FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 1authoressnebulaMay 4 2011, 01:55:39 UTC
Hope you don't mind the direction this went...
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Sam was staring back into the room like it held all the mysteries of life. Dean didn't exactly understand why; they'd only been there for a few days, tops. Well, Dean had, at any rate.
Apparently Sam had been there for hundreds of days already.
Frickin' trickster. Hundreds of days of watching Dean die was enough to make anyone go a little stir crazy, let alone just plain old crazy. Sam's demands that morning, considering everything, hadn't been all that unreasonable. Maybe the diner in town was really suck-ass, so breakfast had to be elsewhere. And if it meant Sam was at peace heading down the stairs with Dean to the car, then they'd walk hand in hand for all Dean cared.
But there was something else. It was Wednesday. Sam's Tuesdays were over. Yet here the kid was, solemn and silent and heartbroken like he knew how today was going to go.
With a sigh Dean descended the stairs, leaving Sam to stare at the room some more. He'd pack everything up, then wait for Sam in the car. Kid looked like he needed to be alone for a little bit.
+++++++
Sam shut the door behind him, hating the feeling of finality. As terrible as the Tuesdays had been, the Wednesday had been worse. The months following had been hellish. He found himself ironically wishing for the Tuesdays again. Yes, Dean died. But then Dean came back. In the little room, reality hadn't really hit in. Sam had always known that come the end of Dean's last breath, Sam would gulp in a gasp of air and hear Asia and his brother singing. There was a relief in knowing that.
Now...
Now Dean was dead in a matter of a few short months. And there'd be no waking up. Just like the last few months Sam had spent alone. He'd gotten so used to standing alone, hunting alone, breathing alone, that to have Dean and his presence back was startling. Sam breathed in deeply, then let it out.
And only heard himself. No matching breath. Sam immediately whipped his head to the side but found no Dean. Oh god, he hadn't honestly dreamed getting Dean back, had he? Wasn't like he hadn't done it enough but...but no...
The sound of a banging car door made him look wildly down to the parking lot. Dean was packing up the car, alone. Sam wasn't there to help protect him.
And just around the corner, Cal was coming by, gun hidden clumsily in his jacket. No.
With almost inhuman speed Sam was racing down the stairs. He opted to leap over the last few stairs and hault himself up and over the railings, and he landed with a grunt on the pavement of the parking lot. Cal was already there, gun out and unsteady as it trained on Dean. "G-Gimme your wallet," he demanded shakily.
Sam ran around the cars towards the Impala as Dean slowly lifted his hands in a placating manner. Cal's trigger finger was twitching from nerves, and Sam's heart thundered in his chest. He wasn't losing Dean, not now. Not now.
It was now or never. He threw himself forward and into Dean. Cal, startled by his sudden appearance, pulled the trigger.
FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 2authoressnebulaMay 4 2011, 02:13:11 UTC
They landed hard on the pavement, Dean beneath Sam. Cal's footsteps quickly ran away until they were nothing at all.
The ghost white, stricken look on Dean's face left Sam terrified that he'd been too late, that Dean had been hit. The bleeding, he had to stop the bleeding. "Dean, where-" Sam started, only to feel sudden, agonizing pain rip through his chest as he tried to speak. Surprised, he glanced down at his own chest, stupidly staring at the blood on his shirt.
His blood. Not Dean's.
He'd saved Dean.
He turned away to cough hard and felt something tear again, a knife-like pain spreading through his chest like a wildfire. Something quickly filled his mouth, and Sam coughed again, spraying blood across the pavement.
In an instant Dean's hands were there, clutching at his shoulders and pushing him to the ground. "Easy, easy," Dean was saying frantically, then, "Look at me, Sammy, look at me, open your damn eyes!"
Sam opened the eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and found Dean right in front of him again. Above him, this time, and still looking pale and scared. "Hang on for me," Dean said when he met Sam's gaze, but he didn't look relieved. There was pressure on Sam's chest, hurting the ribs beneath it, and sending more pain throughout his body. Sam weakly pushed at the offending item, then discovered it was Dean's hand, pressing against the bloodflow. Oh.
