A Therapeutic Chain Of Events (1/1)
This has been done a million times, I know. I don't really care. I have an intense need to write this fic. Deal with it xD
So. I a dramatic kickoff to this new !verse idea I had- the Winchesters are in a difficult spot. Fem!SamnDean. It's set at the end of 5.14 MBV, people... Sam is suffering through withdrawal, and her sister is drinking herself into a stupor and trying not to flash back to their childhood. Good luck.
Warnings: Withdrawal. Hallucinations. Psuedo-character death? What do I even call that? Oh, and swearing. Always assume swearing.
Also, I made them as in character as possible, but feel free to critique me on that score.
Wordcount: 1885 (is that my lucky number or what?)
*****
Deanna Winchester has never had the best life. She's okay with it. She deals. Her dad's death barely even bothers her anymore, although the more recent demise of her mother is still a crushing weight on her chest. She still wakes up gasping from the Hell nightmares, but she doesn't cry too much over the Cold Oak memories.
Shit, how screwed up is that?
Sam is screaming again- when had that become okay?
Dee shivers a little and gulps down more whiskey and tries to pretend that her sister is quiet and sleeping upstairs because it's been a long, rough few days. Famine is (was?) a douchebag, and apparently one Winchester is dead inside and the other will be forever haunted by her choice to trust a demon over family.
Is it wrong that she gets a little bit of satisfaction out of that? (Yes.)
"Please! Please!" Sam screams, voice thin and high and agonized, and shit, a part of the older Winchester just wants to sprint down to that basement and throw the door open and wrap the poor kid up and tell her that "It's okay, Sammy, please shhh you're okay I'm here I love you it's okay."
That part just isn't quite big enough. She finishes off the bottle and reaches for another.
*****
"Mom'll be back soon." Dee murmured, her voice coming out scratchy through her sore throat. But really- who the fuck cared about a sore throat? Of course, it had been a little bit of a deal when it was just her, and she was having a hard time swallowing. That had worried Mom a little.
But now Sammy's fever was up to the point where they were considering a hospital and she couldn't breathe and this was one of the few points in the last thirty-six hours in which the ten-year-old was lucid, and shit, this was all Dee's fault, she had gotten the kid sick.
A hot little hand brushed against her shoulder and tugged her hair, and she focused on the round, flushed little face. "D-D-Don't." Sam whispered. "Don't b-blame y-yourself. S'not your f-f-fault." She always did this, and it frustrated her mother and her sister to no end, worrying about everyone else when she needed to take care of herself, dammit. But no, here she was, brain almost cooking from how high her fucking fever was and coughing every so often- big, jerking coughs that made her ratchet up and cling to her sister hard so she wouldn't fall back into the bed, because she was so tired, and was she worrying about that? Nope. She was worried about her stupid, stupid sister, who got her sick in the first place, blaming herself for something clearly-
All the angsty contemplation was interrupted when the little hot bundle of kid suddenly curled into a tighter ball, and she gasped "Dee!" and going for the thermometer was just asking for trouble, but Dee had felt her sister's temperature ratchet up a bit there, and she had to know how urgent it was that Sammy get a cool bath- not that she didn't know that it was necessary, but Sam had pleaded, in her tiny little voice, that she be allowed to just stay for a minute, just to get a little sleep. Even though she wasn't sleeping.
105.2, the thermometer read.
Well, shit.
*****Samantha Winchester really did try not to feel bad for herself. She did. But... okay, her dad died when she was a baby, and nobody looked at her family like they were normal with a single mother- they assumed bad things about her mom, or that her parents had had a nasty divorce -and then she had gotten out, fled the hunting life while her mom watched after and looked torn and Sam tried to wipe the hurt look on Dee's face out of her mind. And of course, after getting out, she met Jess- who proceeded to die on her, like everyone. Mom had been hard to handle. She and Sam had always been close... Not as close as either of them were to Dee, but whatever. And then...
