SPN FIC - A Girl Like That
You wanted a coda to Jus in Bello? Here you go.
Ruby's been gone for seventeen minutes, and Dean's still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the rug. He hasn't said anything since she left - hasn't made any noise at all. His head is down, and he's got his hands folded in his lap. I know better than to think he's praying. Other than that, I don't have a clue what he's thinking.
Characters: Dean and Sam
Pairings: none
Rating: PG, for language
Spoilers: up through Jus in Bello
Length: 1573 words
Disclaimer: I shop in Toys-R-Kripke. Don't own, just play.
A Girl Like That
By Carol Davis
Ruby's been gone for seventeen minutes, and Dean's still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the rug. He hasn't said anything since she left - hasn't made any noise at all. His head is down, and he's got his hands folded in his lap. I know better than to think he's praying. Other than that, I don't have a clue what he's thinking.
Maybe he's blaming somebody for what happened. Ruby. Bela. Lilith.
I'd be willing to give up a couple of body parts if I could stop thinking of Frasier Crane's ex every time I hear "Lilith," because that Lilith was funny. Jess could do a dead-on imitation of her, and it always made me laugh. So there's that; I don't want to hear the name at all, really, because it's another way of making me connect Jess with death. With way too much death.
This Lilith? Isn't funny. I don't want to find out what she is. Even though I'm pretty sure I will. We will.
I wonder if she's the one who holds Dean's contract. The crossroads demon said it was a "he," but I don't know that gender really means anything to them.
So maybe.
Maybe she's the one.
She's definitely the one who ruined everything, after we thought we'd solved it all. Well…not all of it, because half a dozen people died before Lilith showed up: Henriksen's boss, the sheriff, the people who were outside when the chopper blew up. But with Henriksen being on our side now, and the others being okay…
She ruined that.
Me? I want to blame Bela, because none of this would have happened if she hadn't set us up.
I want to call her and ask her if she knows how many people died today because she thought she was being cute.
Dean flinches, like I said her name out loud instead of thinking it. I wonder if she knows she's pushed him just about as far as he's going to let himself be pushed. I don't know that he'd kill her, even though he's said a bunch of times that he wants to - but he might not object to walling her up somewhere with some bottled water and a couple cases of Slim Jims. Chain her up, see if she'd be willing to chew off her own hand to get free.
Dean's mouth twitches, like he heard that too.
He'll want to go there. To the sheriff's station, so we can see if it's all true.
It must have been a bitch of an explosion.
"It ain't right," Dean says, without much emotion, as if he means he doesn't like the color of the rug. "For her to die like that."
He means Nancy. Nancy's going to be a sore spot for him for a long time.
Not that he has all that much time left.
"Because she never had sex?"
That's kind of cheap, rubbing his nose in the fuss he made yesterday, but it'll distract him a little, and anyway, it's probably part of the right answer. That, and Nancy having that little-girl look about her. She might have gotten the secretary job at the cop shop because she was related to somebody, and Monument's not the kind of place where much hair-raising stuff happens (not before today, anyway), so chances are good she never ran into anything she couldn't handle - but I figure she had a lot more backbone than most people gave her credit for. Seemed like it, when she told Dean her being a virgin was a choice. I bet she was feisty when she needed to be. She certainly didn't curl up into a ball when the fighting started.
"She probably had a lot of stuff she wanted to do," Dean says. "You know. In her life."
"Yeah. I guess."
Victor Henriksen probably had a lot of stuff he wanted to do, too. And the others. Everyone who died today because Bela ratted us out. You can't say it was any less of a tragedy that they died than it was for Nancy Fitzgerald.
But I know what Dean means. She's the kind of face the media loves to put on something like this. There'll probably be half a page on her in the local paper tomorrow. The news'll show footage of her funeral.
"She shoulda had the chance to love somebody," Dean says.
"Maybe she did."
"Nah." He shakes his head. "Not just - I mean like…head over heels."
"You don't know that she didn't."
"You wanna stop arguing with me?"
"I'm not arguing with you. I'm just saying -"
"Jesus, Sam. Go with me on this." He looks flustered, like I won't let him order extra pepperoni on the pizza. "I mean she should've had something really great. Somebody who was 'the one.' 'Cause if she had that, she'd be…you know. Married."
"You mean she would have had sex."
"Would you -" he sputters. "I can't even talk to you."
"I get it."
"Just cut it out. Stop talking."
"No, man. I get it."
He gives me a long, hard look, like he wants to haul off and paste me one, but then his face smoothes out again and he goes back to looking at the rug. "Nice girl like that," he mutters. "It ain't right."
"The polar opposite of Bela."
That makes his head snap around, and yeah, if he had his hands around Bela's neck right now, her odds wouldn't be good. They'd pretty much suck, in fact. Dean doesn't say anything, but it's probably because he can't come up with anything that's foul enough to describe Bela Talbot. After a minute he settles for "Bitch."
"We need to find her," I tell him. "We really need to find her."
He mulls that over for a minute, then he looks over at me and his face is kind of blank, like it was the night he beheaded that vampire, back when we first met Gordon.
