when i come home and right my wrongs (proverbs, pg-13)
title: when i come home and right my wrongs
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
characters: Sam, Dean, John
rating: pg-13
word count: 1,752
notes: another piece of Proverbs - in which Sam decides it’s time for a change and there is lots of requisite pre-series angst. for the 2008 flying_leap challenge. I’ll admit the ‘flight’ is more metaphoric…so you might have to squint for it. lyrics are my prompt & from a damn good song to boot.
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
bend the metal
my glory box has failed
we're rocking in our reclining chairs
drive away that car
that brought us all this harm
those are the pieces of my story line
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
truly stressing realization
I wish I was an astronaut
- at the drive-in, "hourglass"
The three of them are in upstate New York, after something that's been tearing up joggers and anyone else unfortunate enough to walk by while the thing's hungry. John figures it's a harpy though it's unusual for there to be only one; harpies like to rook together, hiding in the flickering shadows of the treetops.
Sam goes to the library, digs up maps of the surrounding land. He drags Dean along to keep his brother out of trouble as their dad decided not to enroll Dean in school. They'll only be here a week or two at the most and summer's nearly on them.
"He isn't missing much," John says. "Come fall I'll send him out to Jim's maybe. Let him get a full year under his belt."
Sam bites his lip. Fall. He's put off college for almost two years now. The more he thinks about it, the more he can’t stand the thought of another year like this. While Dean seems to love the endless loop of road, the only thing Sam feels is weighted down. Every mile is another stone around his neck, and all he wants is the chance to throw off that weight and get away.
He'll call Pastor Jim in a day or two, have the man talk to his dad about making the plans for Dean definite. The application for Stanford he’s been hiding is burning a hole in his duffel bag, but he'll hold off on it a little longer. Just until he can make sure Dean's going to be safe in Blue Earth come time for school to start.
Dean's been bouncing off the walls for hours. Almost literally. Sam shouldn't be surprised. This is the first hunt his brother's been allowed on that's more than a salt and burn or a poltergeist and he's a good hundred and twenty-two pounds of nervous energy. Sam is dangerously close to knocking Dean on his ass; he's never considered his little brother patient, but this is more than he can stand. Dean's taken every gun they own apart seven times and hums Metallica until Sam swears he's going to find those tapes and burn them. Turns out that those are the magic words, as it’s the only threat that shuts Dean up for more than five minutes. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work nearly as long as Sam wants it to.
John comes in from town, freshly stocked up on ammo for the night’s hunt. Sam meets him at the door and practically begs their dad to let him out of the motel.
"He's driving me fucking crazy," Sam complains.
"Mouth," John warns, but a grin twists the corner of his mouth; he claps Sam on the shoulder. "Go ahead and blow off a little steam. I'll take care of your brother. Just be back by five."
Sam doesn't stick around just in case Dean decides to ask where he's going. He'll be back by four. Knows his dad will want to get an early start. And as long as he can get out the motel room, Sam’s more than happy not to argue.
Once they're in the car, Dean is blessedly calmer. John goes through the basics while they're on the road, his rough voice breaking through the quiet of the car. The radio's off for once. Dean's too busy hanging over the back of the seat to care about music; his eyes are glued to their dad, intent on everything John is saying. Sam tilts his head back so he's almost eye to eye with his brother.
"You know, you keep concentrating that hard and you might break something."
Dean flips him off. "Shut up Sammy."
Their dad pulls into a small woody turnoff; no one's going to be able to see the Impala from the road. Sam squints out into the fading light. Dean reaches back and thumps him in the arm.
“Scared of the big bad woods Samantha?”
Before Sam can give his little brother a good tap ‘side the head, he catches their father’s eyes in the rear view mirror. He drops his hand. The door hinges creak when John gets out of the car.
"Come on boys, time to go."
They hike through the brush for a few hundred yards. When the three of them split up, Dean automatically pairs off with Sam, but their dad puts a hand on Dean's shoulder.
"You're with me buddy."
Sam refuses to be jealous of the way Dean's eyes light up when John calls him 'buddy.' But he feels a small flare of satisfaction when Dean looks back, like he's asking for permission.
"Go ahead dude," Sam says. "I can handle a few crazy birds."
He watches his brother and father disappear into the trees and wishes it didn't feel like he's swallowed a pound of lead.
Sam makes his way through the undergrowth, careful to make as little noise as possible. He hasn’t seen any sign of a harpy, or anything else for that matter. Doesn’t mean one of the things isn’t waiting to take his head off in the next two minutes.
