwed on.
Sam knows it’s only show. Bobby didn’t leave the gun there.. It’s Dean’s, his Colt. He smiles a little wistfully, moves past the table, to the fridge and grabs a beer.
He can’t believe it. The… well, the whatever-the-friggin-th time! Guns, knifes, even rope. Everything turning up in the most unbelievable places, always within reach of Sam. Bobby hadn’t had a good nights sleep since the day those boys came back from the convent, shaken to the core, hissing bloody murder. Yeah, guess who did what… And ever since the second day, ever since Sam started shaking again, started to go through withdrawal again - better prepared, in better shape and - most important - voluntarily, the weapons keep showing up. And the old hunter can only do so much, can only try to prevent Sam from doing something irrevocably stupid and - probably - final. Up until now he had been able to find the guns and knifes and stuff before the boy sees them, but he is getting tired of running through the house, chasing objects of death and collecting them, shutting them in only to see another one where he had looked just minutes ago. He is getting tired, and he has no idea when he’ll find Sam dead in the bathroom, kitchen, yard…wherever. But he is quite certain that he will find him one day. This is too much for an old man.
“Dean.” The older - no, oldest - Winchester is in the yard, has been for days. Keeps tinkering with the old rust-buckets, not coming inside except for meals - and even this he does infrequently. He doesn’t talk much, not with him, not with his brother. Bobby is not too sure what happened after he turned around in his own fucking home to find the stubborn bastard gone, vanished without a trace. Sure, the boys told him Lucifer is free, Lilith was the final seal, Sam killed her… they killed Ruby, the angels are friggin’ assholes. And that’s about it, no more information for him. Sam… he at least has been talking, apologized to his old friend for knocking him out. Told him he kicked his brother’s ass - and is waiting for the payback, which will be interesting to watch, as Bobby privately thinks. But Dean? He’s gone silent, nearly as silent as after John’s death, after the accident. As silent, but much, much more intense as then. He seems to be waiting. Singer is not sure for what, but the way he is eyeing his brother, probably something to do with Sam. But what… He can’t really tell. He used to be able to understand the boy, but after Hell, and ‘specially since the fiasco with Sam during and after the first detox, he has been… different. Harder to read.
“Yeah?” sounds a deep voice from underneath an old Dodge and as he approaches, Dean slides himself free and sits up, grease coating his arms and his face. And looking at him, seeing him like this in the grey shirt he had been wearing then, he suddenly gets it. The boy isn’t a boy anymore. He turned into a man while he wasn’t watching, and he can’t say that it’s a bad thing. Just… sad, somehow.
“Found your gun in the kitchen.” He hands down the Colt.
“Thanks.” Dean puts it next to him on the roll-board, prepares to slide back underneath his sanctuary, his hide-hole from everyone and everything.
“I think … something is after Sam.” That stops the younger, as he knew - or at least hoped - it would.
“What?”
“As I told you already - all these weapons showing up around him? Everywhere he goes? I mean… It’s like a big neon-sign telling him to off himself. I think I have a ghost, or something…” Deans smiles, just a quick, small one, but since he hasn’t seen one for so long he is grateful for that.
“Bobby, if there is a place in this world that no ghost can enter, it’s your house. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. Sam’ll be fine, once he is himself again.” And with that he is back under the Dodge, humming some old song.
*******************************************************
He can’t believe it. Again! This time, it’s the huge hunting-knife, sharpened to the point it will be able to do this ‘Bodyguard’-stunt-thing with the scarf. He grabs it out of Sam’s hands, ignores the look in his face and mutters something about having looked for that the whole day. He speeds into the room for the weapons and curses Dean Winchester for being so callous, so cold, so uncaring and … un-Dean towards his little brother, who has been going through his own small hell for nearly a week now. He is better, though. His eyes have lost the madness, his gaze isn’t skittering around the room anymore, not searching for imaginary people telling him he is great or useless, depending on his state of mind. He has lost some of the sickly paleness too.
“Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“How’ya feeling? Still guests inside that stupid head of yours?”
“Nope, not for…two days, I think.” Bobby raises his eyebrows.
“Really? Hands!” Sam holds out his hands, takes the coffee-mugs the older gives him and keeps them steady for over a minute.
“Huh. I’ll be damned. You’re better, or did’ya find some demon to suck dry?” Sam winces a little. The old hunter has been pretty friendly, nearly gentle around him, so he should take it as a sign for his recovery that his friend talks to him like he used to - like he does to his brother. Still, it stings a bit. But… yeah. What did he expect?
