Small Crimes, for prufrock_26
Title: Small crimes
Author: lyryk
Recipient: prufrock_26
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1,100
Warnings: Show-level violence
Author's Notes: Many thanks to A for the beta.
Summary: For the prompt Outside POV: a stranger mistakes Sam for an addict or Dean for a veteran (or both).
Toni’s been watching him for a while now. He’s come into the bar a few times: tall, thirtyish, hair that would look at home in a shampoo commercial. Well-built, too, although the gauntness of his face and the smudges under his eyes suggest lack of energy, a tiredness that goes beyond missing a few nights’ worth of sound sleep. She might’ve thought he was a veteran, except for the way he keeps clenching one of his hands and glancing toward the bar. Looking through both her and the pretty bartender next to her at the bottles on the shelf behind them. An addict, then. Perhaps an ex-addict. Toni’s isn’t the only bar in Lebanon, but it must be close to home, both for him and for the other man who sometimes accompanies him.
Right on cue, the Veteran shows up. There’s something about the older man-older than the Addict, but still decades younger than Toni herself-that Toni can’t quite put her finger on. He drinks with ease, but he’s not an addict. She can tell by the steady hand that curls around his glass, the intent gaze that sweeps the room every few minutes, belying the languid way in which he’s settled into his chair. Always watchful, always watching the younger man seated across the round table from him when he’s not looking around for invisible trouble.
He reminds her of the old days, this one. The days when Toni was a kid, pigtailed and runny-nosed, not yet parentless, watching the creaking see-saws in the playground. Those were the days when children like her weren’t allowed in the park with the white kids. The world has changed but the see-saws still creak in the evenings, and then the children go home, multi-colored, happily exhausted.
She doesn’t know what it is about the Veteran that reminds her of those days. Maybe it’s the shadows she sees inside his eyes, like Pa’d had in the days after the war. He’d never stopped carrying his gun until the day he died, shot by robbers in this very bar while they were closing up shop at the end of the night. Maybe they wouldn’t have shot him if he hadn’t tried to get to his gun. She’d learned then that guns don’t protect.
“Earth to Sam,” the Veteran says, breaking Toni’s train of thought. He waves a hand in a bid for attention. “You with me?”
“Yeah, Dean.” The Addict lifts a hand to bat Dean’s away from his face. “Quit it.”
“Then listen to me for one goddamn minute.”
They’re haunted, these two. Toni’s seen that look all too often. It’s on them both. The one that says that no matter what crimes others have inflicted on them, the crimes they’ve inflicted on themselves are the worst. The one that says they’re emptying themselves faster than they can refuel, losing years, letting them get replaced with silences and empty gestures. She senses the walls between them, as solid as if they were made of brick and mortar.
“They don’t even know, Dean,” Sam says. “Where do we even start?”
“You forgetting the basics, Sammy? You want out that bad?”
“Is this what I came down here for? You wanted to tear me down, you could’ve done that at home.” There’s no anger in the boy’s tone. He sounds like he’s used to everyday hurt, ordinary injustices inflicted on him.
“I didn’t ask you for your help with the job, Sam.”
“Like I had any choice.”
“You want to get out of the life, you go. Don’t you pin this on me, Sam.”
“Pin what on you, exactly? The fact that you make me miserable? That you won’t stop shoving my mistakes in my face every chance you can get?”
Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t believe we’re back to this.”
Sam lets out an ugly laugh. “We never left, Dean. We’ve always been here.”
Dean takes a long swig from his bottle before he answers. “Why don’t you leave, then?”
It’s a long while before Sam answers. Dean watches him, patient, unsmiling but not frowning either. The bar is silent-it has been for a while now-and Vicky nudges Toni with an elbow. “Ten bucks says that’s a lovers’ quarrel.”
Toni doesn’t think so, but in her day, two men having a drink in public together were never more than friends or colleagues, perhaps brothers. She’s distracted when Sam speaks again. “You’d be alone.”
“Aww, Sammy. Color me touched.”
“Shut up, jerk. You’re always such a jerk.”
“And you’re always a little bitch. Nothing’s changed.”
Sam, to Toni’s surprise, smiles a little, as if some unseen balance has been momentarily restored. “Can we finish the job, please?”
Toni’s not exactly surprised when they burn down the bar. First they throw salt all over the place like they own it, the little shits. Ma always said it was the lookers you could never trust.
“I’m sorry,” the Addict says, catching her eye as he flicks open a lighter. “This is my job.”
Toni shrugs. Vicky’s shouting, struggling to pick up the receiver on the old phone in the corner, her fingers going right through it. Toni realizes with mild astonishment that they haven’t used the phone in years. Decades, even. It’s been just her and Vicky for so long. Vicky with her constantly popping bubblegum and her yellow bouncing ponytail. She’d been the first to get shot, even before Pa. They’d shot her in the back as she’d made a run for the door. Toni had been the last. Pa hadn’t stuck around, maybe because he’d spoken so often about seeing Ma again after that winter they’d lost her. Since the night of the shooting it’s been just her and Vicky, tending the empty bar while their skeletons rest under the floorboards.
“We’re not hurting anyone,” Toni says. Speaking for herself, she’s more than ready to move on. Vicky’ll have a hard time adjusting though, wherever they’re going. She still hasn’t figured it out, thinks they’re being killed now, so many years after they died.
“I’m sorry,” the Addict says again.
Toni ignores him this time. He may not be as hard-faced as the Veteran-she’s forgotten their names already, but it’s not like they ever mattered-but he shares the same instinct to kill, she can tell, like they were both born to demolish things together. She puts her arm around Vicky and they sink to the floor, clutching each other.
