Ficlet: Awakening
Thus endeth the craziness.
Title: Awakening
Author: astri13
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own anything about SPN.
A/N: ~ 1.000 words, very heavy on the angst
Summary: You can take the boy out of hell but can you take hell out of the boy? (Kripke-d by the Premiere.)
Awakening
Sam watches him, slowly sliding his body down the wall till he comes to sit on the floor. No hasty movements - Sam figured that out the hard way when he had thrown himself at Sam with bared teeth and hands twisted into claws. When the chains had held him back, he had thrown his head back and started howling like an animal that found itself trapped.
The sound had sickened Sam. Just as the sight of the chains sickened him now. After the first…episode Bobby had cautioned but Sam had managed to placate him. They had played that game for a while but in the end even Sam had been forced to admit the chains were a necessary evil.
He cocks his head and tries to find something familiar in the slumped figure at the other side of the room. Trying to find a spark of recognition in the eyes that are trained on him in return. But all he can see is wariness. Sam shifts forward slightly and that wariness turns into a feral gleam, the figure tensing up as if poised to fight. Defeated, Sam sinks back down.
Slow, cautious footsteps coming up the stairs signal Bobby's arrival. He is carrying a tray. Just like Sam, Bobby keeps close to the wall, taking pains to move as carefully and non-threateningly as possible.
When he is near Sam, he crouches down and holds out the tray. On it Sam can see a glass of what appears to be orange juice and a plate with a sandwich.
“Brought you something.”
Sam shakes his head. “M'not hungry.”
Bobby frowns. “It's been two days. You have to be.”
Sighing, Sam closes his eyes. They have played this game as well.
“How is Dean?”
Sam flinches at Bobby's question. For some reason his he can feel his breath quickening and his fingernails start scraping along the wooden boards underneath them.
“He…he is better now. Quieter,” Sam finally forces out.
Bobby snorts. “And a good thing that is. But since you're not hungry, maybe Dean is?”
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. It's all Sam can think just then. Stop-
“Not saying his name doesn't make it any less real,” Bobby says suddenly.
Sam gapes at him. Did he say that out loud without realizing? Did he-
Again, Bobby snorts, apparently reading Sam's thoughts. “Didn't take a genius to pick up on, you never once saying his name since we…found him. It's always just him and he.”
It's true, Sam realizes. He just couldn't bring himself to call that broken half-animal that they picked up in the woods Dean. Dean is a cocky guy in a leather jacket who makes bad jokes, stuffs his mouth with anything edible and flirts with every cocktail waitress in the whole country. Dean is someone who will put himself on the line to save a perfect stranger and who will take it hard when he doesn't manage to. And most importantly of all, Dean is Sam's big brother, the one who teases him and protects him, comforts him and infuriates him and all through loves him unconditionally.
Looking over at the figure they have chained to the wall, Sam shakes his head. Dean is not…that.
He feels guilty at the thought. Ungrateful. Hell fulfilled his fondest wish and gave him his brother back - Sam doesn't even know why - and all he wants to do it file a complaint for sending a broken package.
“Well, I'll leave the food up here in case you - or Dean…” Sam doesn't miss how pointedly Bobby says the name, “…change your mind.”
Once Bobby is gone, Sam resumes his new favourite hobby: staring at the broken shell of what used to be his brother and wishing with all his might that he had beaten that Jake guy to death when he'd first had the chance.
Finally, Dean falls into a restless slumber, his frame wrecked by shivers. He looks so small and helpless now that Sam can't help from crawling towards him, always ready to make a hasty retreat, should Dean awaken and feel threatened by it.
Miraculously, Sam reaches his goal unperturbed and grabs for the blanket Dean tossed away earlier. Gently, Sam spreads it across his brother, the tips of his fingers hovering over his brother's short, spiky hair. Sam wonders why it isn't a wild mane, all things considering but it's the one part of Dean that looks exactly the same. Like before. Sam tries to hold onto that as silly as it may seem.
He knows he is playing with fire but he gingerly lies down next to Dean, trying to enjoy the closeness, Dean would never permit during wakefulness now. It's just been so long, and Sam has missed him so much.
The tears start to fall against his will, blurring Sam's view of his brother. He bites his lip to keep quiet, doing his best to suppress the sobs that want to wring themselves free of his body.
Come on, don't be a girl. Sam can almost hear Dean, his Dean, saying the words in his mind - and a part of him holds his breath in the hopes of hearing them, or a variation thereof, even now. But this Dean just continues to make low, keening noises during his sleep. And Sam's tears only fall harder. He doesn't even try to wipe them away. Why bother? There is no one here to make fun of him for the chick flick moment anyway. He closes his eyes again, hoping to shut out the world and everything in it.
The touch is so gentle at first; Sam doesn't even realize what's happening. But slowly and surely, he can feel it, a hand awkwardly patting his hair, fingers tangling in his hair. Sam gasps, his eyes flying open, his heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of him. Dean is looking confused now, unsure but his hand keeps up the stroking motion on Sam's head. Clumsily trying to comfort his crying, little brother like he had done when they were much younger.
