Fic: Sleeping With Ghosts
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts
Author: twivamp92
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam Winchester
Theme: Theme 3- Paranormal State
Prompt: 18: Death
Rating: PG. Sammy!angst, comforting!Dean.
Disclaimer: Kripke's world, I'm just playing with it. Title name belongs to Placebo
Summary: He was dreaming of a figure in white, surrounded by blonde hair. The figure wasn’t talking to him, but he still felt safe with it.
Word Count: 1176
Warning/Author Notes: Teen!Chesters. Sammy's 10, Dean's 13. All mistakes are mine. (Inspired by the anniversary of Mary Winchester's death, Nov. 2, 1983)
It was almost the end of another year, so naturally, that meant a new motel room, like always. It had been almost a year since Sam found out the truth, a year since he found out that all of the monsters in his nightmares were real. So now when his nightmares didn’t feature the things that went bump in the night, they featured his family fighting said things.
To be honest, that wasn’t much better than the normal nightmares.
But right now, his dream was different. He was dreaming of a figure in white, surrounded by blonde hair. The figure wasn’t talking to him, but he still felt safe with it. Safe in a way he only felt when he was with Dean. He had a strong sense of déjà vu , that even though he couldn’t see its face, he knew that he had been with the figure before; it’s face was just on the edge of his memory.
Finally, the figure spoke, and even though it only said one word, Sam instantly knew who it was.
“Mom...”
Sam shot up out of bed, gasping for breath, tear tracks on his face. A second later the lamp turned on, bathing the room in its soft light.
“Sammy, you okay? Shhh, Sam, s’ok, I’m here. You’re alright.” Dean reassured him quietly, jumping up into the bed with his little brother. Sam didn’t give it a second thought as he buried his head in his brother’s chest and fisted his t-shirt into his hands tightly.
“Sam, it’s okay, you don’t have to be scared, I’m right here.”
But the truth was, Sam wasn’t scared, not really. But he couldn’t stop crying. The feeling of pain and loss was attacking him, consuming him to the point where he felt he couldn’t breathe.
Sam had always missed his mom, sure, but never felt the loss, not like Dean did...not like his dad. But now he felt it. He wanted her, he wanted to know her, or hell, at least meet her. Other than the few yellowing, torn pictures he had of her, he didn’t know a thing. He never even got the full story on how she died.
With that thought in mind, Sam’s head shot up, his tear filled eyes staring into Dean’s with determination.
“Sammy-”
“Tell me about mom.”
He said it quickly, mentally preparing for the argument he was sure was about to take place. Instead of yelling, however, Dean was just starting at him, his eyes searching intently; Sam had to force himself not to squirm under his gaze.
He was about to ask again when Dean held up a finger, stopping Sam in his tracks.
“What do you want to know?” Sam wiped his face clean with his t-shirt and adjusted himself on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of Dean.
“Did she really die in a house fire?”
“Wow, Sam, way to be subtle.”
“Dean.”
Dean sighed and averted his eyes, staring at the door across the room. Sam knew that Dean hated talking about their mother. He hated it almost as much as their dad did. But Sam needed to know. After a moment, Dean shook his head.
“No...It wasn’t a house fire, not a normal one, anyways.”
At that, Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. He would take what he could get. Dean finally locked eyes with him as he spoke again.
“You know what we do, what dad does...well, it all started because of mom’s death. A demon killed her.”
Sam kind of expected the answer, but it still made his blood run cold.
“The demon pinned her to ceiling and then fire just...erupted from her. Dad got there in time to save you. He gave you to me and I just ran...I didn’t look back, didn’t even think; just ran.”
Dean wasn’t pulling punches when it came to what he was telling Sam. It was like Dean had to say it now with brute honesty, because he wouldn’t ever be able to say it again. It then took Sam a moment to put two and two together.
“Wait...you said dad had to save me...does that mean she died in my room?” Sam asked, his eyes now impossibly wide.
He took Dean’s silence as his answer.
Sam had to swallow down the bile that was forcing its way up his throat.