She moaned a little under her breath. She should've just left me dead. M'not worth her soul. And maybe that thought was more than a little selfish- she had wanted Dee to be by herself instead... Neither of them was meant to be alone, alright?
And she still had nightmares about the night of her twenty-fifth birthday.
The pain ratchets up a notch, tearing through her, making her scream. "PLEASE!" She almost shrieks, tears running down her cheeks, curling into a ball and rocking back and forth a little. It's not my fault Dee it's not it's notnotnot please don't be mad.
And then, miraculously, there's a cool hand on her forehead. She opens her eyes to slits, half-expecting Dee, and the other half knowing that it's a hallucination.
"Poor baby." Jess whispers, sitting on the edge of the cot. She's still got that nightgown on, and Sam hopes that she's not going to spontaneously combust- it's already hot enough in the panic room. She bends her head, and Sam smells strawberries as waves of curly blonde hair fall on her sweaty face. "You're just so sick, aren't you?" And, okay, this is nicer than the last time she saw a hallucinatory version of Jess, she'll acknowledge that one.
And then Jess is laying on the bed next to her and draping herself all over Sam's chest and burning all over again, and Sam doesn't even have the energy to scream, just wraps herself around the love of her life and sobs as she turns to ashes.
*****
Burning. Everything was burning. She was so hot and everything hurt and Dee was crying, why was she crying? Sammy tried to reach up and wipe the tears away, but Dee whispered "Shhh, no, Sammy. Poor baby." and patted her head a little. Her hand was wet. Why was her hand wet?
The haze around Sam's head, that she was just becoming aware of, slowly inched back...
And she was pulled into awareness to the realization that she was wearing nothing but her underwear. That was a little odd, but she'd let it pass. She was also in the bathtub, which was full of cool water. Huh. She looked to her left, trying to piece everything together, and Dee was giving her a wary look. "Wha-" She started, tired, before exploding into a coughing fit.
"Easy, Sam." Dee murmured. "You're okay now. Relax." The younger sister complied by letting her head drop onto the older's chest. "Eww, now my shirt's wet." She teased, rubbing slow circles in Sam's back with the heel of her hand. Sam coughed again, loudly, and she sighed. "Back to bed, ya think?"
Sam thought. "I think." She replied with a nod. A chuckle sounded about her head, and then she was being lifted to her feet. She somehow, without a doubt owing mostly to luck and Dee's assistance, made it to bed before collapsing. She shut her eyes tightly, and a warm weight settled itself over her. She tried to wriggle out from underneath it, but it grumbled about moronic little sisters not staying in bed when they had fevers, so she sighed and settled into the unexpectedly cushy mattress.
*****
Castiel was not anyone's idea of patient, especially for an angel.
Well, strike that. He was semi-patient by human standards. But for an angel, he was an over-enthusiastic bundle of nerves, and possibly attention deficient.
Had he ever mentioned that to the girls? He thought it quite improbable. Oh well. He would.
He was jerked from his musing by the THUD! that was probably Sam striking the wall again. He rushed in, found her on the floor with every muscle rigid, shaking hard. Dee or Bobby would've said "Fuck". Castiel was not Dee or Bobby, so he simply restrained the shaking young woman until the seizure ended. As he pulled her onto the cot- hopefully this will be over soon and she can go upstairs for some real rest -she sighed and curled up a little in his arms, which he would not mention to her later, she would be mortified. He sighed in return and backed away and out of the room.
As he settled back against the wall and wondered why Dee had not already started running down asking what the noice was and Dammit Cas what the fuck is going on with Sam?! He reflected again that no, he was not a patient angel.
*****
When Mary had left, there had been a feverish ten-year-old flailing against her sister on the bed, while said fourteen-year-old sister shushed her a little desperately. She had gone to get more medicine, more tea, and soup. Lots of soup.
