Christmas Ficlets: Before Hell
More from the Day Before Before Hell-verse tonight. I've never really created a 'verse' before but this set-up of mad!Anti-Christ!Sam/Dean-substitute!Ben in the apocalypse just keeps producing new little scenes I need to write.
And if it's any consolation for the less-than cheerful tone of it all, I do actually have a happy ending kinda sorta worked out for it. I'm not ready to write it yet but it's good for me to know when I'm writing it that there's a happy(ish) place at the end.
Ben doesn't know how long he's been grounded at the diner, only that it's plenty long enough. It's hard to keep track of time but not hard at all to keep track of his rising levels of frustration, boredom and a strange sense of claustrophobia.
It's been long enough since he last ventured out of Kansas for the bruises to have faded and his split lip to have healed. Doesn't make any difference to Sam. Sam won't even argue with him about it when Ben pushes to be allowed out. Sam is the stubbornest bastard Ben has ever met. He is so stubborn that Ben is seriously beginning to wonder whether God might actually be the crazier one in this stand-off they've got going over Dean's soul.
If Sam doesn't take 'no' for an answer from God, he's sure as hell not gonna be worn down by Ben hassling him.
So Ben spends his days researching ways to spring a soul free from heaven and considering what exactly is going on with him when it comes to Sam.
What with the apocalypse and all, Ben didn't have a normal childhood. Sure, the first nine years were pretty standard but after that, with demons running loose and world order falling apart, Ben missed out on a lot. He never went to high school. Kat filled most gaps in his education so Ben's not illiterate or anything like that. But he never went to prom. Never played on a football team. Never had chance to crush on anyone.
Which kinda leaves him confused when it comes to Sam. Ben's starting to notice that he reacts to Sam. And he's not sure what it means. It's nothing so obvious as getting hard when Sam touches him - Ben could figure that one out, no problem. It's little things, like feeling the weight of Sam's hand on him hours after Sam's moved away, like realising he's not reading the pages anymore but is instead wondering what Sam looked like when Dean was still alive. It's being awake in the middle of the night, replaying stupid conversations he's had with Sam about nothing in particular and looking for deeper meaning in everything Sam's said.
Ben doesn't like this new complication - things are already plenty complicated enough, thank you very much - and it makes spending day in and day out with Sam suck more than it should. So when Sam looks up from his laptop suddenly, catches Ben's eyes (and no, Ben just happened to be looking in his direction at that moment, he was not staring) and says, "You wanna go for a drive?", Ben leaps at it.
It's only when Sam follows him out into the parking lot that Ben gets it: Sam's coming too.
"Uh, you don't have to," says Ben, turning about to face him, hands raised as if to ward him off. "I promise, I'll stay in Kansas. And I'm sure you've got enough freaky ass tricks up your sleeve to kill my car's engine if I try to leave."
Sam brushes past him, a small mild smile on his mouth.
"We're not taking your car," is all he says.
He holds the keys out to Ben and it takes Ben a moment to realise he's expected to take them. The metal is unnaturally cold and a small, gold bull-headed figure dangles from the ring. Ben catches it in his palm and tries to study it but Sam's long fingers close about his wrist, not painfully tight but not far off.
"Don't," he says. "Just… just drive, okay?"
The Impala is a beautiful car. Powerful and elegant as a panther, with the same black lustre. Ben opens the door carefully and climbs in, thinking maybe Sam's gonna go psycho at any minute and haul his ass out for not showing proper respect. But Sam climbs in to ride shotgun and waits.
"Where, uh… where d'you wanna go?" Ben says.
Sam closes his eyes and bows his head. The pink tip of his tongue swipes over his lower lip and he abruptly looks too young to be ending the world. Younger than Ben even. Ben stares out at the churning sky and the too bright yellow, scorched grass.
"Just drive."
It's barely more than a whisper. Ben turns the key in the ignition, puts into gear and drives.
They don't speak. For a while, as he revels in the pure, throbbing power of the Impala's engine, Ben's conscious of the half-glances Sam keeps sneaking at him. His skin prickles with them. He doesn't look back, keeps his eyes on the road. The shadows that spin about in the distance drift away as the Impala passes and Ben bets it's Sam's doing. He's never seen Sam with his demons, even though he thinks they're around more often than he knows.