If she died in his room, then that meant that the demon was after him and not her.
That meant it was his fault his mom was dead. His fault John lost his wife and his fault Dean never got to have a childhood.
He didn’t even realize he had started to cry again until Dean wiped a tear away with his thumb.
“Sammy, stop, I know what you’re thinking and just stop it. It’s not your fault that mom died. It’s none of our faults. This is all on the demon, he took mom away from us, not you.”
“But...”
“No, Sam, I mean it. It’s not your fault and we would never blame you. Dad would never blame you, okay?”
Sam sniffed and nodded, willing the tears to stop falling. After a while he spoke again.
“Even though I didn’t know her...is it okay for me to miss her?”
“What’re you talking about, kid?”
“Well...I never knew her...but I still miss her.”
“Sammy, she’s still your mom and you did know her. Here,” he said climbing out of the bed and going over to their duffel bag, flipping it upside down so all of its contents fell to the floor. He picked something up and ran back over, jumping on the bed and handing it to Sam.
Sam looked down at what was in his hand and gasped quietly.
It was a picture of Mary sitting with Dean on her lap and Sam cradled between the two of them, smiling at the camera.
“See, you did know her. And she loved you, Sammy, so much. She died protecting you, Sam. And I’m sorry that dad and I never talk about her...seems like we forget that we’re not the only ones who lost her. But I promise that from now on, I’ll try to tell you what I remember about her, and we’ll ask dad about her too.”
Sam just nodded, eyes still transfixed to the picture in his hands.
Dean glanced at the nightstand where their clock and desk-calendar stood, seeing that it was 2am and only 3 more days till their dad returned home, the 5th circled in bright red.
“C’mon Sammy, time to go back to sleep,” Dean said quietly as he got off of the bed and helped Sam tuck himself in. He took the picture and propped it up on the nightstand, facing Sam.
“Night, Dean.”
“Night, Sammy,” He replied as he glanced at the calendar one more time before shutting off the light, a sad smile on his face. Next to the big red circle around the 5th was a tiny underline of that day’s date, November 2.
Author: twivamp92
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam Winchester
Theme: Theme 3- Paranormal State
Prompt: 18: Death
Rating: PG. Sammy!angst, comforting!Dean.
Disclaimer: Kripke's world, I'm just playing with it. Title name belongs to Placebo
Summary: He was dreaming of a figure in white, surrounded by blonde hair. The figure wasn’t talking to him, but he still felt safe with it.
Word Count: 1176
Warning/Author Notes: Teen!Chesters. Sammy's 10, Dean's 13. All mistakes are mine. (Inspired by the anniversary of Mary Winchester's death, Nov. 2, 1983)
It was almost the end of another year, so naturally, that meant a new motel room, like always. It had been almost a year since Sam found out the truth, a year since he found out that all of the monsters in his nightmares were real. So now when his nightmares didn’t feature the things that went bump in the night, they featured his family fighting said things.
To be honest, that wasn’t much better than the normal nightmares.
But right now, his dream was different. He was dreaming of a figure in white, surrounded by blonde hair. The figure wasn’t talking to him, but he still felt safe with it. Safe in a way he only felt when he was with Dean. He had a strong sense of déjà vu , that even though he couldn’t see its face, he knew that he had been with the figure before; it’s face was just on the edge of his memory.
Finally, the figure spoke, and even though it only said one word, Sam instantly knew who it was.
“Mom...”
Sam shot up out of bed, gasping for breath, tear tracks on his face. A second later the lamp turned on, bathing the room in its soft light.
“Sammy, you okay? Shhh, Sam, s’ok, I’m here. You’re alright.” Dean reassured him quietly, jumping up into the bed with his little brother. Sam didn’t give it a second thought as he buried his head in his brother’s chest and fisted his t-shirt into his hands tightly.
“Sam, it’s okay, you don’t have to be scared, I’m right here.”
But the truth was, Sam wasn’t scared, not really. But he couldn’t stop crying. The feeling of pain and loss was attacking him, consuming him to the point where he felt he couldn’t breathe.