“No, I’m better. Haven’t touched your liquor either, just beer. What about that food you mentioned?”
Bobby turns around, rummages in the fridge and starts working.
“Here, wash the salad and pluck it.” No way is he giving that boy a knife!
Sam smiles as if he knows exactly why he has to pluck the green leaves instead of cutting them.
“Salad? Is there meat with that, or are you prepared to hear Dean’s tirade about health-food again?”
“That stupid-ass brother of yours can shut up and eat, or shut up and don’t eat - I don’t care.” Yeah, he is a little miffed about the non-reaction from Dean. ‘As if he doesn’t care about Sam anymore…‘ He sees the raised eyebrows of the giant next to him.
“There is steak, though” he relents.
“Steak?” Dean is in the doorway, wiping his hands in a dirty rag. He looks at the men, cocks his head and grins like he used to.
“Count me in.” He leaves for the bathroom, short time later they hear the shower.
“He alright?”
“What?” Bobby has been following the older brother with his eyes, trying to see what that was all about, feeling like he missed something important.
“Dean. Is he ok? I haven’t been… well, not really in the mood to see if he is alright.” Sam is watching the elder “Was a bit much on my plate” he mumbles. Bobby is stunned.
“Sure he is! Why shouldn’t he be?”
“He’s been through a lot, we all have. I just… I didn’t have the nerve to face him yet, so… I thought maybe… you could tell me if he is … fine. Or whatever.” He looks at Sam. Can’t shake the feeling - the damn painful feeling - that this time the younger brother is back to old form, while his sibling is off the roof, changed, uncaring. Which shouldn’t be possible, but… the seed of doubt is there.
And then the seed of doubt is standing next to him, not next to Sam but at least in the same room. He grabs a knife and goes for the tomatoes and Bobby is surprised until he remembers that it was this Winchester who made sure little Sammy ate his vegetables and who tried to cook for the rest of this messed-up family of his. And suddenly he thinks maybe, maybe Dean is entitled to be pissed, to - for once - not care about Sam, to be mad as hell and to feel betrayed and hurt and stabbed in the back because of the little brother for whom he gave everything he ever had. And considering that Sam choked him in a honeymoon-suite after he threw him through a glass-cabinet… considering that, he sure is calm and friggin’ normal.
“So, Sam. Finished with your little down-time?” They’ve just finished eating when Dean breaks the silence.
“Yepp.” The taller brother doesn’t look up, though.
“Good. Bobby?” he turns to the man he addressed, and Singer doesn’t need it spelled out. This time, he reads it clear as day in the younger man’s face: they’re leaving. And with a spark he realizes that this was what Dean had been waiting for all along, for Sam to be able to see clear, to use a pen without shaking, to think straight. Yeah, sure they’ll be leaving. Who was he kidding? The world hasn’t ended, but no thanks to them.
“We…”
“I know. When? And most of all - where to?”
“Tomorrow. And as to where… I have been looking for something to tell us where Lucifer is, but I didn’t find anything relevant. And most important - I have no friggin’ idea how to kill him, or ban him, or whatever. So… I found us a hunt. New Cheswick, Illinois.” When did he do research? He had been under those cars the whole time, hadn’t he?
“Oh, what’s there?” Sam stops washing the dishes for a minute, not wanting to miss important information.
“That’ll be your job, demon-geek. But there are some strange disappearances in the area and I think it’s our kind of thing. So - we’re off.”
“Ok…” Bobby looks at the boys - men! - in his kitchen. The ‘demon’-thing must have hurt, but the ‘geek’ sure was meant to soften the blow. Dean seems to be ready to take it to the next level, but is not yet above pulling punches. ‘Yeah, sure. He is different’ the old man scoffs to himself. That last few days? The distance? The cold indifference? Nothing but space. Space for Sam to heal - physically - and get his shit together. Once on the road, the gloves will come off, and he doesn’t envy the young one for what lies ahead. But… he’ll be fine. Both will be fine, eventually…
*************************************************************
“Dean?” The house is quiet, except for the breathing from the bed next to his. The bed that is occupied once again after being empty for what feels like ages, but was so only for five days. Since after the worst of his withdrawal-symptoms have passed.
“What?” gruff, but not angry. Quiet, so no one could wake up, even though Bobby is sleeping two doors down.
“Thanks”
“What for?”
