fic: supernatural//under the spider tree
This fic explores an idea I've been toying with in my head for a little while, something I can't really write into my other stories. So, in appreciation for Supernatural Day (wooo Thursday!), I felt the urge to do something I haven't really done before --
-- write drabbles.
Under the Spider Tree
by kiraboshi
Summary: Fate and irony work off a schedule corresponding with the calendar. Dean has a front seat to Sam's visions and doesn't know why.
Notes: 10 interconnected drabbles. Thanks to scout27 and littlehands for the read throughs.
1.
Sam’s nightmares get worse.
On night like these, Dean feels them on the edge of his peripheral vision, a flash of red on the midnight beach he might be sharing with a beautiful woman. He’s always considerate enough to excuse himself before going to investigate.
He sits in the back row of a movie theater, the screen playing Sam’s nightmares. Each time, he winces and runs a hand over his face. Gets up and leaves before the movie’s finished so he can wake himself up, give Sam comfort, and return to that beach.
Some nights, he never gets to return. Others, the movie never shows.
2.
Sam goes on about the details of his dreams. Skips over things Dean thinks are important, gives extra attention to insignificant details. On odd numbered days, Sam’s excited, empowered; believes he has enough time to save this one, prevent that one, all those things heroes feel before a fight. Even days are full of sorrow and failure.
Fate and irony work off a schedule corresponding with the calendar.
When Sam’s asleep, Dean pulls to the side of the road and scribbles down what details from the nightmares he can remember, scrawls the date at the top of the page, and draws a smilie face to approximate Sam’s mood.
That’s how he notices the pattern.
3.
30 miles from Kansas City, Sam’s driving. Indian summer’s in high swing, browns and golds clashing with the warm air breezing through the Impala’s open windows. The fields are empty along the interstate, giving Dean a perfect view of the horizon. He navigates by it like a pilot; as long as the horizon remains straight and steady, fair weather’s ahead.
It dips and dives to the left. Dean’s eyes are on Sam as soon as his hands drop to his sides, then up to his head.
Dean takes the wheel and drives them off into a nearby field.
He should have known. It’s the 15th.
4.
A giant frowning face. Dean draws in a tear, then colors it with a black pen from the nightstand.
“Too late,” was Sam’s explanation. Gave over the driving to Dean, curled up in the passenger seat, and fell asleep.
Dean wonders why he didn’t see this one coming -- does this only work when he’s asleep? Or will he, too, be seeing things during the day? He can just see it now, the Impala veering off the road into a telephone pole, both occupants unable to see anything but the dreamscape in their heads.
He knows he’s not psychic. Knows the visions are Sam’s, and Sam’s alone.
He just doesn’t know why he can see them, too.
5.
“Damnit, Dean. What’s the point if I can’t do anything about them?”
Sam asks rhetorical questions and expects answers. Something concrete he can lean on instead of spiraling out of control in his own head.
Dean doesn’t have anything to offer. He’s been wondering the same thing himself.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he admits while cleaning his knives, “Maybe practice makes perfect, or some bullshit like that.”
“Are you saying I should practice having visions?”
Dean shrugs. Then frowns. If Sam practices, will he get any sleep?
6.
On a hunt, once, Dean spoke to a ghost.
He was twelve, his father was distracted with the malevolent spirit under the spider tree, snarled and caught up in webs he couldn’t control, and Dean spoke with a ghost.
Without moving his mouth.
When Sam dreams, Dean’s stuck near that damned tree again, caught up in something he can’t control, can’t understand, and wonders -- is Sam the only freak in the family?
There isn’t much time to contemplate; the movie’s started, and he’s got a front row seat this time.
Great.
7.
Instead of leaving before the show’s over, he turns to see Sam sitting next to him in the theater.
“What the hell, Dean?” asks Sam, or this representation, because while Dean’s sitting in the plush red seat in only his boxers, Sam’s dressed normally -- button up shirt, jeans, sneakers.
“Hey,” Dean replies, feeling naked in more way than one, “this is my dream.”
“You’re watching my vision,” Sam says, defensive. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes a tight line directed at Dean. “This is my vision, Dean. There’s no way you could know what’s going on.”
“How do I know you aren’t just the Sam in my head?”
