Supernatural Fic: a chorus of vandals
note: for ephemerall as per request. ♥
a chorus of vandals
it’s happened again, they’ve left again, and the house isn’t even something worth holding memories over. they never were told twice. supernatural. girl!sam/dean. pre-series. 2103 words, pg.
-
It’s happened again, they’ve left again, and the house isn’t even something worth holding memories over.
The road pinks as it starts to hit early morning, the two of them wide awake and ignoring the cars that pass them. They’re set for a motel on the border so that dad can go and take care of whatever it is that he needs too, always keeping secrets from them both. Sam’s angry, of course, the flush over her mouth and cheeks unsettling even when watching her in the rearview mirror. In the back, she just said when they left, and has been sitting there since as if this was the only way she could spite him and dad.
Sighing, Dean checks the roads and doesn’t really know where they’re going to end up again - Dad’s in the back, behind them with the truck, and sputtering along like he’s got a little bit of worry for the two of them underneath this job of his. The thing is he knows what dad’s going after, it’s been writing itself over his eyes and mouth, obsession after obsession and burning in every new demon that he finds. It’s pretty scary, but Dean’s too good, too tight, and too solid to say anything else.
Sammy, on the other hand, is sixteen.
He goes back to watching her at the light, when their old town seems to be swallowed back by exit signs and rest stops. She’s buried in her book, her eyes peeling back pages and her knuckles white because she’s still angry. It’s going to be a good place, she grinned the first night in little town, middle of nowhere because that’s what Sammy does. She believes it all.
It makes him feel like a jackass too. He knows how it breaks her heart.
“What are you doing?” The silence is a little much for him and Cash is in mutters on the radio, humming evenly when he turns it down. He hears the revving behind them and he assumes that Dad’s gonna just get off at the next exit and meet them at the motel they talked about last night. Traveling like this is far from anything new.
Sammy shrugs. “Reading.”
“Readin’ what?”
“A book, Dean,” her eyes roll and she’s snappy too, her thin streak of coy cruelty spitting right back at him, “a book with words and pages and things, you know, you usually read.”
“Bitch.”
It’s always half-hearted. She’s already passing the age where they can go and share things like mud on their knees or, getting nostalgic, even him teaching her how to shoot straight. He doesn’t know what to think about it or those pretty pink lips of hers, which makes him feel like a complete dick ‘cause this is Sammy and he just can’t keep breaking her heart like this again.
“Can’t get mad, Sammy,” he tries again, looking away and onto the road. They really can’t. Dad’s grieving for the living that he can’t have back and he and Sammy - well, Sammy’s just got a ghost.
She doesn’t ask anymore either because sometimes it’s like she’s wearing their mom’s face and hands in the way she usually just smoothes back his hair when he has a shit night. She knows things. She knows things and sometimes, she doesn’t really realize that she does and he’s not up for sharing that.
“Says who?”
It’s expectant and they’re watching Dad, suddenly, pass them in the other lane with truck springing spits and moans as he nods briefly on his way into the exit. Dean’s almost wistful too, shaking his head and going back to fiddling with the radio. It’s hard for them both - Sam doesn’t understand what Dean does and Dean doesn’t understand what she does; the way things have been swinging lately with the fire in Sammy’s eyes, he feels like he’s missed the bigger picture.
“Really,” and he finishes briefly, cutting them away and into another lane, the radio sort of weeping for them anyway.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
She ends it. But it’s not done for him. Something’s started, something that he’s completely not a part of, between her and dad and this yearly mess of things that their family’s been in. He won’t press. It’s not for him to do.
The road begins to open up again. Other cars, small towns. It was the better part of being kids together, the way things were new and could just be new, not scary like Dean learned faster. He doesn’t hate his dad. Can’t. Never will. It’s just that he wishes that he’d take the time. Like him and Sammy still do.
She’s reburied herself in her book, some fantasy shit that they picked up on the first gas stop, where he almost caught her thinking I’ll go back faster than the last time they did this sort of thing.
