[PG13][Oneshot] - Define Normal
Title: Define Normal
Author: sahbeL@LJ
Rating: PG13 - for mild adult themes and language
Disclaimer: I do not own these boys. <3
Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester
Table/Prompt: Table #2 Prompt #07 (Broken)
Word Count: 1891
Summary: The smooth pieces that make up the blanket that hide Sam’s jagged ones.
Author's Notes: Slightly AU in comparison to the canon ‘verse dialogue, when Sam asks Dean ‘how long’ near the end, but otherwise, it’s okay J And as usual, reviews are appreciated! It's been awhile since I've posted anything, and I don't think I can really blame it on school work or whatever. It's weird, for some reason, I can't seem to finish anything! It's so frustrating. And half of this shot has been sitting in my computer for ages, so I feel really good that I've finally finished it. Now all that's left is to find out what you guys think of it lol. See if my skills have died because, sadly, I really do feel that they have. Let me know what you think!
ps. Jaemint, I swear your fic is coming too! LOL.
--x-
So despite what Dean Winchester’s got to say about his little brother being all gentle and good, no-one’s really bothered that much to ask the subject in question himself, since, y’know, Dean Winchester’s got a pretty big mouth on him, which is just as loud as anything and just plain demands to be heard, no matter how big of a lie he’s telling. Which is really, what Sam Winchester believes his brother is spouting to anyone who will listen, all lies and bullshit about how his little brother could barely hurt a fly let alone be the epitome of all evil, hell’s boy king, or so all the hell spawn they’ve been wasting have been saying. Forget the part about demon blood and psychic abilities… to Dean Winchester, his brother was just his brother. Samuel, Sammy Winchester, who will - in his eyes - forever have too-long shanks of brown hair hanging all over his face, mile long limbs that tend to tangle every which way the kid goes, bony elbows and knees with not an ounce of meat on ’em and the goofiest, dorkiest, geekiest brain he’d ever had the chance of encountering. But again, no-one’s ever really bothered to ask the subject in question himself, since everything Dean Winchester has to say is just said to be believed, because come on, this is the Dean Winchester, can talk his way out of anything, sweet talk the ladies, all smooth and easy because he is just that cool. Sammy’s the one who can’t lie… who didn’t learn how to talk his way out of things until he was well past his twelfth birthday. Who hadn’t told a lie without batting an eyelash until he was at least fifteen. Because Sammy’s like that, all gentle and good… couldn’t possibly be anyone’s king, antichrist or whatever else they want to call him.
But despite what Dean Winchester’s got to say about his kid brother, Sammy Winchester’s mouth is just as big and just as loud as Dean’s…
…in his mind.
- -
“Come on, Sammy, time to brush your teeth.”
“Why, Dean?”
“Why what?”
“Why do I gotta brush my teef?”
“Why…” Dean scrubs a hand through his hair and subtly clears his throat. “Because -- because if you don’t, the mini food monkeys in your mouth’ll eat your teeth ‘til they fall out. So you gotta brush ‘em out.”
His kid brother pauses in consideration and clenches a pudgy fist as he digests what his big brother had just told him.
“’…Kay, Dean. But you gotta brush too…”
“Yeah, Sammy, I gotta brush too.”
- -
Sammy doesn’t really feel the need to correct his brother because he thinks that the effort would be a complete and utter waste of time anyway. Dean had always been much better at talking than he’d ever been, not to mention the fact that Dean would believe whatever the hell he wanted to believe, and no-one (not even Sammy) would be able to convince him otherwise. But in his mind, Sammy Winchester thought something different to what his older brother’s been spouting almost all his life. He’s not all gentle and good. As far as Sam Winchester’s concerned, he’d been broken almost from the moment of his birth.
- -
“Dude, what’s the problem, you been bitchin’ all day…”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Sam, we’ve talked about this. Moving’s just another thing we do. We’re not like them!”
“I said shut up, Dean.”
“Look, don’t let Dad see you like this. His mood’s bad enough as it is. All you’ll get is another hundred or so push-ups, and we both know you don’t want that.”
“…”
“Sammy, c’mon…”
“I was hoping to make it to the dance…” he knows his voice is soft with resignation.
“Dude…next time. I promise.”
Sigh. “Shut up, Dean.”
- -
People say that you start life as a whole, like a clean slate or a blank piece of paper. No mistakes; no regrets; no pain; no cracks; no evil. But Sammy Winchester…he believes something different. Everyone around him may have been born whole, but God (if there is such an element) must’ve gotten his recipes mixed up. Must have busted up Sammy’s ingredients, because Sam Winchester doesn’t believe that he’s all gentle and good. What he believes - and Dean can say whatever he wants - is that he was born a different kind of whole. Where broken pieces of bad things were taken from where they belonged and jaggedly moulded to barely fit this Winchester, to make his whole. Sam likes to think of it like a puzzle, where everyone else’s pieces are shaped smoothly and fitted perfectly to make their whole, while his own are all jagged and sharp edges, barely shaped enough to fit, forever broken but endlessly displaying an illusion of a smooth slate. It’s complicated, he knows this. But if it weren’t, then these wouldn’t be his thoughts, right?
