vail_kagami
in
ohsam
Pick a Hemisphere
Title: Pick a Hemisphere
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1934
Warnings: rape (implied)
Spoilers: Set during 5.03 and 5.04.
Summary: They separated, and Sam's problems are not Dean's problems anymore.
Note: Written for this prompt at one of the older comment-fic memes.
Dean hated hospitals. People died there. People he loved died there. He had faced his own death in halls like this, and under the smell of chemicals and linoleum he made out the lingering stink of sickness and suffering. He didn’t want to be here. Why did he have to be in this place? It had nothing to offer him. Nothing he wanted to see.
He didn’t want to see his brother, pale and still on a hospital bed, breathing through a tube down his throat, completely unaware of his presence. Not knowing Dean had come for him and therefore all alone.
He didn’t want to listen to a doctor telling him what was wrong with Sam.
(I didn’t know Keith had a brother, the doctor told him. There was nothing about siblings in his papers.
Yeah, well, we were adopted. Not really related, you know. But enough for me to be here.)
He didn’t want to know about this. He wanted to punch the doctor to make him stop speaking about tests and counselling, and then tell Cas to take him away from here and erase his memories and make that this had never happened.
But the doctor continued speaking and it had happened, and Sam, Sammy, was here because of it, so here Dean would remain.
He hated hospitals.
-
The driver’s eyes turn black and Sam should have known. He should have known, he should have known, he should have known. Should have checked, said Chriso a few times just to make sure, not just blindly gotten into the first car that stopped to take him further away from his brother and the way he looked at him, and Yeah, I don’t trust you either.
Getting killed in a lame, ancient car and dumped somewhere by the side of the road is the price to pay for his stupidity and he probably deserves it and everything that comes after. He tries to fight, but the moment he sees the back eyes his head is already getting slammed into the window and his strength flows from his limps like water from a broken cup. The inhumanly strong fingers around his throat keep in the words of Latin cramped on his tongue and the knife his fingers fumble for isn’t there. Can’t have you keep that, Dean’s eyes told him. Can’t let you run around with a blame meant to draw blood from demons. Now a demon is going to draw blood from him and he is aware if the irony that after everything he is going to die like this, so random and useless, but he supposes he deserves that too.
Still he fights; kicks and punches weakly, and reaches with his mind for a power that slips away from him whenever he tries to grasp it, like the black smoke curled around the driver’s soul.
If only he could make the demon bleed, if only he could get a single drop -
No, he thinks.
This is what Dean is waiting for.
I’ll rather die.
The demon laughs as the door opens and Sam is pushed out before the car has come to a stop. For a moment it is all asphalt and pain and then boots and taunting words as the demon drags him off the road and does what he came for.
By the time he is done night has fallen, and it is raining. The demon gets back in his car and drives off and Sam is left by the side of the road, bleeding and still alive and wishing he wasn’t.
-
It had been two days, and Dean’s irritation gradually turned to anger. He knew he had hurt Sam by turning him away - Hell, that had been kinda the point! - but they were hunters, and one of the first rules in their profession and their family was never to ignore calls. Especially now that Sam could easily assume Dean wouldn’t call him if it wasn’t important.
Even when he was younger, even during his worst fights with their father, Sam had never violated that rule. And now he wasn’t picking up his damn phone. And apparently he didn’t listen to his voice mail either.
It was damn irresponsible and childish. It also wasn’t like Sam at all. And Dean was angry because being angry was so much easier than being worried.
He was still angry when Castiel appeared in the motel room of the night and said, “I found your brother.”
“Did you find his cell phone too? He seems to have lost it.” The relief Dean felt only fuelled his anger now he no longer had to feel guilty for it. “Why didn’t you bring him?”
“Sam is in poor condition. I found him under a fake name in a hospital in Oklahoma.” Castiel explained, raising a hand to Dean’s forehead. “I will take you there.”
-
Sam will never understand why the demon left him his bag, but he takes the small mercy of clothes that are not torn and soiled, and fake identities, and a gun to hold on to. He leaves what if left of his shirt and pants where it happened and walks the short distance to the next motel. Every step hurts, every breath hurts, but he doesn’t try to catch another ride.
He spends a day in the motel before he has to move on despite the pain that comes with every movement. He cannot stand this place. He cannot stand to lie around and only think.