"It's gonna get worse," he says.
"I know."
He doesn't know how much worse it already is. I haven't told him about Mom's friends - how Azazel got rid of all of them.
I haven't told him that Mom knew Azazel.
I kind of hold on to the hope that Azazel was lying - that he tweaked the "instant replay" of that night in my nursery so it'd spin my head around. But I don't know. That's the worst of all of this: you don't know who to believe, or when.
I have no idea whether I should believe Ruby. All the time? Sometimes? Never? But I feel like I have to. If there's a chance she's telling the truth, that she does know how to save Dean, then I can't afford to blow her off. Or worse yet, make her angry.
Which makes me wonder: if something as powerful as Lilith hates us so much, why doesn't she just kill us? We can't be so significant that it's worth the trouble to play cat and mouse with us. We aren't The Answer. We're not mankind's only hope. We're not the best and the brightest. Dad taught us well, but Dad wasn't Superman, much as Dean wants to believe he was. His batting average wasn't…
Well. He failed, sometimes.
And we've failed, a lot of the time.
If we're worth all this trouble, if we're that "special," why are we in this mess? Why can't we just…solve it?
Dean looks over at me, and dammit, I don't know what he wants. I don't know what he thinks I can give him. It's been eight months now, and I don't have any answers. All I have is a bunch of secrets that would tear him up if I told him. I guess I have to settle for giving him what I can: letting him hold on to the image he has of Mom.
I hope Azazel was lying.
I pray he was.
I turned the TV off a while ago, but Dean looks at it as if it's still playing - as if it's still showing him what's left of the sheriff's station.
"How's your shoulder?" I ask him.
"Fantastic."
A doctor ought to look at it, make sure the bullet didn't cause any lasting damage. But we almost never go that route. Almost 25 years now we've been patching each other up, gritting our teeth through the pain, ignoring the scars.
It's been almost 25 years since Mom died. I'd say "since all this began," but obviously it began long before that.
I have no idea when it will end.
"You want something to eat?" I ask my brother. "We should eat something." Dad taught us that: food is fuel. A lot of the time, that's all it is. Just fuel to keep the engine running. "Some soup, or a burger or something."
Dean gets up off the bed, then stands there scrubbing his hands through his hair as if he's forgotten why he stood up. He looks like he wants to say something, but again, he can't find the right words. That happens sometimes. Words just fail him, like so many other things fail him. Like so many people fail him.
"Bitch," he mutters finally. "She…fuck her. Fuck her, Sammy."
I have no idea which "her" he means. So I just nod and tell him, "Yeah."
Ruby's been gone for seventeen minutes, and Dean's still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the rug. He hasn't said anything since she left - hasn't made any noise at all. His head is down, and he's got his hands folded in his lap. I know better than to think he's praying. Other than that, I don't have a clue what he's thinking.
Characters: Dean and Sam
Pairings: none
Rating: PG, for language
Spoilers: up through Jus in Bello
Length: 1573 words
Disclaimer: I shop in Toys-R-Kripke. Don't own, just play.
A Girl Like That
By Carol Davis
Ruby's been gone for seventeen minutes, and Dean's still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the rug. He hasn't said anything since she left - hasn't made any noise at all. His head is down, and he's got his hands folded in his lap. I know better than to think he's praying. Other than that, I don't have a clue what he's thinking.
Maybe he's blaming somebody for what happened. Ruby. Bela. Lilith.
I'd be willing to give up a couple of body parts if I could stop thinking of Frasier Crane's ex every time I hear "Lilith," because that Lilith was funny. Jess could do a dead-on imitation of her, and it always made me laugh. So there's that; I don't want to hear the name at all, really, because it's another way of making me connect Jess with death. With way too much death.
This Lilith? Isn't funny. I don't want to find out what she is. Even though I'm pretty sure I will. We will.
I wonder if she's the one who holds Dean's contract. The crossroads demon said it was a "he," but I don't know that gender really means anything to them.
So maybe.
Maybe she's the one.
She's definitely the one who ruined everything, after we thought we'd solved it all. Well…not all of it, because half a dozen people died before Lilith showed up: Henriksen's boss, the sheriff, the people who were outside when the chopper blew up. But with Henriksen being on our side now, and the others being okay…
She ruined that.
Me? I want to blame Bela, because none of this would have happened if she hadn't set us up.
I want to call her and ask her if she knows how many people died today because she thought she was being cute.
Dean flinches, like I said her name out loud instead of thinking it. I wonder if she knows she's pushed him just about as far as he's going to let himself be pushed. I don't know that he'd kill her, even though he's said a bunch of times that he wants to - but he might not object to walling her up somewhere with some bottled water and a couple cases of Slim Jims. Chain her up, see if she'd be willing to chew off her own hand to get free.
Dean's mouth twitches, like he heard that too.
He'll want to go there. To the sheriff's station, so we can see if it's all true.
It must have been a bitch of an explosion.
"It ain't right," Dean says, without much emotion, as if he means he doesn't like the color of the rug. "For her to die like that."
