Supernatural fic: And the Band Played On [Gen, PG]
And the Band Played On: five drabbles about Dean Winchester
by dotfic
Rating: PG
Timeline: Dean at various ages, vague spoilers for "Faith"
Disclaimer: Not mine, but it feels like they are. They are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW.
Summary: There will always be something to hunt.
I. To Vanquish Dragons
His mother's belly is too rounded now with no room for him. So he sits on his father's lap, but it's his mother who reads to him.
He doesn't want the books about the little bear, or the ducks, or the circus. The big books interest him more.
"Are you sure he understands this stuff?"
"He understands in here, John." She touches her son's chest, then shows him the picture of a figure in armor standing in a green wood.
Sometimes there are monsters, but he's not worried. His father's arms are steadying, and his mother's voice can vanquish dragons.
II. Never Look Away
The heat at the fair is like an engine. Dad is off purging the ferris wheel of gremlins. Dean holds Sammy's sweaty hand tight. His brother squirms.
It's just for a second. A heartbeat. He looks away. The small hand slips from his and Sam's gone.
The entire world shrinks to trampled grass, hot sun, bright crowd, crumbling inward on the avalance of his panic.
"Look, goldfish!"
Sammy's there, by the booth, and Dean exhales shakily.
Dad isn't there to hear and punish him when Dean curses loudly in relief.
Right then he promises himself: he'll never look away again.
III. Pulled in Two
When his efforts to play peacemaker don't work, he goes out to the Impala. They never seem to notice when he leaves.
He opens the doors and cranks the music up real loud. Sitting on the front hood, back against the windshield, he taps the rhythms with his fingers against the glass. The sky is blue, and there's a breeze.
He waits.
The neighbors complain. So then Dad yells at him instead of Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing? and that's just fine with Dean.
He can take that. He just can't take being pulled in two.
IV. To Watch Over
It's the smell he hates most, the fact that there is none. Hospitals are like being dead, the absence of anything.
He resents the steady beeps of the monitor, doesn't need a machine to prove he's still alive. He closes his eyes because Sam would want him to try to sleep, not because he needs to sleep.
Okay, maybe he does, just a little.
He drifts. The faint scents of leather, gun oil, and road dust tickle his nose, and he's comforted.
There's the soft tap of a footstep, but when he opens his eyes, he's alone in the room.
V. Goes Ever On
There's a dragon perched above the town hall clock. The rope burns Dean's hands through the gloves.
"Now, Sam!"
The arrow flies straight into the one vulnerable spot on the dragon's chest. Fire flashes into the darkness as the dragon shrieks and falls, breaking the pavement.
Faces sooty, lit by fire, they grin.
He feels it in here, where the music is and there's a road that goes ever on and on. He won't look away, be torn in two, let the nothingness win.
It's not like the books. There is no ending.
There will always be something to hunt.
by dotfic
Rating: PG
Timeline: Dean at various ages, vague spoilers for "Faith"
Disclaimer: Not mine, but it feels like they are. They are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW.
Summary: There will always be something to hunt.
I. To Vanquish Dragons
His mother's belly is too rounded now with no room for him. So he sits on his father's lap, but it's his mother who reads to him.
He doesn't want the books about the little bear, or the ducks, or the circus. The big books interest him more.
"Are you sure he understands this stuff?"
"He understands in here, John." She touches her son's chest, then shows him the picture of a figure in armor standing in a green wood.
Sometimes there are monsters, but he's not worried. His father's arms are steadying, and his mother's voice can vanquish dragons.
II. Never Look Away
The heat at the fair is like an engine. Dad is off purging the ferris wheel of gremlins. Dean holds Sammy's sweaty hand tight. His brother squirms.
It's just for a second. A heartbeat. He looks away. The small hand slips from his and Sam's gone.
The entire world shrinks to trampled grass, hot sun, bright crowd, crumbling inward on the avalance of his panic.
"Look, goldfish!"
Sammy's there, by the booth, and Dean exhales shakily.
Dad isn't there to hear and punish him when Dean curses loudly in relief.
Right then he promises himself: he'll never look away again.
III. Pulled in Two
When his efforts to play peacemaker don't work, he goes out to the Impala. They never seem to notice when he leaves.
He opens the doors and cranks the music up real loud. Sitting on the front hood, back against the windshield, he taps the rhythms with his fingers against the glass. The sky is blue, and there's a breeze.
He waits.
The neighbors complain. So then Dad yells at him instead of Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing? and that's just fine with Dean.
He can take that. He just can't take being pulled in two.
IV. To Watch Over
It's the smell he hates most, the fact that there is none. Hospitals are like being dead, the absence of anything.
He resents the steady beeps of the monitor, doesn't need a machine to prove he's still alive. He closes his eyes because Sam would want him to try to sleep, not because he needs to sleep.
Okay, maybe he does, just a little.
He drifts. The faint scents of leather, gun oil, and road dust tickle his nose, and he's comforted.
There's the soft tap of a footstep, but when he opens his eyes, he's alone in the room.
V. Goes Ever On
There's a dragon perched above the town hall clock. The rope burns Dean's hands through the gloves.
"Now, Sam!"
The arrow flies straight into the one vulnerable spot on the dragon's chest. Fire flashes into the darkness as the dragon shrieks and falls, breaking the pavement.
Faces sooty, lit by fire, they grin.
He feels it in here, where the music is and there's a road that goes ever on and on. He won't look away, be torn in two, let the nothingness win.
It's not like the books. There is no ending.
There will always be something to hunt.