When he gets the next ride, he throws in as many Christos as he possibly can without seeming vaguely psychotic into the first conversation and the beer he shares with his driver contains more holy water than alcohol. Nothing happens, yet he is glad when the man drops him off at a motel in Garber, Oklahoma, and drives on.
Sam is going to stick with his decision. He’ll stay away from hunting and demons and temptation, and what happened to him isn’t important at all. So he burns his IDs expect the one he used for check-in. He covers the bruises on his face as best he can and gets a job in a bar, and every now and then he sits in front of the toilet and tries not to throw up as waves of pain run though his body. When they subside, he gets back to work. He can’t eat, but that’s okay. He isn’t hungry anyway.
Most of the time, he doesn’t think of Dean much, and he hardly ever wishes that he wasn’t all on his own.
-
Separating from Sam had been a bad decision. Dean knew that now - and turning Sam away when he wanted to come back had been even worse. Especially since Sam had sounded like he really needed his brother, and who knew what he would do if left to his own devices? (Who knew if he would last for three years, like in the future Zachariah had shown Dean?)
So Dean decided to correct his mistake. Zachariah might have shown him the future to convince him saying Yes was the best possible outcome, but all he had really made Dean see was that he didn’t want to lose himself like that, and he sure as hell didn’t want to lose his brother.
And then his brother had the nerve not to accept his call. Dean felt slightly irritated. It wasn’t often he admitted to having been wrong, and even less often that he was willing to choke out an apology, and here Sam was totally ruining the moment.
Admittedly, it was late at night. Perhaps Sam simple slept through the ringing of the phone, rare as that would be. Thinking back, he hadn’t sounded all that fit during their last conversation.
Dean would try again in the morning, but with far less remorse to offer.
-
Lindsey is nice and smart. Sam likes her, but he can’t get involved and that means if he lets her come too close he’ll have to hurt her. He doesn’t want that, but he also doesn’t know how to keep her away because she keeps pushing and he can’t think for all the pain in his head and his insides and his pathetic reactions to being touched. Somehow they end up having dinner. Sam ends up spending an hour throwing up all over his motel room and then another hour cleaning it all up. He dreams of Jess that night and that hurts even worse than breathing.
Lindsey is nice and smart, but she can’t understand what she got into when she dared to speak to him. Sam can’t blame her for the fear she tries to hide every time she looks at him after his father’s old friends are gone. It’s better this way. She’ll stop trying now. They did him a favour.
Except fighting with hunters when outnumbered is not a good idea at the best of times. Now Sam can’t walk straight for the pain running through his body. He barely makes it to the motel, doubles over the moment the door closes behind him.
The room offers little protection. They could come for him again, kill him in his sleep, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to rest.
Jess comes to him again that night, chases away random, unimportant dreams of black eyes and the mud at the side of the road. Only it isn’t Jess, it’s Lucifer, and he doesn’t come to Sam, he comes for Sam.
Lucifer is grateful. Lucifer is sympathetic. Lucifer says, I’m so sorry, Sam.
Sam wakes up and for the first time feels like he can’t do this anymore. So he does the only thing he can think of and calls his brother, the only person he can always count on, not matter what.
-
“Pick a hemisphere,” Dean said. And, “We’re not stronger together, we’re weaker.” And, “Goodbye, Sam.”
Lucifer’s vessel, huh. Truth be told, after everything they had been through, everything that Sam had done, Dean had a hard time to care.
There were implications in this new reveal that were important, and possibly apocalyptically bad. But right now, Dean didn’t have it in him to think about them. He had enough to deal with already. The entire world waited for him to save it and he had his brother to thank for that. Lucifer was just another problem on top of a big pile of problems.
Most of all, he was Sam’s problem. And Sam’s problems were not Dean’s problems. Not anymore.
-
Sam drives on for another mile, going far too fast towards no destination, before he has to pull over and stop. He falls out of the car half-blind, and then he’s retching, for what feels like hours, until there’s nothing left but the taste of blood on his tongue.
The lights of the old car he stole go out when the battery dies. Sam doesn’t care, has no strength to move and no reason to try.
It is long after sunrise that someone stops beside his car and then there are hurried voices and eventually hands that touch him and carry him away. Sam wants to laugh, tell them they needn’t bother. The devil is taking care of him now. For the first ever his life, at least, is truly safe.
For the first time ever, there is no hope at all.
He doesn’t try to tell them. He just lets go and falls though the welcoming darkness that is vast and lonely and contains only him.