“He’s doing the best he can,” he says quietly but thinks me too, I’m doing the best I can too and it’s not like it matters.
“He’s always doing the best he can.”
She doesn’t look up at him.
-
“Stop it.”
It’s a little better at the diner this time, just the two of them like always. She’s bent over her milkshake and he’s stuck on the way she is, real pretty with that half-smile of hers, sinking shyly into her drink. But she keeps slurping, now and then, earning a glare from Peggy, their surrogate mom for the hour, as she teases him with the noise.
“Seriously,” he snorts. “Stop. Or she’s gonna, like, eat me.”
She smirks. “No.”
Sammy hums softly to the counter music and neither of them are really that hungry, kind of playful instead. He reaches forward, sweeping his fingers along the side of her face and pushing her bangs out of her eyes. He can’t help it. He can’t help wanting that kind of contact with someone familiar - sure, there are girls and girls are good, but him and Sammy have each other like this. Them and the road and not even dad.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
She bats his hand away lightly, wrinkling her nose and dipping herself back into the milkshake. She slurps again and he tries to kick her under the table, hissing when he hits the center and not her leg. Sammy giggles a little, grinning as she sucks on the straw and Peggy sends them over a few glares instead of his fries. He wants his fucking fries.
He bites his lip though and sees her sinking back into those thoughts again, about school and friends and all the things that he never cared to have, but thought hey, maybe she should. There’s a wistful sort of smile too, from him to her, and he remembers when she told him about giving the place a chance. He would’ve. He definitely would’ve.
But it’s not the reality of this situation. She’s gonna learn.
“I don’t think you’re gonna go back for awhile,” he says slowly.
She’s already swallowing. “Bad this time?”
“Think so.”
He tries to shrug it off because it’s always been bad, it’ll continue to be bad, and him and Sam’ll have guys like Caleb and Bobby who bring family loyalty because they know how to. It’s sorta sad to say and Dean knows that dad loves them something hard, but most of the time, he doesn’t get it. He won’t say anything. What’s he learned, however, is different and he’s seen scarier, right over Sammy’s head and even dad’s, trying to do the best he can. He’s secretly glad that he’s got his sister, the mess of curls and mouths that she is even now.
“He couldn’t look at me this time,” but she surprises him this time, over to him and not the milkshake. She’s distant, her eyes glassy and her mouth firm, shrugging when it washes over him.
“He couldn’t look at me this time,” she says again and then again, “seriously, I mean, I don’t know what I did.”
Her hair falls over her eyes, sloppy and in curls, framing the lines of her cheeks. He swallows and his fingers sweep along the along the end of the table, his thumb pressing tightly against the plastic. He wants to give her something more than this, touch her too or even show her how silly she’s being. They’ll never say mom or Mary, at least not to each other, but Dean doesn’t want her to think that it’s a bad thing to carry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”
She swallows. “I’m not.”
He nods. They’re quiet then and he checks his watch - they should be going, it’s not like they’re in a hurry, but it’s always good to keep constant time on the road. It’s been a lot crueler to them these days.
It’s darker outside too and Dean finds himself watching the trees, scattered in circles out in the parking lot. Under the wind, they start to bend and thinks about dad, alone and pushing, all by himself. But he wants to keep that way, he reminds himself.
Turning back to Sam, he catches him watching her. Her lips are wet, smeared with white and chocolate. There’s a flash of concern, but he chuckles and reaches for her.
He forgets a c’mere and slides his thumb over her lip, pressing away the rest of the shake that stains even her skin. She’s blushing, but he’s not really paying much attention and swears she sort kisses back the bad of his thumb.
“Milkshake,” he nods.
“Ah,” she says softly.
-
The motel is smaller than he remembers.
He swears he’s been here before, a long time ago when there were diapers and dad’s bleary eyes, bleeding along as they went. You got to give it to him though because after awhile, even as kids, all these rooms and doors look the same - the same kinds of people, running away, coming and going and hiding about too. But that doesn’t matter and he’s long buried himself into the pillow, next to her, annoyed because they could only get one, solid bed.
