Burn the Land
Title: Burn the Land
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam, Team, minor references to Dean/Eliot
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural
Summary: Since Dean was taken Sam only ever dreamt about fire.
Notes: For the Fire square on my H/c bingo card.
Just got home from vacation, the trip was fine the return trip anything but. I rolled a one on a use items check and managed to fry my travel laptop losing a bunch of half written stories and possibly Alec (the laptop). I got home, just wanting to post and be over with it but internet was down.
/complaining.
The point is I'm frustrated and exhausted and sad about Alec so after I post these last two sttories of my Bingo card it may be awhile before I post again. If I promised you a story I'm sorry, I'm already past the date I said I'd have them but I just... Maybe I'll feel better about this once I've had some sleep but right now it feels like it'll be awhile.
After Dean was taken the only thing Sam ever dreamt about was fire.
Sometimes it was the flames that had burned down the apartment he'd shared with Jess, and his hopes for the future with it. Other times it was a different home, on a border world where his parents had tried to hide from a monster no hunter could kill.
Mostly though it was a nameless, all consuming, inferno that burned his skin and seared away his eyes so he could no longer search for his brother even as he heard Dean calling for him over the roar of the fire.
He had a lot more sleepless nights those last few weeks.
They all did, though, so no one took much notice.
After Leverage blew up, after they blew up Leverage, Sam realized the nameless fire was the one that had eaten away Leverage.
It had been a nightmare.
It took half of the long journey to meet up with the crew to finish the job for Sam to admit the feeling of loss that plagued those dreams now as well. For as long as he could remember The Impala was the only home he had.
Except for a little while it hadn't been.
The night before Eliot collapsed in the street Sam dreamt about a funeral pyre and Dean's leather jacket.
Later he'd feel guilty for being releived when Eliot collapsed, he'd spent the past several hours fighting the fear the dream meant they'd be too late.
There were a few times Sam dozed off in the clinic as they sat vigil over Eliot but he never dreamed.
Well, a part of him was still convinced that the dawn that came with an angel bearing Dean and healing Eliot only to disappear with barely more than a word was a dream but he'd take it if it meant Dean lying in the other medical bed and Eliot living through dawn.
That day passed slowly but without the sort of desperate crawl of the past few months. It was relief and exhaustion that kept the crew loitering around the clinic.
Eliot drifted in and out of consciousness but the Doctor examined him frequently and reported his surprising progress towards healing. She didn't have the equipment to diagnose exactly what was wrong with him so she couldn't say for sure it was fixed but hour by hour his condition was improving.
And Dean lay there. He didn't stir but the Doctor said she wouldn't qualify it as a coma. He was sleeping, deeply, and would wake up soon.
He did, sometime in the middle of the night, screaming.
If Sam dreamed at all that night he didn't remember.
Dean spent most of the second day sleeping, though he woke with a start frequently. When asked he pulled a weak smile and shook his head and claimed he wasn't sure what he'd been dreaming about and didn't want to talk about it. He didn't remember much and liked it fine that way.
He might have gotten away with it too except around twenty four hours after the "healing" Eliot started remaining lucid for more than a couple minutes at a time and by mid afternoon he woke up at the same time Dean did.
They had a moment, one Sam tried to make himself as invisible as possible for because as much as his inner seven year old was grossed out by his brother having a relationship with anyone... they'd come a hair's breadth from losing each other and were still too weak to cross the space between their beds.
Their thrown insults of jerk and witch faded into the kind of familiar silence Sam could feel they had shared.
Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nate had returned from their trip out of the clinic to look into a house nearby to rent until Eliot and Dean were recovered. Someone had said *something*, no one was entirely sure what later, and Dean had tensed up.
About twenty seconds later Eliot's heart monitor went wild, his breathing sped up, and he stopped responding, his eyes darting around the room to things no one could see.
Chaos had ensued as Parker and Hardison panicked, Sophie ran for the Doctor, Nate tried to figure out what had happened, and Sam tried to keep Dean from getting out of bed.
By the time things were sorted out Doctor Donna had tranquilized Eliot to keep the panic attack from straining his still weak heart and Nate had figured out that Eliot had been passively reading Dean when Dean was reminded of what he'd been through. The collective trauma mixed with Eliot's association between medical settings and said trauma and the mental control Eliot normally had being less than perfect meant a vivid flashback was not exactly surprising.
This summation had caused another round of chaos and Dean had insisted on being moved to a different room until they could figure that much out.
By the time the soothers wore off Dean was strong enough to walk a short ways and they moved him into the house they had rented.