“For trusting.” He can hear the smile on his brothers face, even though there is no answer.
“Bobby thought there was a ghost after you.”
“Really? That’s why he kept spilling salt over every crack in the floorboards. Why didn’t you tell him?” Silence. Then
“More fun this way” and now he knows without a doubt that Dean is grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s cruel, man. He is what, sixty?” but the breathing has straightened out and once again Sam is alone with his thoughts.
He had been shocked, the first time he found a knife in the bathroom. A freshly-sharpened blade and it had been tempting - very tempting - to use it. On himself. But he didn’t. He took it back to the duffel, put it in and went back to shaving. It had taken him six weapons until he figured it out. He had taken the sixth out, handing the Glock grip-first to his brother in the yard.
“Not gonna happen!” he told him as firm as he could, even though his hand was shaking so bad, he had to bite his lips so he wouldn’t scream in frustration. Dean had just looked at him and he didn’t need to say it, because whatever Sam had first believed when he finally knew who dropped all the guns and knifes in his wake, that instance he had understood.
He knew. He never thought he would. And he had shown him in the very unique, very strange, very Dean way of his brother that however mad he was, how much he didn’t trust him anymore - there was one thing he didn’t doubt for a second:
Sam Winchester would never kill himself.
Not here, not now. Not like this. And most of all - not when doing so would leave his brother to clean up the mess his stupidity created all alone.
And if there was nothing else between them anymore, Sam would cling to this little piece of trust like it was the lifeline it was meant to be.
Whatever the future holds - he was a Winchester. And he would face it head-on!
Author: marlowe78
Genre/pairing: gen, no pairing
Rating: Uhm... suitable for all ages that are allowed to watch 'Supernatural' on TV
Summary:
Sam keeps finding sharp instruments in his wake wherever he goes, Bobby is worried and Dean... where is Dean?
Slightly AU, since it was written before s5 started.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, sad though it is. All of the characters (yes, ALL) belong to Eric Kripke and the CW and ... well hell, I don't care. They are not mine.
There is another one. Lying on the kitchen-table, gleaming in the sun shining through the dusty window into the Singer-household. It shines, and Sam could swear it sparkles, taunting him to pick it up, caress it - fucking use it. It’s the third he has found so far, not counting the knifes. Those keep popping up nearly everywhere, in every shape, every colour, every material. Silver, steel, iron. Deadly, all of them.
He looks at the gun on the table, it is freshly cleaned, as all the weapons he sees have been so far. He highly suspects it to be loaded - it would be a sad day his brother would leave a useless gun somewhere.
But… it should not lie there so alone. He takes two steps, hears Bobby enter the room from the door behind him, hears his sudden intake of air, feels him move past him, much faster than anyone not knowing him would give the old guy credit for. He grabs the gun, tugs it into his belt and mutters something about him loosing his head if it wasn’t screwed on.
Sam knows it’s only show. Bobby didn’t leave the gun there.. It’s Dean’s, his Colt. He smiles a little wistfully, moves past the table, to the fridge and grabs a beer.
He can’t believe it. The… well, the whatever-the-friggin-th time! Guns, knifes, even rope. Everything turning up in the most unbelievable places, always within reach of Sam. Bobby hadn’t had a good nights sleep since the day those boys came back from the convent, shaken to the core, hissing bloody murder. Yeah, guess who did what… And ever since the second day, ever since Sam started shaking again, started to go through withdrawal again - better prepared, in better shape and - most important - voluntarily, the weapons keep showing up. And the old hunter can only do so much, can only try to prevent Sam from doing something irrevocably stupid and - probably - final. Up until now he had been able to find the guns and knifes and stuff before the boy sees them, but he is getting tired of running through the house, chasing objects of death and collecting them, shutting them in only to see another one where he had looked just minutes ago. He is getting tired, and he has no idea when he’ll find Sam dead in the bathroom, kitchen, yard…wherever. But he is quite certain that he will find him one day. This is too much for an old man.
