Stream of Consciousness Writing - Feb. 19
Can't sleep, so writing... just stream-of-consciousness style.
I want to know why all of my chibi!Dean fics make him sound like an abused child, wth. JW, you have some 'splaining to do.
--
(context: John Winchester's Journal, April 1, 1991)
It's not enough, and he knows it. He's been told enough times that saying he's sorry won't change a damn thing, but he says it anyway 'cos he's twelve years old and when Dad's pissed it scares the hell out of him, and he doesn't see him this mad often. The slow simmering anger that's always there, hiding under the surface, the drive for revenge he's known as long as he can remember, that he's used to, but he never knows what to do when it boils over, just wants to make it stop if he can.
It was my fault. He takes responsibility, knows he has to, knows it's right because when he says it, Dad stops looking so mad, gives him a look like he likes that he admits it. It won't happen again.
He gets a warning - it'd better not - and tries not to meet Sammy's gaze for the rest of the night, nursing the bruise on his shoulder he got when Dad grabbed him, hard, pulled him back to make him face up. Wasn't just his fault, it was his responsibility. He should've known better, and just because Sammy thinks it's not fair, cos Sammy's giving him that look again like he does sometimes, like he's sorry or something, that doesn't mean it's not what he deserved. He was the one supposed to be watching Sam, not messing around with the steering column of one of Bobby's wrecks.
The way Sammy tells him he's sorry that night when they go to bed, arms around him like he thinks he's going somewhere, like he's going to lose him, that doesn't make it better. It doesn't change things.
It just sort of makes him want to cry, because he can't say that he's sorry anymore.
--
(context: Cute!verse; short version: JW gets brought back by Cas to facilitate Dean's cooperation, and Sam is not being a gigantic dick. The Winchesters are a family again. Hence, cute!verse.)
Dean sleeps through Oklahoma; he told Sam to wake him up when they got through Oklahoma City, Gimme two hours, I'll be fine, but of course he doesn't listen, but Dean never tells Dad to wake him up, to do anything, because he doesn't want to cross that line, he's afraid to, like everything's going to go to hell (figuratively) if he doesn't keep quiet, keep doing things like he should, like he's been taught. Things change anyway, there's no chance of them not, but he keeps what he can intact. He doesn't rock the boat. Doesn't make trouble when he can help it.
He falls asleep in the backseat, 6'1" and way too tall to curl up back there very comfortably, but he manages and he doesn't bitch, because it's the Impala and he's not going to complain about his car. There's a pillow and some blankets back there, because nobody sleeps through the night anymore, between him and Dad and Sammy, someone's always having nightmares, not sleeping right, not sleeping at all. He'll grudgingly give Sam the credit for the idea, because it wasn't a bad one, as much as he doesn't like sleeping in the car; he likes stopping all the time or staying stopped until he gets a decent night's sleep even less, and Sam's been getting tetchy about making sure he does sleep lately, like he takes it personally if he doesn't.
He wakes up to the same and different, to red-hot-sharp-hurt nightmares and fighting against something he realizes much later is only the blanket, is only Sam because when he comes around, Sam's in the back with him holding on to him like he needed it (maybe he did, maybe he'd never say so, act like it), like he was dying (he was), and he relaxes realizing it, hearing Sam talking to him, whispering where they are, where they're not, this is real, it's okay Dean, over and over. He'd accuse him of treating him like a kid if he wasn't blinking back what he'd never admit were tears, if he didn't need this in some twisted way he couldn't quantify.
Sam doesn't let go and he doesn't tell him to, leans against him, head on his thigh because Sam shoved the pillow down and away on the other side of him. He can feel Dad watching from the driver's seat, the rearview mirror, but he doesn't open his eyes again, closes them tight to take advantage of the weariness in his bones that might get him back to sleep without bringing back the nightmares. He thinks, juvenile, feeling too young for his bones and the scars he keeps, maybe Sam being there will keep it from happening again, just for a couple hours, just long enough.
Because Dad's there, and he loves that, but Sam's the one he relies on now. Sam's the one who's always been there. And Sam's the one who climbed back to chase the demons away, all those memories of Hell he shares with John and then again doesn't, the ghost of shared experience between them like a rope stretched taut. All these years and he doesn't know how to rely on Dad anymore, doesn't know how to leave everything up to John when it's been down to him for so long.