“It’s all right,” Toni says as the flames start eating into the floor. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
~end
Author: lyryk
Recipient: prufrock_26
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1,100
Warnings: Show-level violence
Author's Notes: Many thanks to A for the beta.
Summary: For the prompt Outside POV: a stranger mistakes Sam for an addict or Dean for a veteran (or both).
Toni’s been watching him for a while now. He’s come into the bar a few times: tall, thirtyish, hair that would look at home in a shampoo commercial. Well-built, too, although the gauntness of his face and the smudges under his eyes suggest lack of energy, a tiredness that goes beyond missing a few nights’ worth of sound sleep. She might’ve thought he was a veteran, except for the way he keeps clenching one of his hands and glancing toward the bar. Looking through both her and the pretty bartender next to her at the bottles on the shelf behind them. An addict, then. Perhaps an ex-addict. Toni’s isn’t the only bar in Lebanon, but it must be close to home, both for him and for the other man who sometimes accompanies him.
Right on cue, the Veteran shows up. There’s something about the older man-older than the Addict, but still decades younger than Toni herself-that Toni can’t quite put her finger on. He drinks with ease, but he’s not an addict. She can tell by the steady hand that curls around his glass, the intent gaze that sweeps the room every few minutes, belying the languid way in which he’s settled into his chair. Always watchful, always watching the younger man seated across the round table from him when he’s not looking around for invisible trouble.
He reminds her of the old days, this one. The days when Toni was a kid, pigtailed and runny-nosed, not yet parentless, watching the creaking see-saws in the playground. Those were the days when children like her weren’t allowed in the park with the white kids. The world has changed but the see-saws still creak in the evenings, and then the children go home, multi-colored, happily exhausted.
She doesn’t know what it is about the Veteran that reminds her of those days. Maybe it’s the shadows she sees inside his eyes, like Pa’d had in the days after the war. He’d never stopped carrying his gun until the day he died, shot by robbers in this very bar while they were closing up shop at the end of the night. Maybe they wouldn’t have shot him if he hadn’t tried to get to his gun. She’d learned then that guns don’t protect.
“Earth to Sam,” the Veteran says, breaking Toni’s train of thought. He waves a hand in a bid for attention. “You with me?”
“Yeah, Dean.” The Addict lifts a hand to bat Dean’s away from his face. “Quit it.”
“Then listen to me for one goddamn minute.”
They’re haunted, these two. Toni’s seen that look all too often. It’s on them both. The one that says that no matter what crimes others have inflicted on them, the crimes they’ve inflicted on themselves are the worst. The one that says they’re emptying themselves faster than they can refuel, losing years, letting them get replaced with silences and empty gestures. She senses the walls between them, as solid as if they were made of brick and mortar.
“They don’t even know, Dean,” Sam says. “Where do we even start?”
“You forgetting the basics, Sammy? You want out that bad?”
“Is this what I came down here for? You wanted to tear me down, you could’ve done that at home.” There’s no anger in the boy’s tone. He sounds like he’s used to everyday hurt, ordinary injustices inflicted on him.
“I didn’t ask you for your help with the job, Sam.”
“Like I had any choice.”
“You want to get out of the life, you go. Don’t you pin this on me, Sam.”
“Pin what on you, exactly? The fact that you make me miserable? That you won’t stop shoving my mistakes in my face every chance you can get?”
Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t believe we’re back to this.”
Sam lets out an ugly laugh. “We never left, Dean. We’ve always been here.”
Dean takes a long swig from his bottle before he answers. “Why don’t you leave, then?”
It’s a long while before Sam answers. Dean watches him, patient, unsmiling but not frowning either. The bar is silent-it has been for a while now-and Vicky nudges Toni with an elbow. “Ten bucks says that’s a lovers’ quarrel.”
Toni doesn’t think so, but in her day, two men having a drink in public together were never more than friends or colleagues, perhaps brothers. She’s distracted when Sam speaks again. “You’d be alone.”
“Aww, Sammy. Color me touched.”
“Shut up, jerk. You’re always such a jerk.”
“And you’re always a little bitch. Nothing’s changed.”
Sam, to Toni’s surprise, smiles a little, as if some unseen balance has been momentarily restored. “Can we finish the job, please?”
Toni’s not exactly surprised when they burn down the bar. First they throw salt all over the place like they own it, the little shits. Ma always said it was the lookers you could never trust.
“I’m sorry,” the Addict says, catching her eye as he flicks open a lighter. “This is my job.”
Toni shrugs. Vicky’s shouting, struggling to pick up the receiver on the old phone in the corner, her fingers going right through it. Toni realizes with mild astonishment that they haven’t used the phone in years. Decades, even. It’s been just her and Vicky for so long. Vicky with her constantly popping bubblegum and her yellow bouncing ponytail. She’d been the first to get shot, even before Pa. They’d shot her in the back as she’d made a run for the door. Toni had been the last. Pa hadn’t stuck around, maybe because he’d spoken so often about seeing Ma again after that winter they’d lost her. Since the night of the shooting it’s been just her and Vicky, tending the empty bar while their skeletons rest under the floorboards.
“We’re not hurting anyone,” Toni says. Speaking for herself, she’s more than ready to move on. Vicky’ll have a hard time adjusting though, wherever they’re going. She still hasn’t figured it out, thinks they’re being killed now, so many years after they died.
“I’m sorry,” the Addict says again.
Toni ignores him this time. He may not be as hard-faced as the Veteran-she’s forgotten their names already, but it’s not like they ever mattered-but he shares the same instinct to kill, she can tell, like they were both born to demolish things together. She puts her arm around Vicky and they sink to the floor, clutching each other.
“It’s all right,” Toni says as the flames start eating into the floor. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
~end