[Slash] Hear Me the Lark - And So it Is - 01
Title: Hear Me the Lark
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam, Dean
Theme: Theme 06 - 365. And So It Is
Prompt(s): 01. Dawn
Words: 950
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: I wish I controlled what happened but well, let’s be honest, who could really top Kripke?
Summary: This is the day Sam Winchester loses his mind.
Warnings/Author Notes: The stories are all linked together in the same verse, I would recommend reading from the first prompt chronologically.
There was a grey, thick fog rolling along the shore in the early hours of morning when Sam woke up. Sea Gulls discussed their late night catch through squawks barely audible over the crash of waves onto creamy white sand and a gentle mist sprayed the windows in a water rainbow. To the casual observer, there was nothing particularly special about this morning. Any other day in any other month, and yet… there was something.
The two brothers were curled under sea foam green blankets in opposite beds, so close to one another yet careening down separate planes to an unknown fate hurtling them toward pitch black. And neither knew what was to come. Neither would know until the door burst open and their fate was revealed. Hazel eyes blinked open and the walls rippled in the aftermath of a dream that only added to the weight on tense shoulders. A lark bird landed on the roof, a tile shifted beneath his talon and when he titled his head up and flew into the dawn the tile slid and fell.
And crashed into the windshield a 1967 Chevy Impala.
“Jesusfuck,” Dean Winchester growled and rolled off the squeaking mattress ninja style, landing easily on his feet and digging his palm into his eyes.
Sam was not unaccustomed to the foul words that tumbled from Dean’s mouth like oxygen and spit. Still, hearing them not five minutes after rising from what should have been a peaceful slumber wasn’t exactly what he called a good way to start the day. “Dean… does your vocabulary even extend past swear words?”
“Not before bumfuck seven fucking AM on a fucking Saturday when we have abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do but fucking sleep in,” Dean’s anger was palpable, washing off his shoulders in time with the waves along the shore.
Despite the intensity of Dean’s words thrown across the puke green wallpaper - that clashed horrible with everything else in the motel room - Sam smirked into his pillow. “Good to know you at least grasp a healthy appreciate for the word fuck.”
“Shit goddamnit fucking Christ!” The man spat like venom, curtains parting to expose the grey roll of clouds hanging along the parking lot.
Even this string of curses was extreme for Dean and Sam rolled, sleep warm blanket sliding down his chest as he sat. “What’s wrong?” There was a suffering edge to Sam’s sigh which earned him a glare intense enough to kill less strong men. Fortunately Sam had spent years building up his Dean Winchester epic shield to ward off all death glares. It worked very well.
Apparently whatever had angered his brother had also left him speechless in the wave of expletives and Dean could only manage to jam his finger angrily out the window.
Huffing out yet another annoyed breath Sam pushed off the bed, scratched himself and yawned, when you spent twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year with a person you lost your sense of propriety. Plus Dean was ten times worse than Sam and they both knew it. “Dean, seriously, what is…” Sam trailed off as he approached the window and spotted the reason behind Dean’s fury.
Right in the middle of the Impala’s windshield was a broken ring of glass, spider webbed out across each edge, a shattered image of perfection. There would be no choice but to replace it. Sam had no idea what that might cost but judging from Dean’s stance - and the previous words - it was more than they could afford. Not to mention the time it would take to find a place that either had one lying around - not likely - or could order it. The following cringe was understandable.
“Well, let’s go take a look,” Sam finally mustered the courage to say, a tad unnerved by the statuesque form of his brother.
When Dean neither spoke nor moved, Sam turned and tugged his duffel up onto the bed. Bypassing jeans in favor of the warm comfort of the sweats he wore to bed, Sam tugged on a t-shirt and his coat, slipping easily into his boots and heading for the door.
In hindsight, both Winchester’s should have picked up on the air of wrong. The clouds were dense and tangible yet clearly see through and the waves sounded just a bit too loud, echoing around the parking lot ominously. Sam, being an occasional plethora of weird information recognized the row of lark birds lining the sidewalk and yet thought nothing of the fact that they weren’t indigenous to this area.
Vendettas were always a curious thing and the accidental death of a lover could drive a person mad, to the point where their actions extended beyond reason.
It was Dean who caught the glimpse of a woman in black through the window, mere moments before the clouds temporarily darkened and blanketed the parking lot in black. Instinct had him tearing from his anger over his damaged car and bolting out of the room, moments too late to stop a fate that was inevitable.
The fog lifted and cleared and the larks flew up to the shockingly bright morning sun. The ocean roared and crashed, the Sea Gulls chatted over breakfast, and his brother rocked slowly back and forth, humming a lullaby neither boy knew.
“Sam?” Dean asked with caution, blinking in the bright rays of sunshine.
“I would like to fly one day,” Sam mused quietly and lifted his arms, turning a grin to his brother that made the man’s heart sink unpleasantly.
And so it is that this particularly ordinary day was the day Sam Winchester lost his mind.
Color My Sky