He tries. But it's Sam who gets him to sleep again.
I want to know why all of my chibi!Dean fics make him sound like an abused child, wth. JW, you have some 'splaining to do.
--
(context: John Winchester's Journal, April 1, 1991)
It's not enough, and he knows it. He's been told enough times that saying he's sorry won't change a damn thing, but he says it anyway 'cos he's twelve years old and when Dad's pissed it scares the hell out of him, and he doesn't see him this mad often. The slow simmering anger that's always there, hiding under the surface, the drive for revenge he's known as long as he can remember, that he's used to, but he never knows what to do when it boils over, just wants to make it stop if he can.
It was my fault. He takes responsibility, knows he has to, knows it's right because when he says it, Dad stops looking so mad, gives him a look like he likes that he admits it. It won't happen again.
He gets a warning - it'd better not - and tries not to meet Sammy's gaze for the rest of the night, nursing the bruise on his shoulder he got when Dad grabbed him, hard, pulled him back to make him face up. Wasn't just his fault, it was his responsibility. He should've known better, and just because Sammy thinks it's not fair, cos Sammy's giving him that look again like he does sometimes, like he's sorry or something, that doesn't mean it's not what he deserved. He was the one supposed to be watching Sam, not messing around with the steering column of one of Bobby's wrecks.
The way Sammy tells him he's sorry that night when they go to bed, arms around him like he thinks he's going somewhere, like he's going to lose him, that doesn't make it better. It doesn't change things.
It just sort of makes him want to cry, because he can't say that he's sorry anymore.
--
(context: Cute!verse; short version: JW gets brought back by Cas to facilitate Dean's cooperation, and Sam is not being a gigantic dick. The Winchesters are a family again. Hence, cute!verse.)
Dean sleeps through Oklahoma; he told Sam to wake him up when they got through Oklahoma City, Gimme two hours, I'll be fine, but of course he doesn't listen, but Dean never tells Dad to wake him up, to do anything, because he doesn't want to cross that line, he's afraid to, like everything's going to go to hell (figuratively) if he doesn't keep quiet, keep doing things like he should, like he's been taught. Things change anyway, there's no chance of them not, but he keeps what he can intact. He doesn't rock the boat. Doesn't make trouble when he can help it.
He falls asleep in the backseat, 6'1" and way too tall to curl up back there very comfortably, but he manages and he doesn't bitch, because it's the Impala and he's not going to complain about his car. There's a pillow and some blankets back there, because nobody sleeps through the night anymore, between him and Dad and Sammy, someone's always having nightmares, not sleeping right, not sleeping at all. He'll grudgingly give Sam the credit for the idea, because it wasn't a bad one, as much as he doesn't like sleeping in the car; he likes stopping all the time or staying stopped until he gets a decent night's sleep even less, and Sam's been getting tetchy about making sure he does sleep lately, like he takes it personally if he doesn't.
He wakes up to the same and different, to red-hot-sharp-hurt nightmares and fighting against something he realizes much later is only the blanket, is only Sam because when he comes around, Sam's in the back with him holding on to him like he needed it (maybe he did, maybe he'd never say so, act like it), like he was dying (he was), and he relaxes realizing it, hearing Sam talking to him, whispering where they are, where they're not, this is real, it's okay Dean, over and over. He'd accuse him of treating him like a kid if he wasn't blinking back what he'd never admit were tears, if he didn't need this in some twisted way he couldn't quantify.
Sam doesn't let go and he doesn't tell him to, leans against him, head on his thigh because Sam shoved the pillow down and away on the other side of him. He can feel Dad watching from the driver's seat, the rearview mirror, but he doesn't open his eyes again, closes them tight to take advantage of the weariness in his bones that might get him back to sleep without bringing back the nightmares. He thinks, juvenile, feeling too young for his bones and the scars he keeps, maybe Sam being there will keep it from happening again, just for a couple hours, just long enough.
Because Dad's there, and he loves that, but Sam's the one he relies on now. Sam's the one who's always been there. And Sam's the one who climbed back to chase the demons away, all those memories of Hell he shares with John and then again doesn't, the ghost of shared experience between them like a rope stretched taut. All these years and he doesn't know how to rely on Dad anymore, doesn't know how to leave everything up to John when it's been down to him for so long.
He tries. But it's Sam who gets him to sleep again.