Someone was always with one of them and there were nightmares and rounds of medication and check ups by the good doctor but life was slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy.
At least by day.
The third night Sam didn't get much sleep as Dean's nightmares got worse and every time he woke up he seemed pulled a little bit further away.
When Sam woke up late the fourth morning he still hadn't dreamt about anything.
There was a moment of confusion as he woke up, he hadn't been dreaming of anything but he'd come awake with a jerk normally reserved for nightmares or hunter instincts warning him about eminent danger.
The later didn't present itself until Sam realized Dean was out of bed.
"Dean?" Sam called, trying to keep his voice even despite a surge of panic.
It was probably fine.
Quiet.
Sam made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs, stopping once he had a full view of the open living room.
The house was like most border world homes, built to accommodate both modern technologies and the old fashioned. Although there was a working heat system in the house the electricity prices could be well and beyond the typical budget and the big iron and stone fireplace served as a heating source for the house.
They'd been using that themselves ever since Parker decided she liked tending the fire.
Only it wasn't Parker but Dean in front of the hearth, half sprawled out like he'd fallen and hadn't thought to pick himself up, a log dropped and forgotten by his side.
His hand, a bright burn across the palm, in front of his face which had turned pensive.
"Dean?"
Dean looked toward him and clenched the burned hand into a fist, closing his eyes like it felt good rather than hurt like a bitch like it probably did. "It feels different." Dean said. "Feels real."
Sam felt his gut do a long slow roll but nodded. "Well, it looks real. Let's get something to put on it."
Dean didn't argue or respond until they were in the kitchen and Sam was examining it, burns part of a hunter's first aid repitor unfortunately.
"Hey, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Got any decent beer? This hurts like a bitch."
Any other time Sam might have commented on self medication or... something. But there was a look in Dean's eyes and in his smile that Sam had been missing for a long time and...
He had Dean back.
That night he dreamt of fire again. This time, though, it was not infernos that burned down hopes or explosions that stole homes and families away.
It was that hearth fire, diligently attended by the crew, that they'd gathered around that night with Eliot on release from the Doctor's watchful eye, and finished the last book they'd been reading on Leverage.
In Sam's dreams they gathered around it again, their hands reaching into the fire to pull out and carry away embers that gave off sparks to become stars in the black.
He woke in the morning with no knowledge of the future except that, this time, it wouldn't end in fire.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam, Team, minor references to Dean/Eliot
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural
Summary: Since Dean was taken Sam only ever dreamt about fire.
Notes: For the Fire square on my H/c bingo card.
Just got home from vacation, the trip was fine the return trip anything but. I rolled a one on a use items check and managed to fry my travel laptop losing a bunch of half written stories and possibly Alec (the laptop). I got home, just wanting to post and be over with it but internet was down.
/complaining.
The point is I'm frustrated and exhausted and sad about Alec so after I post these last two sttories of my Bingo card it may be awhile before I post again. If I promised you a story I'm sorry, I'm already past the date I said I'd have them but I just... Maybe I'll feel better about this once I've had some sleep but right now it feels like it'll be awhile.
After Dean was taken the only thing Sam ever dreamt about was fire.
Sometimes it was the flames that had burned down the apartment he'd shared with Jess, and his hopes for the future with it. Other times it was a different home, on a border world where his parents had tried to hide from a monster no hunter could kill.
Mostly though it was a nameless, all consuming, inferno that burned his skin and seared away his eyes so he could no longer search for his brother even as he heard Dean calling for him over the roar of the fire.
He had a lot more sleepless nights those last few weeks.
They all did, though, so no one took much notice.
After Leverage blew up, after they blew up Leverage, Sam realized the nameless fire was the one that had eaten away Leverage.
It had been a nightmare.
It took half of the long journey to meet up with the crew to finish the job for Sam to admit the feeling of loss that plagued those dreams now as well. For as long as he could remember The Impala was the only home he had.
Except for a little while it hadn't been.
The night before Eliot collapsed in the street Sam dreamt about a funeral pyre and Dean's leather jacket.
Later he'd feel guilty for being releived when Eliot collapsed, he'd spent the past several hours fighting the fear the dream meant they'd be too late.
There were a few times Sam dozed off in the clinic as they sat vigil over Eliot but he never dreamed.
Well, a part of him was still convinced that the dawn that came with an angel bearing Dean and healing Eliot only to disappear with barely more than a word was a dream but he'd take it if it meant Dean lying in the other medical bed and Eliot living through dawn.
That day passed slowly but without the sort of desperate crawl of the past few months. It was relief and exhaustion that kept the crew loitering around the clinic.
