Another Brick in The Wall, part one (Goodbye Blue Sky) [Supernatural, secret pairing]
Title: Another Brick in The Wall, part one: Goodbye Blue Sky
Genre/pairing: angst, h/c
Rating: R for themes
Word-count: ~1300
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Non-con (implied), dissociation (this part). Warnings updated as chapters go on
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue! Title credit Pink Floyd.
Summary: To begin with, Sam didn't know anything.
Part one of a longer fic. Chapters will be about a week apart to begin with, as I'm writing as I go.
Another Brick in the Wall
Chapter One: Goodbye Blue Sky
I don't need no arms around me
I don't need no drugs to calm me
All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.
Sam didn't know anything had happened, to begin with.
They were working a case in Omaha: an unremarkable vengeful spirit, the salt and burn only took a few hours. Once the case was wrapped up they decided to take the night off instead of ploughing through to the next town, seeing as they'd already paid for the motel room and they hadn't pissed off any law enforcement, for once. They'd gone to some dive bar full of mullet rock and cheap beer for a few hours before Sam had begged tiredness and gone back to what passed as home that night, leaving Dean in his natural habitat amongst the barflies and half-dressed waitresses. Hopefully he'd hustle back some of the money he spent on whiskey before they had to get hold of another fake credit card. After Hendrickson, the less paper trail they left behind them the better.
If Sam had known what was going to happen, he never would have left.
As it was, he barely opened his eyes when Dean stumbled through the flimsy motel door at five in the morning. He didn't see the blood on his brother's clothes and skin, or the fear alight in his eyes as he navigated the darkened room like a frightened animal. He didn't even stir when Dean made it to the bathroom and locked the door before he even turned on the light, shoving the mildewed shower curtain to one side to make sure there was no one waiting to jump on him before he bent over the toilet and puked his guts out. Sam didn't hear a damn thing as Dean stood under the shower for an hour and a half, first under water so hot it scalded him, gradually cooling to so cold his lips were blue when he finally came back into his head enough to shut off the stream. By the time Sam woke up, Dean was dressed in all his layers, his boots were laced up, and he was drinking his fourth cup of shitty instant coffee.
To begin with, Sam didn't know anything.
"You're up early." He squinted at his brother, who was holding a cup of coffee and staring into space.
"Yeah." Dean grunted at him, not bothering to look over. Internally, Sam rolled his eyes: it was going to be one of those days, huh. One of those, Dean doesn't talk all day and then drinks till he passes out days, great.
"How was the bar last night?" He forced himself upright and stretched, popping his neck and shoulders where he'd lain on them oddly. Dean shrugged, still not looking at anything in particular.
"Okay." His tone was so flat and his voice so hoarse it made Sam look at him twice, and he caught sight of what looked like a love bite just poking out of his brother's collar. When had a hook up ever made Dean act like someone had shot his dog?
"Okay..." This was starting to feel seriously weird, and Sam knew from experience that if it felt weird, it probably was. "So where do we go from here?"
"Was thinkin' of heading to Bobby's." Dean muttered, finally glancing at his brother, if only for a second. His eyes looked completely vacant, as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep. Sam nodded, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Yeah, it's not far." He heaved himself out of bed and studied Dean from his new vantage point. There were abrasions on his brother's knuckles and his cheekbone, and what looked like a shallow cut to the side of his neck. A fight? "He might have a case for us."
Once again, Dean's only response was a shrug. The feeling of wrongness in the room was almost overwhelming by now, and Sam couldn't stand the rising tension that it seemed Dean wasn't even aware of. The older Winchester simply sat there, staring at the peeling wallpaper and holding his coffee cup. Sam looked closer at the cup and saw the dark liquid moving: Dean's hands were shaking.
This was bad, even by their standards.
"Hey man, are you okay?" Dean finally looked at him properly, Sam could almost see the personality slip back into place behind the eyes that suddenly looked a little less glazed than they had a moment before. "You seem... off? Did something happen last night?" And just like that, the shutters came down again from their moment of clarity. That was a quick turnaround in mood, even for Dean.
