I just wanted to be sure of you
>> I just wanted to be sure of you
TITLE: I just wanted to be sure of you
AUTHOR:ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: up to and including 4.14.
GENRE: Gen. (It has het instances, but those are part of the story, not het per se)
CHARACTERS: Sam-centric (and too many of the SPN cast to name, because it runs throughout all 4 seasons of the show.)
SUMMARY: For Thine is Thy Kingdom.
RATING: R
FEEDBACK: Dude… duh.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own, no profit, don’t sue.
NOTES: Don’t even ask.
BETA: by stratospherically brilliant pdragon76
The desert is in the heart of your brother.
-T.S. Elliott
Sam’s always been the youngest one. He tried breaking free from it, but it’s mostly been a safe struggle; in his heart he knew there would always be someone to welcome him home. Back then, when there was still a point of return and he didn’t belong to the shadows.
He tries to decide when that changed--turned like a weathervane in some dark, scorching wind, though he suspects that everything started when he was still a gurgling little creature in the cradle (even before that, years and years ago, when Mary wasn’t a Winchester yet, but had fallen for one). For him the change came with a fire and a ceiling. The fire swept through that new sparkling life and burned everything.
There are no keepsakes for him, no permanent markers other than scars and wounds, and the mileage on the car. No happy videos, no holiday postcards, no white fence. He’s pretty sure that once upon a time he actually cared.
.:::.
He tries to remember. Tries to remember what Jess felt like, how her name fell from his lips.
((Jess, hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend Jessica))
Sometimes (sparse, so sparse the last years) he still dreams of her. He doesn’t dream of her lost to the Fire, pinned on the ceiling like hellish glow-in-the-dark stars. He dreams of her flesh in his hands, and her mouth on his mouth, and the feeling of sweet, sweet release when he came inside her. He remembers what her cunt tasted like, and sometimes he wakes up and the taste is there, right on his tongue, and his cock is ramrod hard and his chest constricts in agony.
There was a time (light years away) when he wished Jess was his first, because he had been her first, and it seemed fair, the purity, the connection. She wasn’t. He grew up moving around too much, struggling to throw roots. So Sam knows the name of the first girl he ever bedded, and the state they were living in, and the case-file dad closed, and the high school, but he can’t remember the colour of her eyes. Back then it didn’t matter either, because when he met Jess it’s like no one else existed before and no one would exist after, because life… he couldn’t imagine it without her.
((What would I do without you? Crash and burn))
Because Jess is light, and she’s peace, and she burns up on the ceiling on a bleak autumn day. Sometimes Sam thinks Dean never managed to haul him out of the burning apartment, but they both have forgotten he has, so Sam keeps breathing and walking in his own father’s shoes.
((We got work to do))
Work never stops, not in their line.
.:::.
Jess never comes back.
Sam dreams of fire and he dreams of her, and he starts dreaming of a fate that has just started manifesting and he can’t, can’t touch anyone. He feels the soot still in his nostrils and under his fingernails, but time washes everything off. Time and fate and running and the family business, and Dean.
There are women Sam meets on their hunts, like Lori, the preacher’s girl, and Sarah, with her high cheekbones and her strawberry lips, but he doesn’t stay around long enough.
((It’s like I’m cursed or something. People around me keep dying))
He can’t.
((It’s just that when people are around me… I don’t know, they get hurt))
They carry normality and light, too much of Jess in them, and he backtracks--pain ripping through him--because he can’t have that, the normality, the feel of Jess and the light. He can’t abide it. Can’t abide the thought of putting it out.
.:::.
There’s more darkness along the way--time running mercilessly, death coming, riding the Winchesters hard. There is no mercy (except for their father. He didn’t have to watch his sons die), but there are pieces to be picked, new grief on old grief.
Everything is left behind.
((I’m done with that))
Sam takes Madison hard, fucks her like a man who hasn’t fucked for almost two years, pushes all the grief and anger and loneliness into her; being with Madison is easy, because (he’ll never admit it) something in him calls out to her inner beast. There’s need in him matching her own, full-moon hunger, the demon blood attracted to the howl trapped inside her. And it’s like breaking free, this lay, this connection, so much of a release, because it’s been so long since Jess, it’s been so long since everything.
Bites and scratches and howls, little earthquakes shaking the mattress and it’s good, too good because Madison can take it and can deal back equal-handedly; Madison is cut out for this, is made of the same stuff Sam is: one part of them darkness.
It’s good and it’s safe (he thinks) and he gets it. Gets all of her
((I want you to do it))
because she doesn’t want to live as a monster, but she fucks like one.
There are tears that burn his face when he pulls that trigger and shoots her in the heart, tears for her gone, and tears because he goes on living.
.:::.
Sometimes Sam wonders if his dream about Bela wasn’t random.
