Primal Eyes (Supernatural, gen, PG-13) 1/1
Title: Primal Eyes
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Pet demon theory (See Only by Half.)
Spoilers: First season
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Brothers share. Everything.
Primal Eyes
By Spinny Roses
It wasn't the first time that Dad had left. Last time, in fact, he had gone for months, called Dean maybe... twice in that time, and had only been back for a day before going off again. It wasn't anything new. Not even Dad not answering his phone was cause for alarm.
So why was Dean on the road to Stanford, almost falling asleep at the wheel, because his father hadn't been home in a few days?
He scrubbed at his eyes, forcing them to narrow the four red lights in front of him to only two. He had to get to get there as soon as possible. No matter what, even if those headlights are coming at him way too WHOA! Barely able to breathe past his heart in his throat, Dean spun the wheel, his baby just missing a horrible accident by inches.
Too close. Just a little bit slower, and he and the Impala would be a twisted wreck. It was just his luck that it didn't clip him as he swerved.
"Maybe I should get some sleep," Dean muttered under his breath, even starting to pull over when dread gripped him.
No. No. He still didn't know why, but he had to keep moving. He had to get to Stanford and get Sam. Dad...
Dean kept driving.
---
When Dean met Jess for the first time, he knew she was going to die.
It wasn't until the first night Sam and Dean were asleep in the same room that he dreamed of her, blood dripping onto a horrified Sam as the ceiling burst into flames.
---
Okay. Relax. Get the angle right... good thing math had always been his strong suit. Find your center and... push. Pool was rather zen-like, Dean had noticed. Ignore all outside distractions, even the opponent trying to distract and hustle Dean out of his money.
This angle was a hard one... even just one degree off and he'd lose the game. Dean grabbed all the meditation tips he had picked up here and there and put them to use, ignoring everything around him. Everything in his world was one white ball and one black ball. Slow breath, and... push.
It wasn't going to make it. Alarm rang through Dean as his hands convulsed on the cue, not having the money to pay for the bet. It couldn't miss. It had to sink, with the infamous Winchester luck, or else Dean had better start writing his will up now...
The 8-ball fell into the pocket, clinking onto the other balls.
Winchester luck came through again, Dean thought, releasing an inaudible sigh.
---
Sam had a vision of Dean dying, and with the burst of adrenaline, he was able to move the cabinet out of the way.
When he told Dean about the vision, it made sense. The sudden burst of telekinesis didn't.
---
"Hey, Sammy, bend the spoon."
"What is with you and spoons?!"
"What, can't do it?"
"... asshole."
---
The Bastard in Dad's body taunted Sam, telling him to pick up the gun with his psychic abilities. Dean watched him, through a haze of agony, trying to pick it up. Trying so hard to lash out with his mind, to save his brother.
That was the last thing before The Demon cut into him again and his vision blanked out in a haze of pain.
---
Why.
Dean looked into the room, watching a nurse change his father's bedpan, cleaning up the morphine-induced vomiting fit. He was pretty damn sore himself, and he had more stitches in his chest than he thought were necessary, but that was it.
Sam had a fractured arm.
Dad was on heavy painkillers, and they weren't certain that he was going to be able to use his left arm again.
But they were alive.
Why?
---
Sam didn't like hospitals, and hated the idea of going to visit their father in there. So it was up to Dean, who had nearly be condemned to die in one of those traps, to visit him.
"Hey there, Dean."
"Hey, Dad," Dean said quietly, sitting down carefully. "How are the therapy sessions going?"
"They're a pain in the ass," he admitted, pushing the button to make the bed sit up. "You look good."
"Heh." Dean ducked his head, more to no longer look at the broken shell that was his father than out of modesty. "Sam says..."
A shaking hand touched his skin, stopping the words, and Dad let out a long, soft sigh. "So you really are here. God, it's been years..."
"Hey, I know it seems longer in a hospital, but it's only been a few days."
"At least twenty-six years..." Okay, the old man was starting to babble. "That damned demon..."
"...Dad?"
---
"What are you saying?"
The cast had come off in a week. No one wanted the doctors to see that. "Exactly what I said. He's acting like he hasn't seen me since I was a baby and that he hasn't seen you."
Sam glared, working the fingers of the formerly broken hand. "No, you said that Dad had been possessed since I was a baby. That has to be..."
"Impossible? Fuck, Sam, I thought about that."
"So why the hell are you saying it's true?"
Something was shaking, as well as Dean's fists. "Because you don't fake the relief Dad had when he touched me. I don't know what this means, but..."
"But nothing. It's not..."
Dean's temper snapped. "Then you go and tell Dad that it can't be true!"
The table they were sitting at flipped over, slamming against the wall. The brothers looked at it for a moment, unblinking. Finally...
"Sammy, you've got to have control over that."
"... it wasn't me."