"I need an ambulance immediately," Dean said, but he sounded like he was underwater. Sam blinked and Dean's phone was gone, and both of his hands were pressing against the wound. "Stay with me, Sammy," Dean pleaded, moving his blood-soaked hand up to cup Sam's cheek. "They're almost here, I can hear the sirens, all right?"
Sam couldn't. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
He'd saved Dean. Despite the trickster's best attempts, despite the Wednesday that hadn't ended like a Tuesday should've, Sam hadn't screwed up his second chance.
Dean was safe. That was what mattered.
Sam found his lips turning up into a smile even while the white-hot pain continued to rob him of air. "'did it," he gasped out. There was a pressure pushing against his chest again, but when he looked, Dean's hands weren't there anymore. His lungs felt heavy, like they were made of lead, and every stuttered breath felt like a hot poker was tearing through his chest.
"Shhh, shhh," Dean was saying, and he was taking off his jacket. It was cold outside; Dean needed to keep it. But he was balling it up and putting it gently underneath Sam's head. "Save it, Sammy. You can tell me after the hospital puts you back together, all right? Just keep breathing."
"I did it," Sam insisted, though it was a struggle to push the words out. As rough as it was, the jacket somehow helped. But the world was getting darker and fuzzier, and Sam knew he had to tell Dean now. It was important that Dean understand that Sam hadn't screwed this one up, that Sam had done it.
"Did what, Sam? Sam!" Dean sounded desperate, and there was a soft tap against his cheek. Sam opened his eyes again and peered through the gloom to find Dean anxiously gazing down on him. "Sammy, what did you do?"
Oh. That was right. He had to tell Dean. "Saved you," he breathed, then coughed again. The liquid from his throat was still there, choking him, but he couldn't seem to make his body work to expel it.
Shadows suddenly appeared beside Dean, and then Dean was screaming. Sam desperately fought to open his eyes, to help Dean fight whatever had found them, but it was too late. Maybe he hadn't saved Dean after all.
FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 3authoressnebulaMay 4 2011, 02:28:22 UTC
No matter what Dean tried to do, he couldn't get the blood off of his hands.
Oh, he'd washed enough times, when he'd finally realized it was going to take them awhile to get news back to him about Sam. He'd lathered, rinsed, soaped himself up enough to make himself the top choice for any soap commercial. But there were always a tiny spot, here or there, and he'd have to wash all over again. His fingers were getting prunish, and still the blood wouldn't come off.
Blood. Sam. Dean shut his eyes tight. His fingers clung to the sides of the ceramic white sink, and he let his head hang. Anything to not think about Sam dying in the parking lot.
"Did what, Sam?"
"Saved you."
Even as he'd coughed up blood, even as more blood had gushed through Dean's fingers, making them slippery and stained, Sam had smiled. Blood coating his teeth, tears unheeded rolling down his cheeks, and he'd smiled.
"Saved you."
He'd known. Somehow, he'd known that the guy from the diner would show up with a gun. He'd told Dean not to go down to the parking lot on his own, and Dean had done it anyways. And now Sam was paying the ultimate price.
But it was Wednesday. Wednesdays were the safe days. So how the hell did Sam know that this Wednesday wasn't?
When the kid woke up, they were talking. Dean clutched the sides of the sink tight, then let them go and lifted his head. His own eyes were red-rimmed, had been for hours. Ever since the paramedics had arrived and taken Sam away, shouting at one another while Dean had screamed for Sam to come back. It hadn't done any good; Sam's eyes had slipped closed, and so far, hadn't opened since. So far as Dean knew. He could be conscious now.
He could be dead now.
Another red spot on his hands taunted him, and with a growl Dean turned the water back on, emptying out almost half of the soap container into his hands. Lather, rinse, repeat. Kill Dean, lose Dean, repeat.
Except not this time.
"Saved you."
And Dean wished he was dead. Anything beat watching Sam gasp for air, helplessly staring as Sam coughed up blood onto the cement, unable to tear his gaze away as Sam slowly slipped away.
