Supernatural fic: Surviving
Title: Surviving
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warnings: character death
Pairing: Sam/OFC (but not major)
Disclaimer: The Winchesters are not my property, never have been, and I have never come near to owning them, pity really... but maybe... no I can't tell you that: then I'd have to kill you.
Summary: He drove away again, the music loud, but his thoughts were louder, yelling at him and berating him for his actions. He ignored them and switched tapes, hoping the metal would drive the ghosts away as the previous tape had been unable to.
Author's Note: I wanted to get out of writing G rated fics so I started to write and this is what came out.
The music was loud, but he cranked it up louder, tapping along on the steering wheel because it felt right. He smelt of alcohol, smoke, sex and blood, and he knew that if he left it much longer the clothes he had on would be ruined, but he was no longer welcome in the town he had just left, despite disposing of their small supernatural problem. It might have been the way he walked, or his battered leather jacket, or the way he smiled at the sheriff’s daughter, but it was more likely just to be the aura he gave off.
His face felt as though it were set in stone, mouth a hard unbroken line when he was alone, left with only thoughts and enough loud music to swallow them up in pure noise. As he pulled into the parking lot of a small bar outside the next town he wondered whether now he understood, but he could not be sure and he could not ask now.
He had another beer and then another, downing them quickly with a smirk at the barmaid who served him as she looked him up and down in a way that he had seen a million times. He entered into the same old song and dance, glad to have a distraction again. The flirting was shameless, his chat up lines appalling, but they still ended up in a sweaty wrestle of limbs around the back, her back forced up against the wall. She had suggested the car, but he had forced the issue, not allowing her to see the panic that spread through him at the suggestion, the shame that flashed through his eyes.
She enjoyed it, he made sure of that. He had her moaning and writhing against the wall as he pounded into her, watching as she bit her lip to smother a scream, the blood red of her lipstick rubbing off on her teeth, or it could have been actual blood: he was unsure.
For one brief moment, everything was shut out as he stiffened and shuddered in release and his mind was blissfully empty of pain and thought and loss. But then it was over, and the cold bitterness came back as he drew in a deep breath and let it out, tugging himself away from her and rearranging his clothes. He looked at her and noticed that she was a redhead for the first time. She smiled at him and shrugged, saying something about knowing it was a one time deal.
He drove away again, the music loud, but his thoughts were louder, yelling at him and berating him for his actions. He ignored them and switched tapes, hoping the metal would drive the ghosts away as the previous tape had been unable to.
He drove for another few hours, before pulling the car off the road and settling down in the seat for the night, his coat drawn tight around him like a blanket. As he closed his eyes he heard the ringing of his phone and before he pulled it out of his pocket he knew who it would be. He had been getting the calls for weeks now, echoes of his own thoughts in his dead brother’s voice: a ghost that haunted his voice mail, not just his mind.
He answered the phone and lifted it to his ear and listened as his brother spoke to him.
“Hey Sam, it’s me again. What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
-
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warnings: character death
Pairing: Sam/OFC (but not major)
Disclaimer: The Winchesters are not my property, never have been, and I have never come near to owning them, pity really... but maybe... no I can't tell you that: then I'd have to kill you.
Summary: He drove away again, the music loud, but his thoughts were louder, yelling at him and berating him for his actions. He ignored them and switched tapes, hoping the metal would drive the ghosts away as the previous tape had been unable to.
Author's Note: I wanted to get out of writing G rated fics so I started to write and this is what came out.
The music was loud, but he cranked it up louder, tapping along on the steering wheel because it felt right. He smelt of alcohol, smoke, sex and blood, and he knew that if he left it much longer the clothes he had on would be ruined, but he was no longer welcome in the town he had just left, despite disposing of their small supernatural problem. It might have been the way he walked, or his battered leather jacket, or the way he smiled at the sheriff’s daughter, but it was more likely just to be the aura he gave off.
His face felt as though it were set in stone, mouth a hard unbroken line when he was alone, left with only thoughts and enough loud music to swallow them up in pure noise. As he pulled into the parking lot of a small bar outside the next town he wondered whether now he understood, but he could not be sure and he could not ask now.
He had another beer and then another, downing them quickly with a smirk at the barmaid who served him as she looked him up and down in a way that he had seen a million times. He entered into the same old song and dance, glad to have a distraction again. The flirting was shameless, his chat up lines appalling, but they still ended up in a sweaty wrestle of limbs around the back, her back forced up against the wall. She had suggested the car, but he had forced the issue, not allowing her to see the panic that spread through him at the suggestion, the shame that flashed through his eyes.
She enjoyed it, he made sure of that. He had her moaning and writhing against the wall as he pounded into her, watching as she bit her lip to smother a scream, the blood red of her lipstick rubbing off on her teeth, or it could have been actual blood: he was unsure.
For one brief moment, everything was shut out as he stiffened and shuddered in release and his mind was blissfully empty of pain and thought and loss. But then it was over, and the cold bitterness came back as he drew in a deep breath and let it out, tugging himself away from her and rearranging his clothes. He looked at her and noticed that she was a redhead for the first time. She smiled at him and shrugged, saying something about knowing it was a one time deal.
He drove away again, the music loud, but his thoughts were louder, yelling at him and berating him for his actions. He ignored them and switched tapes, hoping the metal would drive the ghosts away as the previous tape had been unable to.
He drove for another few hours, before pulling the car off the road and settling down in the seat for the night, his coat drawn tight around him like a blanket. As he closed his eyes he heard the ringing of his phone and before he pulled it out of his pocket he knew who it would be. He had been getting the calls for weeks now, echoes of his own thoughts in his dead brother’s voice: a ghost that haunted his voice mail, not just his mind.
He answered the phone and lifted it to his ear and listened as his brother spoke to him.
“Hey Sam, it’s me again. What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
-