She came back, creeping slowly through the door, to two damp but sleeping daughters on the bed farthest from the door. Sammy's hand were curled around a cooling mug of tea, and Dee had her sister's head nestled on her shoulder. She had obviously also wrapped the kid up in a blanket, but neglected to get one for herself. Typical Deanna. Mary sighed, thinking of the reaction John would've had to this scene with a wry smile.
She walked slowly around the room, dropping her purchases on the couner in the kitchenette, tidying up a bit. She checked the fevers on both of her girls, and found that neither was above one hundred degrees.
Sammy stirred a little in her sleep, and Dee murmured something, which instantly calmed the brunette down. "My girls." Mary chuckled. And then she sighed, pried the mug from Sammy's fingers, and grabbed a thick blanket to wrap around Dee's shoulders, before she left them to sleep.
*****
The withdrawal was over with in eight days. Sam and Dee's issues, however, were apparently not. The blonde had come to supervise as Castiel supported her sister out of the panic room, but she made no move to help or to speak with either of them. She followed them up the stairs, but still didn't say a word. She left as Cas was letting Sam take a shower, standing nervously outside of the door and noting, somewhat frustratedly, that Sam would not appreciate him barging in if she fell and hit her head, no matter how necessary it was.
However, miracle of miracles, she came back as Cas attempts to help Sam rebraid her hair, as she complained that it would be a pain in the ass if she left it loose while she slept. "You're doing it wrong." The older Winchester says, exasperatedly. She places the mug of tea that she had brought in with her on the bedside table, and bumps Cas out of the way, sitting cross-legged behind her drowsy sister. She is, it would seem, an almost Olympic hair-braider, if such an event actually existed in the Olympics. Her fingers move slowly but surely over Sam's scalp, and Cas suspects this to be as much a calming gesture as an attempt to calm the wild chocolate-colored locks.
With a gusty sigh, the angel leaves the room.
When he returns ten minutes later, he finds two sleeping Winchesters on the bed, and realizes that maybe their issues are more over with than he had initially assumed. He sighed, removed the mug from Sam's hands, and tucked a blanket around Dee's shoulders. Then he left them to sleep.
So. I a dramatic kickoff to this new !verse idea I had- the Winchesters are in a difficult spot. Fem!SamnDean. It's set at the end of 5.14 MBV, people... Sam is suffering through withdrawal, and her sister is drinking herself into a stupor and trying not to flash back to their childhood. Good luck.
Warnings: Withdrawal. Hallucinations. Psuedo-character death? What do I even call that? Oh, and swearing. Always assume swearing.
Also, I made them as in character as possible, but feel free to critique me on that score.
Wordcount: 1885 (is that my lucky number or what?)
*****
Deanna Winchester has never had the best life. She's okay with it. She deals. Her dad's death barely even bothers her anymore, although the more recent demise of her mother is still a crushing weight on her chest. She still wakes up gasping from the Hell nightmares, but she doesn't cry too much over the Cold Oak memories.
Shit, how screwed up is that?
Sam is screaming again- when had that become okay?
Dee shivers a little and gulps down more whiskey and tries to pretend that her sister is quiet and sleeping upstairs because it's been a long, rough few days. Famine is (was?) a douchebag, and apparently one Winchester is dead inside and the other will be forever haunted by her choice to trust a demon over family.
Is it wrong that she gets a little bit of satisfaction out of that? (Yes.)
"Please! Please!" Sam screams, voice thin and high and agonized, and shit, a part of the older Winchester just wants to sprint down to that basement and throw the door open and wrap the poor kid up and tell her that "It's okay, Sammy, please shhh you're okay I'm here I love you it's okay."
That part just isn't quite big enough. She finishes off the bottle and reaches for another.
*****
"Mom'll be back soon." Dee murmured, her voice coming out scratchy through her sore throat. But really- who the fuck cared about a sore throat? Of course, it had been a little bit of a deal when it was just her, and she was having a hard time swallowing. That had worried Mom a little.