---
"Dude, if you don't step into that room, I promise I will kick your ass from here to Kansas, and then I'll let Missouri take over," Dean threatened. And they were quite aware she would, since Sam actually seeing their father and talking about what was really going on was the topic of her call not twenty minutes ago.
Sam just looked at the door, as if it would bite him.
"I said, go!"
Sam stumbled up against the door, and glared at Dean. "Fine. Don't shove me, asshole."
"... Sam, I never touched you."
---
They needed money, and the pool hall was perfect for hustling. Perfect to flirt, perfect for pool, perfect to be alone, away from a hallucinating father and the thought they might be demon kids.
Every time his opponent missed a shot that should have sank easily into the pocket even if luck had been at the worst, Dean noticed how it flicked away at the last second, pushed away by an unseen obstacle. How his shots, that should have missed, sank sweetly if he wished hard enough.
How, when the bear of a man came up to beat the shit out of him for winning, he stopped short. How his fist wasn't able to move as Dean watched him warily, mentally telling him what to do.
---
"Hey Dean, bend the spoon."
"Okay, that's just not funny."
---
"Hey. Do you think anything will change?"
Late night musings. Dean groaned, hand tightening on the knife under his bed. "Sam, why is your brain still up?"
In response, Sam rolled over. "Dean, be serious. Look at what's happened to us. What happened to Dad. We're..."
"Shut up, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam sat up, swinging long legs out of bed. He took one step towards Dean's bed, started to reach down, and froze as Dean shot up and glared at him. "Let me go."
"Not now," Dean snapped back, testily, as he backed up slightly, keeping his eyes on his younger brother.
What he meant to say, I don't know how, whispered between them.
---
Their father never regained full use of his left arm.
When Sam and Dean watched him move cautiously, both physically and verbally, the words "their father" seemed more and more like a lie.
---
They banished an imp in Iowa, outwit a kappa in Michigan, and shout a passage of the Bible to a Redcap in Ohio.
Each time, Dean has to hold Sam afterwards, convincing him through his vision-induced migraine that they're doing good. They're not evil.
They're not demons.
---
It's only when they stop to think about it does salting all the doors and windows bother them. It's only when they realize what is getting the holy water that they worry about the effectiveness of it.
They leave John (not "Dad." Not anymore) alone, armed to the teeth with holy objects and salt, to finish the job.
Saving people.
Hunting things.
And finding the bastard that killed Mom.
Blood calls to blood. They'll find him.
Author: Spinny Roses
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Pet demon theory (See Only by Half.)
Spoilers: First season
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Brothers share. Everything.
Primal Eyes
By Spinny Roses
It wasn't the first time that Dad had left. Last time, in fact, he had gone for months, called Dean maybe... twice in that time, and had only been back for a day before going off again. It wasn't anything new. Not even Dad not answering his phone was cause for alarm.
So why was Dean on the road to Stanford, almost falling asleep at the wheel, because his father hadn't been home in a few days?
He scrubbed at his eyes, forcing them to narrow the four red lights in front of him to only two. He had to get to get there as soon as possible. No matter what, even if those headlights are coming at him way too WHOA! Barely able to breathe past his heart in his throat, Dean spun the wheel, his baby just missing a horrible accident by inches.
Too close. Just a little bit slower, and he and the Impala would be a twisted wreck. It was just his luck that it didn't clip him as he swerved.
"Maybe I should get some sleep," Dean muttered under his breath, even starting to pull over when dread gripped him.
No. No. He still didn't know why, but he had to keep moving. He had to get to Stanford and get Sam. Dad...
Dean kept driving.
---
When Dean met Jess for the first time, he knew she was going to die.
It wasn't until the first night Sam and Dean were asleep in the same room that he dreamed of her, blood dripping onto a horrified Sam as the ceiling burst into flames.
---
Okay. Relax. Get the angle right... good thing math had always been his strong suit. Find your center and... push. Pool was rather zen-like, Dean had noticed. Ignore all outside distractions, even the opponent trying to distract and hustle Dean out of his money.
This angle was a hard one... even just one degree off and he'd lose the game. Dean grabbed all the meditation tips he had picked up here and there and put them to use, ignoring everything around him. Everything in his world was one white ball and one black ball. Slow breath, and... push.
It wasn't going to make it. Alarm rang through Dean as his hands convulsed on the cue, not having the money to pay for the bet. It couldn't miss. It had to sink, with the infamous Winchester luck, or else Dean had better start writing his will up now...
The 8-ball fell into the pocket, clinking onto the other balls.
Winchester luck came through again, Dean thought, releasing an inaudible sigh.
---
Sam had a vision of Dean dying, and with the burst of adrenaline, he was able to move the cabinet out of the way.
When he told Dean about the vision, it made sense. The sudden burst of telekinesis didn't.