Eventually, Sam's lulled to sleep. He curls his long legs up and his shoulders slump towards the window. His hair falls over his face, hiding the thin lines of strain that wrinkle about his eyes and mouth. In the glare of sunshine, the gray that threads through his hair is lost. Ben glances towards him and smiles, almost affectionately.
And abruptly, he is terrified that he is becoming Dean. Terrified that Sam has him here not to help him bring his father back but because Ben will end up as his father.
The Impala swerves a little and Ben pulls over on the roadside. Sam stirs but doesn't wake.
Ben grips the steering wheel and hunches over as he strains to get his breathing back under control. He doesn't want to be Dean. He kind of hates Dean for letting Sam get himself in such a state. And he doesn't want to be Dean because Sam is world-endingly in love with Dean and Ben can't take the weight of such devotion. He can't be responsible for the things Sam does.
He came here to end it, not to write himself into the mess.
With crippling clarity of movement, Ben draws his gun and holds it in his hands. He remembers sitting on another roadside, God knows how long ago, with the world drifting into dust and decay all about him. He'd thought about killing himself back then, but he was never the problem, was he?
He might never get a better chance. It's a kind death too. Bullet through the temple, Sam'd be dead before he could even stop dreaming. What kind of fool sits and thinks about it when they've got the goddamn Anti-Christ asleep next to them?
Ben grits his teeth and raises the gun. His hand wobbles but the aim is steady enough to put a good deep hole right through Sam's skull.
C'mon, c'mon, do it, do it. Never get a better chance than this.
Sam Winchester is responsible for the death of every single person Ben has ever known and loved. He as good as put the knife to their throats himself. He's the reason Ben knew how to perform an exorcism before he even needed to shave. He's the reason Kat died in Ben's arms, the reason Lisa was ripped apart on the sidewalk.
Ben hates him. Dredges up as much hatred as he possibly can until he's choking on it, can taste it thick and black in his mouth. And yet is still utterly unable to pull the trigger.
He lowers the gun, panting like he's just been running. Sam's shoulders rise and fall evenly, the rhythm of his breathing doesn't alter and Ben grips the gun and brings it up to press the cool metal to his forehead.
He's pretty sure he just got a co-starring role in the end of the world.
And if it's any consolation for the less-than cheerful tone of it all, I do actually have a happy ending kinda sorta worked out for it. I'm not ready to write it yet but it's good for me to know when I'm writing it that there's a happy(ish) place at the end.
Ben doesn't know how long he's been grounded at the diner, only that it's plenty long enough. It's hard to keep track of time but not hard at all to keep track of his rising levels of frustration, boredom and a strange sense of claustrophobia.
It's been long enough since he last ventured out of Kansas for the bruises to have faded and his split lip to have healed. Doesn't make any difference to Sam. Sam won't even argue with him about it when Ben pushes to be allowed out. Sam is the stubbornest bastard Ben has ever met. He is so stubborn that Ben is seriously beginning to wonder whether God might actually be the crazier one in this stand-off they've got going over Dean's soul.
If Sam doesn't take 'no' for an answer from God, he's sure as hell not gonna be worn down by Ben hassling him.
So Ben spends his days researching ways to spring a soul free from heaven and considering what exactly is going on with him when it comes to Sam.
What with the apocalypse and all, Ben didn't have a normal childhood. Sure, the first nine years were pretty standard but after that, with demons running loose and world order falling apart, Ben missed out on a lot. He never went to high school. Kat filled most gaps in his education so Ben's not illiterate or anything like that. But he never went to prom. Never played on a football team. Never had chance to crush on anyone.
Which kinda leaves him confused when it comes to Sam. Ben's starting to notice that he reacts to Sam. And he's not sure what it means. It's nothing so obvious as getting hard when Sam touches him - Ben could figure that one out, no problem. It's little things, like feeling the weight of Sam's hand on him hours after Sam's moved away, like realising he's not reading the pages anymore but is instead wondering what Sam looked like when Dean was still alive. It's being awake in the middle of the night, replaying stupid conversations he's had with Sam about nothing in particular and looking for deeper meaning in everything Sam's said.