The door opened while he was furiously scrubbing his hands. "Sir?" the man said, and Dean looked up. "Are you here with Sam Salinger?"
Dean forgot about the blood on his hands and followed the nurse out.
+++++++
Cold. Cold and wrong. Cold and dark and wrong. A low-pitched sound near one of his ears. Static in the background. Pain everywhere, from his toenails to the hairs on his head.
What the hell had happened?
Dean. Dean had been screaming. There'd been shadows surrounding him. Cal with a gun. Dean screaming. Oh god, had he let Dean die? Hadn't he saved him in time?
He struggled against the fog that seemed to hold him down, keep him away from Dean. He had to find Dean. He could save Dean, just this once, he knew he could. He wasn't giving up now. Not with all those months of loneliness, of wishing he was dead too but unable to give up the hope of getting Dean back.
A light touch in one of his hands caused him to stop fighting. A whisper in his ear let him relax. It's all right, Sammy. I'm here. You're gonna be fine.
FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 4 - ENDauthoressnebulaMay 4 2011, 02:43:36 UTC
When Sam could sense things again, the feelings of wrong and cold weren't as strong anymore. There was light, way more light, and something burning through his nostrils. He focused on his muscles and slowly lifted his eyelids.
The room was a light blue, paint that had seen better days. There was a curtain that hung around one corner of his bed, and a door to his right stood closed. The entire room smelled like cleaning supplies, the strong ones. Hospital.
Dean.
Something caught his hand before he was even able to try sitting up, making him shift his focus to the left. Dean was right there, alive and looking a little worse for the wear, but alive. Sam could handle the worse for wear and the multiple day shadows under his eyes and on his jaw. When was the last time Dean had seen a razor? Or a bed?
"Hey, sleeping beauty," Dean said, voice filled with relief. "About time you decided to wake up. Had the doctors worried for awhile." Translation: You had me worried for too long. "How are you feeling?"
Everything slowly came back. The canula looped around his ears and currently feeding cool oxygen through his nose, the IV taped to the back of his hand. The soreness radiating from his chest.
Cal. The gun. Saving Dean.
"Doc says if that guy had shot any higher, it would've hit you in the heart," Dean said, swallowing hard. "Definitely would've hit me in my heart. But it didn't, because you were there. You knew."
He'd known. Known for months. Replayed the scene a million and one times in his head. But in the moment when it had counted, Sam had pulled through.
"You're telling me how you knew later," Dean said, pulling Sam's focus back to the present. Dean leaned in closer, and up close, he looked even worse than he had before. His face was pale, and he looked exhausted. The lines in his forehead spoke of stress and worry from the past who knew how many days. "But I want you to promise me, right here, right now, that you won't do this again, Sam. That you won't try and save me like this."
For the second time, Sam felt something slam into his chest. This time, it wasn't a bullet. "Wha-?" His voice, hoarse from disuse, was barely able to make a sound before Dean was continuing.
"I'm done in a few months, Sam. But you? You can keep going. I want you to keep going. Not...not this."
No. No no no no no. "Dean, no," Sam struggled to choke out. "Can't...can't do this without you."
"Yes you can-"
"No."
Dean stopped and stared at him. Sam swallowed hard, tears burning in his eyes. "No," he repeated, his throat sore with each pass of air over the abused flesh. But damn if he wasn't saying this now. "That's...I lost you. Months, Dean. I can't...I'm saving you. I have to."
They would both be saved, or they would both go down. It wasn't happening any other way. It couldn't.
Dean tightened his grip around Sam's hand. "Fine," he said at last. "But...but not like this. God, Sammy, please."
Sam said nothing, but he finally gave a small nod. He'd keep himself alive, too. For the both of them.
Re: FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 4 - ENDphreakycatMay 4 2011, 03:39:14 UTC
Perfect! What a fitting and awesome fill for my vague prompt! For some reason I didn't even think of the whole Mystery Spot/Deal thing, but now that I've read this it seems perfect and obvious. LOL This was AWESOME! Thank you so much for sacrificing your productivity for my humble prompts. ;)
Re: FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 4 - ENDcarocaliMay 11 2011, 04:47:23 UTC
Mystery Spot! I LOVE that you did this! That shot in the parking lot on Wednesday was worse than everything. And Sam's face! How wonderful that you gave Sam the chance to save Dean.
