What makes us human (Supernatural)
Title: What makes us human (Chapter 2/?)
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester.
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A teenchester story. AU. Dean is 16 and Sam 12 at the beginning.
Another town, another school. All normal for the Winchesters, until the night everything changes: the night Sam got taken. Then all hell breaks loose.
Genre: Angst. Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: Torture. Child abuse. Self-harm. Depression.
What makes us human
“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.”
Terry Pratchett
Previously on What makes us human:
He couldn't do anything but watch helplessly as Sam was taken away. His little brother glanced at him one last time, before disappearing from his view, carried by a creature who'd just shattered Dean's life, and all the Winchesters, in the three small minutes that the struggle had lasted. Dean was left pressed against the wall, still trapped, with only one mantra in his head: Sam is gone, Sam is gone, Sam is gone.
Now
After what felt like hours but was only a few seconds, Dean was finally able to move again. As soon as he was free, he was out of the door, out of the motel room, and into the street. He had only a gun full of salt in his hands, a silver knife in his pocket, and a worn down pajama on his back. He hadn’t even taken the time to put on some shoes, there just hadn’t been time to do anything else but chasing out into the cold night after his brother. Dean knew that in a case of abduction, supernatural or not, time was all that mattered. Time made the difference between being alive and being dead. And Dean Winchester wasn’t going to be late, no, not for this. So he ran as fast as he could- which was pretty fast cause he’d always been good at running- but by the time he made it out to the street, he barely had time to catch a glimpse of a white van leaving the road, taking a swift turn, only to disappear from his sight. Chasing it now was pointless, but that didn’t stop him from trying. If he was fast enough, lucky enough, if god would just this one time be on his fucking side, then maybe, just maybe, he might be able to catch a plate number, a car model, or any detail that could help him find Sam. But apparently no one was on his side tonight, or any other night for that matter, because just like that, Dean had lost his brother. He was out of breath, alone, in the dark, on a stupid road without shoes on. To anyone who would have passed right by him at that moment, he would have probably seemed like some lunatic. But a lunatic wasn’t what he was. He was just a big brother who had failed to do the most important task he ever had to. Looking out for Sammy.
It’s okay Dean, breathe, just breathe, Sammy needs you now, go back to the motel, call Dad, look for clues. Keep it together, Sammy needs you.
There was no point in staying in the street now, so he went back to the motel room, thinking that someone must have called the police, with the shooting and all. But no one was there, no police car, no people on the street freaking out, just no one. It was as if nothing had even happened. Which was impossible, a gunshot was the kind of things that made some noise, people should have heard it. Someone should have called 911 by now. Then Dean got it: the yellow eyed monster. That thing, whatever it was, must have concealed the sounds coming from their room somehow. It hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. Crap. At least it gave Dean one advantage, he could search the whole room without anyone interfering, without having to think up some stupid lies to cover up the truth. But first things first. He had to call his dad.
One, two, three, for, five rings later, then voicemail. What a shock there.
“Dad, you have to come back, something snatched Sammy, it had yellow eyes, it slammed me against a wall, and just… it just took Sam, dad. I’m gonna look for clues, I’ll find something, don’t worry, I will, but I just… please just get here okay?”
Ending the one way conversation, Dean passed a hand over his mouth and started doing what he was best at: Hunting. The motel room seemed perfectly normal, the salt lines remained intact, no windows broken, no signs of forced entry. Nothing. It was as if the monster just managed to open the door, walk past the salt lines with no effort, and grab Sam. Something suddenly caught Dean’s eyes: there on the door handle was some kind of yellow powder. Sulfur. Shit, only one thought entered Dean’s mind. Demon. A demon had taken Sam. A demon that wasn’t repulsed by salt, or any of the sigils that Dean had placed all over the place. This was bad. Scratch that- this was freaking bad. Demons didn’t have many weak spots. There was holy water, and the devil’s trap to keep them locked, but Dean didn’t know much about them. Well, that was about to change, because a demon had decided to make it personal by taking one of the most precious thing Dean’s ever had.