But now Sammy's fever was up to the point where they were considering a hospital and she couldn't breathe and this was one of the few points in the last thirty-six hours in which the ten-year-old was lucid, and shit, this was all Dee's fault, she had gotten the kid sick.
A hot little hand brushed against her shoulder and tugged her hair, and she focused on the round, flushed little face. "D-D-Don't." Sam whispered. "Don't b-blame y-yourself. S'not your f-f-fault." She always did this, and it frustrated her mother and her sister to no end, worrying about everyone else when she needed to take care of herself, dammit. But no, here she was, brain almost cooking from how high her fucking fever was and coughing every so often- big, jerking coughs that made her ratchet up and cling to her sister hard so she wouldn't fall back into the bed, because she was so tired, and was she worrying about that? Nope. She was worried about her stupid, stupid sister, who got her sick in the first place, blaming herself for something clearly-
All the angsty contemplation was interrupted when the little hot bundle of kid suddenly curled into a tighter ball, and she gasped "Dee!" and going for the thermometer was just asking for trouble, but Dee had felt her sister's temperature ratchet up a bit there, and she had to know how urgent it was that Sammy get a cool bath- not that she didn't know that it was necessary, but Sam had pleaded, in her tiny little voice, that she be allowed to just stay for a minute, just to get a little sleep. Even though she wasn't sleeping.
105.2, the thermometer read.
Well, shit.
*****Samantha Winchester really did try not to feel bad for herself. She did. But... okay, her dad died when she was a baby, and nobody looked at her family like they were normal with a single mother- they assumed bad things about her mom, or that her parents had had a nasty divorce -and then she had gotten out, fled the hunting life while her mom watched after and looked torn and Sam tried to wipe the hurt look on Dee's face out of her mind. And of course, after getting out, she met Jess- who proceeded to die on her, like everyone. Mom had been hard to handle. She and Sam had always been close... Not as close as either of them were to Dee, but whatever. And then...
She moaned a little under her breath. She should've just left me dead. M'not worth her soul. And maybe that thought was more than a little selfish- she had wanted Dee to be by herself instead... Neither of them was meant to be alone, alright?
And she still had nightmares about the night of her twenty-fifth birthday.
The pain ratchets up a notch, tearing through her, making her scream. "PLEASE!" She almost shrieks, tears running down her cheeks, curling into a ball and rocking back and forth a little. It's not my fault Dee it's not it's notnotnot please don't be mad.
And then, miraculously, there's a cool hand on her forehead. She opens her eyes to slits, half-expecting Dee, and the other half knowing that it's a hallucination.
"Poor baby." Jess whispers, sitting on the edge of the cot. She's still got that nightgown on, and Sam hopes that she's not going to spontaneously combust- it's already hot enough in the panic room. She bends her head, and Sam smells strawberries as waves of curly blonde hair fall on her sweaty face. "You're just so sick, aren't you?" And, okay, this is nicer than the last time she saw a hallucinatory version of Jess, she'll acknowledge that one.
And then Jess is laying on the bed next to her and draping herself all over Sam's chest and burning all over again, and Sam doesn't even have the energy to scream, just wraps herself around the love of her life and sobs as she turns to ashes.
*****
Burning. Everything was burning. She was so hot and everything hurt and Dee was crying, why was she crying? Sammy tried to reach up and wipe the tears away, but Dee whispered "Shhh, no, Sammy. Poor baby." and patted her head a little. Her hand was wet. Why was her hand wet?
The haze around Sam's head, that she was just becoming aware of, slowly inched back...
And she was pulled into awareness to the realization that she was wearing nothing but her underwear. That was a little odd, but she'd let it pass. She was also in the bathtub, which was full of cool water. Huh. She looked to her left, trying to piece everything together, and Dee was giving her a wary look. "Wha-" She started, tired, before exploding into a coughing fit.