Re: FILLED: Aim, Shoot, Repeat Pt. 4 - ENDcrazybeagleMay 13 2011, 06:32:32 UTC
Oh oh oh... Heartbreaking and gorgeous in so many ways. (It's 2:30 AM, I can't give you anything more substantial than that.) It just killed me that the first thing that naturally occurred to Sam to do was the hardest thing for Dean to witness and the one that seemed most pointless in light of the deal. Beautifully done. And the last line.... >sob< BUT HE DIDN'T. OH SAMMY.
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Sam was staring back into the room like it held all the mysteries of life. Dean didn't exactly understand why; they'd only been there for a few days, tops. Well, Dean had, at any rate.
Apparently Sam had been there for hundreds of days already.
Frickin' trickster. Hundreds of days of watching Dean die was enough to make anyone go a little stir crazy, let alone just plain old crazy. Sam's demands that morning, considering everything, hadn't been all that unreasonable. Maybe the diner in town was really suck-ass, so breakfast had to be elsewhere. And if it meant Sam was at peace heading down the stairs with Dean to the car, then they'd walk hand in hand for all Dean cared.
But there was something else. It was Wednesday. Sam's Tuesdays were over. Yet here the kid was, solemn and silent and heartbroken like he knew how today was going to go.
With a sigh Dean descended the stairs, leaving Sam to stare at the room some more. He'd pack everything up, then wait for Sam in the car. Kid looked like he needed to be alone for a little bit.
+++++++
Sam shut the door behind him, hating the feeling of finality. As terrible as the Tuesdays had been, the Wednesday had been worse. The months following had been hellish. He found himself ironically wishing for the Tuesdays again. Yes, Dean died. But then Dean came back. In the little room, reality hadn't really hit in. Sam had always known that come the end of Dean's last breath, Sam would gulp in a gasp of air and hear Asia and his brother singing. There was a relief in knowing that.
Now...
Now Dean was dead in a matter of a few short months. And there'd be no waking up. Just like the last few months Sam had spent alone. He'd gotten so used to standing alone, hunting alone, breathing alone, that to have Dean and his presence back was startling. Sam breathed in deeply, then let it out.
And only heard himself. No matching breath. Sam immediately whipped his head to the side but found no Dean. Oh god, he hadn't honestly dreamed getting Dean back, had he? Wasn't like he hadn't done it enough but...but no...
The sound of a banging car door made him look wildly down to the parking lot. Dean was packing up the car, alone. Sam wasn't there to help protect him.
And just around the corner, Cal was coming by, gun hidden clumsily in his jacket. No.
With almost inhuman speed Sam was racing down the stairs. He opted to leap over the last few stairs and hault himself up and over the railings, and he landed with a grunt on the pavement of the parking lot. Cal was already there, gun out and unsteady as it trained on Dean. "G-Gimme your wallet," he demanded shakily.
Sam ran around the cars towards the Impala as Dean slowly lifted his hands in a placating manner. Cal's trigger finger was twitching from nerves, and Sam's heart thundered in his chest. He wasn't losing Dean, not now. Not now.
It was now or never. He threw himself forward and into Dean. Cal, startled by his sudden appearance, pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the empty parking lot.
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The ghost white, stricken look on Dean's face left Sam terrified that he'd been too late, that Dean had been hit. The bleeding, he had to stop the bleeding. "Dean, where-" Sam started, only to feel sudden, agonizing pain rip through his chest as he tried to speak. Surprised, he glanced down at his own chest, stupidly staring at the blood on his shirt.
His blood. Not Dean's.
He'd saved Dean.
He turned away to cough hard and felt something tear again, a knife-like pain spreading through his chest like a wildfire. Something quickly filled his mouth, and Sam coughed again, spraying blood across the pavement.
In an instant Dean's hands were there, clutching at his shoulders and pushing him to the ground. "Easy, easy," Dean was saying frantically, then, "Look at me, Sammy, look at me, open your damn eyes!"
