SN canon drabbles: 1.9-1.12
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My mother knew me twice and then I had to leave her
It almost breaks him, setting foot back in that house. He’s had nightmares about it for years-screams, Mommy, fire, burnburnburnMommy-and woken shivering, shuddering, wanting to cry for Mommy, but Mommy won’t ever come.
But Sam says they need to go home, need to see if there’s something there, something destructive and malevolent. Sam says they need to, just to be sure.
So he follows Sam into that nightmare house, sealing himself up tight, shoring up his walls. They need to do this, and he won’t be the weak link-not this time.
You will die somewhat, again and again
I have a mind of my own.
Are you that desperate for his approval?
It’s not Sammy. It’s Ellicott, rooting around in his mind, calling forth anger and resentment. It’s stuff Sam thinks for a split second, amped up and forced out.
But it’s not Sammy. Dean listens-can’t help but hear-and tries to reason with him. It’s not Sam, though, so there’s no one to reason with.
And it’s not like Ellicott is making him say anything new. Sam’s told him all this before, back when he was a snot-nosed punk of an eighteen-year-old, storming out to make it on his own. Dean refused to go with him and Sam lost it, screaming and crying and calling Dean nothing but a lap-dog with fangs and a gun.
It’s Ellicott forcing Sam to speak, but they’re all Sam’s words.
The rocksalt hurts, but Dean’ll heal. And Sam keeps talking, spurned on by a dead sadist.
Dean offers him his own gun, a test to see how awake Sam is in there.
And Sam pulls the trigger. Four times. Four damned times, just to be sure.
The non-existent bullets burn, cutting him open and making his soul bleed.
But Dean’ll heal. He always does.
And I am my brother’s keeper
On a night full of anger, they both say things they regret. Dean is hurting-inside and out-and Sam keeps pushing long after he knows he should stop. He shoves hard, and it’s not even Dean he’s pissed at.
It’s never Dean he’s pissed at, but Dean still always bears the brunt of his fury anyway.
And on that night-still aching from the asylum and Sam’s half-assed apology and Dad’s complete lack of an apology-Dean drives away. First time he’s ever left Sam. Ever.
Sam watches him go, feeling more lost than he’s ever been, because Dean isn’t the one who leaves.
And if this is what it feels like, no wonder Dean was so pissed. Sam thinks he might understand his brother a little bit more. But not enough to call him back.
There is no one left who understands how I wait
Mom still has hope, clinging to it to stay alive. But Layla has accepted her death, is ready for it. Roy, long since become a friend, never picks her and Layla isn’t sure why, except that the chosen must have some destiny, some greatness waiting.
Another service, and two men are muttering. She can’t help but hear and speak up, spinning around to face them.
Both are handsome and fit, tall and broad. But she sees how careful the taller is being with his friend, and how the blond winces when he moves.
Something is gravely wrong with him, even though he straightens and flirts with her. The taller one rolls his eyes and she grins. This flirt is dying, like her, but he’ll probably even try to charm Death when it comes for him.
She smiles and goes with Mom, feeling better for the first time in days.
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