Ben doesn't like this new complication - things are already plenty complicated enough, thank you very much - and it makes spending day in and day out with Sam suck more than it should. So when Sam looks up from his laptop suddenly, catches Ben's eyes (and no, Ben just happened to be looking in his direction at that moment, he was not staring) and says, "You wanna go for a drive?", Ben leaps at it.
It's only when Sam follows him out into the parking lot that Ben gets it: Sam's coming too.
"Uh, you don't have to," says Ben, turning about to face him, hands raised as if to ward him off. "I promise, I'll stay in Kansas. And I'm sure you've got enough freaky ass tricks up your sleeve to kill my car's engine if I try to leave."
Sam brushes past him, a small mild smile on his mouth.
"We're not taking your car," is all he says.
He holds the keys out to Ben and it takes Ben a moment to realise he's expected to take them. The metal is unnaturally cold and a small, gold bull-headed figure dangles from the ring. Ben catches it in his palm and tries to study it but Sam's long fingers close about his wrist, not painfully tight but not far off.
"Don't," he says. "Just… just drive, okay?"
The Impala is a beautiful car. Powerful and elegant as a panther, with the same black lustre. Ben opens the door carefully and climbs in, thinking maybe Sam's gonna go psycho at any minute and haul his ass out for not showing proper respect. But Sam climbs in to ride shotgun and waits.
"Where, uh… where d'you wanna go?" Ben says.
Sam closes his eyes and bows his head. The pink tip of his tongue swipes over his lower lip and he abruptly looks too young to be ending the world. Younger than Ben even. Ben stares out at the churning sky and the too bright yellow, scorched grass.
"Just drive."
It's barely more than a whisper. Ben turns the key in the ignition, puts into gear and drives.
They don't speak. For a while, as he revels in the pure, throbbing power of the Impala's engine, Ben's conscious of the half-glances Sam keeps sneaking at him. His skin prickles with them. He doesn't look back, keeps his eyes on the road. The shadows that spin about in the distance drift away as the Impala passes and Ben bets it's Sam's doing. He's never seen Sam with his demons, even though he thinks they're around more often than he knows.
Eventually, Sam's lulled to sleep. He curls his long legs up and his shoulders slump towards the window. His hair falls over his face, hiding the thin lines of strain that wrinkle about his eyes and mouth. In the glare of sunshine, the gray that threads through his hair is lost. Ben glances towards him and smiles, almost affectionately.
And abruptly, he is terrified that he is becoming Dean. Terrified that Sam has him here not to help him bring his father back but because Ben will end up as his father.
The Impala swerves a little and Ben pulls over on the roadside. Sam stirs but doesn't wake.
Ben grips the steering wheel and hunches over as he strains to get his breathing back under control. He doesn't want to be Dean. He kind of hates Dean for letting Sam get himself in such a state. And he doesn't want to be Dean because Sam is world-endingly in love with Dean and Ben can't take the weight of such devotion. He can't be responsible for the things Sam does.
He came here to end it, not to write himself into the mess.
With crippling clarity of movement, Ben draws his gun and holds it in his hands. He remembers sitting on another roadside, God knows how long ago, with the world drifting into dust and decay all about him. He'd thought about killing himself back then, but he was never the problem, was he?
He might never get a better chance. It's a kind death too. Bullet through the temple, Sam'd be dead before he could even stop dreaming. What kind of fool sits and thinks about it when they've got the goddamn Anti-Christ asleep next to them?
Ben grits his teeth and raises the gun. His hand wobbles but the aim is steady enough to put a good deep hole right through Sam's skull.
C'mon, c'mon, do it, do it. Never get a better chance than this.
Sam Winchester is responsible for the death of every single person Ben has ever known and loved. He as good as put the knife to their throats himself. He's the reason Ben knew how to perform an exorcism before he even needed to shave. He's the reason Kat died in Ben's arms, the reason Lisa was ripped apart on the sidewalk.
Ben hates him. Dredges up as much hatred as he possibly can until he's choking on it, can taste it thick and black in his mouth. And yet is still utterly unable to pull the trigger.
He lowers the gun, panting like he's just been running. Sam's shoulders rise and fall evenly, the rhythm of his breathing doesn't alter and Ben grips the gun and brings it up to press the cool metal to his forehead.
He's pretty sure he just got a co-starring role in the end of the world.