He means Nancy. Nancy's going to be a sore spot for him for a long time.
Not that he has all that much time left.
"Because she never had sex?"
That's kind of cheap, rubbing his nose in the fuss he made yesterday, but it'll distract him a little, and anyway, it's probably part of the right answer. That, and Nancy having that little-girl look about her. She might have gotten the secretary job at the cop shop because she was related to somebody, and Monument's not the kind of place where much hair-raising stuff happens (not before today, anyway), so chances are good she never ran into anything she couldn't handle - but I figure she had a lot more backbone than most people gave her credit for. Seemed like it, when she told Dean her being a virgin was a choice. I bet she was feisty when she needed to be. She certainly didn't curl up into a ball when the fighting started.
"She probably had a lot of stuff she wanted to do," Dean says. "You know. In her life."
"Yeah. I guess."
Victor Henriksen probably had a lot of stuff he wanted to do, too. And the others. Everyone who died today because Bela ratted us out. You can't say it was any less of a tragedy that they died than it was for Nancy Fitzgerald.
But I know what Dean means. She's the kind of face the media loves to put on something like this. There'll probably be half a page on her in the local paper tomorrow. The news'll show footage of her funeral.
"She shoulda had the chance to love somebody," Dean says.
"Maybe she did."
"Nah." He shakes his head. "Not just - I mean like…head over heels."
"You don't know that she didn't."
"You wanna stop arguing with me?"
"I'm not arguing with you. I'm just saying -"
"Jesus, Sam. Go with me on this." He looks flustered, like I won't let him order extra pepperoni on the pizza. "I mean she should've had something really great. Somebody who was 'the one.' 'Cause if she had that, she'd be…you know. Married."
"You mean she would have had sex."
"Would you -" he sputters. "I can't even talk to you."
"I get it."
"Just cut it out. Stop talking."
"No, man. I get it."
He gives me a long, hard look, like he wants to haul off and paste me one, but then his face smoothes out again and he goes back to looking at the rug. "Nice girl like that," he mutters. "It ain't right."
"The polar opposite of Bela."
That makes his head snap around, and yeah, if he had his hands around Bela's neck right now, her odds wouldn't be good. They'd pretty much suck, in fact. Dean doesn't say anything, but it's probably because he can't come up with anything that's foul enough to describe Bela Talbot. After a minute he settles for "Bitch."
"We need to find her," I tell him. "We really need to find her."
He mulls that over for a minute, then he looks over at me and his face is kind of blank, like it was the night he beheaded that vampire, back when we first met Gordon.
"It's gonna get worse," he says.
"I know."
He doesn't know how much worse it already is. I haven't told him about Mom's friends - how Azazel got rid of all of them.
I haven't told him that Mom knew Azazel.
I kind of hold on to the hope that Azazel was lying - that he tweaked the "instant replay" of that night in my nursery so it'd spin my head around. But I don't know. That's the worst of all of this: you don't know who to believe, or when.
I have no idea whether I should believe Ruby. All the time? Sometimes? Never? But I feel like I have to. If there's a chance she's telling the truth, that she does know how to save Dean, then I can't afford to blow her off. Or worse yet, make her angry.
Which makes me wonder: if something as powerful as Lilith hates us so much, why doesn't she just kill us? We can't be so significant that it's worth the trouble to play cat and mouse with us. We aren't The Answer. We're not mankind's only hope. We're not the best and the brightest. Dad taught us well, but Dad wasn't Superman, much as Dean wants to believe he was. His batting average wasn't…
Well. He failed, sometimes.
And we've failed, a lot of the time.
If we're worth all this trouble, if we're that "special," why are we in this mess? Why can't we just…solve it?
Dean looks over at me, and dammit, I don't know what he wants. I don't know what he thinks I can give him. It's been eight months now, and I don't have any answers. All I have is a bunch of secrets that would tear him up if I told him. I guess I have to settle for giving him what I can: letting him hold on to the image he has of Mom.
I hope Azazel was lying.
I pray he was.
I turned the TV off a while ago, but Dean looks at it as if it's still playing - as if it's still showing him what's left of the sheriff's station.
"How's your shoulder?" I ask him.
"Fantastic."
A doctor ought to look at it, make sure the bullet didn't cause any lasting damage. But we almost never go that route. Almost 25 years now we've been patching each other up, gritting our teeth through the pain, ignoring the scars.
It's been almost 25 years since Mom died. I'd say "since all this began," but obviously it began long before that.
I have no idea when it will end.
"You want something to eat?" I ask my brother. "We should eat something." Dad taught us that: food is fuel. A lot of the time, that's all it is. Just fuel to keep the engine running. "Some soup, or a burger or something."
Dean gets up off the bed, then stands there scrubbing his hands through his hair as if he's forgotten why he stood up. He looks like he wants to say something, but again, he can't find the right words. That happens sometimes. Words just fail him, like so many other things fail him. Like so many people fail him.
"Bitch," he mutters finally. "She…fuck her. Fuck her, Sammy."
I have no idea which "her" he means. So I just nod and tell him, "Yeah."