True Blood fic: Broken Magnolia
Title: Broken Magnolia
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: Sometimes, getting what you've always searched for isn't as simple as it sounds.
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Sam Merlotte
Spoilers: Through It Hurts Me Too
Rating: Teen
Word count: 1487
Notes: This is for in_the_blue's writing challenge here (which is still open). Huge thanks are owed to my partner-in-crime alemara for the pre-read, for introducing me to True Blood in the first place, and for being Sookie to my Sam at ididwhatwithwho.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Sam and his messed-up life belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball, and HBO. No harm or infringement is intended and no money is being made!
You're a damn fool, Sam Merlotte.
The lights of Magnolia fade into the distance in his rear-vision mirror as the road rolls deceptively westward for a few miles. The headlights of his old truck catch the last buildings on the very outskirts of town, some sort of industrial manufacturing thing by the look of it, before the highway swings south towards Louisiana. His fingers rap out an idle tattoo, a release, such as it is, for the tension that still hasn't drained from his back, tension that had settled there in the morning's nap in the front seat and stuck there all day, aching between his shoulder blades.
He reaches out, spins the dial on the radio to find something, anything, to break the silence, to make it so it's not just him and his thoughts and the trees flashing silently by, illuminated for brief moments before they're gone, faded into the Arkansas night.
He shouldn't have come; what the hell was he hoping for, some sort of joyous reunion? That he'd walk through their door and find himself miraculously at home, find that place to belong he's been lookin' for ever since the Merlottes packed up and walked out on him nineteen years ago? He snorts at the very thought, shaking his head as he meets his own dark blue eyes in the mirror. He ain't never belonged anywhere, and dreamin' about it like some starry-eyed kid ain't gonna make it happen. He learned a lot of things from his adoptive parents, and that was one of them.
He'd never questioned that they were his family, that's the funny thing. He'd known he was adopted, sure, but that hadn't seemed to matter so much. Not until the first night he shifted, not until he'd found himself running out onto the lawn under the light of the full moon, felt his human form shrinking, his steps faltering, his arms becoming legs and hands becoming paws until he was a dog, sprinting off into the night, terrified as hell and barely able to keep from panicking, running until he was exhausted and only barely finding his way home again.
What he'd needed then was answers, was reassurance. What he'd got was the hardest life lesson of all: trust nobody, not even your family. Fifteen, abandoned, and on his own, he'd had nothing, nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. He'd run, run for years, sometimes settling down for a while before he'd had to run again, living however he could without any thought for the niceties of the law. He ain't proud of those years; he knows now that survival ain't enough without some sense of honor and self-respect.
He'd finally stopped running, settled down in one spot, as much as anyone ever could who'd been through what he had. Found a town where nobody knew his name or his past and set about becoming a fine, upstanding citizen. He'd finally seen his way to doin' somethin' decent with his life. And he hadn't done too damn bad a job of it, if you ask him.
But he'd still never known: who am I? What am I?
Those questions, they've plagued him ever since that night that tore apart everythin' he knew. He'd done what research he could, but he'd had no connections, no leads to start with. And supernatural creatures are, by their nature, secretive. Or were, until the vampires changed all that. It was hard as hell to find out even what to call himself, let alone anythin' else about shifters. All he'd found was that they were out there, that they were different from werewolves, that it ran in families.
And then what could he do? He'd never let anyone close enough to find out his secret, never let anyone mean that much to him. Not until Sookie Stackhouse walked into his bar lookin' for a job and stole away his heart. She was different, too, always an outsider, and he's never told her how much he admired her all this time for at least bein' honest about it, honest in the way he never could be. Hell, it took him completely screwin' up and leavin' himself with no choice but to tell her to work up the courage to admit his own secret to her. And her reaction only proved to him that he'd been right to keep it secret, to lock his true self away from the world that would just be scared of it and pretend to just be the friendly neighborhood barkeeper.
Thank god she forgave him in the end.
She told him once -- not all that long ago, but it seems like an age -- that there was nothing about him not to love, that he needed to learn to let people see who he really is. He'd laughed it off, even though it struck warmth into a heart that's known nothing but rejection.
After all, didn't she reject him for a vampire?
'Sides, he could never let anyone see who he really is when he didn't know the answer himself. He'd figured, maybe, the time had come, when his past had finally found him. Bon Temps has been torn apart because of him, because he brought Maryann down on the town, and he's coward enough that it took him far too long to face the fact that he was gonna have to do something about it.
He'd said pretty words then, standing on Sookie's porch watching her help Maryann's confused victims, said them to her vampire boyfriend Bill Compton, of all people: you suffer more from hidin' somethin' than from facin' it.
