Bones, 4/4
Title: Bones, 4/4
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13 (language).
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: My take on the events in Arizona referenced in 'Dark Side of the Moon' (5x16). Spoilers for that episode.
"You’re a selfish little shit, you know that?"
“Bones?”
His voice sounded strange to his own ears: dried out and thin. Younger. Sam blinked a few times till the room started to come into focus. Generic hospital room. Dean was standing in the doorway, predictably, leaning against the frame and had obviously been crying. He looked furious.
Sam was aware, distantly, of having a colossal headache - but the pain was peculiarly removed, and he recognized the slight time-delay of prescription=strength painkiller. Misinterpreting Sam’s question, Dean said as he came further into the room:
“Your right wrist is broken. By some freak of luck, nothing else. Driver braked pretty fast. You’ve got a concussion, though, which I guess you can tell, and you’ve been out since yesterday. Drink.” He delivered this flatly, almost in a monotone, filling a glass from a sink by the bed before helping Sam sit up a little. The movement caused brown-red swirls to descend over Sam’s vision, and he mumbled,
“Gonna puke.”
“Oh, Christ,” Dean said with disgust, but he grabbed a plastic basin from under the bed and held it in place while Sam vomited, and his other hand on the back of Sam’s neck was gentle, supporting. When Sam had finished, rinsed his mouth with he water, then drunk some, he said,
“No. Bones is the dog. Where is he?”
“What dog?” Dean looked at him, half wary, half in concern. He studied Sam s face, as though wondering if the concussion had jarred something loose in his brother’s head.
“In the house. The demon got him.”
“Demon?!”
Sam closed his eyes. He felt ill and in pain, his stomach undecided whether to settle down or not.
“Hey - Sammy, it s okay,” Dean rubbed his good arm awkwardly, his anger apparently forgotten for now: “I think you’ve been having a dream, huh? You got hit by a car. There wasn't any demon. Jesus, you think you can make it alone, you can t even make it across the road the first day I’m not watching you.”
“First -day?” Sam forced his eyes open again.
“Yeah - it s Wednesday, Sam. You left Tuesday afternoon and the accident made the local news that night. That s how we knew to come. You didn’t think to cut the tag out of your gym shirt.” Dean snorted, then his voice wavered for a second before he brought it back under control.
“Dad is…?”
“Here. Mad as hell. And scared. He’s been with you most of the day, the doc called him to fill in insurance forms. Your name’s Thomas Clark, by the way: we had to say you were borrowing another kid s gym shirt. Jesus Sammy, you don t make anything easy for us, do you?” Dean ran a hand across his face. He looked tired. Sam wondered disconnectedly what time it was, but then his eyes fell shut again.
* * *
The next time he woke up, Dad was there. It was lighter, and felt like the middle of the day. His head felt clearer and his arm hurt noticeably, which he guessed it ought to be doing. Dad told him sharply that he’d slept enough, and to stay awake this time. He did, but Dad didn’t say anything else, just turned and looked out of the window.
* * *
“I want to look for Bones,” Sam said from the backseat of the car. It was Thursday, and he was free from the hospital. They were leaving Flagstaff the next day, just staying just long enough for Dad to collect his last paycheck from the warehouse. Preferably leaving Arizona, before the hospital followed up on the fake insurance details.
“You’re not in a position to demand anything,” Dad said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“But -!”
“Sammy.” Dean was subdued. He was sitting in the backseat with Sam, something he rarely did anymore. But Dad was radiating anger, the kind that made anyone wary of getting too close to him. “Bones isn’t real, okay? We’ve been over this.”
Sam closed his mouth. He knew when strategy was more likely to get him what he wanted. So he waited until dark, when Dad had gone out to get the money and go to the store, then approached his brother.
“What?” Dean sat up from the bunk where he’d been lying with his arm thrown over his eyes. “You need one of your pills?” Sam made a face. Dad had given his prescription medicine to Dean for safekeeping, commenting offhandedly that if Sam was going to act like a preschooler they had better go back to treating him like one.
“I want to go look for the dog.”
“Drop that. I know you have vivid dreams, Sammy, but enough is enough. There was no dog and no demon, no god damn magic house.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” He had told Dean everything, that morning, getting ready to leave the hospital. When he got to the part about what the demon had told him, Dean had cut him off:
“That’s bullshit. A demon wouldn’t just stand there and talk to you. Give you a god damn pet. You imagined it. And anyway, demons lie.” This last after a short hesitation. Sam had been about to exclaim, ‘So you do think it happened!’ but then a nurse had come in.