“Dean.” The older - no, oldest - Winchester is in the yard, has been for days. Keeps tinkering with the old rust-buckets, not coming inside except for meals - and even this he does infrequently. He doesn’t talk much, not with him, not with his brother. Bobby is not too sure what happened after he turned around in his own fucking home to find the stubborn bastard gone, vanished without a trace. Sure, the boys told him Lucifer is free, Lilith was the final seal, Sam killed her… they killed Ruby, the angels are friggin’ assholes. And that’s about it, no more information for him. Sam… he at least has been talking, apologized to his old friend for knocking him out. Told him he kicked his brother’s ass - and is waiting for the payback, which will be interesting to watch, as Bobby privately thinks. But Dean? He’s gone silent, nearly as silent as after John’s death, after the accident. As silent, but much, much more intense as then. He seems to be waiting. Singer is not sure for what, but the way he is eyeing his brother, probably something to do with Sam. But what… He can’t really tell. He used to be able to understand the boy, but after Hell, and ‘specially since the fiasco with Sam during and after the first detox, he has been… different. Harder to read.
“Yeah?” sounds a deep voice from underneath an old Dodge and as he approaches, Dean slides himself free and sits up, grease coating his arms and his face. And looking at him, seeing him like this in the grey shirt he had been wearing then, he suddenly gets it. The boy isn’t a boy anymore. He turned into a man while he wasn’t watching, and he can’t say that it’s a bad thing. Just… sad, somehow.
“Found your gun in the kitchen.” He hands down the Colt.
“Thanks.” Dean puts it next to him on the roll-board, prepares to slide back underneath his sanctuary, his hide-hole from everyone and everything.
“I think … something is after Sam.” That stops the younger, as he knew - or at least hoped - it would.
“What?”
“As I told you already - all these weapons showing up around him? Everywhere he goes? I mean… It’s like a big neon-sign telling him to off himself. I think I have a ghost, or something…” Deans smiles, just a quick, small one, but since he hasn’t seen one for so long he is grateful for that.
“Bobby, if there is a place in this world that no ghost can enter, it’s your house. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. Sam’ll be fine, once he is himself again.” And with that he is back under the Dodge, humming some old song.
*******************************************************
He can’t believe it. Again! This time, it’s the huge hunting-knife, sharpened to the point it will be able to do this ‘Bodyguard’-stunt-thing with the scarf. He grabs it out of Sam’s hands, ignores the look in his face and mutters something about having looked for that the whole day. He speeds into the room for the weapons and curses Dean Winchester for being so callous, so cold, so uncaring and … un-Dean towards his little brother, who has been going through his own small hell for nearly a week now. He is better, though. His eyes have lost the madness, his gaze isn’t skittering around the room anymore, not searching for imaginary people telling him he is great or useless, depending on his state of mind. He has lost some of the sickly paleness too.
“Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“How’ya feeling? Still guests inside that stupid head of yours?”
“Nope, not for…two days, I think.” Bobby raises his eyebrows.
“Really? Hands!” Sam holds out his hands, takes the coffee-mugs the older gives him and keeps them steady for over a minute.
“Huh. I’ll be damned. You’re better, or did’ya find some demon to suck dry?” Sam winces a little. The old hunter has been pretty friendly, nearly gentle around him, so he should take it as a sign for his recovery that his friend talks to him like he used to - like he does to his brother. Still, it stings a bit. But… yeah. What did he expect?
“No, I’m better. Haven’t touched your liquor either, just beer. What about that food you mentioned?”
Bobby turns around, rummages in the fridge and starts working.
“Here, wash the salad and pluck it.” No way is he giving that boy a knife!
Sam smiles as if he knows exactly why he has to pluck the green leaves instead of cutting them.
“Salad? Is there meat with that, or are you prepared to hear Dean’s tirade about health-food again?”
“That stupid-ass brother of yours can shut up and eat, or shut up and don’t eat - I don’t care.” Yeah, he is a little miffed about the non-reaction from Dean. ‘As if he doesn’t care about Sam anymore…‘ He sees the raised eyebrows of the giant next to him.
“There is steak, though” he relents.
“Steak?” Dean is in the doorway, wiping his hands in a dirty rag. He looks at the men, cocks his head and grins like he used to.
“Count me in.” He leaves for the bathroom, short time later they hear the shower.
“He alright?”
“What?” Bobby has been following the older brother with his eyes, trying to see what that was all about, feeling like he missed something important.
“Dean. Is he ok? I haven’t been… well, not really in the mood to see if he is alright.” Sam is watching the elder “Was a bit much on my plate” he mumbles. Bobby is stunned.
“Sure he is! Why shouldn’t he be?”
“He’s been through a lot, we all have. I just… I didn’t have the nerve to face him yet, so… I thought maybe… you could tell me if he is … fine. Or whatever.” He looks at Sam. Can’t shake the feeling - the damn painful feeling - that this time the younger brother is back to old form, while his sibling is off the roof, changed, uncaring. Which shouldn’t be possible, but… the seed of doubt is there.