((Who were you dreaming about? What? Noone. Nothing))
He wonders if maybe her darkness called him to her, the blood in him smelling her sell-out and rejoicing.
Not that it matters now.
.:::.
When Sam’s world unravels (for a second time, deeper, harsher, bloodier), Dean is six feet under (Sam didn’t want six, he wanted less, because he hoped. He tried so hard to hope, but he was scared animals would dig Dean out and Sam couldn’t have that, couldn’t take the thought of more mauling.)
There is nothing left but the hunt. It’s the only thing he can feel these days. The hunt and the fucking, and he wonders if Dean’s life had felt so lonely as well. Ruby… Ruby is no different. Ruby is what his brother might become, Ruby has been where his brother is. When he pounds against her, when she takes it, asks for it, some invisible link connects him to her and her to his brother, like twisted fiery daisy-chains.
He doesn’t question it. The hunt.
((So right then I sort of… embraced the life))
The hunt and the fucking.
.:::.
When Dean comes back, Sam tries normal for a while. Tries hard. Faith and the good fight and Dean by his side, and he welcomes that back. Tries to be welcomed back, same drill as usual.
Dean doesn’t want to remember Hell and Sam’s lied about his own stint in the dearly departed. There was nothing but dark. No Heaven, no place of belonging, no after to worry about.
When he meets Dr. Cara, he thinks she understands. Cara Roberts seems uncomplicated, light and breezy, as she slides her hand in his pants and then guides him inside her. She attaches no strings and screws like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s sex, pure, physical, attractive
((Have fun, no regret, and live life like there's no tomorrow))
and Sam likes it, understands the no tomorrow part. There’s something of Sarah in her, and something of Jess, but it’s twisted, distorted like a carnival mirror. Sam won’t admit that one part of him suspected, hoped she might be the siren, and one part of him gave in to that. Wanted that, because he knows that normal and uncomplicated are not for the likes of him
((freak))
((Sammy))
though he’ll never admit it.
.:::.
Sam’s always been the youngest one, but he feels old, too old nowadays, the old of ancient creatures, the old of darkness that falls on a desert plane, the old of crumbled dust, the old that is arid and withered.
Sam tries. He tries so hard to get back to how they were, to pretend that nothing has happened, nothing in the span between those years, that he is still the younger one that needs to be taken care of by Dean. That he hasn’t died and been brought back, that he didn’t watch Dean die and be brought back, that he lived alone, so alone, and it was so much worse than the endless repeats of the Trickster. So empty to watch the world moving on with Dean rotting beneath the grass.
He used to have faith. He used to believe, how choices matter, how everything he did, everything Ruby makes him do, everything he’s ever followed has been done with good intentions.
He can see how Hell can be paved with them.
He can understand why they have steered clear of him, the luminous ones like Anna and Castiel.
There is nothing left to give. Sam is spent. There’s a hollow inside him, an emptiness that stretches and won’t be satisfied, can’t be moulded to what used to be.
.:::.
There is nothing left to give, so Sam claims.
Sam can see himself through shards, feels the power and the blood fill him, and he has to take them, despite Dean’s doubt and worry. He has to lay claim, and he wishes Dean could understand, but he doubts anyone who hasn’t walked in Sam’s shoes could. He doesn’t care.
Sometimes people are what they are made to be
((boy-king))
and death… death has followed him every step of the way. Hell has followed him every step of the way, and Sam knows no matter how hard he tries, he will never be completely free.
So he won’t resist. Won’t struggle. He’ll embrace that which was meant for him and feed the desert inside him.
((For Thine is Thy Kingdom))
There are no memories here. He has no use for them.
He fucks Lilith hard, fucks her with cock and teeth and mind, fucks her with demon blood and dark power. He feels his semen fill her up, feels doors opening in his mind, bursting with this unholy connection as everything goes up in flames around them. And he thinks that’s his choice, his final choice and he’ll take this new ride to Hell in stride.
((For Thine is Thy Kingdom))
He was chosen, no, bred as the boy-king.
He is the boy-king.
All his life he’s tried so hard to stand in the light, he doesn’t realize that all he’s been casting are shadows. So he’ll drown in them. He’ll take them. He’ll sink in them. And sink some more.
((Thy kingdom come))
Because if he’s not meant to stand in the light, if they won’t let him stand in the light, he’ll damned well stand in fire.
-The End.
SIDENOTE: We were talking with the dragonz (pdragon76), who’s writing a beyooootiful Sam, and as we were talking, this sort of thing started coming together in my head, and though it started about the women we know Sam has slept with, it somehow… turned. Most interspersed dialogue are quotes from various episodes. The last ones are taken by T.S. Elliott’s Hollow Men.
The title is, oddly, taken from Winnie the Pooh. Piglet utters the words.(Oh how I love them.)