“But it knows something about me,” Sam persisted now, coming around to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed and slapping him lightly with his good hand: “I told you what it said. About what was inside me. Maybe it knows about - you know…” This was his trump card. He meant it - of course, he needed to know - but the fact you knew the effectiveness of your means didn’t make them any less genuine. Sam made the big eyes. His brother wasn’t really a disciplinarian, and he never, ever said no to the big eyes. This time, though, was unprecedented:
“Sammy!” Dean sat up and shoved Sam’s hand off him. “Listen to me! There is nothing inside you, okay? Just your freaky, over-active brain! You’re the one who goes on about not wanting to be a freak. So don’t be one! If - if there was a demon, which I seriously doubt, it was lying to you, okay? It was fucking with us. Trying to screw with our family. Don’t let it manipulate you. We have to stay together, okay? We’ll be alright.”
“You might be,” said Sam bitterly, “It’s not in your bones.” Immediately he regretted it. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Dean quickly masked the shocked look in his eyes.
“Go to sleep,” he said roughly, shoving Sam off his bed, but carefully. “The pills are in the bathroom if you need one.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said again.
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay that the one thing Dean needed - to keep his family together - he couldn’t have, and it might be because of the things that were out there, the dark things that struck at random. But in dark moments, self-aggrandizing and anguished, Sam suspected otherwise. The essential traitor was within the gates. He was a freak, because the protagonists of the action had to be freakish somehow. Even if that turned it into a tragedy. He was the protagonist. It was in him. What was it? ‘You’ll just keep coming back to us,’ the demon had said. That night after taking one of the pills he looked at his face in the mirror, unfamiliar by moonlight, staring and staring until the familiar lines, structures, didn’t make sense anymore. Then he got scared and hurried for the bedroom, as best he could without making his headache worse. He got into bed with enough noise to wake his brother up.
“Sorry,” he stage-whispered.
“It’s alright. Go to sleep.”
“Have we got - can we have pancakes for breakfast?”
“Yes Sam. I will make you pancakes for breakfast. Stop talking.”
“Thank you,” he whispered loudly, and forcibly thought about pancakes, the car, Dean, and nothing else until he fell asleep finally.
The End.
A/N: This was hard to write, personally as well as craft-wise. I think I over-identify with Sam because I’m a younger sibling too, and was a tragic, intelligent, reckless, self-centred, Paradise Lost-reciting teenager myself not so many years ago…
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13 (language).
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: My take on the events in Arizona referenced in 'Dark Side of the Moon' (5x16). Spoilers for that episode.
"You’re a selfish little shit, you know that?"
“Bones?”
His voice sounded strange to his own ears: dried out and thin. Younger. Sam blinked a few times till the room started to come into focus. Generic hospital room. Dean was standing in the doorway, predictably, leaning against the frame and had obviously been crying. He looked furious.
Sam was aware, distantly, of having a colossal headache - but the pain was peculiarly removed, and he recognized the slight time-delay of prescription=strength painkiller. Misinterpreting Sam’s question, Dean said as he came further into the room:
“Your right wrist is broken. By some freak of luck, nothing else. Driver braked pretty fast. You’ve got a concussion, though, which I guess you can tell, and you’ve been out since yesterday. Drink.” He delivered this flatly, almost in a monotone, filling a glass from a sink by the bed before helping Sam sit up a little. The movement caused brown-red swirls to descend over Sam’s vision, and he mumbled,
“Gonna puke.”
“Oh, Christ,” Dean said with disgust, but he grabbed a plastic basin from under the bed and held it in place while Sam vomited, and his other hand on the back of Sam’s neck was gentle, supporting. When Sam had finished, rinsed his mouth with he water, then drunk some, he said,
“No. Bones is the dog. Where is he?”
“What dog?” Dean looked at him, half wary, half in concern. He studied Sam s face, as though wondering if the concussion had jarred something loose in his brother’s head.
“In the house. The demon got him.”
“Demon?!”
Sam closed his eyes. He felt ill and in pain, his stomach undecided whether to settle down or not.
“Hey - Sammy, it s okay,” Dean rubbed his good arm awkwardly, his anger apparently forgotten for now: “I think you’ve been having a dream, huh? You got hit by a car. There wasn't any demon. Jesus, you think you can make it alone, you can t even make it across the road the first day I’m not watching you.”
“First -day?” Sam forced his eyes open again.
“Yeah - it s Wednesday, Sam. You left Tuesday afternoon and the accident made the local news that night. That s how we knew to come. You didn’t think to cut the tag out of your gym shirt.” Dean snorted, then his voice wavered for a second before he brought it back under control.
“Dad is…?”