A hand jars his shoulder -- his real shoulder -- and Dean opens his eyes to Sam standing over him.
“I’m not the Sam in your head,” he says.
8.
“How long?”
Dean plays with his food. Sighs. Doesn’t want to deal with this -- never wanted to deal with this.
“A few months.”
“A few months?” mocks Sam. “Hell, Dean, you could have told me.”
“Told you what? That somehow, I could see your visions as you had them? That me waking up when you did wasn’t some strange coincidence or brotherly instinct?” Dean shakes his head. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.” Points with a fry to lighten the mood, but Sam won’t have it.
“Can you do...anything else?”
When he asks, Dean remembers being twelve, talking with the ghost, and knows the answer to his question, now.
Sam’s not the only freak.
9.
Sam won’t sleep around Dean, not for a few days. Takes a pillow and blanket from his bed and trots out to the Impala. Squeezes his lanky frame into the car as if distance will keep Dean from seeing his visions. Because it’s not fair for both of them to see some of the horrible things fate bestows upon him.
Two days of Dean getting to the Impala first and locking the doors, and they find out distance doesn’t matter. Outside, Dean picks up more -- the motel has a few more patrons, and he never gets to the midnight beach, just bounces from one dream to another without any cause or pattern.
Tells Sam about the calendar, about fate’s game, and warns him not to give in. “Be happy either way,” Dean tries, “at least, when we’re too late, someone else knows how they really died.”
He says we, now. They’re in this together.
10.
They wake up together in the middle of the night. Discuss theories without explanation. If only someone else could see them -- perhaps their father, one day -- would think them just crazy or connected or twins separated by four years and genetics.
Sam loosens up. Smiles more. Knows he’s no longer alone -- that he’s not the only one seeing the things he sees -- and more importantly, that he’s not some black sheep of the Winchester line, doomed to live a life with some odd supernatural power when no one else does.
Dean gets used to not sleeping through the night. Stocks up on caffeine drinks and coffee. Tries to focus better when they’re in crowded spaces -- he picks up too much at a mall in Minnesota and collapsed on the tile.
On hunts, he gives Sam orders without saying a word. Teases him from miles away when they do research. Sam finds it comforting.
Dean wonders when it’ll all go to hell.
Sequel: Fearful of the Night
-- write drabbles.
Under the Spider Tree
by kiraboshi
Summary: Fate and irony work off a schedule corresponding with the calendar. Dean has a front seat to Sam's visions and doesn't know why.
Notes: 10 interconnected drabbles. Thanks to scout27 and littlehands for the read throughs.
1.
Sam’s nightmares get worse.
On night like these, Dean feels them on the edge of his peripheral vision, a flash of red on the midnight beach he might be sharing with a beautiful woman. He’s always considerate enough to excuse himself before going to investigate.
He sits in the back row of a movie theater, the screen playing Sam’s nightmares. Each time, he winces and runs a hand over his face. Gets up and leaves before the movie’s finished so he can wake himself up, give Sam comfort, and return to that beach.
Some nights, he never gets to return. Others, the movie never shows.
2.
Sam goes on about the details of his dreams. Skips over things Dean thinks are important, gives extra attention to insignificant details. On odd numbered days, Sam’s excited, empowered; believes he has enough time to save this one, prevent that one, all those things heroes feel before a fight. Even days are full of sorrow and failure.
Fate and irony work off a schedule corresponding with the calendar.
When Sam’s asleep, Dean pulls to the side of the road and scribbles down what details from the nightmares he can remember, scrawls the date at the top of the page, and draws a smilie face to approximate Sam’s mood.
That’s how he notices the pattern.
3.
30 miles from Kansas City, Sam’s driving. Indian summer’s in high swing, browns and golds clashing with the warm air breezing through the Impala’s open windows. The fields are empty along the interstate, giving Dean a perfect view of the horizon. He navigates by it like a pilot; as long as the horizon remains straight and steady, fair weather’s ahead.
It dips and dives to the left. Dean’s eyes are on Sam as soon as his hands drop to his sides, then up to his head.
Dean takes the wheel and drives them off into a nearby field.
He should have known. It’s the 15th.
4.
A giant frowning face. Dean draws in a tear, then colors it with a black pen from the nightstand.