He stops short when he hears the blast of a shotgun. Followed by two more rounds. Dean. Sam abandons trying to be quiet for speed. He heads in the direction of the Impala because whatever’s going on, that’s where Dad told Dean to go if something did happen. Sam’s hoping that all he’ll see is the other two coming out of the woods. His dad will have that grim smile that means the job is done and they can go home.
Sam's already to the car when their dad runs up, Dean in his arms. John throws the keys to him. Yells, "Get the door open. Now Sam!"
The door doesn’t want to unlock. Sam twists the key savagely, curses until he realises he’s turning it the wrong way. He wrenches the door open, finally, and his dad motions for him to get in the back. Sam finds himself with an armful of Dean. His brother is covered in blood and groans when their dad slams the door behind him. Sam closes his eyes.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go at all.
He clamps his hand down hard against Dean's stomach, blood slick between his fingers. Dean moans softly and clutches at his shirt, but Sam can't afford to let up on the pressure. It only gets worse when Dean leans into Sam's chest, breath hitching. That, more than anything, is what freaks Sam out the most.
Once Dean hit puberty all forms of physical contact lasting longer than three seconds were off limits. Well, outside of sparring and the occasional fist fight. Longer than that and Dean starts mouthing off about a 'chick flick moment.' God only knows where he came up with that, but Sam figures Dean would definitely consider being held in his older brother's lap as one. Sam would give anything for his brother to push him away and tell him, 'God Sammy, quit being such a girl.'
But Dean doesn't.
The Impala takes the next curve at twenty miles faster than the posted limit. The tires squeal; Sam tilts sideways into the door. Dean slides with him, though Sam tries to keep his brother as still as he can. He flinches at the strangled noise Dean makes when he shifts, trying to get a better grip. Sam can feel Dean's fingers digging into his side.
"Shhh," he whispers. "I got you." He wraps his free hand tighter around Dean's shoulders.
Their father meets Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "S'alright, son. We're almost there," John says.
Sam grits his teeth. His baby brother is bleeding to death in his lap - Dean, who Sam is supposed to take care of. Who isn't even sixteen fucking years old yet. None of this is alright.
The hospital is too bright. Too loud. His dad almost puts the Impala through the door to the emergency room. Sam's pretty sure they're leaving about an inch of rubber on the concrete. Two ambulances pull up behind them, sirens screaming.
Sam struggles out of the back seat with Dean in his arms. He gets just inside the automatic doors and suddenly there's people swarming all over him. Someone takes Dean from him and lays his brother out on a stretcher. There are hands poking and prodding at him, but Sam bats them away.
"I'm fine. We're fine. It's my little brother."
He watches Dean disappear in a flurry of green scrubs and white coats, along with a woman and a little kid from the ambulances. His dad stands beside him, silent. Sam's always hated hospitals. His dad touches his shoulder. Sam shrugs him off. He really wants to be left alone right now.
He runs his fingers through his hair; his bangs are matted with sweat and dirt. One of the passing nurses looks his way and grimaces, it's only then Sam remembers that he has Dean's blood all over his hands. His clothes. And now his face. He can't get to the bathroom fast enough.
It's hours later when Sam eases himself into the chair beside his brother's bed. Dean's eyes flutter open.
"Sammy?"
"Hey."
Dean's fingers twist in the sheet. His hand twitches, relaxes, reaches out. Sam slides the chair closer. His brother’s skin is warm against his and mercifully clean; that’s good because Sam doesn’t think he can take the sight of any more of Dean’s blood tonight.
"We get 'em?" Dean asks.
"Yeah." Sam tastes bile at the back of his throat. He feels the familiar anger at his father, at this life, flare up and threaten to choke him. "Yeah Dean, we got them."
His brother smiles, eyes already slipping closed again. "'s good. Tell Dad 'm sorry for messin' up."
"Wasn't your fault."
Dean mumbles a sleepy ‘uh huh’ and Sam slips his hand out of his brother’s. He gets up and goes out into the hall. Their father is nowhere to be seen. Sam isn’t surprised. Though that’s a good thing, because right now he would like nothing better than to hurt his dad. With fists or words, it doesn’t matter. Sam just wants to make him bleed.
There’s a pay phone in the waiting room. Sam makes a collect call to Pastor Jim, clutches the phone until his knuckles go white. On the other end, he hears Jim’s “Hello? Sam?”