---
"Hey, Sammy, bend the spoon."
"What is with you and spoons?!"
"What, can't do it?"
"... asshole."
---
The Bastard in Dad's body taunted Sam, telling him to pick up the gun with his psychic abilities. Dean watched him, through a haze of agony, trying to pick it up. Trying so hard to lash out with his mind, to save his brother.
That was the last thing before The Demon cut into him again and his vision blanked out in a haze of pain.
---
Why.
Dean looked into the room, watching a nurse change his father's bedpan, cleaning up the morphine-induced vomiting fit. He was pretty damn sore himself, and he had more stitches in his chest than he thought were necessary, but that was it.
Sam had a fractured arm.
Dad was on heavy painkillers, and they weren't certain that he was going to be able to use his left arm again.
But they were alive.
Why?
---
Sam didn't like hospitals, and hated the idea of going to visit their father in there. So it was up to Dean, who had nearly be condemned to die in one of those traps, to visit him.
"Hey there, Dean."
"Hey, Dad," Dean said quietly, sitting down carefully. "How are the therapy sessions going?"
"They're a pain in the ass," he admitted, pushing the button to make the bed sit up. "You look good."
"Heh." Dean ducked his head, more to no longer look at the broken shell that was his father than out of modesty. "Sam says..."
A shaking hand touched his skin, stopping the words, and Dad let out a long, soft sigh. "So you really are here. God, it's been years..."
"Hey, I know it seems longer in a hospital, but it's only been a few days."
"At least twenty-six years..." Okay, the old man was starting to babble. "That damned demon..."
"...Dad?"
---
"What are you saying?"
The cast had come off in a week. No one wanted the doctors to see that. "Exactly what I said. He's acting like he hasn't seen me since I was a baby and that he hasn't seen you."
Sam glared, working the fingers of the formerly broken hand. "No, you said that Dad had been possessed since I was a baby. That has to be..."
"Impossible? Fuck, Sam, I thought about that."
"So why the hell are you saying it's true?"
Something was shaking, as well as Dean's fists. "Because you don't fake the relief Dad had when he touched me. I don't know what this means, but..."
"But nothing. It's not..."
Dean's temper snapped. "Then you go and tell Dad that it can't be true!"
The table they were sitting at flipped over, slamming against the wall. The brothers looked at it for a moment, unblinking. Finally...
"Sammy, you've got to have control over that."
"... it wasn't me."
---
"Dude, if you don't step into that room, I promise I will kick your ass from here to Kansas, and then I'll let Missouri take over," Dean threatened. And they were quite aware she would, since Sam actually seeing their father and talking about what was really going on was the topic of her call not twenty minutes ago.
Sam just looked at the door, as if it would bite him.
"I said, go!"
Sam stumbled up against the door, and glared at Dean. "Fine. Don't shove me, asshole."
"... Sam, I never touched you."
---
They needed money, and the pool hall was perfect for hustling. Perfect to flirt, perfect for pool, perfect to be alone, away from a hallucinating father and the thought they might be demon kids.
Every time his opponent missed a shot that should have sank easily into the pocket even if luck had been at the worst, Dean noticed how it flicked away at the last second, pushed away by an unseen obstacle. How his shots, that should have missed, sank sweetly if he wished hard enough.
How, when the bear of a man came up to beat the shit out of him for winning, he stopped short. How his fist wasn't able to move as Dean watched him warily, mentally telling him what to do.
---
"Hey Dean, bend the spoon."
"Okay, that's just not funny."
---
"Hey. Do you think anything will change?"
Late night musings. Dean groaned, hand tightening on the knife under his bed. "Sam, why is your brain still up?"
In response, Sam rolled over. "Dean, be serious. Look at what's happened to us. What happened to Dad. We're..."
"Shut up, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam sat up, swinging long legs out of bed. He took one step towards Dean's bed, started to reach down, and froze as Dean shot up and glared at him. "Let me go."
"Not now," Dean snapped back, testily, as he backed up slightly, keeping his eyes on his younger brother.
What he meant to say, I don't know how, whispered between them.
---
Their father never regained full use of his left arm.
When Sam and Dean watched him move cautiously, both physically and verbally, the words "their father" seemed more and more like a lie.
---
They banished an imp in Iowa, outwit a kappa in Michigan, and shout a passage of the Bible to a Redcap in Ohio.
Each time, Dean has to hold Sam afterwards, convincing him through his vision-induced migraine that they're doing good. They're not evil.
They're not demons.
---
It's only when they stop to think about it does salting all the doors and windows bother them. It's only when they realize what is getting the holy water that they worry about the effectiveness of it.
They leave John (not "Dad." Not anymore) alone, armed to the teeth with holy objects and salt, to finish the job.
Saving people.
Hunting things.
And finding the bastard that killed Mom.
Blood calls to blood. They'll find him.