Our Hands
➤ for: Canon, written for my writing class.
➤ in which: from Sam's perspective, then Dean's, the boys acknowledge changes in each other. Takes place in late Season 4, with some legit canon mingled in.
➤ word count: 922
➤ starring: Sam Winchester (not directed at a specific journal), with mentions of Castiel and Ruby.
His hands were calloused, with scabbed and torn knuckles. The skin there was rife with stains from oil and blood and years of sweat -- working on his car and working on jobs that meant getting them dirty had made sure of that. Apparently, when the angels had raised him from perdition, washed of sins and scars and corruption, they'd seen fit to leave those callouses. Good. It would be a sin to see him without them.
More importantly, those thick, well-worn fingers were wrapped around the wooden handle of a knife that would only prove further abrasive to his already torn palms -- his grip tight enough to make the torn beds of his nails turn white with his ragged knuckles. He swung the blade -- 8 inches, nothing meager -- with the kind of experience and purpose and forceful arms of a harvester of sugarcane in South America, exerting the same kind of raw strength as though the demon he was now eviscerating was nothing more than a stalk of raw sugar that he had to plow through.
It begged the question of exactly how many demons and unfortunate human vessels he'd plowed through in a similar manner; before I had time to stop my mouth from running, I'd asked, breaking his concentration. The knife was lowered slowly to his side as the demon glowed orange -- dead -- and its emptied vessel collapsed. His gaze fell on me and I shuddered -- I'd never seen Dean like this, had never witnessed that kind of murder in his eyes. It was like he was no longer my brother, but a stranger.
"They're just demons." It was as though he no longer registered the presence of a human somewhere in there, and my heart twisted in realization of exactly how damaged he'd been returned to me. He reached up to wipe sweat away with the back of his hand, smearing blood on his forehead. No matter how many scars the angels had removed when they dragged him out, there were countless more in their place -- less visible, perhaps, but even deeper seated. Scars on his soul.
&&
His hands're softer now -- it's obvious how long it's been since the kid's held a damn knife, let alone a gun. Makes me wonder how long it's been that the demon bitch has been doing the heavy lifting for him. Doesn't matter, though, 'cause they're obviously stronger. Got a more refined kinda skill to 'em. It's like all he's doing is comin' easier to him now -- that psychic bullshit. He doesn't need to hold shit in his hands because of it. Because he went ahead and ignored my friggen' dying wish because he wanted to know what he could do. It's my own fault, really. I made him stick around by himself to fight it. Still, doesn't mean he's gotta get himself a demon bitch girlfriend and a friggen manicure.
But, now he's got 'em wrapped around her head like he's cradling her, like he actually cares, except that's blood runnin' over her shirt from where he's bitin' her. My brother the goddamn vampire -- 'cept she's not human right now, that's demon blood. It sure as hell ain't the brother I left behind when I was gettin' ripped open by hellhounds, and it sure as shit ain't the one I sold my soul to save. He's a freak and a monster -- a goddamned mosquito had more sense than to drink demon blood, but here he was chuggin' it like the kool-aid at a Manson party.
I'm gonna rip her limb from limb, that demon bitch. I'm gonna make her scream for putting him onto this, but mostly I'm gonna try not to throw up for all I'm worth when he looks up all sheepish-like with blood running down his chin. Cas has got that knowing look on his face and it makes me wanna punch it right off but instead I round back on Sammy.
"How long?" My voice is fuckin' weak but it's not like you could really blame me. I just watched my brother vamp out on some demon. He doesn't have words, not right now, so I go grab him by his collar and shake him. "How fuckin' long? What did I tell you? What is the one thing I friggen asked you to do for me, Sammy?"
"Since you went to Hell." He says it like I should be fuckin' feelin' sorry for him or guilting myself and hell, maybe I am, but that doesn't change how fuckin' pissed off I am. I throw him to the ground.
"The hell were you thinkin', Sam? Do you know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal?" I'm spitting rage and he doesn't deserve this right now, I'm s'posed to be lookin' out for him like Dad asked me to, but how am I s'posed to look out for somebody that's not even my brother anymore? "If I didn't know you -- Hell, if you weren't my brother, I'd hunt you! Do you even see what you're letting her turn you into?"
"She's helping me, Dean. I'm stopping demons, I'm killing demons without hurting people -- can you say the same?"