“Too late,” was Sam’s explanation. Gave over the driving to Dean, curled up in the passenger seat, and fell asleep.
Dean wonders why he didn’t see this one coming -- does this only work when he’s asleep? Or will he, too, be seeing things during the day? He can just see it now, the Impala veering off the road into a telephone pole, both occupants unable to see anything but the dreamscape in their heads.
He knows he’s not psychic. Knows the visions are Sam’s, and Sam’s alone.
He just doesn’t know why he can see them, too.
5.
“Damnit, Dean. What’s the point if I can’t do anything about them?”
Sam asks rhetorical questions and expects answers. Something concrete he can lean on instead of spiraling out of control in his own head.
Dean doesn’t have anything to offer. He’s been wondering the same thing himself.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he admits while cleaning his knives, “Maybe practice makes perfect, or some bullshit like that.”
“Are you saying I should practice having visions?”
Dean shrugs. Then frowns. If Sam practices, will he get any sleep?
6.
On a hunt, once, Dean spoke to a ghost.
He was twelve, his father was distracted with the malevolent spirit under the spider tree, snarled and caught up in webs he couldn’t control, and Dean spoke with a ghost.
Without moving his mouth.
When Sam dreams, Dean’s stuck near that damned tree again, caught up in something he can’t control, can’t understand, and wonders -- is Sam the only freak in the family?
There isn’t much time to contemplate; the movie’s started, and he’s got a front row seat this time.
Great.
7.
Instead of leaving before the show’s over, he turns to see Sam sitting next to him in the theater.
“What the hell, Dean?” asks Sam, or this representation, because while Dean’s sitting in the plush red seat in only his boxers, Sam’s dressed normally -- button up shirt, jeans, sneakers.
“Hey,” Dean replies, feeling naked in more way than one, “this is my dream.”
“You’re watching my vision,” Sam says, defensive. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes a tight line directed at Dean. “This is my vision, Dean. There’s no way you could know what’s going on.”
“How do I know you aren’t just the Sam in my head?”
A hand jars his shoulder -- his real shoulder -- and Dean opens his eyes to Sam standing over him.
“I’m not the Sam in your head,” he says.
8.
“How long?”
Dean plays with his food. Sighs. Doesn’t want to deal with this -- never wanted to deal with this.
“A few months.”
“A few months?” mocks Sam. “Hell, Dean, you could have told me.”
“Told you what? That somehow, I could see your visions as you had them? That me waking up when you did wasn’t some strange coincidence or brotherly instinct?” Dean shakes his head. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.” Points with a fry to lighten the mood, but Sam won’t have it.
“Can you do...anything else?”
When he asks, Dean remembers being twelve, talking with the ghost, and knows the answer to his question, now.
Sam’s not the only freak.
9.
Sam won’t sleep around Dean, not for a few days. Takes a pillow and blanket from his bed and trots out to the Impala. Squeezes his lanky frame into the car as if distance will keep Dean from seeing his visions. Because it’s not fair for both of them to see some of the horrible things fate bestows upon him.
Two days of Dean getting to the Impala first and locking the doors, and they find out distance doesn’t matter. Outside, Dean picks up more -- the motel has a few more patrons, and he never gets to the midnight beach, just bounces from one dream to another without any cause or pattern.
Tells Sam about the calendar, about fate’s game, and warns him not to give in. “Be happy either way,” Dean tries, “at least, when we’re too late, someone else knows how they really died.”
He says we, now. They’re in this together.
10.
They wake up together in the middle of the night. Discuss theories without explanation. If only someone else could see them -- perhaps their father, one day -- would think them just crazy or connected or twins separated by four years and genetics.
Sam loosens up. Smiles more. Knows he’s no longer alone -- that he’s not the only one seeing the things he sees -- and more importantly, that he’s not some black sheep of the Winchester line, doomed to live a life with some odd supernatural power when no one else does.
Dean gets used to not sleeping through the night. Stocks up on caffeine drinks and coffee. Tries to focus better when they’re in crowded spaces -- he picks up too much at a mall in Minnesota and collapsed on the tile.
On hunts, he gives Sam orders without saying a word. Teases him from miles away when they do research. Sam finds it comforting.
Dean wonders when it’ll all go to hell.
Sequel: Fearful of the Night