But he’s awake and listening, listening to the cars outside, the few that pass and sigh, into the lot and out and right under Sammy’s breathing. He listens to that too, how nervous it seems tonight, and watches the way the vacancy sign just paints itself across their walls. It spills and blurs and he’s trying to figure out if the a is really looking like an a instead of admitting just how tired he really is.
He stays on his side and shifts his hand underneath his pillow, his fingers rusty against the handle of his knife. Just a precaution, just a precaution, and he’s already haunting himself with mantras instead of sleeping. Sighing softly, he goes back to listening to Sammy and stretching close to the warmth of her back grazing his. He wonders if she’s awake too, watching and waiting because, in theory, it’s the only thing they really know how to do.
“Dean?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, gruff and feigning awake, “what?”
There’s a small sigh between them and he feels the bed squeak, purring as her legs brush back against his. He shivers and presses back, closer, letting his heel slide gently along her leg. He can feel her legs curl and soften, opening to the stroke of movement between them, instead of sighs and cars and how empty the rooms always feel.
“Thanks,” she murmurs and too quickly too as he imagines her pressing into her pillow in that way she does, nervous and spreading her fingers to pull herself closer to something.
It seems almost strange for her to go and say something though and he feels the sheets shift around him as she turns, resting over the small crook against his back. He feels her - her mouth, soft in sighs, as it slides over the face of skin along with her fingers trailing along behind in a path of circles.
He swallows. “For what?”
And he wishes for her to keep quiet, filtering into one of those silences that she likes to take to. He doesn’t need it, the acknowledgment, and she’s got to get that he’s gonna keep doing it for her, keeping moving on and keeping them alive the right way.
“I don’t know,” she says slowly and her fingers skip along his spine, forcing him to shiver just a little bit.
He closes his eyes tightly and bites, “Stupid answer.”
And he imagines she smiles too. “I know.”
a chorus of vandals
it’s happened again, they’ve left again, and the house isn’t even something worth holding memories over. they never were told twice. supernatural. girl!sam/dean. pre-series. 2103 words, pg.
-
It’s happened again, they’ve left again, and the house isn’t even something worth holding memories over.
The road pinks as it starts to hit early morning, the two of them wide awake and ignoring the cars that pass them. They’re set for a motel on the border so that dad can go and take care of whatever it is that he needs too, always keeping secrets from them both. Sam’s angry, of course, the flush over her mouth and cheeks unsettling even when watching her in the rearview mirror. In the back, she just said when they left, and has been sitting there since as if this was the only way she could spite him and dad.
Sighing, Dean checks the roads and doesn’t really know where they’re going to end up again - Dad’s in the back, behind them with the truck, and sputtering along like he’s got a little bit of worry for the two of them underneath this job of his. The thing is he knows what dad’s going after, it’s been writing itself over his eyes and mouth, obsession after obsession and burning in every new demon that he finds. It’s pretty scary, but Dean’s too good, too tight, and too solid to say anything else.
Sammy, on the other hand, is sixteen.
He goes back to watching her at the light, when their old town seems to be swallowed back by exit signs and rest stops. She’s buried in her book, her eyes peeling back pages and her knuckles white because she’s still angry. It’s going to be a good place, she grinned the first night in little town, middle of nowhere because that’s what Sammy does. She believes it all.
It makes him feel like a jackass too. He knows how it breaks her heart.
“What are you doing?” The silence is a little much for him and Cash is in mutters on the radio, humming evenly when he turns it down. He hears the revving behind them and he assumes that Dad’s gonna just get off at the next exit and meet them at the motel they talked about last night. Traveling like this is far from anything new.
Sammy shrugs. “Reading.”
“Readin’ what?”
“A book, Dean,” her eyes roll and she’s snappy too, her thin streak of coy cruelty spitting right back at him, “a book with words and pages and things, you know, you usually read.”