TITLE: I just wanted to be sure of you
AUTHOR:ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: up to and including 4.14.
GENRE: Gen. (It has het instances, but those are part of the story, not het per se)
CHARACTERS: Sam-centric (and too many of the SPN cast to name, because it runs throughout all 4 seasons of the show.)
SUMMARY: For Thine is Thy Kingdom.
RATING: R
FEEDBACK: Dude… duh.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own, no profit, don’t sue.
NOTES: Don’t even ask.
BETA: by stratospherically brilliant pdragon76
The desert is in the heart of your brother.
-T.S. Elliott
Sam’s always been the youngest one. He tried breaking free from it, but it’s mostly been a safe struggle; in his heart he knew there would always be someone to welcome him home. Back then, when there was still a point of return and he didn’t belong to the shadows.
He tries to decide when that changed--turned like a weathervane in some dark, scorching wind, though he suspects that everything started when he was still a gurgling little creature in the cradle (even before that, years and years ago, when Mary wasn’t a Winchester yet, but had fallen for one). For him the change came with a fire and a ceiling. The fire swept through that new sparkling life and burned everything.
There are no keepsakes for him, no permanent markers other than scars and wounds, and the mileage on the car. No happy videos, no holiday postcards, no white fence. He’s pretty sure that once upon a time he actually cared.
.:::.
He tries to remember. Tries to remember what Jess felt like, how her name fell from his lips.
((Jess, hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend Jessica))
Sometimes (sparse, so sparse the last years) he still dreams of her. He doesn’t dream of her lost to the Fire, pinned on the ceiling like hellish glow-in-the-dark stars. He dreams of her flesh in his hands, and her mouth on his mouth, and the feeling of sweet, sweet release when he came inside her. He remembers what her cunt tasted like, and sometimes he wakes up and the taste is there, right on his tongue, and his cock is ramrod hard and his chest constricts in agony.
There was a time (light years away) when he wished Jess was his first, because he had been her first, and it seemed fair, the purity, the connection. She wasn’t. He grew up moving around too much, struggling to throw roots. So Sam knows the name of the first girl he ever bedded, and the state they were living in, and the case-file dad closed, and the high school, but he can’t remember the colour of her eyes. Back then it didn’t matter either, because when he met Jess it’s like no one else existed before and no one would exist after, because life… he couldn’t imagine it without her.
((What would I do without you? Crash and burn))
Because Jess is light, and she’s peace, and she burns up on the ceiling on a bleak autumn day. Sometimes Sam thinks Dean never managed to haul him out of the burning apartment, but they both have forgotten he has, so Sam keeps breathing and walking in his own father’s shoes.
((We got work to do))
Work never stops, not in their line.
.:::.
Jess never comes back.
Sam dreams of fire and he dreams of her, and he starts dreaming of a fate that has just started manifesting and he can’t, can’t touch anyone. He feels the soot still in his nostrils and under his fingernails, but time washes everything off. Time and fate and running and the family business, and Dean.
There are women Sam meets on their hunts, like Lori, the preacher’s girl, and Sarah, with her high cheekbones and her strawberry lips, but he doesn’t stay around long enough.
((It’s like I’m cursed or something. People around me keep dying))
He can’t.
((It’s just that when people are around me… I don’t know, they get hurt))
They carry normality and light, too much of Jess in them, and he backtracks--pain ripping through him--because he can’t have that, the normality, the feel of Jess and the light. He can’t abide it. Can’t abide the thought of putting it out.
.:::.
There’s more darkness along the way--time running mercilessly, death coming, riding the Winchesters hard. There is no mercy (except for their father. He didn’t have to watch his sons die), but there are pieces to be picked, new grief on old grief.
Everything is left behind.
((I’m done with that))
Sam takes Madison hard, fucks her like a man who hasn’t fucked for almost two years, pushes all the grief and anger and loneliness into her; being with Madison is easy, because (he’ll never admit it) something in him calls out to her inner beast. There’s need in him matching her own, full-moon hunger, the demon blood attracted to the howl trapped inside her. And it’s like breaking free, this lay, this connection, so much of a release, because it’s been so long since Jess, it’s been so long since everything.
Bites and scratches and howls, little earthquakes shaking the mattress and it’s good, too good because Madison can take it and can deal back equal-handedly; Madison is cut out for this, is made of the same stuff Sam is: one part of them darkness.
It’s good and it’s safe (he thinks) and he gets it. Gets all of her
((I want you to do it))
because she doesn’t want to live as a monster, but she fucks like one.
There are tears that burn his face when he pulls that trigger and shoots her in the heart, tears for her gone, and tears because he goes on living.
.:::.
Sometimes Sam wonders if his dream about Bela wasn’t random.