"Get coffee? This stuff sucks." Blatantly dodging the question, Dean set his cup on the table and got up, skirting around Sam instead of shoving past him like he normally did when he wanted to make it clear didn't want to talk about something. "I'm gonna take a shower before we head out."
"Dean-" But he'd already shut the bathroom door and locked it with an audible click, an effective full stop to his end of the conversation.
Sam huffed out a frustrated sigh at his brother's childish behaviour and grabbed the cup off the table to empty out before he went to get real coffee. To his surprise, the cup was ice cold. How long had Dean been sitting there staring at the wall? Familiar with his brother's moods, Sam lifted up the cup and smelled it, immediately hit with the sharp tang of whiskey beneath the sour stench of burnt coffee. Had Dean even slept? This was getting worse by the minute, and Sam knew he had to either figure out what was going on or get the hell out of his brother's way, because these moods never ended well, not for Dean or anyone in his crosshairs.
When he got back to the room, Dean was back in the same chair, hair wet and shirt sticking to him like he hadn't taken the time to dry off properly. Sam handed him one of the steaming paper cups he'd brought back, noting wearily that the first thing his brother did was take the lid off it and empty a good half of his flask into its contents. He swirled the liquid around a few times before taking a long sip, not relaxing with the hit of booze and caffeine like he usually did. Sam didn't even bother to say anything about how early in the morning it was, he just took the car keys and didn't comment on the fact Dean put the half-bottle of whiskey they had left under the passenger seat instead of in the trunk. This was one time bomb he didn't want to trip off until they were somewhere safer than a Motel 6 parking lot.
By the time they got to Bobby's, the bottle was empty and Dean was passed out with his hand still wrapped around the neck of it.
Not wanting to wake his brother immediately, Sam didn't shut the Impala's door completely when he got out and made his way to Bobby's door. Upon answering, the old hunter took one look at Sam's face and sighed, making what Dean had christened his 'poop face' as he regarded the worried expression of his surrogate son.
"Bobby." Sam greeted him, sounding younger and more scared than he meant to. "I think we've got trouble."
Genre/pairing: angst, h/c
Rating: R for themes
Word-count: ~1300
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Non-con (implied), dissociation (this part). Warnings updated as chapters go on
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue! Title credit Pink Floyd.
Summary: To begin with, Sam didn't know anything.
Part one of a longer fic. Chapters will be about a week apart to begin with, as I'm writing as I go.
Another Brick in the Wall
Chapter One: Goodbye Blue Sky
I don't need no arms around me
I don't need no drugs to calm me
All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.
Sam didn't know anything had happened, to begin with.
They were working a case in Omaha: an unremarkable vengeful spirit, the salt and burn only took a few hours. Once the case was wrapped up they decided to take the night off instead of ploughing through to the next town, seeing as they'd already paid for the motel room and they hadn't pissed off any law enforcement, for once. They'd gone to some dive bar full of mullet rock and cheap beer for a few hours before Sam had begged tiredness and gone back to what passed as home that night, leaving Dean in his natural habitat amongst the barflies and half-dressed waitresses. Hopefully he'd hustle back some of the money he spent on whiskey before they had to get hold of another fake credit card. After Hendrickson, the less paper trail they left behind them the better.
If Sam had known what was going to happen, he never would have left.
As it was, he barely opened his eyes when Dean stumbled through the flimsy motel door at five in the morning. He didn't see the blood on his brother's clothes and skin, or the fear alight in his eyes as he navigated the darkened room like a frightened animal. He didn't even stir when Dean made it to the bathroom and locked the door before he even turned on the light, shoving the mildewed shower curtain to one side to make sure there was no one waiting to jump on him before he bent over the toilet and puked his guts out. Sam didn't hear a damn thing as Dean stood under the shower for an hour and a half, first under water so hot it scalded him, gradually cooling to so cold his lips were blue when he finally came back into his head enough to shut off the stream. By the time Sam woke up, Dean was dressed in all his layers, his boots were laced up, and he was drinking his fourth cup of shitty instant coffee.
