SPN GEN FIC: Paradise Where You Choose It
Title: Paradise Where You Choose It
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: N/A
Rating: PG
Summary: Paradise is open to interpretation.
Notes: Thanks to catmoran, joyfulgirl41 and estrella30 for beta and audiencing. This is for slodwick's A Picture is Worth 1000 Words challenge.
***
Paradise Where You Choose It
By Lenore
1.
Sam tilts his head back, squints at the sky, watching the clouds through a sea of white umbrellas. The wind gusts Caribbean-warm off the water, a lazy caress on Sam's skin. He's never had a real vacation. Evil doesn't take a break, his father used to say. The beach is strangely deserted, no kids splashing in the waves, not even a sandcastle in sight. Next to Sam is an unoccupied lounge chair, a rumpled towel left behind as if someone just got up. They'll be back, Sam thinks languidly. He closes his eyes and realizes how tired he really is.
2.
When he opens his eyes again, Jessica is there, stretched out like a cat on the chaise, her skin August-dark, hair kissed by the light. She smiles at him, and he murmurs her name.
The beach is alive now. Couples walk past hand-in-hand. Brilliant colors dot the turquoise waters, crimson and neon-yellow, swimmers and surfers and sailboats.
"Baby," Jessica says.
Sam reaches out to her, but he's weak-limbed with warmth, and she seems strangely far away. He lets his hand drop. It's nice just to have her there.
It's okay, Sammy. Rest now.
Sam frowns. She never calls him that.
3.
It's easy to forget everything else. Sam doesn't even wonder where Dean is until the third day, and he feels kind of bad about that.
"Oh, he'll be back," Jessica says.
She points to an empty lounge chair on the other side of Sam that he never noticed before. A waiter in white shorts approaches, bringing them fruity drinks in coconuts.
Sam takes a sip. "Dean would make fun of me forever if he could see--"
Jessica cuts him off with a look. "But he can't." Sharpness disappears in a smile. "Forget all that, Sam. That's why we're here."
4.
He meets his mother that evening for dinner. She's wearing a gauzy white sundress. Her nose is cheerfully sunburned. They sit at an outdoor café overlooking the ocean.
"We should go for a walk on the beach afterwards," she says.
Sam nods, but the empty chair at their table distracts him.
His mom takes his hand. "I want you to know how proud I am of you, Sam. For moving on. Dean has felt responsible for so long, and now he's finally free to have his own life."
Her eyes are warm with reassurance, but her touch is strangely cold.
5.
He spends the next day looking for Dean, not successfully, but he does run into Meg at the market.
"Still chasing after your big brother, huh?" She laughs.
"Have you seen him?"
She picks up an oversized sombrero and puts it on him, tilts her head. "That's a good look for you."
"Meg."
"God, Sam. Have you even taken a walk on the beach yet?" She sighs. "Fine." She hands over a motel key.
He stares at it, then at her.
"Jealous? You shouldn't be. Dean always spends his time here by himself." She winks and disappears into the crowd.
6.
It's not hard to find the motel. No one's there, but Dean's things are scattered around the room, his ring on the dresser, clothes laid out on the bed. On a shelf in the closet is a worn-out stuffed rabbit Dean used to love, lost years ago, somewhere in their travels.
Sam wanders into the bathroom, touches Dean's hairbrush, picks up his razor, almost superstitiously, as if this will somehow conjure his brother. A rustling comes from the next room, and he runs back out, sees the door whisper closed. He jerks it open, looks out.
There's no one there.
7.
Jessica doesn't look happy with him.
"Where have you been? We were going to walk on the beach, remember?" She shakes her head. "You really don't know how to enjoy paradise, do you?" She slips her arm through his. "Come on. I know a place."
A nightclub, and the music is a loud slap in the face. Jessica pulls him onto the dance floor, presses close. She smells warm as promises.
"What else could you possibly want?" she asks.
"Nothing. It's just-- Dean--"
She sighs. "Dean can take care of himself."
Before Sam can say he's sorry, she's gone.
8.
Meg is sitting at the bar, laughing at him. "What a way with women."
"Where is Dean?"
She lifts an eyebrow. "What's wrong? Can't make it a whole day without him?"
He grabs her arm. "What have you done?"
Then he hears it. Come on, Sammy. Come on!
He turns, spots a man with spiky brown hair.
"Dean!"
Sam pulls him around, but it's not his brother. There's another man and another, a chain of them crisscrossing the room. All not Dean. Sam ends up back at the door where he came in.
Outside the streets are empty and silent.
9.
At dawn, he's sitting on the beach, shivering in the morning wind. A woman is out walking. When she gets close, he sees Jessica and Meg and his mother in her. She smells too sweet, like lilies about to wilt.
"Ready?"
Sam nods. He's tired of being alone and there's a certain inevitability to this. They walk. The horizon stands out starkly, like a line drawn in black magic marker, almost ominous.
Sam slows down.
The woman tells him, "Don't look back. We're almost there."
He stops.
She reaches for him, and he turns, runs, knowing what he's left behind.
10.
His life resumes with a horrible burning in the lungs, so cold ice has taken the place of his bones.
"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you. The ambulance is on the way."
Sam makes himself open his eyes. His brother's face, ghostly with fear, hovers over him. Dean's arms surround him, strong and determined. The stench of dead flowers lingers, and Sam presses his face against his brother's jacket. Smoke and leather, ancient grime, and he breathes it in.
Paradise may exist, or it might just be a dirty trick, but it doesn't matter. Sam is right where he belongs.
