Serenity (2/4)
Title: Serenity (2/4)
Summary: Dean’s made his choices, but it’s Sam who has to deal with the fallout.
Word count: 1,600
Rated: pg-13 (Language)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers through 5.10
Genre: Gen, angst, AU
Characters: Sam, Dean, Michael
Beta: the charming greeneyes_fan
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Sam can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s clearly something strange going on with Dean. They’re in the Impala, Sam sitting shotgun- hardly unusual- and Dean’s singing along to some Motorhead song. Again, nothing unusual. And yet, Sam’s hackles are all up. Maybe it’s that the impromptu sing-along is curiously on key. Dean’s driving different too; Straighter or holding the wheel looser, or not changing gears as often. Now that Sam thinks about it, Dean woke up him up with a snappy “Rise and shine, Sammy!” for the first time in months, and was packed and ready before him for the first time in ever. He’s 90 percent sure this isn’t in his head. Well, maybe 80 percent.
“Denny’s good for you?” Dean asks.
“Uh, sure. I guess,” Sam says, unused to being asked for his opinion on dining establishments. Dean flips on his turn signal to exit the freeway, slowing politely to merge behind an Escalade. Sam shoots a glance at the bright-eyed stranger in the driver’s-side seat.
“What?” Dean asks self-consciously.
Sam starts guiltily, surprised to be caught looking. “Are you feeling okay?”
“What, angling for a spot on the View? I’m fine.”
“If you weren’t fine, would you tell me?”
Dean groans, theatrically. “No chick-flick moments, man.” And he cranks up the music to drive the point home.
This isn’t Dean. It’s somebody’s parody of Dean.
Or anyways, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Sam tries to think if anyone they’ve pissed off lately might have the hoodoo for a curse, but he has to admit it’s unlikely revenge would be this subtle. An imposter makes a bit more sense. Didn’t Dean mention he was going out for coffee at some obscene hour? Sam tries to recall the specifics, but beyond the vague memory that he was annoyed to be woken up in the middle of the night, he’s drawing a blank. There hadn’t been any coffee waiting for him in the morning. If he could remember what Dean woke him up for last night, maybe he could clue into what’s going on today.
At the Denny’s, Sam tests for possession, unlikely though it is, with a little holy water slipped in Dean’s drink when he goes to take a leak. It seems like a better plan than stabbing his brother with silver on a hunch, especially considering how strained things have been lately. Upon his return, Dean drinks with no ill effect. He does, however, hesitate with the glass at his lips after the first a sip. He looks at Sam for a second, like he knows what’s up. Either Sam’s gotten much easier to read, or Dean could tell the water was consecrated. Sam remembers their father’s voice asking if they thought something like that worked on something like him, and feels his brows furrow.
“Christo.”
“Dude,” Dean says flatly, and taps his chest where the demon-warding tattoo is.
“Well something’s wrong with you,” Sam exclaims.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Dean snaps. “What’s wrong with me?”
Sam shakes his head and prods his pancakes without conviction. There was a time when he could trust his knowledge of Dean. Two minutes with a shapeshifter, and he knew, in his gut, that it wasn’t his brother. It’s the same feeling now, except that he isn’t so sure of himself. Months of fighting and time apart have frayed the edges of that absolute trust. It could be paranoia and sleep-deprivation talking, not any change in Dean.
“Can I get you two anything else?” the pert waitress asks, startling Sam out of his reverie.
“Sure thing, sugar- pie for me, nothing for my brother. Watching his weight.” Dean grins at her, just this side of a leer.
“Sure thing,” she echoes with a smile, hips swaying ever so slightly. Sam can tell Dean notices, though his eyes remain fixed on her face. But when she turns to sashay to the kitchen, Dean’s attention slides easily back to his remaining sausage.
“There,” Sam says, pointing. “That. You always watch their ass when they leave.”
“You want me to watch her ass.”
“Yes! No. I mean, it’s kind of disrespectful and she’s probably young enough to be in college, but that’s just you, isn’t it?”
“Apparently not.” Dean is still looking at his plate, disdaining to meet Sam’s eyes at all. “You have to try these sausages, man. Delicious.”
Sam actually growls at Dean in frustration. “It’s like you’re acting like yourself.”
