Sam/Alec fic again, WiP
This Sam/Alec thing is turning into a monster. I love it.
part I | part II
It was four days since you started staying at Alec’s bare-bones apartment when you had one of your nightmares. Not a vision - never a vision, anymore - but something more twisted that left you shaking when you woke and completely covered in cold sweat. The thing is, you could never remember what you dreamt.
Alec was already up popping cereal in his mouth and flipping through an old newspaper when you woke up, gasping. You could hear him distantly over the rush of blood in your ears as he grabbed your shoulders, sweat dampening the cotton t-shirt and chilling your skin. His hands were warm, and he kept holding you as your head stopped pounding.
“Bad dream?”
You nodded, sick to your stomach, clammy all over. You never wanted a shower so badly your whole life.
When the spooked look in your face eased away, Alec stepped back and sat next to you on the couch. He picked at a frayed hole in his jeans, his head angled down and away. “Why did you stop?” He asked, like you were in the middle of a conversation and not something completely out of the blue.
You swallowed and tried to find a steady voice. “You mean after Dean.” Alec nodded, glanced quickly up at you before slighting his gaze away again like he was ashamed to be asking.
You asked yourself this question so many times before, but always came up with the same inevitable answer.
“There wasn’t a reason anymore. Evil, it’s - it’s endless. I could spend my entire life looking for them, for evil things. They just keep coming.” It wasn’t just that, though, and you knew it. It was the sinking feeling in your gut when you woke up each day and remembered Dean wasn’t beside you, the dark weight of unrest and chaos that coiled in your belly, ready to spring on a hair trigger. You were afraid of what you might do were you to go at it alone.
“But doesn’t that count as something?” Alec asked. You remembered him telling you about the way he found something and fought for it, for genetic mutations and engineered soldiers alike, for anyone who felt like scum on the bottom of humanities shoes.
“It was too hard.” You said, because it was the truth. Maybe he would see you as a coward for it, but at least you could admit it. “I couldn’t keep doing it.”
“Not even for him?”
When your head snapped up, he cleared his throat and shifted away. “Sorry. Just, from the way you talked about him, it seemed like that’s what he’d want.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. You’ve had the exact same thought before. In fact, the thought had run through your head endless times, chasing itself in circles. The guilt only kept piling on, but it felt good in that masochistic way that Dean always took on himself, back when he still could. It was time you started shouldering some of the weight, and the weight felt nice and solid, like you’d earned it.
You smirked, not surprised at the fondness creeping into your voice. “He always said I had a martyr complex.” You weren’t sure what kind of admission that was, or maybe it was only an excuse, but it felt like the closest you could give as an apology to Dean’s memory, why you didn’t continue to hunt.
“I bet he did too,” Alec mumbled. “The best of us do.”
You heard the weary tone of his words, so perfectly tired and gravelly like the rumble of Dean’s own. It was achingly familiar and for the moment, you were just grateful you got to hear it. Something to ground you and make you feel less alone, someone who could help fill out the missing pieces of a life. He could never take Dean’s place, but it was the closest you were ever going to get at a second chance.
“Thank you.” He raised his head and you looked him dead in the eye. “For letting me stay here. Talking to you, it helps.”
Alec shrugged and the little up-down of his shoulders was so light, the sudden smile on his face leaving no room for shadows or anything else. “It’s nothing. You’re just one of many lost puppies I’ve had to take in over the years.”
And you knew he meant that quite literally, with what he’d told you about a mostly canine, one-third human friend of his.
“Hey,” Alec tapped your knee with a quick finger. “How do you feel about bikes?”
The rest of the day was spent bicycling through the streets. You felt like a kid at first, but it wasn’t because you were any less graceful than Alec. It was simply odd, and a bit surreal. You never owned a bike until you were at Stanford, where it seemed like the most efficient way to get around. Dean had taught you when you were little how to ride, climbing on top a forlorn bike he had found against the side of a motel one day, rust around the naked handlebars and all over the frame. Dean got new tires for it and you rode around, tight circles your favorite since you couldn’t find a steep enough incline to roar down, until Dad said it was time to move on.
“That was Sketchy’s bike,” Alec said and nodded to the one you were riding. You vaguely remembered Alec mentioning him before. “Left it here when he finally got a junker of a car. I couldn’t trash it.” He paused and angled his front wheel closer in until you were side by side. “Knew it’d come in handy one day,” he said and smiled, bright even under the gray, swollen sky.
You kept riding, following Alec down streets both familiar and not, and you had a feeling Alec was visiting old places full of old ghosts. He didn’t say anything, but the ramshackle and long abandoned buildings you passed, a high-rise with dusty windows, none of it seemed like random, passing landmarks. Homeless gathered around some of them, hunching together where the heat was, orange flames licking up from the insides of barrels.
“Ready to go back?” he asked, slowing to a stop outside of a particular squat building. You couldn’t imagine what used to be there, the outside painted over with graffiti. The tick-tick-ticking as you came to a stop beside him was loud, and the air was getting muggier by the second. Rain again, soon.
“Yeah,” you said, and followed Alec back. You were the only two people in the street for a while, but it felt like you were the only ones in the entire world. It wasn’t frightening at all.
Part IV
Is anyone reading this? I realize it's unbeta'd, and an unconventional pairing (for many, Dean/Sam is OTP and they can't bear to see them with other people, I totally understand) but I think it's some of the best writing I've done in a while. And there will be slash. I'm working on that right now.