“Bitch.”
It’s always half-hearted. She’s already passing the age where they can go and share things like mud on their knees or, getting nostalgic, even him teaching her how to shoot straight. He doesn’t know what to think about it or those pretty pink lips of hers, which makes him feel like a complete dick ‘cause this is Sammy and he just can’t keep breaking her heart like this again.
“Can’t get mad, Sammy,” he tries again, looking away and onto the road. They really can’t. Dad’s grieving for the living that he can’t have back and he and Sammy - well, Sammy’s just got a ghost.
She doesn’t ask anymore either because sometimes it’s like she’s wearing their mom’s face and hands in the way she usually just smoothes back his hair when he has a shit night. She knows things. She knows things and sometimes, she doesn’t really realize that she does and he’s not up for sharing that.
“Says who?”
It’s expectant and they’re watching Dad, suddenly, pass them in the other lane with truck springing spits and moans as he nods briefly on his way into the exit. Dean’s almost wistful too, shaking his head and going back to fiddling with the radio. It’s hard for them both - Sam doesn’t understand what Dean does and Dean doesn’t understand what she does; the way things have been swinging lately with the fire in Sammy’s eyes, he feels like he’s missed the bigger picture.
“Really,” and he finishes briefly, cutting them away and into another lane, the radio sort of weeping for them anyway.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
She ends it. But it’s not done for him. Something’s started, something that he’s completely not a part of, between her and dad and this yearly mess of things that their family’s been in. He won’t press. It’s not for him to do.
The road begins to open up again. Other cars, small towns. It was the better part of being kids together, the way things were new and could just be new, not scary like Dean learned faster. He doesn’t hate his dad. Can’t. Never will. It’s just that he wishes that he’d take the time. Like him and Sammy still do.
She’s reburied herself in her book, some fantasy shit that they picked up on the first gas stop, where he almost caught her thinking I’ll go back faster than the last time they did this sort of thing.
“He’s doing the best he can,” he says quietly but thinks me too, I’m doing the best I can too and it’s not like it matters.
“He’s always doing the best he can.”
She doesn’t look up at him.
-
“Stop it.”
It’s a little better at the diner this time, just the two of them like always. She’s bent over her milkshake and he’s stuck on the way she is, real pretty with that half-smile of hers, sinking shyly into her drink. But she keeps slurping, now and then, earning a glare from Peggy, their surrogate mom for the hour, as she teases him with the noise.
“Seriously,” he snorts. “Stop. Or she’s gonna, like, eat me.”
She smirks. “No.”
Sammy hums softly to the counter music and neither of them are really that hungry, kind of playful instead. He reaches forward, sweeping his fingers along the side of her face and pushing her bangs out of her eyes. He can’t help it. He can’t help wanting that kind of contact with someone familiar - sure, there are girls and girls are good, but him and Sammy have each other like this. Them and the road and not even dad.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
She bats his hand away lightly, wrinkling her nose and dipping herself back into the milkshake. She slurps again and he tries to kick her under the table, hissing when he hits the center and not her leg. Sammy giggles a little, grinning as she sucks on the straw and Peggy sends them over a few glares instead of his fries. He wants his fucking fries.
He bites his lip though and sees her sinking back into those thoughts again, about school and friends and all the things that he never cared to have, but thought hey, maybe she should. There’s a wistful sort of smile too, from him to her, and he remembers when she told him about giving the place a chance. He would’ve. He definitely would’ve.
But it’s not the reality of this situation. She’s gonna learn.
“I don’t think you’re gonna go back for awhile,” he says slowly.
She’s already swallowing. “Bad this time?”
“Think so.”
He tries to shrug it off because it’s always been bad, it’ll continue to be bad, and him and Sam’ll have guys like Caleb and Bobby who bring family loyalty because they know how to. It’s sorta sad to say and Dean knows that dad loves them something hard, but most of the time, he doesn’t get it. He won’t say anything. What’s he learned, however, is different and he’s seen scarier, right over Sammy’s head and even dad’s, trying to do the best he can. He’s secretly glad that he’s got his sister, the mess of curls and mouths that she is even now.