Dean had work to do.
Five days later…
Dean was going to lose his mind. Five days, five fucking days, and he wasn’t getting any closer to finding Sam. Their Dad had finally gotten the message two days later after that dreadful night, and by the time he got there, Dean had already searched the whole town, showing pictures of his brother, looking for a white van. No one knew anything. Sam was just gone, and Dean was useless. The relief that he’d felt when his dad had finally shown up was short lived. Even if he wasn’t alone in this anymore, it didn’t change anything, because John Winchester had no clue as to where Sammy might have been taken. He’d called all of his hunting buddies, asking for help for the first time in a long time. He wasn’t a rookie anymore, and usually had everything under control. Not this time. The only comforting words he offered his remaining son were: “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.” Dean usually trusted the man completely, but a voice, a stupid, annoying voice kept telling him in his mind: You’re never gonna see your brother again. You let him down, and now he’s gone. He asked for your help, you failed and he paid the price.
Dean went to bed after his father ordering him to get some sleep. He wasn’t going to be of any use if he kept making himself sick over this, and he had to gain some strength so he could be at his best for when he killed this yellow eyed demon. As he climbed into bed, he couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth without his permission. Years of habit, years of repeating the same words over and over every night.
“Goodnight Sammy.” This time there was no one to answer.
The next day, they finally got a lead, thank god. Some demonic activity had been reported a few miles from where they were staying. It wasn’t much, but it was something. His dad wanted them to split up, cover more ground, interview different people, and Dean wasn’t going to complain. They had lost enough time as it was. After spending hours talking to people about strange animal deaths, weird smokes coming out of people, he went back to their present motel room, hoping, praying that his dad had had more luck than him. But when he opened the door, John was already here, looking at Dean with tears in his eyes. Tears. John fucking Winchester was crying. And that only meant one thing. No, no, no, no, no, no. Sam wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be dead okay. It was just impossible, a nightmare. If he could just shut out his dad then he never would have to hear those awful words. He was shaking his head, making the world a blur. Nothing was making sense anymore, nothing. But then his dad was here, invading his personal space, squeezing his arms firmly, bringing him back to the here and now, forcing him to face the horror of the situation. He felt twelve years old again. His father spoke, and his words felt like a death sentence. Maybe that’s exactly what it was, maybe Dean was dead too.
“Sammy’s dead, son. He’s not coming back.”
Oh God, please, no.
Sam’s POV
It was dark, it was cold, and his head hurt. Those were the first things that Sam thought as he remained consciousness. Hotel room beds weren’t comfortable, okay, but he didn’t remember any bed that felt like the floor. Then it all came flooding back to him. He felt like he was sleeping on the floor because it was the floor he was sleeping on. He remembered Detroit, the constant sensation that something was coming. The fear that never left him. The nightmares about blood, and fire, and yellow eyes. Him trying to convince Dean to leave, sounding like a scared five-year-old, and needing his brother to fix it somehow. Then he remembered the horror of being awakened by something in the night, the fight that followed, the helplessness, the look on his brother’s face as he was taken away. Sam was in trouble, and really that was the understatement of the year- Hell, of the century. He regained his senses and looked around him. He was chained to a wall, with a chain long enough to allow him to move through the room but not beyond. The room was simple, no windows, and only one door. There was a sink, a toilet, and a single bulb on the ceiling, offering barely enough light to see. Then the door opened, and the yellow eyed creature came in. He watched Sam with calculating and hungry eyes, as if he had found an ultimate prize. Sam stood up as soon as he entered the room, a room that will be his cage for quite some time. Preparing himself for anything, trying to look pissed and not scared. Alert. Ready. A hunter. Then the monster spoke and Sam realized that it felt familiar, like a long forgotten dream. A nightmare. He was suddenly sure that he had already encountered this creature before.
“My name is Azazel. This will be your home from now on. I will be your master, and you are mine.”