Sam takes a deep breath. He isn’t going to wait any more.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
characters: Sam, Dean, John
rating: pg-13
word count: 1,752
notes: another piece of Proverbs - in which Sam decides it’s time for a change and there is lots of requisite pre-series angst. for the 2008 flying_leap challenge. I’ll admit the ‘flight’ is more metaphoric…so you might have to squint for it. lyrics are my prompt & from a damn good song to boot.
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
bend the metal
my glory box has failed
we're rocking in our reclining chairs
drive away that car
that brought us all this harm
those are the pieces of my story line
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
I'm all alone so far up here
and my oxygen's all gone
truly stressing realization
I wish I was an astronaut
- at the drive-in, "hourglass"
The three of them are in upstate New York, after something that's been tearing up joggers and anyone else unfortunate enough to walk by while the thing's hungry. John figures it's a harpy though it's unusual for there to be only one; harpies like to rook together, hiding in the flickering shadows of the treetops.
Sam goes to the library, digs up maps of the surrounding land. He drags Dean along to keep his brother out of trouble as their dad decided not to enroll Dean in school. They'll only be here a week or two at the most and summer's nearly on them.
"He isn't missing much," John says. "Come fall I'll send him out to Jim's maybe. Let him get a full year under his belt."
Sam bites his lip. Fall. He's put off college for almost two years now. The more he thinks about it, the more he can’t stand the thought of another year like this. While Dean seems to love the endless loop of road, the only thing Sam feels is weighted down. Every mile is another stone around his neck, and all he wants is the chance to throw off that weight and get away.
He'll call Pastor Jim in a day or two, have the man talk to his dad about making the plans for Dean definite. The application for Stanford he’s been hiding is burning a hole in his duffel bag, but he'll hold off on it a little longer. Just until he can make sure Dean's going to be safe in Blue Earth come time for school to start.
Dean's been bouncing off the walls for hours. Almost literally. Sam shouldn't be surprised. This is the first hunt his brother's been allowed on that's more than a salt and burn or a poltergeist and he's a good hundred and twenty-two pounds of nervous energy. Sam is dangerously close to knocking Dean on his ass; he's never considered his little brother patient, but this is more than he can stand. Dean's taken every gun they own apart seven times and hums Metallica until Sam swears he's going to find those tapes and burn them. Turns out that those are the magic words, as it’s the only threat that shuts Dean up for more than five minutes. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work nearly as long as Sam wants it to.
John comes in from town, freshly stocked up on ammo for the night’s hunt. Sam meets him at the door and practically begs their dad to let him out of the motel.
"He's driving me fucking crazy," Sam complains.
"Mouth," John warns, but a grin twists the corner of his mouth; he claps Sam on the shoulder. "Go ahead and blow off a little steam. I'll take care of your brother. Just be back by five."
Sam doesn't stick around just in case Dean decides to ask where he's going. He'll be back by four. Knows his dad will want to get an early start. And as long as he can get out the motel room, Sam’s more than happy not to argue.
Once they're in the car, Dean is blessedly calmer. John goes through the basics while they're on the road, his rough voice breaking through the quiet of the car. The radio's off for once. Dean's too busy hanging over the back of the seat to care about music; his eyes are glued to their dad, intent on everything John is saying. Sam tilts his head back so he's almost eye to eye with his brother.
"You know, you keep concentrating that hard and you might break something."
Dean flips him off. "Shut up Sammy."
Their dad pulls into a small woody turnoff; no one's going to be able to see the Impala from the road. Sam squints out into the fading light. Dean reaches back and thumps him in the arm.
“Scared of the big bad woods Samantha?”
Before Sam can give his little brother a good tap ‘side the head, he catches their father’s eyes in the rear view mirror. He drops his hand. The door hinges creak when John gets out of the car.
"Come on boys, time to go."
They hike through the brush for a few hundred yards. When the three of them split up, Dean automatically pairs off with Sam, but their dad puts a hand on Dean's shoulder.
"You're with me buddy."
Sam refuses to be jealous of the way Dean's eyes light up when John calls him 'buddy.' But he feels a small flare of satisfaction when Dean looks back, like he's asking for permission.
"Go ahead dude," Sam says. "I can handle a few crazy birds."
He watches his brother and father disappear into the trees and wishes it didn't feel like he's swallowed a pound of lead.
Sam makes his way through the undergrowth, careful to make as little noise as possible. He hasn’t seen any sign of a harpy, or anything else for that matter. Doesn’t mean one of the things isn’t waiting to take his head off in the next two minutes.