“He couldn’t look at me this time,” but she surprises him this time, over to him and not the milkshake. She’s distant, her eyes glassy and her mouth firm, shrugging when it washes over him.
“He couldn’t look at me this time,” she says again and then again, “seriously, I mean, I don’t know what I did.”
Her hair falls over her eyes, sloppy and in curls, framing the lines of her cheeks. He swallows and his fingers sweep along the along the end of the table, his thumb pressing tightly against the plastic. He wants to give her something more than this, touch her too or even show her how silly she’s being. They’ll never say mom or Mary, at least not to each other, but Dean doesn’t want her to think that it’s a bad thing to carry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”
She swallows. “I’m not.”
He nods. They’re quiet then and he checks his watch - they should be going, it’s not like they’re in a hurry, but it’s always good to keep constant time on the road. It’s been a lot crueler to them these days.
It’s darker outside too and Dean finds himself watching the trees, scattered in circles out in the parking lot. Under the wind, they start to bend and thinks about dad, alone and pushing, all by himself. But he wants to keep that way, he reminds himself.
Turning back to Sam, he catches him watching her. Her lips are wet, smeared with white and chocolate. There’s a flash of concern, but he chuckles and reaches for her.
He forgets a c’mere and slides his thumb over her lip, pressing away the rest of the shake that stains even her skin. She’s blushing, but he’s not really paying much attention and swears she sort kisses back the bad of his thumb.
“Milkshake,” he nods.
“Ah,” she says softly.
-
The motel is smaller than he remembers.
He swears he’s been here before, a long time ago when there were diapers and dad’s bleary eyes, bleeding along as they went. You got to give it to him though because after awhile, even as kids, all these rooms and doors look the same - the same kinds of people, running away, coming and going and hiding about too. But that doesn’t matter and he’s long buried himself into the pillow, next to her, annoyed because they could only get one, solid bed.
But he’s awake and listening, listening to the cars outside, the few that pass and sigh, into the lot and out and right under Sammy’s breathing. He listens to that too, how nervous it seems tonight, and watches the way the vacancy sign just paints itself across their walls. It spills and blurs and he’s trying to figure out if the a is really looking like an a instead of admitting just how tired he really is.
He stays on his side and shifts his hand underneath his pillow, his fingers rusty against the handle of his knife. Just a precaution, just a precaution, and he’s already haunting himself with mantras instead of sleeping. Sighing softly, he goes back to listening to Sammy and stretching close to the warmth of her back grazing his. He wonders if she’s awake too, watching and waiting because, in theory, it’s the only thing they really know how to do.
“Dean?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, gruff and feigning awake, “what?”
There’s a small sigh between them and he feels the bed squeak, purring as her legs brush back against his. He shivers and presses back, closer, letting his heel slide gently along her leg. He can feel her legs curl and soften, opening to the stroke of movement between them, instead of sighs and cars and how empty the rooms always feel.
“Thanks,” she murmurs and too quickly too as he imagines her pressing into her pillow in that way she does, nervous and spreading her fingers to pull herself closer to something.
It seems almost strange for her to go and say something though and he feels the sheets shift around him as she turns, resting over the small crook against his back. He feels her - her mouth, soft in sighs, as it slides over the face of skin along with her fingers trailing along behind in a path of circles.
He swallows. “For what?”
And he wishes for her to keep quiet, filtering into one of those silences that she likes to take to. He doesn’t need it, the acknowledgment, and she’s got to get that he’s gonna keep doing it for her, keeping moving on and keeping them alive the right way.
“I don’t know,” she says slowly and her fingers skip along his spine, forcing him to shiver just a little bit.
He closes his eyes tightly and bites, “Stupid answer.”
And he imagines she smiles too. “I know.”