October 22, 2010
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1934
Warnings: rape (implied)
Spoilers: Set during 5.03 and 5.04.
Summary: They separated, and Sam's problems are not Dean's problems anymore.
Note: Written for this prompt at one of the older comment-fic memes.
Dean hated hospitals. People died there. People he loved died there. He had faced his own death in halls like this, and under the smell of chemicals and linoleum he made out the lingering stink of sickness and suffering. He didn’t want to be here. Why did he have to be in this place? It had nothing to offer him. Nothing he wanted to see.
He didn’t want to see his brother, pale and still on a hospital bed, breathing through a tube down his throat, completely unaware of his presence. Not knowing Dean had come for him and therefore all alone.
He didn’t want to listen to a doctor telling him what was wrong with Sam.
(I didn’t know Keith had a brother, the doctor told him. There was nothing about siblings in his papers.
Yeah, well, we were adopted. Not really related, you know. But enough for me to be here.)
He didn’t want to know about this. He wanted to punch the doctor to make him stop speaking about tests and counselling, and then tell Cas to take him away from here and erase his memories and make that this had never happened.
But the doctor continued speaking and it had happened, and Sam, Sammy, was here because of it, so here Dean would remain.
He hated hospitals.
-
The driver’s eyes turn black and Sam should have known. He should have known, he should have known, he should have known. Should have checked, said Chriso a few times just to make sure, not just blindly gotten into the first car that stopped to take him further away from his brother and the way he looked at him, and Yeah, I don’t trust you either.
Getting killed in a lame, ancient car and dumped somewhere by the side of the road is the price to pay for his stupidity and he probably deserves it and everything that comes after. He tries to fight, but the moment he sees the back eyes his head is already getting slammed into the window and his strength flows from his limps like water from a broken cup. The inhumanly strong fingers around his throat keep in the words of Latin cramped on his tongue and the knife his fingers fumble for isn’t there. Can’t have you keep that, Dean’s eyes told him. Can’t let you run around with a blame meant to draw blood from demons. Now a demon is going to draw blood from him and he is aware if the irony that after everything he is going to die like this, so random and useless, but he supposes he deserves that too.
Still he fights; kicks and punches weakly, and reaches with his mind for a power that slips away from him whenever he tries to grasp it, like the black smoke curled around the driver’s soul.
If only he could make the demon bleed, if only he could get a single drop -
No, he thinks.
This is what Dean is waiting for.
I’ll rather die.
The demon laughs as the door opens and Sam is pushed out before the car has come to a stop. For a moment it is all asphalt and pain and then boots and taunting words as the demon drags him off the road and does what he came for.
By the time he is done night has fallen, and it is raining. The demon gets back in his car and drives off and Sam is left by the side of the road, bleeding and still alive and wishing he wasn’t.
-
It had been two days, and Dean’s irritation gradually turned to anger. He knew he had hurt Sam by turning him away - Hell, that had been kinda the point! - but they were hunters, and one of the first rules in their profession and their family was never to ignore calls. Especially now that Sam could easily assume Dean wouldn’t call him if it wasn’t important.
Even when he was younger, even during his worst fights with their father, Sam had never violated that rule. And now he wasn’t picking up his damn phone. And apparently he didn’t listen to his voice mail either.
It was damn irresponsible and childish. It also wasn’t like Sam at all. And Dean was angry because being angry was so much easier than being worried.
He was still angry when Castiel appeared in the motel room of the night and said, “I found your brother.”
“Did you find his cell phone too? He seems to have lost it.” The relief Dean felt only fuelled his anger now he no longer had to feel guilty for it. “Why didn’t you bring him?”
“Sam is in poor condition. I found him under a fake name in a hospital in Oklahoma.” Castiel explained, raising a hand to Dean’s forehead. “I will take you there.”
-
Sam will never understand why the demon left him his bag, but he takes the small mercy of clothes that are not torn and soiled, and fake identities, and a gun to hold on to. He leaves what if left of his shirt and pants where it happened and walks the short distance to the next motel. Every step hurts, every breath hurts, but he doesn’t try to catch another ride.
He spends a day in the motel before he has to move on despite the pain that comes with every movement. He cannot stand this place. He cannot stand to lie around and only think.
