new SPN story: It All Burns (Wait It Out) - Gen PG-13; spoilerish through 4.4
Warnings, notes, etc:
I labeled it gen, though there's one tiny reference to a het, er, incident.
I had no intention of writing this tonight - I was reading a story online and it said something about how Sam would be the end of Dean, right? And somehow that made me think about how the show is flirting with a less than happy ending for Sam, and also how precarious I think his mental state should be after seeing Dean torn apart in front of him. Which gave me this story idea - to allude to how crazy Sam could be, given how everyone he loves (and/or sleeps with) dies, never mind his other troubles, like, oh, having powers and demonic blood, etc. so on so forth.
I don't claim he's in character here, but I try and utilize what the show's given us to present him in the way that I do.
This is not at ALL a happy story. I have a hard time bringing myself to announce specifics in warnings, so if you're sensitive, assume the worst and please don't read. One specific I can manage: there's some violent, grisly stuff here.
Having said all this, I do hope you enjoy it - it literally came out of the blue, and I don't know for sure if I like the style or not. Not much sure of anything at the moment:)
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He was seven when his tonsils were removed. He remembered lying on yet another motel bed after they let him leave the hospital, his old blue blanket tucked around him. It hurt to swallow, felt like sharp knives digging into the raw of his throat. Remembered staring into nothing, face pressed against a soft white T-shirt, breathing in Dean. Dean’s voice, low and sweet. Arms around him. A hand rubbing his back. Dean smelled like guns and chocolate. Breath tickling his ear. Told him it’d feel better soon.
Just gotta wait it out, Sammy.
Sam didn’t want ice cream and he didn’t expect it would stop hurting just because he wanted it to. He knew that much already. He slept when the pain allowed him to, swallowed when he had to, eating little to nothing while he waited.
And Dean was right-it got better.
Sam loved his dad, but Dean raised him. Dean was there to give him the last bowl of cereal when the food ran out. Dean stole presents for him on Christmas when Dad didn’t show. Dean loved him more than anything-more than the damned hunting.
More than his life.
***
Sam stood on the hill, watching the demons swarm down, black-souled soot dressed in people busily swarming, destroying everything. Everyone. And he didn’t know how he got here.
Well, Jess died. Dad died. But Sam had remembered what Dean had taught him. Wait it out. And though he never got over their deaths, he got through them.
But then Dean died. The hellhounds came after him, razor barks slicing the air. Sam couldn’t see them. He only saw the damage, the flesh peeling away in strips off his brother’s body, blood, thick screams muscles laid bare in ropes fountains red blood red glistening guts squelching writhing to the ground muddled crazy eyes terror in his eyes blind thick agony in his eyes. Sam watched from the wall useless fucking insect pinned to the wall ineffectual to the very motherfucking last. Saved no one worth saving. Saved himself.
Dean had said live. Dean had died for him. Sam hadn’t asked for it didn’t want it would have traded in a heartbeat. But Dean oh Dean, thought he couldn’t live without Sam. Sam was supposed to go on after Dean was gone. Dean and his temper and sarcasm, Dean who couldn’t outrun or outfight feeling worthless. Hurting, fearless Dean, green eyes like the finest glass tower of strength-just gone. Sam still remembered what his T-shirt felt like, soft against his face.
Dean taught him he’d never be alone, even when Sam thought that’s exactly what he wanted, before he’d realized what that really meant. Dean knew alone. Dean shielded him from it best he could. Took care of him. Sam repaid him by leaving him. For normality, for college. Jess.
Normality burned same as everything. It all burned.
Dean had said he couldn’t live without him. It made Sam laugh. He laughed and the tears rolled down his face and he hung there goddamned frozen insect on the wall while Dean died and burned and called his name oh yes Sam heard it in his dreams every night, flames and hooks and screams always and forever amen Sam Sam Sammy. The Demon King. Bug on the wall.
Then Ruby came back. They fucked, one as dead as the other and surely there was some humor to be had in that?
Sam started saving people. That’s all it was, trying to do something good, beat back the despair. Leeches suck out the bad blood and Sam sucked the demons right out of people. Spit their black tar souls on the ground and watched them sizzle back into hell.
His head hurt at first. Then it didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t feel it anymore.
Smile. Getting better. Kill them all.
Then Dean came back.
Sam wanted Dean back more than anything but Dean was back and he still wanted Sam to live. Which meant Sam had to stop the powers from developing further. So he tried. But the powers kept coming. Telekinesis, telepathy (he’s so scared for me-of me-freak).
And then pyrokinesis. Dean said, we’ll figure it out, you just gotta learn to control ‘em, right? He tried to smile but his face was white as bone. Sam knew what it meant: he could burn demons same as demons burned Jess and Mom and so many others.
But he wouldn’t, never would, I swear it Dean. Until one day a demon reached out, one inch too close because one inch less and Sam would have retained his sanity and broke out the Latin instead, but it was too close too fast and Sam heard it again, Dean screaming his name from hell. Sam raised the demon up and burned him and knew he’d lost Dean before he ever turned to look at his brother’s face.
***
Sam and the demons stood on the hill. Dean was at the foot, angels and humans by his side.
“Dean? I’m sorry I left you,” Sam said and pushed with his mind, pressure and heat, molecules dance-jigging and all the demons with their human hosts around him burned and burned, falling, yellow flames hugging them close as they hopped and screamed. The smell of roasting flesh rose on waves of heat.
“I prayed every day that God would bring him back,” Sam said to Castiel. The heat burned up his tears. He sat down, the flames rising around him. He watched Dean’s face through the fire, yellow and flickering.
Dean’s face broke open and he screamed Sam’s name over and over, grief so loud the rest of the world was rendered mute.
Castiel held Dean back from climbing the hill and looked up at Sam with frosted eyes, compassion rising like smoke from their depths. “We know, Sam.”
Sam nodded. He lay down. The fire licked over his arms and legs, caught at his jacket.
Just gotta wait it out, Sammy.
Sam’s eyes closed. His hair burned bright.