Dean’s fixes Sam with a deeply puzzled expression, his head cocked slightly to the left. Dean’s reaction is not unjustified. Sam is perfectly aware of what he sounds like: a crazy person. Maybe Sam is just wishing for a supernatural explanation for the perfectly natural distance between them. Then, all of a sudden, Sam recognizes that head tilt, and not as anything in Dean’s repertoire.
When the realization hits, it feels like everything has been spinning wildly and suddenly stopped dead. Sam’s hands are clammy; he finds himself sick to his stomach with the proximity of what is essentially his brother’s animated corpse.
Michael must see the change, because he instantly drops all pretense of being Dean. He doesn’t blink right, Sam notices. His eyelids slide lazily up and down as if having his eyes closed or open makes no difference to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says compassionately. “You were not meant to know.”
Sam opens his mouth to say “get out of him you asshole” but closes it again because at this point it wouldn’t matter. Dean told him what happens to used angel condoms. “When,” he says instead.
“Three twenty four this morning.”
“Fuck.” Sam presses the balls of his hands into his eyes as if he can force this revelation out of his head. It had to be after their late-night chat, but not long after. Sam riffles through his impressions of that brief conversation, a hot feeling building in his chest. It doesn’t seem significant enough to be their last. Dean couldn’t just say “yes” without discussing it, without even explaining. Yeah, because Dean never threw himself headlong into half-baked ideas, consequences be damned. Dean Winchester never unilaterally took it upon himself to be a martyr.
“Your brother made the right choice,” Michael says, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s arm. “I will defeat Lucifer, and win this war in the name of Heaven. You should be proud.”
“Don’t touch me,” Sam says.
“Here’s your pie,” the waitress chirps.
“Thank you,” Michael says beatifically, with that infuriating slow blink. The waitress hovers for a second, noticing something different despite only knowing fake-Dean for three minutes.
“Just bring the check,” Sam says roughly. The waitress looks between the two men, finds no easy explanation, and leaves them alone again with a half-shrug.
“You’re angry,” Michael observes.
“We were going to find a way to fix this ourselves. That’s what Dean said.” Sam can barely stand to look at his brother’s face being operated by this sanctimonious dick. “What are you even still doing here? “
“It was my vessel’s wish that you not be worried.”
“Goddamn,” Sam cusses through clenched teeth. “Well great job with that one, really.”
“Lucifer will not unleash hell’s full power until he is in his true vessel,” Michael explains, folding his hands prissily on the dirty diner table. “I will stay with you to ensure this does not happen. Lucifer will fall when the time is right.”
“And then you hop on out of Dean, and head over to the heavenly after-party? Sounds like a blast. Oh, except for the part where my brother’s a vegetable.”
“The effects of vesseldom are…unfortunate,” Michael admits with a frown. “But this was the role he was destined to play. He is my sword.”
“He was my brother.”
Michael just blinks slowly and waits, perfectly still like Dean could never stand to be. Sam looks pointedly out the window, at the walls, anywhere but at the man in front of him.
“Your friend Bobby has books that will aid us in locating the devil,” Michael says after a pause.
“Really. You know, your bro’s not exactly in the phone book. Don’t you have some kind of angelic radar? “
“Do not discount the power of Heaven,” Michael says, the first hints of anger coloring his tone. “Using my power to locate Lucifer will alerting him of our intentions.” Of course, Sam thinks bitterly. Even with an archangel in their corner there’s no easy out. “If we catch use a summoning incantation to draw him to us, I will have an advantage and the battle may be quicker. Fewer humans will be destroyed.”
And that’s the way it’ll go now. “Maybe fewer humans will die” is the best they can hope for. “Well, it’s a two day drive to Bobby’s,” Sam says. “Give me the keys. You can sit in the back.” Michael’s sure as hell not sitting in Dean’s seat.
“It will be quicker if I transport us.” Sam has to jerk back from two extended fingers to avoid forced displacement.
“Not in front of these people.” In fact, he doesn’t want use the power his brother died to give them at all. Using it would mean accepting Dean’s sacrifice, profiting from his death. Sam won’t do it.
They make it less than ten miles before Sam gives in. The only thing worse than using the ill-gotten power would be hanging out with the imposter for twenty more hours in Dean’s car. Getting it all over quickly is a tempting enough promise that Sam will take it, whatever strings attached.