And then the seed of doubt is standing next to him, not next to Sam but at least in the same room. He grabs a knife and goes for the tomatoes and Bobby is surprised until he remembers that it was this Winchester who made sure little Sammy ate his vegetables and who tried to cook for the rest of this messed-up family of his. And suddenly he thinks maybe, maybe Dean is entitled to be pissed, to - for once - not care about Sam, to be mad as hell and to feel betrayed and hurt and stabbed in the back because of the little brother for whom he gave everything he ever had. And considering that Sam choked him in a honeymoon-suite after he threw him through a glass-cabinet… considering that, he sure is calm and friggin’ normal.
“So, Sam. Finished with your little down-time?” They’ve just finished eating when Dean breaks the silence.
“Yepp.” The taller brother doesn’t look up, though.
“Good. Bobby?” he turns to the man he addressed, and Singer doesn’t need it spelled out. This time, he reads it clear as day in the younger man’s face: they’re leaving. And with a spark he realizes that this was what Dean had been waiting for all along, for Sam to be able to see clear, to use a pen without shaking, to think straight. Yeah, sure they’ll be leaving. Who was he kidding? The world hasn’t ended, but no thanks to them.
“We…”
“I know. When? And most of all - where to?”
“Tomorrow. And as to where… I have been looking for something to tell us where Lucifer is, but I didn’t find anything relevant. And most important - I have no friggin’ idea how to kill him, or ban him, or whatever. So… I found us a hunt. New Cheswick, Illinois.” When did he do research? He had been under those cars the whole time, hadn’t he?
“Oh, what’s there?” Sam stops washing the dishes for a minute, not wanting to miss important information.
“That’ll be your job, demon-geek. But there are some strange disappearances in the area and I think it’s our kind of thing. So - we’re off.”
“Ok…” Bobby looks at the boys - men! - in his kitchen. The ‘demon’-thing must have hurt, but the ‘geek’ sure was meant to soften the blow. Dean seems to be ready to take it to the next level, but is not yet above pulling punches. ‘Yeah, sure. He is different’ the old man scoffs to himself. That last few days? The distance? The cold indifference? Nothing but space. Space for Sam to heal - physically - and get his shit together. Once on the road, the gloves will come off, and he doesn’t envy the young one for what lies ahead. But… he’ll be fine. Both will be fine, eventually…
*************************************************************
“Dean?” The house is quiet, except for the breathing from the bed next to his. The bed that is occupied once again after being empty for what feels like ages, but was so only for five days. Since after the worst of his withdrawal-symptoms have passed.
“What?” gruff, but not angry. Quiet, so no one could wake up, even though Bobby is sleeping two doors down.
“Thanks”
“What for?”
“For trusting.” He can hear the smile on his brothers face, even though there is no answer.
“Bobby thought there was a ghost after you.”
“Really? That’s why he kept spilling salt over every crack in the floorboards. Why didn’t you tell him?” Silence. Then
“More fun this way” and now he knows without a doubt that Dean is grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s cruel, man. He is what, sixty?” but the breathing has straightened out and once again Sam is alone with his thoughts.
He had been shocked, the first time he found a knife in the bathroom. A freshly-sharpened blade and it had been tempting - very tempting - to use it. On himself. But he didn’t. He took it back to the duffel, put it in and went back to shaving. It had taken him six weapons until he figured it out. He had taken the sixth out, handing the Glock grip-first to his brother in the yard.
“Not gonna happen!” he told him as firm as he could, even though his hand was shaking so bad, he had to bite his lips so he wouldn’t scream in frustration. Dean had just looked at him and he didn’t need to say it, because whatever Sam had first believed when he finally knew who dropped all the guns and knifes in his wake, that instance he had understood.
He knew. He never thought he would. And he had shown him in the very unique, very strange, very Dean way of his brother that however mad he was, how much he didn’t trust him anymore - there was one thing he didn’t doubt for a second:
Sam Winchester would never kill himself.
Not here, not now. Not like this. And most of all - not when doing so would leave his brother to clean up the mess his stupidity created all alone.
And if there was nothing else between them anymore, Sam would cling to this little piece of trust like it was the lifeline it was meant to be.
Whatever the future holds - he was a Winchester. And he would face it head-on!