But in the end, he couldn't face it. A braver man would have stayed in Bon Temps the last few days, stayed through the cleanup and helped people piece their lives back together. But Maryann had brought it all back to him: the rejection, the shame, the inadequacy, and when she was dealt with, he'd had to know. He'd had to find the answers he's been lookin' for all this time.
Shifting runs in families. He knew that much, for all the good it's done him. He'd showed up at the Merlottes' house, demandin' answers, like answers could erase nineteen years worth of hurt and somehow make it all better. The woman he'd once called his mama had warned him: you don't wanna know them. They're bad people. But he'd gotten his piece of paper, taken from a shaking hand, names and a town written on it in an unsteady script:
Melinda and Joe Lee Mickens
last known in Magnolia, Ark
I'm sorry
It's still there, taped to the dash as the miles roll on away from all his hopes.
All that hope, all that stubborn determination that it had been long enough, that he'd finally find out who he was and where he was from, and what did it get him? Lies and anger and bitterness, a drunkard for a father, a mother with lots of smiles but eyes as hard as stone and as desperate as a hunted animal, and a brother (a brother, he'd never even dreamed of that) so full of hostility he'd almost got him killed.
That's what he's waited for all these years.
He ain't sure if the mocking laughter in his mind is his own or Sue Ann Merlotte's or Maryann's. He reaches out and cranks up the radio a little more, rolls down the window to let the cold night air tangle in his hair. He's gettin' steadily further from the family he'd been waiting for all his life, and he can't get far enough away from them. He got his answers, for what they were worth, but it didn't bring him any closure. The abandonment still stings as much as it ever did, but it's worse now knowin' the life he would have had without it.
No, there's only one place he belongs now, and he knows where it is. The state line rolls by, and he eyes the signs that loom out of the darkness, lookin' for one that tells him how far to Shreveport. Magnolia, Arkansas has no hold on him; ties of blood have a little more, but without realizing it, he'd told Bill Compton something else that night on Sookie's porch, the one thing that really matters in all of this.
The people who matter are the folk in Bon Temps. He's made himself a place among them; he lives and works with them every day, and they're his family, all of them, the petty and small and the noble and heroic, his patrons and his staff and his friends.
He don't need the Mickens family, and he don't need the Merlottes. The sign lit up in his headlights says Shreveport dead ahead and turn for Bon Temps, and as he spins the wheel, Sam knows he's finally headed home.
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: Sometimes, getting what you've always searched for isn't as simple as it sounds.
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Sam Merlotte
Spoilers: Through It Hurts Me Too
Rating: Teen
Word count: 1487
Notes: This is for in_the_blue's writing challenge here (which is still open). Huge thanks are owed to my partner-in-crime alemara for the pre-read, for introducing me to True Blood in the first place, and for being Sookie to my Sam at ididwhatwithwho.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Sam and his messed-up life belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball, and HBO. No harm or infringement is intended and no money is being made!
You're a damn fool, Sam Merlotte.
The lights of Magnolia fade into the distance in his rear-vision mirror as the road rolls deceptively westward for a few miles. The headlights of his old truck catch the last buildings on the very outskirts of town, some sort of industrial manufacturing thing by the look of it, before the highway swings south towards Louisiana. His fingers rap out an idle tattoo, a release, such as it is, for the tension that still hasn't drained from his back, tension that had settled there in the morning's nap in the front seat and stuck there all day, aching between his shoulder blades.
He reaches out, spins the dial on the radio to find something, anything, to break the silence, to make it so it's not just him and his thoughts and the trees flashing silently by, illuminated for brief moments before they're gone, faded into the Arkansas night.
He shouldn't have come; what the hell was he hoping for, some sort of joyous reunion? That he'd walk through their door and find himself miraculously at home, find that place to belong he's been lookin' for ever since the Merlottes packed up and walked out on him nineteen years ago? He snorts at the very thought, shaking his head as he meets his own dark blue eyes in the mirror. He ain't never belonged anywhere, and dreamin' about it like some starry-eyed kid ain't gonna make it happen. He learned a lot of things from his adoptive parents, and that was one of them.
He'd never questioned that they were his family, that's the funny thing. He'd known he was adopted, sure, but that hadn't seemed to matter so much. Not until the first night he shifted, not until he'd found himself running out onto the lawn under the light of the full moon, felt his human form shrinking, his steps faltering, his arms becoming legs and hands becoming paws until he was a dog, sprinting off into the night, terrified as hell and barely able to keep from panicking, running until he was exhausted and only barely finding his way home again.