- -
“Jesus Christ, don’t you ever, ever do that again, do you hear me!”
“It was an accident, Dean.”
“Don’t gimme that bullshit, you asshole! What, you just tripped over and fell on a kitchen knife with your wrist?!”
“Dean…”
“Don’t fucking ‘Dean’ me, Sam. You’re my kid brother, and I know you’re a smart boy but that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Whatever it is, it’s not worth your life.”
“Dean…”
“Shut up, Sam. I’m here. I’m always here. I will always be here. No matter what! And if you ever, even for a second, think about doing that shit again, I’ll punish you more than hell itself.”
“Dean…”
“What?!”
“I won’t do it again. I promise.”
- -
After endless nights of thinking about it, Sam thinks that maybe it’s an act of mercy that he can’t remember the first broken pieces of himself. The first broken pieces that declared fire as his most hated enemy. That stole away that which had barely been his. That changed his entire family even before he was old enough to get to know them. That twisted up everything that had been normal about his life before he could even commit to memory what normal was. He thinks that, because of this act of mercy, it only makes sense that the rest of his broken pieces would hurt twice as much. Cut twice as deep. Break twice as hard.
- -
“Want me to tell you about her?”
A glance. “Sure. We had the same birthday, right?”
“Yeah.”
Lights. Trees. Mailman. Antique store. He doesn’t face the driver’s side. Instead, he continues to watch the world go by.
“There’s one moment, out of all of them, that I will never forget. Just one, single moment, that’s the clearest and brightest in all that I remember…”
Silence.
“…it was a perfect day. No clouds in the sky, the sun was warm.” Sam’s brow furrows and he feels the now familiar burn that always seems to be there every time he thought too much. “It wasn’t even anything special. We were walking home, I was a step behind her, and she was strolling ahead. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and her voice was rising and falling with whatever she’d been talking about.” Sam huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t even remember what she’d been talking about.”
Dean smirks. “Doesn’t sound like you, Sammy.”
“All I remember was her in front of me. And then suddenly she stopped, and turned to face me. I still remember how she said my name. And it must’ve been how the sun had fallen over her hair, or the way her eyes were glittering with amusement or…affection, or whatever…but all I could think was…She’s it. She’s the one.”
And then Sam stops and chokes on his words because the burn in his chest has made itself more than present. His brother doesn’t speak, but the warm hand that rests on the back of his neck is more than enough.
- -
Sam doesn’t think he’s gentle and good, but lately he’s been thinking that he’s got more strength than he gives himself credit for. Because despite how much his broken pieces try to kill him with the pain they cause, he’s come to the conclusion that he’s still fighting. Still struggling every minute of every day to remember the good things. Drape the broken pieces with a soft, strong blanket made of laughter and light. Oh don’t get him wrong…Sammy Winchester doesn’t forget that he’s broken - different from everyone else’s whole. But he’s become a master at blending in with the norms. Creating his own smooth pieces. Basking in the rare moments when his smooth pieces become whole enough to bury the jagged ones.
- -
“Dude, you gotta try this, this is awesome.”
“Dean. It’s just pie.”
“This, is not just pie, Sam. This is the pie of all pies. This is kick-ass-awesome-pie!”
“It’s just pie, Dean.”
“Taste it. Just taste it, c’mon, Sam! What kind of a brother would I be if I didn’t make you taste the most kick-ass-awesome pie in the entire universe. You gotta try this!”
“Dude! Get that away from me! It’s got your slobber everywhere! Dean, the airplane thing worked when I was like…three. Dean!”
“Dude! C’mon! The pie of all pies! I’ll do the laundry, just taste the goddamn pie!”
“Jesus, can you get any more anal? It’s just pie. God, alright! Anything to stop you from poking that thing in my face and taking an eye out.”
“…”
“Hey. This is actually really good.”
“What’d I tell ya, Sammy. The pie of all pies.”
“Yeah, the most kick-ass-awesome pie.”
“You know I’m totally awesome, bitch.”
Smirk. “Jerk.”
- -
Just don’t ask him what he plans to do when his definition of normal begins to unravel. Don’t ask him what he’s going to do, when he loses the ability to create more smooth pieces. When the jagged pieces of his whole become too big to bury. But Sammy Winchester doesn’t think he needs to worry about that. He doesn’t need to worry about not being able to create more smooth pieces as long as his big brother’s around. Because his definition of normal is Dean. And he knows Dean’s not going anywhere.
Right?
- -
“How long?”
“Sam…”
“How long, Dean?”
“One year.”
“Jesus, Dean. What did you do?! What the hell did you do…”
“I had to…“
“Don’t gimme that!“
“Sam, I had to. I’m sorry, I had to. I couldn‘t just let you…Sammy, don‘t look at me like that…”
“What the hell did you do, Dean. What did you do…”
“Sammy, I’m sorry, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”
“Dean…”
“I had to…”
“Dean.”
“I had to.”
"Dean."
“Sammy, I had to.”
- -
His definition of normal is Dean. And he knows Dean’s not going anywhere. Whatever it takes, Dean’s not going anywhere. It’s a promise.
- -