When he gets the next ride, he throws in as many Christos as he possibly can without seeming vaguely psychotic into the first conversation and the beer he shares with his driver contains more holy water than alcohol. Nothing happens, yet he is glad when the man drops him off at a motel in Garber, Oklahoma, and drives on.
Sam is going to stick with his decision. He’ll stay away from hunting and demons and temptation, and what happened to him isn’t important at all. So he burns his IDs expect the one he used for check-in. He covers the bruises on his face as best he can and gets a job in a bar, and every now and then he sits in front of the toilet and tries not to throw up as waves of pain run though his body. When they subside, he gets back to work. He can’t eat, but that’s okay. He isn’t hungry anyway.
Most of the time, he doesn’t think of Dean much, and he hardly ever wishes that he wasn’t all on his own.
-
Separating from Sam had been a bad decision. Dean knew that now - and turning Sam away when he wanted to come back had been even worse. Especially since Sam had sounded like he really needed his brother, and who knew what he would do if left to his own devices? (Who knew if he would last for three years, like in the future Zachariah had shown Dean?)
So Dean decided to correct his mistake. Zachariah might have shown him the future to convince him saying Yes was the best possible outcome, but all he had really made Dean see was that he didn’t want to lose himself like that, and he sure as hell didn’t want to lose his brother.
And then his brother had the nerve not to accept his call. Dean felt slightly irritated. It wasn’t often he admitted to having been wrong, and even less often that he was willing to choke out an apology, and here Sam was totally ruining the moment.
Admittedly, it was late at night. Perhaps Sam simple slept through the ringing of the phone, rare as that would be. Thinking back, he hadn’t sounded all that fit during their last conversation.
Dean would try again in the morning, but with far less remorse to offer.
-
Lindsey is nice and smart. Sam likes her, but he can’t get involved and that means if he lets her come too close he’ll have to hurt her. He doesn’t want that, but he also doesn’t know how to keep her away because she keeps pushing and he can’t think for all the pain in his head and his insides and his pathetic reactions to being touched. Somehow they end up having dinner. Sam ends up spending an hour throwing up all over his motel room and then another hour cleaning it all up. He dreams of Jess that night and that hurts even worse than breathing.
Lindsey is nice and smart, but she can’t understand what she got into when she dared to speak to him. Sam can’t blame her for the fear she tries to hide every time she looks at him after his father’s old friends are gone. It’s better this way. She’ll stop trying now. They did him a favour.
Except fighting with hunters when outnumbered is not a good idea at the best of times. Now Sam can’t walk straight for the pain running through his body. He barely makes it to the motel, doubles over the moment the door closes behind him.
The room offers little protection. They could come for him again, kill him in his sleep, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to rest.
Jess comes to him again that night, chases away random, unimportant dreams of black eyes and the mud at the side of the road. Only it isn’t Jess, it’s Lucifer, and he doesn’t come to Sam, he comes for Sam.
Lucifer is grateful. Lucifer is sympathetic. Lucifer says, I’m so sorry, Sam.
Sam wakes up and for the first time feels like he can’t do this anymore. So he does the only thing he can think of and calls his brother, the only person he can always count on, not matter what.
-
“Pick a hemisphere,” Dean said. And, “We’re not stronger together, we’re weaker.” And, “Goodbye, Sam.”
Lucifer’s vessel, huh. Truth be told, after everything they had been through, everything that Sam had done, Dean had a hard time to care.
There were implications in this new reveal that were important, and possibly apocalyptically bad. But right now, Dean didn’t have it in him to think about them. He had enough to deal with already. The entire world waited for him to save it and he had his brother to thank for that. Lucifer was just another problem on top of a big pile of problems.
Most of all, he was Sam’s problem. And Sam’s problems were not Dean’s problems. Not anymore.
-
Sam drives on for another mile, going far too fast towards no destination, before he has to pull over and stop. He falls out of the car half-blind, and then he’s retching, for what feels like hours, until there’s nothing left but the taste of blood on his tongue.
The lights of the old car he stole go out when the battery dies. Sam doesn’t care, has no strength to move and no reason to try.
It is long after sunrise that someone stops beside his car and then there are hurried voices and eventually hands that touch him and carry him away. Sam wants to laugh, tell them they needn’t bother. The devil is taking care of him now. For the first ever his life, at least, is truly safe.
For the first time ever, there is no hope at all.
He doesn’t try to tell them. He just lets go and falls though the welcoming darkness that is vast and lonely and contains only him.
October 22, 2010