***
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: N/A
Rating: PG
Summary: Paradise is open to interpretation.
Notes: Thanks to catmoran, joyfulgirl41 and estrella30 for beta and audiencing. This is for slodwick's A Picture is Worth 1000 Words challenge.
***
Paradise Where You Choose It
By Lenore
1.
Sam tilts his head back, squints at the sky, watching the clouds through a sea of white umbrellas. The wind gusts Caribbean-warm off the water, a lazy caress on Sam's skin. He's never had a real vacation. Evil doesn't take a break, his father used to say. The beach is strangely deserted, no kids splashing in the waves, not even a sandcastle in sight. Next to Sam is an unoccupied lounge chair, a rumpled towel left behind as if someone just got up. They'll be back, Sam thinks languidly. He closes his eyes and realizes how tired he really is.
2.
When he opens his eyes again, Jessica is there, stretched out like a cat on the chaise, her skin August-dark, hair kissed by the light. She smiles at him, and he murmurs her name.
The beach is alive now. Couples walk past hand-in-hand. Brilliant colors dot the turquoise waters, crimson and neon-yellow, swimmers and surfers and sailboats.
"Baby," Jessica says.
Sam reaches out to her, but he's weak-limbed with warmth, and she seems strangely far away. He lets his hand drop. It's nice just to have her there.
It's okay, Sammy. Rest now.
Sam frowns. She never calls him that.
3.
It's easy to forget everything else. Sam doesn't even wonder where Dean is until the third day, and he feels kind of bad about that.
"Oh, he'll be back," Jessica says.
She points to an empty lounge chair on the other side of Sam that he never noticed before. A waiter in white shorts approaches, bringing them fruity drinks in coconuts.
Sam takes a sip. "Dean would make fun of me forever if he could see--"
Jessica cuts him off with a look. "But he can't." Sharpness disappears in a smile. "Forget all that, Sam. That's why we're here."
4.
He meets his mother that evening for dinner. She's wearing a gauzy white sundress. Her nose is cheerfully sunburned. They sit at an outdoor café overlooking the ocean.
"We should go for a walk on the beach afterwards," she says.
Sam nods, but the empty chair at their table distracts him.
His mom takes his hand. "I want you to know how proud I am of you, Sam. For moving on. Dean has felt responsible for so long, and now he's finally free to have his own life."
Her eyes are warm with reassurance, but her touch is strangely cold.
5.
He spends the next day looking for Dean, not successfully, but he does run into Meg at the market.
"Still chasing after your big brother, huh?" She laughs.
"Have you seen him?"
She picks up an oversized sombrero and puts it on him, tilts her head. "That's a good look for you."
"Meg."
"God, Sam. Have you even taken a walk on the beach yet?" She sighs. "Fine." She hands over a motel key.
He stares at it, then at her.
"Jealous? You shouldn't be. Dean always spends his time here by himself." She winks and disappears into the crowd.
6.
It's not hard to find the motel. No one's there, but Dean's things are scattered around the room, his ring on the dresser, clothes laid out on the bed. On a shelf in the closet is a worn-out stuffed rabbit Dean used to love, lost years ago, somewhere in their travels.
Sam wanders into the bathroom, touches Dean's hairbrush, picks up his razor, almost superstitiously, as if this will somehow conjure his brother. A rustling comes from the next room, and he runs back out, sees the door whisper closed. He jerks it open, looks out.
There's no one there.
7.
Jessica doesn't look happy with him.
"Where have you been? We were going to walk on the beach, remember?" She shakes her head. "You really don't know how to enjoy paradise, do you?" She slips her arm through his. "Come on. I know a place."
A nightclub, and the music is a loud slap in the face. Jessica pulls him onto the dance floor, presses close. She smells warm as promises.
"What else could you possibly want?" she asks.
"Nothing. It's just-- Dean--"
She sighs. "Dean can take care of himself."
Before Sam can say he's sorry, she's gone.
8.
Meg is sitting at the bar, laughing at him. "What a way with women."
"Where is Dean?"
She lifts an eyebrow. "What's wrong? Can't make it a whole day without him?"
He grabs her arm. "What have you done?"
Then he hears it. Come on, Sammy. Come on!
He turns, spots a man with spiky brown hair.
"Dean!"
Sam pulls him around, but it's not his brother. There's another man and another, a chain of them crisscrossing the room. All not Dean. Sam ends up back at the door where he came in.
Outside the streets are empty and silent.
9.
At dawn, he's sitting on the beach, shivering in the morning wind. A woman is out walking. When she gets close, he sees Jessica and Meg and his mother in her. She smells too sweet, like lilies about to wilt.
"Ready?"
Sam nods. He's tired of being alone and there's a certain inevitability to this. They walk. The horizon stands out starkly, like a line drawn in black magic marker, almost ominous.
Sam slows down.
The woman tells him, "Don't look back. We're almost there."
He stops.
She reaches for him, and he turns, runs, knowing what he's left behind.
10.
His life resumes with a horrible burning in the lungs, so cold ice has taken the place of his bones.
"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you. The ambulance is on the way."
Sam makes himself open his eyes. His brother's face, ghostly with fear, hovers over him. Dean's arms surround him, strong and determined. The stench of dead flowers lingers, and Sam presses his face against his brother's jacket. Smoke and leather, ancient grime, and he breathes it in.
Paradise may exist, or it might just be a dirty trick, but it doesn't matter. Sam is right where he belongs.
***