He stops short when he hears the blast of a shotgun. Followed by two more rounds. Dean. Sam abandons trying to be quiet for speed. He heads in the direction of the Impala because whatever’s going on, that’s where Dad told Dean to go if something did happen. Sam’s hoping that all he’ll see is the other two coming out of the woods. His dad will have that grim smile that means the job is done and they can go home.
Sam's already to the car when their dad runs up, Dean in his arms. John throws the keys to him. Yells, "Get the door open. Now Sam!"
The door doesn’t want to unlock. Sam twists the key savagely, curses until he realises he’s turning it the wrong way. He wrenches the door open, finally, and his dad motions for him to get in the back. Sam finds himself with an armful of Dean. His brother is covered in blood and groans when their dad slams the door behind him. Sam closes his eyes.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go at all.
He clamps his hand down hard against Dean's stomach, blood slick between his fingers. Dean moans softly and clutches at his shirt, but Sam can't afford to let up on the pressure. It only gets worse when Dean leans into Sam's chest, breath hitching. That, more than anything, is what freaks Sam out the most.
Once Dean hit puberty all forms of physical contact lasting longer than three seconds were off limits. Well, outside of sparring and the occasional fist fight. Longer than that and Dean starts mouthing off about a 'chick flick moment.' God only knows where he came up with that, but Sam figures Dean would definitely consider being held in his older brother's lap as one. Sam would give anything for his brother to push him away and tell him, 'God Sammy, quit being such a girl.'
But Dean doesn't.
The Impala takes the next curve at twenty miles faster than the posted limit. The tires squeal; Sam tilts sideways into the door. Dean slides with him, though Sam tries to keep his brother as still as he can. He flinches at the strangled noise Dean makes when he shifts, trying to get a better grip. Sam can feel Dean's fingers digging into his side.
"Shhh," he whispers. "I got you." He wraps his free hand tighter around Dean's shoulders.
Their father meets Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "S'alright, son. We're almost there," John says.
Sam grits his teeth. His baby brother is bleeding to death in his lap - Dean, who Sam is supposed to take care of. Who isn't even sixteen fucking years old yet. None of this is alright.
The hospital is too bright. Too loud. His dad almost puts the Impala through the door to the emergency room. Sam's pretty sure they're leaving about an inch of rubber on the concrete. Two ambulances pull up behind them, sirens screaming.
Sam struggles out of the back seat with Dean in his arms. He gets just inside the automatic doors and suddenly there's people swarming all over him. Someone takes Dean from him and lays his brother out on a stretcher. There are hands poking and prodding at him, but Sam bats them away.
"I'm fine. We're fine. It's my little brother."
He watches Dean disappear in a flurry of green scrubs and white coats, along with a woman and a little kid from the ambulances. His dad stands beside him, silent. Sam's always hated hospitals. His dad touches his shoulder. Sam shrugs him off. He really wants to be left alone right now.
He runs his fingers through his hair; his bangs are matted with sweat and dirt. One of the passing nurses looks his way and grimaces, it's only then Sam remembers that he has Dean's blood all over his hands. His clothes. And now his face. He can't get to the bathroom fast enough.
It's hours later when Sam eases himself into the chair beside his brother's bed. Dean's eyes flutter open.
"Sammy?"
"Hey."
Dean's fingers twist in the sheet. His hand twitches, relaxes, reaches out. Sam slides the chair closer. His brother’s skin is warm against his and mercifully clean; that’s good because Sam doesn’t think he can take the sight of any more of Dean’s blood tonight.
"We get 'em?" Dean asks.
"Yeah." Sam tastes bile at the back of his throat. He feels the familiar anger at his father, at this life, flare up and threaten to choke him. "Yeah Dean, we got them."
His brother smiles, eyes already slipping closed again. "'s good. Tell Dad 'm sorry for messin' up."
"Wasn't your fault."
Dean mumbles a sleepy ‘uh huh’ and Sam slips his hand out of his brother’s. He gets up and goes out into the hall. Their father is nowhere to be seen. Sam isn’t surprised. Though that’s a good thing, because right now he would like nothing better than to hurt his dad. With fists or words, it doesn’t matter. Sam just wants to make him bleed.
There’s a pay phone in the waiting room. Sam makes a collect call to Pastor Jim, clutches the phone until his knuckles go white. On the other end, he hears Jim’s “Hello? Sam?”
Sam takes a deep breath. He isn’t going to wait any more.
- end