Thematic coda for 5.14
Title: Tit for Tat (It’s not so Bad as That)
Summary: “Some people would say that this is as bad as it gets. You know better. It can always get worse, and you can always get through it.“
Word count: 700
Rated: pg-13 (language)
Notes:Set S5; Spoilers through 4.22
Warnings: Written in the second person. I think that deserves a warning ;)
Genre: Angst
Characters: Dean, mentions of Sam and John
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
When your father disappears, you think you’re going to have a heart attack at 26 with all the terror of not knowing if he’s ok, not knowing what you’re supposed to do. But you don’t. You find Sam, and together you make a pretty good team. When you’re with him you can remember who you are. You take care of Sammy. You’re still worried about your father, It’s not so bad.
Of course, it’s not good, either. Sam’s only with you because she burned and you didn’t have time to save her. You feel a little sick for knowing that and still being happy. Every day you can see how fragile he is, bouncing between furious, silent anger and guilt so thick it almost swallows you, too. But it’s not so bad. Even though he never expects to heal, he does.
You never expect to heal when you’re burning Dad’s body. Knowing what he did, to buy your miracle, it’s like freefalling. Expecting every minute to hit some sort of rock bottom and finally die. Wanting to die, so you don’t have to hear your father’s voice telling you to do the one thing you can’t. The bottom never comes, though, even when you tell Sam the secret and he leaves. He comes back, and you realize that even Dad’s death isn’t the end.
Now, when Sammy dies you’re sure nothing can come after. You will be here forever, choking on your failure and solitude. If you were freefalling before, now you’re in a vacuum, exploding outwards in slow motion starting with your heart. But you’re wrong then, too, because all it takes is one little bargain and he’s back. Good as new. And one year isn’t great, but it’s not so bad, either.
Being torn into by hellhounds is much worse than you’ve imagined, but you got to say your piece to Sammy first, and at least in dying you can be done. Hell is finally an ultimatum, a place where things can’t slide anymore. No more guilt about being happy Sam lost his safe, normal life. No more guilt about forgetting to punish yourself for Dad even while he was still being tortured on your account. Eternal torment is a constant: you don’t get over hell.
But you do. Even hell is not so bad, as it turns out. Even when you’re dry heaving with the memories of it, kneeling on a bathroom floor sticky with other people’s vomit and piss, you’re alive again where there’re girls and pie and Sam. You’re lucky. Even when your brother tomcats off to betray you again, some more, you know he’ll be back. You don’t like it- but then again, it’s not so bad.
So Lucifer rises, the apocalypse is officially on, and you’re scared but not hopeless. Some people would say that this is as bad as it gets. You know better. It can always get worse, and you can always get through it. Even death doesn’t stick on you. For everything you lose, you remember something you still have. It used to make you feel hollow, how you could lose anything and keep going. Now, you don’t really think about if you feel hollow or not.
Except sometimes, like when you see someone that looks like Jess, or your Dad, or Sammy when he was a kid, and they seem happy. At those times, you think maybe it’s been bad all along, straight up terrible, that maybe it’s been bad since you were thirteen and Dad came home drunk and bleeding and asked you where the rent money was, maybe it’s been bad since you were 16 and realized you liked the smell of burning flesh, maybe you hit rock bottom a long time ago and things never got better, you just got used to it. Yeah, those times you get the idea that “not so bad” is just the echo of vital parts of you dying, that so much of your soul has been carved away by now you shouldn’t even be called human.
But then the strangers are just strangers again when you look twice, and Sam passes you your burger, and despite everything you’re alive and you’re hungry and it smells good. Sam apologizes for not finding something better, and you tell him, “It’s not that bad.”
Summary: “Some people would say that this is as bad as it gets. You know better. It can always get worse, and you can always get through it.“
Word count: 700
Rated: pg-13 (language)
Notes:Set S5; Spoilers through 4.22
Warnings: Written in the second person. I think that deserves a warning ;)
Genre: Angst
Characters: Dean, mentions of Sam and John
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
When your father disappears, you think you’re going to have a heart attack at 26 with all the terror of not knowing if he’s ok, not knowing what you’re supposed to do. But you don’t. You find Sam, and together you make a pretty good team. When you’re with him you can remember who you are. You take care of Sammy. You’re still worried about your father, It’s not so bad.
Of course, it’s not good, either. Sam’s only with you because she burned and you didn’t have time to save her. You feel a little sick for knowing that and still being happy. Every day you can see how fragile he is, bouncing between furious, silent anger and guilt so thick it almost swallows you, too. But it’s not so bad. Even though he never expects to heal, he does.
You never expect to heal when you’re burning Dad’s body. Knowing what he did, to buy your miracle, it’s like freefalling. Expecting every minute to hit some sort of rock bottom and finally die. Wanting to die, so you don’t have to hear your father’s voice telling you to do the one thing you can’t. The bottom never comes, though, even when you tell Sam the secret and he leaves. He comes back, and you realize that even Dad’s death isn’t the end.
Now, when Sammy dies you’re sure nothing can come after. You will be here forever, choking on your failure and solitude. If you were freefalling before, now you’re in a vacuum, exploding outwards in slow motion starting with your heart. But you’re wrong then, too, because all it takes is one little bargain and he’s back. Good as new. And one year isn’t great, but it’s not so bad, either.
Being torn into by hellhounds is much worse than you’ve imagined, but you got to say your piece to Sammy first, and at least in dying you can be done. Hell is finally an ultimatum, a place where things can’t slide anymore. No more guilt about being happy Sam lost his safe, normal life. No more guilt about forgetting to punish yourself for Dad even while he was still being tortured on your account. Eternal torment is a constant: you don’t get over hell.
But you do. Even hell is not so bad, as it turns out. Even when you’re dry heaving with the memories of it, kneeling on a bathroom floor sticky with other people’s vomit and piss, you’re alive again where there’re girls and pie and Sam. You’re lucky. Even when your brother tomcats off to betray you again, some more, you know he’ll be back. You don’t like it- but then again, it’s not so bad.
So Lucifer rises, the apocalypse is officially on, and you’re scared but not hopeless. Some people would say that this is as bad as it gets. You know better. It can always get worse, and you can always get through it. Even death doesn’t stick on you. For everything you lose, you remember something you still have. It used to make you feel hollow, how you could lose anything and keep going. Now, you don’t really think about if you feel hollow or not.
Except sometimes, like when you see someone that looks like Jess, or your Dad, or Sammy when he was a kid, and they seem happy. At those times, you think maybe it’s been bad all along, straight up terrible, that maybe it’s been bad since you were thirteen and Dad came home drunk and bleeding and asked you where the rent money was, maybe it’s been bad since you were 16 and realized you liked the smell of burning flesh, maybe you hit rock bottom a long time ago and things never got better, you just got used to it. Yeah, those times you get the idea that “not so bad” is just the echo of vital parts of you dying, that so much of your soul has been carved away by now you shouldn’t even be called human.
But then the strangers are just strangers again when you look twice, and Sam passes you your burger, and despite everything you’re alive and you’re hungry and it smells good. Sam apologizes for not finding something better, and you tell him, “It’s not that bad.”