“Here. Mad as hell. And scared. He’s been with you most of the day, the doc called him to fill in insurance forms. Your name’s Thomas Clark, by the way: we had to say you were borrowing another kid s gym shirt. Jesus Sammy, you don t make anything easy for us, do you?” Dean ran a hand across his face. He looked tired. Sam wondered disconnectedly what time it was, but then his eyes fell shut again.
* * *
The next time he woke up, Dad was there. It was lighter, and felt like the middle of the day. His head felt clearer and his arm hurt noticeably, which he guessed it ought to be doing. Dad told him sharply that he’d slept enough, and to stay awake this time. He did, but Dad didn’t say anything else, just turned and looked out of the window.
* * *
“I want to look for Bones,” Sam said from the backseat of the car. It was Thursday, and he was free from the hospital. They were leaving Flagstaff the next day, just staying just long enough for Dad to collect his last paycheck from the warehouse. Preferably leaving Arizona, before the hospital followed up on the fake insurance details.
“You’re not in a position to demand anything,” Dad said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“But -!”
“Sammy.” Dean was subdued. He was sitting in the backseat with Sam, something he rarely did anymore. But Dad was radiating anger, the kind that made anyone wary of getting too close to him. “Bones isn’t real, okay? We’ve been over this.”
Sam closed his mouth. He knew when strategy was more likely to get him what he wanted. So he waited until dark, when Dad had gone out to get the money and go to the store, then approached his brother.
“What?” Dean sat up from the bunk where he’d been lying with his arm thrown over his eyes. “You need one of your pills?” Sam made a face. Dad had given his prescription medicine to Dean for safekeeping, commenting offhandedly that if Sam was going to act like a preschooler they had better go back to treating him like one.
“I want to go look for the dog.”
“Drop that. I know you have vivid dreams, Sammy, but enough is enough. There was no dog and no demon, no god damn magic house.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” He had told Dean everything, that morning, getting ready to leave the hospital. When he got to the part about what the demon had told him, Dean had cut him off:
“That’s bullshit. A demon wouldn’t just stand there and talk to you. Give you a god damn pet. You imagined it. And anyway, demons lie.” This last after a short hesitation. Sam had been about to exclaim, ‘So you do think it happened!’ but then a nurse had come in.
“But it knows something about me,” Sam persisted now, coming around to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed and slapping him lightly with his good hand: “I told you what it said. About what was inside me. Maybe it knows about - you know…” This was his trump card. He meant it - of course, he needed to know - but the fact you knew the effectiveness of your means didn’t make them any less genuine. Sam made the big eyes. His brother wasn’t really a disciplinarian, and he never, ever said no to the big eyes. This time, though, was unprecedented:
“Sammy!” Dean sat up and shoved Sam’s hand off him. “Listen to me! There is nothing inside you, okay? Just your freaky, over-active brain! You’re the one who goes on about not wanting to be a freak. So don’t be one! If - if there was a demon, which I seriously doubt, it was lying to you, okay? It was fucking with us. Trying to screw with our family. Don’t let it manipulate you. We have to stay together, okay? We’ll be alright.”
“You might be,” said Sam bitterly, “It’s not in your bones.” Immediately he regretted it. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Dean quickly masked the shocked look in his eyes.
“Go to sleep,” he said roughly, shoving Sam off his bed, but carefully. “The pills are in the bathroom if you need one.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said again.
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay that the one thing Dean needed - to keep his family together - he couldn’t have, and it might be because of the things that were out there, the dark things that struck at random. But in dark moments, self-aggrandizing and anguished, Sam suspected otherwise. The essential traitor was within the gates. He was a freak, because the protagonists of the action had to be freakish somehow. Even if that turned it into a tragedy. He was the protagonist. It was in him. What was it? ‘You’ll just keep coming back to us,’ the demon had said. That night after taking one of the pills he looked at his face in the mirror, unfamiliar by moonlight, staring and staring until the familiar lines, structures, didn’t make sense anymore. Then he got scared and hurried for the bedroom, as best he could without making his headache worse. He got into bed with enough noise to wake his brother up.
“Sorry,” he stage-whispered.
“It’s alright. Go to sleep.”
“Have we got - can we have pancakes for breakfast?”
“Yes Sam. I will make you pancakes for breakfast. Stop talking.”
“Thank you,” he whispered loudly, and forcibly thought about pancakes, the car, Dean, and nothing else until he fell asleep finally.
The End.
A/N: This was hard to write, personally as well as craft-wise. I think I over-identify with Sam because I’m a younger sibling too, and was a tragic, intelligent, reckless, self-centred, Paradise Lost-reciting teenager myself not so many years ago…