What he'd needed then was answers, was reassurance. What he'd got was the hardest life lesson of all: trust nobody, not even your family. Fifteen, abandoned, and on his own, he'd had nothing, nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. He'd run, run for years, sometimes settling down for a while before he'd had to run again, living however he could without any thought for the niceties of the law. He ain't proud of those years; he knows now that survival ain't enough without some sense of honor and self-respect.
He'd finally stopped running, settled down in one spot, as much as anyone ever could who'd been through what he had. Found a town where nobody knew his name or his past and set about becoming a fine, upstanding citizen. He'd finally seen his way to doin' somethin' decent with his life. And he hadn't done too damn bad a job of it, if you ask him.
But he'd still never known: who am I? What am I?
Those questions, they've plagued him ever since that night that tore apart everythin' he knew. He'd done what research he could, but he'd had no connections, no leads to start with. And supernatural creatures are, by their nature, secretive. Or were, until the vampires changed all that. It was hard as hell to find out even what to call himself, let alone anythin' else about shifters. All he'd found was that they were out there, that they were different from werewolves, that it ran in families.
And then what could he do? He'd never let anyone close enough to find out his secret, never let anyone mean that much to him. Not until Sookie Stackhouse walked into his bar lookin' for a job and stole away his heart. She was different, too, always an outsider, and he's never told her how much he admired her all this time for at least bein' honest about it, honest in the way he never could be. Hell, it took him completely screwin' up and leavin' himself with no choice but to tell her to work up the courage to admit his own secret to her. And her reaction only proved to him that he'd been right to keep it secret, to lock his true self away from the world that would just be scared of it and pretend to just be the friendly neighborhood barkeeper.
Thank god she forgave him in the end.
She told him once -- not all that long ago, but it seems like an age -- that there was nothing about him not to love, that he needed to learn to let people see who he really is. He'd laughed it off, even though it struck warmth into a heart that's known nothing but rejection.
After all, didn't she reject him for a vampire?
'Sides, he could never let anyone see who he really is when he didn't know the answer himself. He'd figured, maybe, the time had come, when his past had finally found him. Bon Temps has been torn apart because of him, because he brought Maryann down on the town, and he's coward enough that it took him far too long to face the fact that he was gonna have to do something about it.
He'd said pretty words then, standing on Sookie's porch watching her help Maryann's confused victims, said them to her vampire boyfriend Bill Compton, of all people: you suffer more from hidin' somethin' than from facin' it.
But in the end, he couldn't face it. A braver man would have stayed in Bon Temps the last few days, stayed through the cleanup and helped people piece their lives back together. But Maryann had brought it all back to him: the rejection, the shame, the inadequacy, and when she was dealt with, he'd had to know. He'd had to find the answers he's been lookin' for all this time.
Shifting runs in families. He knew that much, for all the good it's done him. He'd showed up at the Merlottes' house, demandin' answers, like answers could erase nineteen years worth of hurt and somehow make it all better. The woman he'd once called his mama had warned him: you don't wanna know them. They're bad people. But he'd gotten his piece of paper, taken from a shaking hand, names and a town written on it in an unsteady script:
Melinda and Joe Lee Mickens
last known in Magnolia, Ark
I'm sorry
It's still there, taped to the dash as the miles roll on away from all his hopes.
All that hope, all that stubborn determination that it had been long enough, that he'd finally find out who he was and where he was from, and what did it get him? Lies and anger and bitterness, a drunkard for a father, a mother with lots of smiles but eyes as hard as stone and as desperate as a hunted animal, and a brother (a brother, he'd never even dreamed of that) so full of hostility he'd almost got him killed.
That's what he's waited for all these years.
He ain't sure if the mocking laughter in his mind is his own or Sue Ann Merlotte's or Maryann's. He reaches out and cranks up the radio a little more, rolls down the window to let the cold night air tangle in his hair. He's gettin' steadily further from the family he'd been waiting for all his life, and he can't get far enough away from them. He got his answers, for what they were worth, but it didn't bring him any closure. The abandonment still stings as much as it ever did, but it's worse now knowin' the life he would have had without it.
No, there's only one place he belongs now, and he knows where it is. The state line rolls by, and he eyes the signs that loom out of the darkness, lookin' for one that tells him how far to Shreveport. Magnolia, Arkansas has no hold on him; ties of blood have a little more, but without realizing it, he'd told Bill Compton something else that night on Sookie's porch, the one thing that really matters in all of this.
The people who matter are the folk in Bon Temps. He's made himself a place among them; he lives and works with them every day, and they're his family, all of them, the petty and small and the noble and heroic, his patrons and his staff and his friends.
He don't need the Mickens family, and he don't need the Merlottes. The sign lit up in his headlights says Shreveport dead ahead and turn for Bon Temps, and as he spins the wheel, Sam knows he's finally headed home.