Sam smiles. Yeah, Dean is definitely that.
Title: Awakening
Author: astri13
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own anything about SPN.
A/N: ~ 1.000 words, very heavy on the angst
Summary: You can take the boy out of hell but can you take hell out of the boy? (Kripke-d by the Premiere.)
Awakening
Sam watches him, slowly sliding his body down the wall till he comes to sit on the floor. No hasty movements - Sam figured that out the hard way when he had thrown himself at Sam with bared teeth and hands twisted into claws. When the chains had held him back, he had thrown his head back and started howling like an animal that found itself trapped.
The sound had sickened Sam. Just as the sight of the chains sickened him now. After the first…episode Bobby had cautioned but Sam had managed to placate him. They had played that game for a while but in the end even Sam had been forced to admit the chains were a necessary evil.
He cocks his head and tries to find something familiar in the slumped figure at the other side of the room. Trying to find a spark of recognition in the eyes that are trained on him in return. But all he can see is wariness. Sam shifts forward slightly and that wariness turns into a feral gleam, the figure tensing up as if poised to fight. Defeated, Sam sinks back down.
Slow, cautious footsteps coming up the stairs signal Bobby's arrival. He is carrying a tray. Just like Sam, Bobby keeps close to the wall, taking pains to move as carefully and non-threateningly as possible.
When he is near Sam, he crouches down and holds out the tray. On it Sam can see a glass of what appears to be orange juice and a plate with a sandwich.
“Brought you something.”
Sam shakes his head. “M'not hungry.”
Bobby frowns. “It's been two days. You have to be.”
Sighing, Sam closes his eyes. They have played this game as well.
“How is Dean?”
Sam flinches at Bobby's question. For some reason his he can feel his breath quickening and his fingernails start scraping along the wooden boards underneath them.
“He…he is better now. Quieter,” Sam finally forces out.
Bobby snorts. “And a good thing that is. But since you're not hungry, maybe Dean is?”
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. It's all Sam can think just then. Stop-
“Not saying his name doesn't make it any less real,” Bobby says suddenly.
Sam gapes at him. Did he say that out loud without realizing? Did he-
Again, Bobby snorts, apparently reading Sam's thoughts. “Didn't take a genius to pick up on, you never once saying his name since we…found him. It's always just him and he.”
It's true, Sam realizes. He just couldn't bring himself to call that broken half-animal that they picked up in the woods Dean. Dean is a cocky guy in a leather jacket who makes bad jokes, stuffs his mouth with anything edible and flirts with every cocktail waitress in the whole country. Dean is someone who will put himself on the line to save a perfect stranger and who will take it hard when he doesn't manage to. And most importantly of all, Dean is Sam's big brother, the one who teases him and protects him, comforts him and infuriates him and all through loves him unconditionally.
Looking over at the figure they have chained to the wall, Sam shakes his head. Dean is not…that.
He feels guilty at the thought. Ungrateful. Hell fulfilled his fondest wish and gave him his brother back - Sam doesn't even know why - and all he wants to do it file a complaint for sending a broken package.
“Well, I'll leave the food up here in case you - or Dean…” Sam doesn't miss how pointedly Bobby says the name, “…change your mind.”
Once Bobby is gone, Sam resumes his new favourite hobby: staring at the broken shell of what used to be his brother and wishing with all his might that he had beaten that Jake guy to death when he'd first had the chance.
Finally, Dean falls into a restless slumber, his frame wrecked by shivers. He looks so small and helpless now that Sam can't help from crawling towards him, always ready to make a hasty retreat, should Dean awaken and feel threatened by it.
Miraculously, Sam reaches his goal unperturbed and grabs for the blanket Dean tossed away earlier. Gently, Sam spreads it across his brother, the tips of his fingers hovering over his brother's short, spiky hair. Sam wonders why it isn't a wild mane, all things considering but it's the one part of Dean that looks exactly the same. Like before. Sam tries to hold onto that as silly as it may seem.
He knows he is playing with fire but he gingerly lies down next to Dean, trying to enjoy the closeness, Dean would never permit during wakefulness now. It's just been so long, and Sam has missed him so much.
The tears start to fall against his will, blurring Sam's view of his brother. He bites his lip to keep quiet, doing his best to suppress the sobs that want to wring themselves free of his body.
Come on, don't be a girl. Sam can almost hear Dean, his Dean, saying the words in his mind - and a part of him holds his breath in the hopes of hearing them, or a variation thereof, even now. But this Dean just continues to make low, keening noises during his sleep. And Sam's tears only fall harder. He doesn't even try to wipe them away. Why bother? There is no one here to make fun of him for the chick flick moment anyway. He closes his eyes again, hoping to shut out the world and everything in it.
The touch is so gentle at first; Sam doesn't even realize what's happening. But slowly and surely, he can feel it, a hand awkwardly patting his hair, fingers tangling in his hair. Sam gasps, his eyes flying open, his heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of him. Dean is looking confused now, unsure but his hand keeps up the stroking motion on Sam's head. Clumsily trying to comfort his crying, little brother like he had done when they were much younger.
Sam smiles. Yeah, Dean is definitely that.