This has been a productive week. The Ships vid got posted, am beta'ing some hot OT3-ness, then this Sam/Alec WiP, AND I get my wisdom teeth out tomorrow. OH! And also am completely smitten with the new Transformers movie, and robot-human love *cough*Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky*cough*.
part I | part II
It was four days since you started staying at Alec’s bare-bones apartment when you had one of your nightmares. Not a vision - never a vision, anymore - but something more twisted that left you shaking when you woke and completely covered in cold sweat. The thing is, you could never remember what you dreamt.
Alec was already up popping cereal in his mouth and flipping through an old newspaper when you woke up, gasping. You could hear him distantly over the rush of blood in your ears as he grabbed your shoulders, sweat dampening the cotton t-shirt and chilling your skin. His hands were warm, and he kept holding you as your head stopped pounding.
“Bad dream?”
You nodded, sick to your stomach, clammy all over. You never wanted a shower so badly your whole life.
When the spooked look in your face eased away, Alec stepped back and sat next to you on the couch. He picked at a frayed hole in his jeans, his head angled down and away. “Why did you stop?” He asked, like you were in the middle of a conversation and not something completely out of the blue.
You swallowed and tried to find a steady voice. “You mean after Dean.” Alec nodded, glanced quickly up at you before slighting his gaze away again like he was ashamed to be asking.
You asked yourself this question so many times before, but always came up with the same inevitable answer.
“There wasn’t a reason anymore. Evil, it’s - it’s endless. I could spend my entire life looking for them, for evil things. They just keep coming.” It wasn’t just that, though, and you knew it. It was the sinking feeling in your gut when you woke up each day and remembered Dean wasn’t beside you, the dark weight of unrest and chaos that coiled in your belly, ready to spring on a hair trigger. You were afraid of what you might do were you to go at it alone.
“But doesn’t that count as something?” Alec asked. You remembered him telling you about the way he found something and fought for it, for genetic mutations and engineered soldiers alike, for anyone who felt like scum on the bottom of humanities shoes.
“It was too hard.” You said, because it was the truth. Maybe he would see you as a coward for it, but at least you could admit it. “I couldn’t keep doing it.”
“Not even for him?”
When your head snapped up, he cleared his throat and shifted away. “Sorry. Just, from the way you talked about him, it seemed like that’s what he’d want.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. You’ve had the exact same thought before. In fact, the thought had run through your head endless times, chasing itself in circles. The guilt only kept piling on, but it felt good in that masochistic way that Dean always took on himself, back when he still could. It was time you started shouldering some of the weight, and the weight felt nice and solid, like you’d earned it.
You smirked, not surprised at the fondness creeping into your voice. “He always said I had a martyr complex.” You weren’t sure what kind of admission that was, or maybe it was only an excuse, but it felt like the closest you could give as an apology to Dean’s memory, why you didn’t continue to hunt.
“I bet he did too,” Alec mumbled. “The best of us do.”
You heard the weary tone of his words, so perfectly tired and gravelly like the rumble of Dean’s own. It was achingly familiar and for the moment, you were just grateful you got to hear it. Something to ground you and make you feel less alone, someone who could help fill out the missing pieces of a life. He could never take Dean’s place, but it was the closest you were ever going to get at a second chance.
“Thank you.” He raised his head and you looked him dead in the eye. “For letting me stay here. Talking to you, it helps.”
Alec shrugged and the little up-down of his shoulders was so light, the sudden smile on his face leaving no room for shadows or anything else. “It’s nothing. You’re just one of many lost puppies I’ve had to take in over the years.”
And you knew he meant that quite literally, with what he’d told you about a mostly canine, one-third human friend of his.
“Hey,” Alec tapped your knee with a quick finger. “How do you feel about bikes?”
The rest of the day was spent bicycling through the streets. You felt like a kid at first, but it wasn’t because you were any less graceful than Alec. It was simply odd, and a bit surreal. You never owned a bike until you were at Stanford, where it seemed like the most efficient way to get around. Dean had taught you when you were little how to ride, climbing on top a forlorn bike he had found against the side of a motel one day, rust around the naked handlebars and all over the frame. Dean got new tires for it and you rode around, tight circles your favorite since you couldn’t find a steep enough incline to roar down, until Dad said it was time to move on.
“That was Sketchy’s bike,” Alec said and nodded to the one you were riding. You vaguely remembered Alec mentioning him before. “Left it here when he finally got a junker of a car. I couldn’t trash it.” He paused and angled his front wheel closer in until you were side by side. “Knew it’d come in handy one day,” he said and smiled, bright even under the gray, swollen sky.
You kept riding, following Alec down streets both familiar and not, and you had a feeling Alec was visiting old places full of old ghosts. He didn’t say anything, but the ramshackle and long abandoned buildings you passed, a high-rise with dusty windows, none of it seemed like random, passing landmarks. Homeless gathered around some of them, hunching together where the heat was, orange flames licking up from the insides of barrels.
“Ready to go back?” he asked, slowing to a stop outside of a particular squat building. You couldn’t imagine what used to be there, the outside painted over with graffiti. The tick-tick-ticking as you came to a stop beside him was loud, and the air was getting muggier by the second. Rain again, soon.
“Yeah,” you said, and followed Alec back. You were the only two people in the street for a while, but it felt like you were the only ones in the entire world. It wasn’t frightening at all.
Part IV
Is anyone reading this? I realize it's unbeta'd, and an unconventional pairing (for many, Dean/Sam is OTP and they can't bear to see them with other people, I totally understand) but I think it's some of the best writing I've done in a while. And there will be slash. I'm working on that right now.
This has been a productive week. The Ships vid got posted, am beta'ing some hot OT3-ness, then this Sam/Alec WiP, AND I get my wisdom teeth out tomorrow. OH! And also am completely smitten with the new Transformers movie, and robot-human love *cough*Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky*cough*.