( Part 3)
Summary: Dean’s made his choices, but it’s Sam who has to deal with the fallout.
Word count: 1,600
Rated: pg-13 (Language)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers through 5.10
Genre: Gen, angst, AU
Characters: Sam, Dean, Michael
Beta: the charming greeneyes_fan
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Sam can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s clearly something strange going on with Dean. They’re in the Impala, Sam sitting shotgun- hardly unusual- and Dean’s singing along to some Motorhead song. Again, nothing unusual. And yet, Sam’s hackles are all up. Maybe it’s that the impromptu sing-along is curiously on key. Dean’s driving different too; Straighter or holding the wheel looser, or not changing gears as often. Now that Sam thinks about it, Dean woke up him up with a snappy “Rise and shine, Sammy!” for the first time in months, and was packed and ready before him for the first time in ever. He’s 90 percent sure this isn’t in his head. Well, maybe 80 percent.
“Denny’s good for you?” Dean asks.
“Uh, sure. I guess,” Sam says, unused to being asked for his opinion on dining establishments. Dean flips on his turn signal to exit the freeway, slowing politely to merge behind an Escalade. Sam shoots a glance at the bright-eyed stranger in the driver’s-side seat.
“What?” Dean asks self-consciously.
Sam starts guiltily, surprised to be caught looking. “Are you feeling okay?”
“What, angling for a spot on the View? I’m fine.”
“If you weren’t fine, would you tell me?”
Dean groans, theatrically. “No chick-flick moments, man.” And he cranks up the music to drive the point home.
This isn’t Dean. It’s somebody’s parody of Dean.
Or anyways, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Sam tries to think if anyone they’ve pissed off lately might have the hoodoo for a curse, but he has to admit it’s unlikely revenge would be this subtle. An imposter makes a bit more sense. Didn’t Dean mention he was going out for coffee at some obscene hour? Sam tries to recall the specifics, but beyond the vague memory that he was annoyed to be woken up in the middle of the night, he’s drawing a blank. There hadn’t been any coffee waiting for him in the morning. If he could remember what Dean woke him up for last night, maybe he could clue into what’s going on today.
At the Denny’s, Sam tests for possession, unlikely though it is, with a little holy water slipped in Dean’s drink when he goes to take a leak. It seems like a better plan than stabbing his brother with silver on a hunch, especially considering how strained things have been lately. Upon his return, Dean drinks with no ill effect. He does, however, hesitate with the glass at his lips after the first a sip. He looks at Sam for a second, like he knows what’s up. Either Sam’s gotten much easier to read, or Dean could tell the water was consecrated. Sam remembers their father’s voice asking if they thought something like that worked on something like him, and feels his brows furrow.
“Christo.”
“Dude,” Dean says flatly, and taps his chest where the demon-warding tattoo is.
“Well something’s wrong with you,” Sam exclaims.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Dean snaps. “What’s wrong with me?”
Sam shakes his head and prods his pancakes without conviction. There was a time when he could trust his knowledge of Dean. Two minutes with a shapeshifter, and he knew, in his gut, that it wasn’t his brother. It’s the same feeling now, except that he isn’t so sure of himself. Months of fighting and time apart have frayed the edges of that absolute trust. It could be paranoia and sleep-deprivation talking, not any change in Dean.
“Can I get you two anything else?” the pert waitress asks, startling Sam out of his reverie.
“Sure thing, sugar- pie for me, nothing for my brother. Watching his weight.” Dean grins at her, just this side of a leer.
“Sure thing,” she echoes with a smile, hips swaying ever so slightly. Sam can tell Dean notices, though his eyes remain fixed on her face. But when she turns to sashay to the kitchen, Dean’s attention slides easily back to his remaining sausage.
“There,” Sam says, pointing. “That. You always watch their ass when they leave.”
“You want me to watch her ass.”
“Yes! No. I mean, it’s kind of disrespectful and she’s probably young enough to be in college, but that’s just you, isn’t it?”
“Apparently not.” Dean is still looking at his plate, disdaining to meet Sam’s eyes at all. “You have to try these sausages, man. Delicious.”
Sam actually growls at Dean in frustration. “It’s like you’re acting like yourself.”