Sam had always missed his mom, sure, but never felt the loss, not like Dean did...not like his dad. But now he felt it. He wanted her, he wanted to know her, or hell, at least meet her. Other than the few yellowing, torn pictures he had of her, he didn’t know a thing. He never even got the full story on how she died.
With that thought in mind, Sam’s head shot up, his tear filled eyes staring into Dean’s with determination.
“Sammy-”
“Tell me about mom.”
He said it quickly, mentally preparing for the argument he was sure was about to take place. Instead of yelling, however, Dean was just starting at him, his eyes searching intently; Sam had to force himself not to squirm under his gaze.
He was about to ask again when Dean held up a finger, stopping Sam in his tracks.
“What do you want to know?” Sam wiped his face clean with his t-shirt and adjusted himself on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of Dean.
“Did she really die in a house fire?”
“Wow, Sam, way to be subtle.”
“Dean.”
Dean sighed and averted his eyes, staring at the door across the room. Sam knew that Dean hated talking about their mother. He hated it almost as much as their dad did. But Sam needed to know. After a moment, Dean shook his head.
“No...It wasn’t a house fire, not a normal one, anyways.”
At that, Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. He would take what he could get. Dean finally locked eyes with him as he spoke again.
“You know what we do, what dad does...well, it all started because of mom’s death. A demon killed her.”
Sam kind of expected the answer, but it still made his blood run cold.
“The demon pinned her to ceiling and then fire just...erupted from her. Dad got there in time to save you. He gave you to me and I just ran...I didn’t look back, didn’t even think; just ran.”
Dean wasn’t pulling punches when it came to what he was telling Sam. It was like Dean had to say it now with brute honesty, because he wouldn’t ever be able to say it again. It then took Sam a moment to put two and two together.
“Wait...you said dad had to save me...does that mean she died in my room?” Sam asked, his eyes now impossibly wide.
He took Dean’s silence as his answer.
Sam had to swallow down the bile that was forcing its way up his throat.
If she died in his room, then that meant that the demon was after him and not her.
That meant it was his fault his mom was dead. His fault John lost his wife and his fault Dean never got to have a childhood.
He didn’t even realize he had started to cry again until Dean wiped a tear away with his thumb.
“Sammy, stop, I know what you’re thinking and just stop it. It’s not your fault that mom died. It’s none of our faults. This is all on the demon, he took mom away from us, not you.”
“But...”
“No, Sam, I mean it. It’s not your fault and we would never blame you. Dad would never blame you, okay?”
Sam sniffed and nodded, willing the tears to stop falling. After a while he spoke again.
“Even though I didn’t know her...is it okay for me to miss her?”
“What’re you talking about, kid?”
“Well...I never knew her...but I still miss her.”
“Sammy, she’s still your mom and you did know her. Here,” he said climbing out of the bed and going over to their duffel bag, flipping it upside down so all of its contents fell to the floor. He picked something up and ran back over, jumping on the bed and handing it to Sam.
Sam looked down at what was in his hand and gasped quietly.
It was a picture of Mary sitting with Dean on her lap and Sam cradled between the two of them, smiling at the camera.
“See, you did know her. And she loved you, Sammy, so much. She died protecting you, Sam. And I’m sorry that dad and I never talk about her...seems like we forget that we’re not the only ones who lost her. But I promise that from now on, I’ll try to tell you what I remember about her, and we’ll ask dad about her too.”
Sam just nodded, eyes still transfixed to the picture in his hands.
Dean glanced at the nightstand where their clock and desk-calendar stood, seeing that it was 2am and only 3 more days till their dad returned home, the 5th circled in bright red.
“C’mon Sammy, time to go back to sleep,” Dean said quietly as he got off of the bed and helped Sam tuck himself in. He took the picture and propped it up on the nightstand, facing Sam.
“Night, Dean.”
“Night, Sammy,” He replied as he glanced at the calendar one more time before shutting off the light, a sad smile on his face. Next to the big red circle around the 5th was a tiny underline of that day’s date, November 2.