To begin with, Sam didn't know anything.
"You're up early." He squinted at his brother, who was holding a cup of coffee and staring into space.
"Yeah." Dean grunted at him, not bothering to look over. Internally, Sam rolled his eyes: it was going to be one of those days, huh. One of those, Dean doesn't talk all day and then drinks till he passes out days, great.
"How was the bar last night?" He forced himself upright and stretched, popping his neck and shoulders where he'd lain on them oddly. Dean shrugged, still not looking at anything in particular.
"Okay." His tone was so flat and his voice so hoarse it made Sam look at him twice, and he caught sight of what looked like a love bite just poking out of his brother's collar. When had a hook up ever made Dean act like someone had shot his dog?
"Okay..." This was starting to feel seriously weird, and Sam knew from experience that if it felt weird, it probably was. "So where do we go from here?"
"Was thinkin' of heading to Bobby's." Dean muttered, finally glancing at his brother, if only for a second. His eyes looked completely vacant, as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep. Sam nodded, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Yeah, it's not far." He heaved himself out of bed and studied Dean from his new vantage point. There were abrasions on his brother's knuckles and his cheekbone, and what looked like a shallow cut to the side of his neck. A fight? "He might have a case for us."
Once again, Dean's only response was a shrug. The feeling of wrongness in the room was almost overwhelming by now, and Sam couldn't stand the rising tension that it seemed Dean wasn't even aware of. The older Winchester simply sat there, staring at the peeling wallpaper and holding his coffee cup. Sam looked closer at the cup and saw the dark liquid moving: Dean's hands were shaking.
This was bad, even by their standards.
"Hey man, are you okay?" Dean finally looked at him properly, Sam could almost see the personality slip back into place behind the eyes that suddenly looked a little less glazed than they had a moment before. "You seem... off? Did something happen last night?" And just like that, the shutters came down again from their moment of clarity. That was a quick turnaround in mood, even for Dean.
"Get coffee? This stuff sucks." Blatantly dodging the question, Dean set his cup on the table and got up, skirting around Sam instead of shoving past him like he normally did when he wanted to make it clear didn't want to talk about something. "I'm gonna take a shower before we head out."
"Dean-" But he'd already shut the bathroom door and locked it with an audible click, an effective full stop to his end of the conversation.
Sam huffed out a frustrated sigh at his brother's childish behaviour and grabbed the cup off the table to empty out before he went to get real coffee. To his surprise, the cup was ice cold. How long had Dean been sitting there staring at the wall? Familiar with his brother's moods, Sam lifted up the cup and smelled it, immediately hit with the sharp tang of whiskey beneath the sour stench of burnt coffee. Had Dean even slept? This was getting worse by the minute, and Sam knew he had to either figure out what was going on or get the hell out of his brother's way, because these moods never ended well, not for Dean or anyone in his crosshairs.
When he got back to the room, Dean was back in the same chair, hair wet and shirt sticking to him like he hadn't taken the time to dry off properly. Sam handed him one of the steaming paper cups he'd brought back, noting wearily that the first thing his brother did was take the lid off it and empty a good half of his flask into its contents. He swirled the liquid around a few times before taking a long sip, not relaxing with the hit of booze and caffeine like he usually did. Sam didn't even bother to say anything about how early in the morning it was, he just took the car keys and didn't comment on the fact Dean put the half-bottle of whiskey they had left under the passenger seat instead of in the trunk. This was one time bomb he didn't want to trip off until they were somewhere safer than a Motel 6 parking lot.
By the time they got to Bobby's, the bottle was empty and Dean was passed out with his hand still wrapped around the neck of it.
Not wanting to wake his brother immediately, Sam didn't shut the Impala's door completely when he got out and made his way to Bobby's door. Upon answering, the old hunter took one look at Sam's face and sighed, making what Dean had christened his 'poop face' as he regarded the worried expression of his surrogate son.
"Bobby." Sam greeted him, sounding younger and more scared than he meant to. "I think we've got trouble."