Dean’s fixes Sam with a deeply puzzled expression, his head cocked slightly to the left. Dean’s reaction is not unjustified. Sam is perfectly aware of what he sounds like: a crazy person. Maybe Sam is just wishing for a supernatural explanation for the perfectly natural distance between them. Then, all of a sudden, Sam recognizes that head tilt, and not as anything in Dean’s repertoire.
When the realization hits, it feels like everything has been spinning wildly and suddenly stopped dead. Sam’s hands are clammy; he finds himself sick to his stomach with the proximity of what is essentially his brother’s animated corpse.
Michael must see the change, because he instantly drops all pretense of being Dean. He doesn’t blink right, Sam notices. His eyelids slide lazily up and down as if having his eyes closed or open makes no difference to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says compassionately. “You were not meant to know.”
Sam opens his mouth to say “get out of him you asshole” but closes it again because at this point it wouldn’t matter. Dean told him what happens to used angel condoms. “When,” he says instead.
“Three twenty four this morning.”
“Fuck.” Sam presses the balls of his hands into his eyes as if he can force this revelation out of his head. It had to be after their late-night chat, but not long after. Sam riffles through his impressions of that brief conversation, a hot feeling building in his chest. It doesn’t seem significant enough to be their last. Dean couldn’t just say “yes” without discussing it, without even explaining. Yeah, because Dean never threw himself headlong into half-baked ideas, consequences be damned. Dean Winchester never unilaterally took it upon himself to be a martyr.
“Your brother made the right choice,” Michael says, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s arm. “I will defeat Lucifer, and win this war in the name of Heaven. You should be proud.”
“Don’t touch me,” Sam says.
“Here’s your pie,” the waitress chirps.
“Thank you,” Michael says beatifically, with that infuriating slow blink. The waitress hovers for a second, noticing something different despite only knowing fake-Dean for three minutes.
“Just bring the check,” Sam says roughly. The waitress looks between the two men, finds no easy explanation, and leaves them alone again with a half-shrug.
“You’re angry,” Michael observes.
“We were going to find a way to fix this ourselves. That’s what Dean said.” Sam can barely stand to look at his brother’s face being operated by this sanctimonious dick. “What are you even still doing here? “
“It was my vessel’s wish that you not be worried.”
“Goddamn,” Sam cusses through clenched teeth. “Well great job with that one, really.”
“Lucifer will not unleash hell’s full power until he is in his true vessel,” Michael explains, folding his hands prissily on the dirty diner table. “I will stay with you to ensure this does not happen. Lucifer will fall when the time is right.”
“And then you hop on out of Dean, and head over to the heavenly after-party? Sounds like a blast. Oh, except for the part where my brother’s a vegetable.”
“The effects of vesseldom are…unfortunate,” Michael admits with a frown. “But this was the role he was destined to play. He is my sword.”
“He was my brother.”
Michael just blinks slowly and waits, perfectly still like Dean could never stand to be. Sam looks pointedly out the window, at the walls, anywhere but at the man in front of him.
“Your friend Bobby has books that will aid us in locating the devil,” Michael says after a pause.
“Really. You know, your bro’s not exactly in the phone book. Don’t you have some kind of angelic radar? “
“Do not discount the power of Heaven,” Michael says, the first hints of anger coloring his tone. “Using my power to locate Lucifer will alerting him of our intentions.” Of course, Sam thinks bitterly. Even with an archangel in their corner there’s no easy out. “If we catch use a summoning incantation to draw him to us, I will have an advantage and the battle may be quicker. Fewer humans will be destroyed.”
And that’s the way it’ll go now. “Maybe fewer humans will die” is the best they can hope for. “Well, it’s a two day drive to Bobby’s,” Sam says. “Give me the keys. You can sit in the back.” Michael’s sure as hell not sitting in Dean’s seat.
“It will be quicker if I transport us.” Sam has to jerk back from two extended fingers to avoid forced displacement.
“Not in front of these people.” In fact, he doesn’t want use the power his brother died to give them at all. Using it would mean accepting Dean’s sacrifice, profiting from his death. Sam won’t do it.
They make it less than ten miles before Sam gives in. The only thing worse than using the ill-gotten power would be hanging out with the imposter for twenty more hours in Dean’s car. Getting it all over quickly is a tempting enough promise that Sam will take it, whatever strings attached.
( Part 3)