Eliot drifted in and out of consciousness but the Doctor examined him frequently and reported his surprising progress towards healing. She didn't have the equipment to diagnose exactly what was wrong with him so she couldn't say for sure it was fixed but hour by hour his condition was improving.
And Dean lay there. He didn't stir but the Doctor said she wouldn't qualify it as a coma. He was sleeping, deeply, and would wake up soon.
He did, sometime in the middle of the night, screaming.
If Sam dreamed at all that night he didn't remember.
Dean spent most of the second day sleeping, though he woke with a start frequently. When asked he pulled a weak smile and shook his head and claimed he wasn't sure what he'd been dreaming about and didn't want to talk about it. He didn't remember much and liked it fine that way.
He might have gotten away with it too except around twenty four hours after the "healing" Eliot started remaining lucid for more than a couple minutes at a time and by mid afternoon he woke up at the same time Dean did.
They had a moment, one Sam tried to make himself as invisible as possible for because as much as his inner seven year old was grossed out by his brother having a relationship with anyone... they'd come a hair's breadth from losing each other and were still too weak to cross the space between their beds.
Their thrown insults of jerk and witch faded into the kind of familiar silence Sam could feel they had shared.
Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nate had returned from their trip out of the clinic to look into a house nearby to rent until Eliot and Dean were recovered. Someone had said *something*, no one was entirely sure what later, and Dean had tensed up.
About twenty seconds later Eliot's heart monitor went wild, his breathing sped up, and he stopped responding, his eyes darting around the room to things no one could see.
Chaos had ensued as Parker and Hardison panicked, Sophie ran for the Doctor, Nate tried to figure out what had happened, and Sam tried to keep Dean from getting out of bed.
By the time things were sorted out Doctor Donna had tranquilized Eliot to keep the panic attack from straining his still weak heart and Nate had figured out that Eliot had been passively reading Dean when Dean was reminded of what he'd been through. The collective trauma mixed with Eliot's association between medical settings and said trauma and the mental control Eliot normally had being less than perfect meant a vivid flashback was not exactly surprising.
This summation had caused another round of chaos and Dean had insisted on being moved to a different room until they could figure that much out.
By the time the soothers wore off Dean was strong enough to walk a short ways and they moved him into the house they had rented.
Someone was always with one of them and there were nightmares and rounds of medication and check ups by the good doctor but life was slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy.
At least by day.
The third night Sam didn't get much sleep as Dean's nightmares got worse and every time he woke up he seemed pulled a little bit further away.
When Sam woke up late the fourth morning he still hadn't dreamt about anything.
There was a moment of confusion as he woke up, he hadn't been dreaming of anything but he'd come awake with a jerk normally reserved for nightmares or hunter instincts warning him about eminent danger.
The later didn't present itself until Sam realized Dean was out of bed.
"Dean?" Sam called, trying to keep his voice even despite a surge of panic.
It was probably fine.
Quiet.
Sam made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs, stopping once he had a full view of the open living room.
The house was like most border world homes, built to accommodate both modern technologies and the old fashioned. Although there was a working heat system in the house the electricity prices could be well and beyond the typical budget and the big iron and stone fireplace served as a heating source for the house.
They'd been using that themselves ever since Parker decided she liked tending the fire.
Only it wasn't Parker but Dean in front of the hearth, half sprawled out like he'd fallen and hadn't thought to pick himself up, a log dropped and forgotten by his side.
His hand, a bright burn across the palm, in front of his face which had turned pensive.
"Dean?"
Dean looked toward him and clenched the burned hand into a fist, closing his eyes like it felt good rather than hurt like a bitch like it probably did. "It feels different." Dean said. "Feels real."
Sam felt his gut do a long slow roll but nodded. "Well, it looks real. Let's get something to put on it."
Dean didn't argue or respond until they were in the kitchen and Sam was examining it, burns part of a hunter's first aid repitor unfortunately.
"Hey, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Got any decent beer? This hurts like a bitch."
Any other time Sam might have commented on self medication or... something. But there was a look in Dean's eyes and in his smile that Sam had been missing for a long time and...
He had Dean back.
That night he dreamt of fire again. This time, though, it was not infernos that burned down hopes or explosions that stole homes and families away.
It was that hearth fire, diligently attended by the crew, that they'd gathered around that night with Eliot on release from the Doctor's watchful eye, and finished the last book they'd been reading on Leverage.
In Sam's dreams they gathered around it again, their hands reaching into the fire to pull out and carry away embers that gave off sparks to become stars in the black.
He woke in the morning with no knowledge of the future except that, this time, it wouldn't end in fire.