"Easy, Sam." Dee murmured. "You're okay now. Relax." The younger sister complied by letting her head drop onto the older's chest. "Eww, now my shirt's wet." She teased, rubbing slow circles in Sam's back with the heel of her hand. Sam coughed again, loudly, and she sighed. "Back to bed, ya think?"
Sam thought. "I think." She replied with a nod. A chuckle sounded about her head, and then she was being lifted to her feet. She somehow, without a doubt owing mostly to luck and Dee's assistance, made it to bed before collapsing. She shut her eyes tightly, and a warm weight settled itself over her. She tried to wriggle out from underneath it, but it grumbled about moronic little sisters not staying in bed when they had fevers, so she sighed and settled into the unexpectedly cushy mattress.
*****
Castiel was not anyone's idea of patient, especially for an angel.
Well, strike that. He was semi-patient by human standards. But for an angel, he was an over-enthusiastic bundle of nerves, and possibly attention deficient.
Had he ever mentioned that to the girls? He thought it quite improbable. Oh well. He would.
He was jerked from his musing by the THUD! that was probably Sam striking the wall again. He rushed in, found her on the floor with every muscle rigid, shaking hard. Dee or Bobby would've said "Fuck". Castiel was not Dee or Bobby, so he simply restrained the shaking young woman until the seizure ended. As he pulled her onto the cot- hopefully this will be over soon and she can go upstairs for some real rest -she sighed and curled up a little in his arms, which he would not mention to her later, she would be mortified. He sighed in return and backed away and out of the room.
As he settled back against the wall and wondered why Dee had not already started running down asking what the noice was and Dammit Cas what the fuck is going on with Sam?! He reflected again that no, he was not a patient angel.
*****
When Mary had left, there had been a feverish ten-year-old flailing against her sister on the bed, while said fourteen-year-old sister shushed her a little desperately. She had gone to get more medicine, more tea, and soup. Lots of soup.
She came back, creeping slowly through the door, to two damp but sleeping daughters on the bed farthest from the door. Sammy's hand were curled around a cooling mug of tea, and Dee had her sister's head nestled on her shoulder. She had obviously also wrapped the kid up in a blanket, but neglected to get one for herself. Typical Deanna. Mary sighed, thinking of the reaction John would've had to this scene with a wry smile.
She walked slowly around the room, dropping her purchases on the couner in the kitchenette, tidying up a bit. She checked the fevers on both of her girls, and found that neither was above one hundred degrees.
Sammy stirred a little in her sleep, and Dee murmured something, which instantly calmed the brunette down. "My girls." Mary chuckled. And then she sighed, pried the mug from Sammy's fingers, and grabbed a thick blanket to wrap around Dee's shoulders, before she left them to sleep.
*****
The withdrawal was over with in eight days. Sam and Dee's issues, however, were apparently not. The blonde had come to supervise as Castiel supported her sister out of the panic room, but she made no move to help or to speak with either of them. She followed them up the stairs, but still didn't say a word. She left as Cas was letting Sam take a shower, standing nervously outside of the door and noting, somewhat frustratedly, that Sam would not appreciate him barging in if she fell and hit her head, no matter how necessary it was.
However, miracle of miracles, she came back as Cas attempts to help Sam rebraid her hair, as she complained that it would be a pain in the ass if she left it loose while she slept. "You're doing it wrong." The older Winchester says, exasperatedly. She places the mug of tea that she had brought in with her on the bedside table, and bumps Cas out of the way, sitting cross-legged behind her drowsy sister. She is, it would seem, an almost Olympic hair-braider, if such an event actually existed in the Olympics. Her fingers move slowly but surely over Sam's scalp, and Cas suspects this to be as much a calming gesture as an attempt to calm the wild chocolate-colored locks.
With a gusty sigh, the angel leaves the room.
When he returns ten minutes later, he finds two sleeping Winchesters on the bed, and realizes that maybe their issues are more over with than he had initially assumed. He sighed, removed the mug from Sam's hands, and tucked a blanket around Dee's shoulders. Then he left them to sleep.