((Who were you dreaming about? What? Noone. Nothing))
He wonders if maybe her darkness called him to her, the blood in him smelling her sell-out and rejoicing.
Not that it matters now.
.:::.
When Sam’s world unravels (for a second time, deeper, harsher, bloodier), Dean is six feet under (Sam didn’t want six, he wanted less, because he hoped. He tried so hard to hope, but he was scared animals would dig Dean out and Sam couldn’t have that, couldn’t take the thought of more mauling.)
There is nothing left but the hunt. It’s the only thing he can feel these days. The hunt and the fucking, and he wonders if Dean’s life had felt so lonely as well. Ruby… Ruby is no different. Ruby is what his brother might become, Ruby has been where his brother is. When he pounds against her, when she takes it, asks for it, some invisible link connects him to her and her to his brother, like twisted fiery daisy-chains.
He doesn’t question it. The hunt.
((So right then I sort of… embraced the life))
The hunt and the fucking.
.:::.
When Dean comes back, Sam tries normal for a while. Tries hard. Faith and the good fight and Dean by his side, and he welcomes that back. Tries to be welcomed back, same drill as usual.
Dean doesn’t want to remember Hell and Sam’s lied about his own stint in the dearly departed. There was nothing but dark. No Heaven, no place of belonging, no after to worry about.
When he meets Dr. Cara, he thinks she understands. Cara Roberts seems uncomplicated, light and breezy, as she slides her hand in his pants and then guides him inside her. She attaches no strings and screws like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s sex, pure, physical, attractive
((Have fun, no regret, and live life like there's no tomorrow))
and Sam likes it, understands the no tomorrow part. There’s something of Sarah in her, and something of Jess, but it’s twisted, distorted like a carnival mirror. Sam won’t admit that one part of him suspected, hoped she might be the siren, and one part of him gave in to that. Wanted that, because he knows that normal and uncomplicated are not for the likes of him
((freak))
((Sammy))
though he’ll never admit it.
.:::.
Sam’s always been the youngest one, but he feels old, too old nowadays, the old of ancient creatures, the old of darkness that falls on a desert plane, the old of crumbled dust, the old that is arid and withered.
Sam tries. He tries so hard to get back to how they were, to pretend that nothing has happened, nothing in the span between those years, that he is still the younger one that needs to be taken care of by Dean. That he hasn’t died and been brought back, that he didn’t watch Dean die and be brought back, that he lived alone, so alone, and it was so much worse than the endless repeats of the Trickster. So empty to watch the world moving on with Dean rotting beneath the grass.
He used to have faith. He used to believe, how choices matter, how everything he did, everything Ruby makes him do, everything he’s ever followed has been done with good intentions.
He can see how Hell can be paved with them.
He can understand why they have steered clear of him, the luminous ones like Anna and Castiel.
There is nothing left to give. Sam is spent. There’s a hollow inside him, an emptiness that stretches and won’t be satisfied, can’t be moulded to what used to be.
.:::.
There is nothing left to give, so Sam claims.
Sam can see himself through shards, feels the power and the blood fill him, and he has to take them, despite Dean’s doubt and worry. He has to lay claim, and he wishes Dean could understand, but he doubts anyone who hasn’t walked in Sam’s shoes could. He doesn’t care.
Sometimes people are what they are made to be
((boy-king))
and death… death has followed him every step of the way. Hell has followed him every step of the way, and Sam knows no matter how hard he tries, he will never be completely free.
So he won’t resist. Won’t struggle. He’ll embrace that which was meant for him and feed the desert inside him.
((For Thine is Thy Kingdom))
There are no memories here. He has no use for them.
He fucks Lilith hard, fucks her with cock and teeth and mind, fucks her with demon blood and dark power. He feels his semen fill her up, feels doors opening in his mind, bursting with this unholy connection as everything goes up in flames around them. And he thinks that’s his choice, his final choice and he’ll take this new ride to Hell in stride.
((For Thine is Thy Kingdom))
He was chosen, no, bred as the boy-king.
He is the boy-king.
All his life he’s tried so hard to stand in the light, he doesn’t realize that all he’s been casting are shadows. So he’ll drown in them. He’ll take them. He’ll sink in them. And sink some more.
((Thy kingdom come))
Because if he’s not meant to stand in the light, if they won’t let him stand in the light, he’ll damned well stand in fire.
-The End.
SIDENOTE: We were talking with the dragonz (pdragon76), who’s writing a beyooootiful Sam, and as we were talking, this sort of thing started coming together in my head, and though it started about the women we know Sam has slept with, it somehow… turned. Most interspersed dialogue are quotes from various episodes. The last ones are taken by T.S. Elliott’s Hollow Men.
The title is, oddly, taken from Winnie the Pooh. Piglet utters the words.(Oh how I love them.)