TBC…
Read Chapter Three here: http://frenchie93.livejournal.com/2125.html
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester.
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A teenchester story. AU. Dean is 16 and Sam 12 at the beginning.
Another town, another school. All normal for the Winchesters, until the night everything changes: the night Sam got taken. Then all hell breaks loose.
Genre: Angst. Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: Torture. Child abuse. Self-harm. Depression.
What makes us human
“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.”
Terry Pratchett
Previously on What makes us human:
He couldn't do anything but watch helplessly as Sam was taken away. His little brother glanced at him one last time, before disappearing from his view, carried by a creature who'd just shattered Dean's life, and all the Winchesters, in the three small minutes that the struggle had lasted. Dean was left pressed against the wall, still trapped, with only one mantra in his head: Sam is gone, Sam is gone, Sam is gone.
Now
After what felt like hours but was only a few seconds, Dean was finally able to move again. As soon as he was free, he was out of the door, out of the motel room, and into the street. He had only a gun full of salt in his hands, a silver knife in his pocket, and a worn down pajama on his back. He hadn’t even taken the time to put on some shoes, there just hadn’t been time to do anything else but chasing out into the cold night after his brother. Dean knew that in a case of abduction, supernatural or not, time was all that mattered. Time made the difference between being alive and being dead. And Dean Winchester wasn’t going to be late, no, not for this. So he ran as fast as he could- which was pretty fast cause he’d always been good at running- but by the time he made it out to the street, he barely had time to catch a glimpse of a white van leaving the road, taking a swift turn, only to disappear from his sight. Chasing it now was pointless, but that didn’t stop him from trying. If he was fast enough, lucky enough, if god would just this one time be on his fucking side, then maybe, just maybe, he might be able to catch a plate number, a car model, or any detail that could help him find Sam. But apparently no one was on his side tonight, or any other night for that matter, because just like that, Dean had lost his brother. He was out of breath, alone, in the dark, on a stupid road without shoes on. To anyone who would have passed right by him at that moment, he would have probably seemed like some lunatic. But a lunatic wasn’t what he was. He was just a big brother who had failed to do the most important task he ever had to. Looking out for Sammy.
It’s okay Dean, breathe, just breathe, Sammy needs you now, go back to the motel, call Dad, look for clues. Keep it together, Sammy needs you.
There was no point in staying in the street now, so he went back to the motel room, thinking that someone must have called the police, with the shooting and all. But no one was there, no police car, no people on the street freaking out, just no one. It was as if nothing had even happened. Which was impossible, a gunshot was the kind of things that made some noise, people should have heard it. Someone should have called 911 by now. Then Dean got it: the yellow eyed monster. That thing, whatever it was, must have concealed the sounds coming from their room somehow. It hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. Crap. At least it gave Dean one advantage, he could search the whole room without anyone interfering, without having to think up some stupid lies to cover up the truth. But first things first. He had to call his dad.
One, two, three, for, five rings later, then voicemail. What a shock there.
“Dad, you have to come back, something snatched Sammy, it had yellow eyes, it slammed me against a wall, and just… it just took Sam, dad. I’m gonna look for clues, I’ll find something, don’t worry, I will, but I just… please just get here okay?”
Ending the one way conversation, Dean passed a hand over his mouth and started doing what he was best at: Hunting. The motel room seemed perfectly normal, the salt lines remained intact, no windows broken, no signs of forced entry. Nothing. It was as if the monster just managed to open the door, walk past the salt lines with no effort, and grab Sam. Something suddenly caught Dean’s eyes: there on the door handle was some kind of yellow powder. Sulfur. Shit, only one thought entered Dean’s mind. Demon. A demon had taken Sam. A demon that wasn’t repulsed by salt, or any of the sigils that Dean had placed all over the place. This was bad. Scratch that- this was freaking bad. Demons didn’t have many weak spots. There was holy water, and the devil’s trap to keep them locked, but Dean didn’t know much about them. Well, that was about to change, because a demon had decided to make it personal by taking one of the most precious thing Dean’s ever had.