Sam opened the eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and found Dean right in front of him again. Above him, this time, and still looking pale and scared. "Hang on for me," Dean said when he met Sam's gaze, but he didn't look relieved. There was pressure on Sam's chest, hurting the ribs beneath it, and sending more pain throughout his body. Sam weakly pushed at the offending item, then discovered it was Dean's hand, pressing against the bloodflow. Oh.
"I need an ambulance immediately," Dean said, but he sounded like he was underwater. Sam blinked and Dean's phone was gone, and both of his hands were pressing against the wound. "Stay with me, Sammy," Dean pleaded, moving his blood-soaked hand up to cup Sam's cheek. "They're almost here, I can hear the sirens, all right?"
Sam couldn't. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
He'd saved Dean. Despite the trickster's best attempts, despite the Wednesday that hadn't ended like a Tuesday should've, Sam hadn't screwed up his second chance.
Dean was safe. That was what mattered.
Sam found his lips turning up into a smile even while the white-hot pain continued to rob him of air. "'did it," he gasped out. There was a pressure pushing against his chest again, but when he looked, Dean's hands weren't there anymore. His lungs felt heavy, like they were made of lead, and every stuttered breath felt like a hot poker was tearing through his chest.
"Shhh, shhh," Dean was saying, and he was taking off his jacket. It was cold outside; Dean needed to keep it. But he was balling it up and putting it gently underneath Sam's head. "Save it, Sammy. You can tell me after the hospital puts you back together, all right? Just keep breathing."
"I did it," Sam insisted, though it was a struggle to push the words out. As rough as it was, the jacket somehow helped. But the world was getting darker and fuzzier, and Sam knew he had to tell Dean now. It was important that Dean understand that Sam hadn't screwed this one up, that Sam had done it.
"Did what, Sam? Sam!" Dean sounded desperate, and there was a soft tap against his cheek. Sam opened his eyes again and peered through the gloom to find Dean anxiously gazing down on him. "Sammy, what did you do?"
Oh. That was right. He had to tell Dean. "Saved you," he breathed, then coughed again. The liquid from his throat was still there, choking him, but he couldn't seem to make his body work to expel it.
Shadows suddenly appeared beside Dean, and then Dean was screaming. Sam desperately fought to open his eyes, to help Dean fight whatever had found them, but it was too late. Maybe he hadn't saved Dean after all.
The black swallowed him whole.
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Oh, he'd washed enough times, when he'd finally realized it was going to take them awhile to get news back to him about Sam. He'd lathered, rinsed, soaped himself up enough to make himself the top choice for any soap commercial. But there were always a tiny spot, here or there, and he'd have to wash all over again. His fingers were getting prunish, and still the blood wouldn't come off.
Blood. Sam. Dean shut his eyes tight. His fingers clung to the sides of the ceramic white sink, and he let his head hang. Anything to not think about Sam dying in the parking lot.
"Did what, Sam?"
"Saved you."
Even as he'd coughed up blood, even as more blood had gushed through Dean's fingers, making them slippery and stained, Sam had smiled. Blood coating his teeth, tears unheeded rolling down his cheeks, and he'd smiled.
"Saved you."
He'd known. Somehow, he'd known that the guy from the diner would show up with a gun. He'd told Dean not to go down to the parking lot on his own, and Dean had done it anyways. And now Sam was paying the ultimate price.
But it was Wednesday. Wednesdays were the safe days. So how the hell did Sam know that this Wednesday wasn't?
When the kid woke up, they were talking. Dean clutched the sides of the sink tight, then let them go and lifted his head. His own eyes were red-rimmed, had been for hours. Ever since the paramedics had arrived and taken Sam away, shouting at one another while Dean had screamed for Sam to come back. It hadn't done any good; Sam's eyes had slipped closed, and so far, hadn't opened since. So far as Dean knew. He could be conscious now.
He could be dead now.
Another red spot on his hands taunted him, and with a growl Dean turned the water back on, emptying out almost half of the soap container into his hands. Lather, rinse, repeat. Kill Dean, lose Dean, repeat.
Except not this time.
"Saved you."
And Dean wished he was dead. Anything beat watching Sam gasp for air, helplessly staring as Sam coughed up blood onto the cement, unable to tear his gaze away as Sam slowly slipped away.
The door opened while he was furiously scrubbing his hands. "Sir?" the man said, and Dean looked up. "Are you here with Sam Salinger?"
Dean forgot about the blood on his hands and followed the nurse out.
+++++++
Cold. Cold and wrong. Cold and dark and wrong. A low-pitched sound near one of his ears. Static in the background. Pain everywhere, from his toenails to the hairs on his head.
What the hell had happened?
Dean. Dean had been screaming. There'd been shadows surrounding him. Cal with a gun. Dean screaming. Oh god, had he let Dean die? Hadn't he saved him in time?
He struggled against the fog that seemed to hold him down, keep him away from Dean. He had to find Dean. He could save Dean, just this once, he knew he could. He wasn't giving up now. Not with all those months of loneliness, of wishing he was dead too but unable to give up the hope of getting Dean back.
A light touch in one of his hands caused him to stop fighting. A whisper in his ear let him relax. It's all right, Sammy. I'm here. You're gonna be fine.
Sam let himself slide back under.
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The room was a light blue, paint that had seen better days. There was a curtain that hung around one corner of his bed, and a door to his right stood closed. The entire room smelled like cleaning supplies, the strong ones. Hospital.
Dean.
Something caught his hand before he was even able to try sitting up, making him shift his focus to the left. Dean was right there, alive and looking a little worse for the wear, but alive. Sam could handle the worse for wear and the multiple day shadows under his eyes and on his jaw. When was the last time Dean had seen a razor? Or a bed?
"Hey, sleeping beauty," Dean said, voice filled with relief. "About time you decided to wake up. Had the doctors worried for awhile." Translation: You had me worried for too long. "How are you feeling?"
Everything slowly came back. The canula looped around his ears and currently feeding cool oxygen through his nose, the IV taped to the back of his hand. The soreness radiating from his chest.
Cal. The gun. Saving Dean.
"Doc says if that guy had shot any higher, it would've hit you in the heart," Dean said, swallowing hard. "Definitely would've hit me in my heart. But it didn't, because you were there. You knew."
He'd known. Known for months. Replayed the scene a million and one times in his head. But in the moment when it had counted, Sam had pulled through.
"You're telling me how you knew later," Dean said, pulling Sam's focus back to the present. Dean leaned in closer, and up close, he looked even worse than he had before. His face was pale, and he looked exhausted. The lines in his forehead spoke of stress and worry from the past who knew how many days. "But I want you to promise me, right here, right now, that you won't do this again, Sam. That you won't try and save me like this."
For the second time, Sam felt something slam into his chest. This time, it wasn't a bullet. "Wha-?" His voice, hoarse from disuse, was barely able to make a sound before Dean was continuing.
"I'm done in a few months, Sam. But you? You can keep going. I want you to keep going. Not...not this."
No. No no no no no. "Dean, no," Sam struggled to choke out. "Can't...can't do this without you."
"Yes you can-"
"No."
Dean stopped and stared at him. Sam swallowed hard, tears burning in his eyes. "No," he repeated, his throat sore with each pass of air over the abused flesh. But damn if he wasn't saying this now. "That's...I lost you. Months, Dean. I can't...I'm saving you. I have to."
They would both be saved, or they would both go down. It wasn't happening any other way. It couldn't.
Dean tightened his grip around Sam's hand. "Fine," he said at last. "But...but not like this. God, Sammy, please."
Sam said nothing, but he finally gave a small nod. He'd keep himself alive, too. For the both of them.
And he'd save Dean or die trying.
~Nebula
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Heartbreaking and gorgeous in so many ways.
(It's 2:30 AM, I can't give you anything more substantial than that.)
It just killed me that the first thing that naturally occurred to Sam to do was the hardest thing for Dean to witness and the one that seemed most pointless in light of the deal. Beautifully done.
And the last line....
>sob<
BUT HE DIDN'T.
OH SAMMY.
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