Dean had work to do.
Five days later…
Dean was going to lose his mind. Five days, five fucking days, and he wasn’t getting any closer to finding Sam. Their Dad had finally gotten the message two days later after that dreadful night, and by the time he got there, Dean had already searched the whole town, showing pictures of his brother, looking for a white van. No one knew anything. Sam was just gone, and Dean was useless. The relief that he’d felt when his dad had finally shown up was short lived. Even if he wasn’t alone in this anymore, it didn’t change anything, because John Winchester had no clue as to where Sammy might have been taken. He’d called all of his hunting buddies, asking for help for the first time in a long time. He wasn’t a rookie anymore, and usually had everything under control. Not this time. The only comforting words he offered his remaining son were: “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.” Dean usually trusted the man completely, but a voice, a stupid, annoying voice kept telling him in his mind: You’re never gonna see your brother again. You let him down, and now he’s gone. He asked for your help, you failed and he paid the price.
Dean went to bed after his father ordering him to get some sleep. He wasn’t going to be of any use if he kept making himself sick over this, and he had to gain some strength so he could be at his best for when he killed this yellow eyed demon. As he climbed into bed, he couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth without his permission. Years of habit, years of repeating the same words over and over every night.
“Goodnight Sammy.” This time there was no one to answer.
The next day, they finally got a lead, thank god. Some demonic activity had been reported a few miles from where they were staying. It wasn’t much, but it was something. His dad wanted them to split up, cover more ground, interview different people, and Dean wasn’t going to complain. They had lost enough time as it was. After spending hours talking to people about strange animal deaths, weird smokes coming out of people, he went back to their present motel room, hoping, praying that his dad had had more luck than him. But when he opened the door, John was already here, looking at Dean with tears in his eyes. Tears. John fucking Winchester was crying. And that only meant one thing. No, no, no, no, no, no. Sam wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be dead okay. It was just impossible, a nightmare. If he could just shut out his dad then he never would have to hear those awful words. He was shaking his head, making the world a blur. Nothing was making sense anymore, nothing. But then his dad was here, invading his personal space, squeezing his arms firmly, bringing him back to the here and now, forcing him to face the horror of the situation. He felt twelve years old again. His father spoke, and his words felt like a death sentence. Maybe that’s exactly what it was, maybe Dean was dead too.
“Sammy’s dead, son. He’s not coming back.”
Oh God, please, no.
Sam’s POV
It was dark, it was cold, and his head hurt. Those were the first things that Sam thought as he remained consciousness. Hotel room beds weren’t comfortable, okay, but he didn’t remember any bed that felt like the floor. Then it all came flooding back to him. He felt like he was sleeping on the floor because it was the floor he was sleeping on. He remembered Detroit, the constant sensation that something was coming. The fear that never left him. The nightmares about blood, and fire, and yellow eyes. Him trying to convince Dean to leave, sounding like a scared five-year-old, and needing his brother to fix it somehow. Then he remembered the horror of being awakened by something in the night, the fight that followed, the helplessness, the look on his brother’s face as he was taken away. Sam was in trouble, and really that was the understatement of the year- Hell, of the century. He regained his senses and looked around him. He was chained to a wall, with a chain long enough to allow him to move through the room but not beyond. The room was simple, no windows, and only one door. There was a sink, a toilet, and a single bulb on the ceiling, offering barely enough light to see. Then the door opened, and the yellow eyed creature came in. He watched Sam with calculating and hungry eyes, as if he had found an ultimate prize. Sam stood up as soon as he entered the room, a room that will be his cage for quite some time. Preparing himself for anything, trying to look pissed and not scared. Alert. Ready. A hunter. Then the monster spoke and Sam realized that it felt familiar, like a long forgotten dream. A nightmare. He was suddenly sure that he had already encountered this creature before.
“My name is Azazel. This will be your home from now on. I will be your master, and you are mine.”
TBC…
Read Chapter Three here: http://frenchie93.livejournal.com/2125.html