(no subject)
Title: Things I Do Cannot Be Undone, Part the First
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Gen; let's throw in some crack, too
Rating: PG. I have no idea.
Warnings: I'm seriously all about the angst.
Spoilers: nope.
Pairings: nope.
Characters: Sam, and Dean the lion
Notes: Because dullemarulle and smidgy06 saw these pictures and wanted a Simba!Dean story.
----------
Sam takes out his sandwich, chips and cookies and lines them up on the small table. Everything is at the same height. Everything is parallel. Everything is in it's place. Except him. and Dean.
~*~
Sam was six when he started making dinner. Usually it was just pizza bagels and mac and cheese. He was not a culinary master in the making. He remembered a particular dinner somewhere in the middle of then and now. Dean and John had gone out and left him to his homework. He had dinner waiting for them when they got home. Dean was unhappy and hurt. It made him surly. He snapped at Sam.
He snapped at him because he had lined the pizza rolls on the cookie sheet in perfect military order. Sam didn't usually feel stupid in his brother's presence. He knew now, though, that Dean had discovered one of Sam's tells.
Obsessively, compulsively aligning everything to perfect military precision.
~*~
Sam hasn't seen his brother in three days. It doesn't even look like anyone is living in their room. Sam organizes everything. He checks everything in triplicate. He decides to steal a car and go looking for Dean as soon as it's dark enough. If he finds the Impala...well at least he'll have found something.
He's not sleeping. It's not like he slept much before, but now. Now. He's not managing any sleep.
Which is why he hears the scratching. He misses it as first. Isn't sure it's his door. But Sam has years of training his ears and eyes behind him. He knows.
~*~
When Dean was sixteen, Sam became convinced that he would leave him. Sam knew for certain, without a doubt that Dean was going to one day up and leave him to make the dinner and do the laundry. Sam didn't want to be a girl.
He wanted to try out for the school play or try football. He wanted Dean to teach him how to drive. He wanted.... He had wanted a lot of things when he was little. He was so certain that Dean was going to leave him, though, that he stopped talking to him for one week and four days.
Dean finally cracked. Sam didn't want to break down. Not in front of Dean. Dean leaving him would be bad enough. Dean watching him cry about it was beyond horrible. Sam had perched on the edge of the bed and rocked slightly, fully aware of Dean's presence behind him-almost but not quite touching him. Dean was unsure.
Sam remembered yelling at Dean and thinking about just punching him because it would have been easier. He had even balled his fist. Dean had stood there ready to take it, still unsure why Sam was ignoring him.
Sam broke.
Promise me you won't leave me. Promise me, Dean. Don't leave me here to do all the cooking. Don't leave me here. Please, Dean.
~*~
Sam gets up silently. Gets his shotgun--sure it's just filled with rocksalt. It won't kill anything human, but it will hurt like hell. He just wants to scare the person or thing scratching at his door. Sam's not scared, not because of this thing. He wonders fleetingly if this has anything to do with Dean.
Sam rapid-fire catalogs all the things it could be, dismisses most of them and just decides to open the door slightly.
There is no one there. Just the stillness.
And as Sam goes to shut the door and chalk up the scratching to his overactive imagination, he sees the cat watching him. It is a damn big cat.
~*~
They'd never had pets. Sam found a lizard once, but it died three days later. Sam buried it in the park. Dean called him a pansy.
~*~
Sam watches the cat back. It's not really a cat. It's not normal sized. It looks too big. It also looks familiar, but that thought makes no sense. How do you recognize a cat? Sam crouches in front of but still angled away from it. It's a lion cub. How the hell a baby lion got this far into pseudo-civilization, Sam ponders for twenty seconds. He stands up, backs up and waits for the cub to follow him.
It does.
Sam knows he's supposed to grasp something here. Something is not right, and he's supposed to know what.
He goes back to the door, shuts it, turns around and leans on it. Sam and the lion stare at each other, and he knows.
Sam knows.
Those eyes are his brother's eyes.
~*~
Author: ssstevie
Genre: Gen; let's throw in some crack, too
Rating: PG. I have no idea.
Warnings: I'm seriously all about the angst.
Spoilers: nope.
Pairings: nope.
Characters: Sam, and Dean the lion
Notes: Because dullemarulle and smidgy06 saw these pictures and wanted a Simba!Dean story.
----------
Sam takes out his sandwich, chips and cookies and lines them up on the small table. Everything is at the same height. Everything is parallel. Everything is in it's place. Except him. and Dean.
~*~
Sam was six when he started making dinner. Usually it was just pizza bagels and mac and cheese. He was not a culinary master in the making. He remembered a particular dinner somewhere in the middle of then and now. Dean and John had gone out and left him to his homework. He had dinner waiting for them when they got home. Dean was unhappy and hurt. It made him surly. He snapped at Sam.
He snapped at him because he had lined the pizza rolls on the cookie sheet in perfect military order. Sam didn't usually feel stupid in his brother's presence. He knew now, though, that Dean had discovered one of Sam's tells.
Obsessively, compulsively aligning everything to perfect military precision.
~*~
Sam hasn't seen his brother in three days. It doesn't even look like anyone is living in their room. Sam organizes everything. He checks everything in triplicate. He decides to steal a car and go looking for Dean as soon as it's dark enough. If he finds the Impala...well at least he'll have found something.
He's not sleeping. It's not like he slept much before, but now. Now. He's not managing any sleep.
Which is why he hears the scratching. He misses it as first. Isn't sure it's his door. But Sam has years of training his ears and eyes behind him. He knows.
~*~
When Dean was sixteen, Sam became convinced that he would leave him. Sam knew for certain, without a doubt that Dean was going to one day up and leave him to make the dinner and do the laundry. Sam didn't want to be a girl.
He wanted to try out for the school play or try football. He wanted Dean to teach him how to drive. He wanted.... He had wanted a lot of things when he was little. He was so certain that Dean was going to leave him, though, that he stopped talking to him for one week and four days.
Dean finally cracked. Sam didn't want to break down. Not in front of Dean. Dean leaving him would be bad enough. Dean watching him cry about it was beyond horrible. Sam had perched on the edge of the bed and rocked slightly, fully aware of Dean's presence behind him-almost but not quite touching him. Dean was unsure.
Sam remembered yelling at Dean and thinking about just punching him because it would have been easier. He had even balled his fist. Dean had stood there ready to take it, still unsure why Sam was ignoring him.
Sam broke.
Promise me you won't leave me. Promise me, Dean. Don't leave me here to do all the cooking. Don't leave me here. Please, Dean.
~*~
Sam gets up silently. Gets his shotgun--sure it's just filled with rocksalt. It won't kill anything human, but it will hurt like hell. He just wants to scare the person or thing scratching at his door. Sam's not scared, not because of this thing. He wonders fleetingly if this has anything to do with Dean.
Sam rapid-fire catalogs all the things it could be, dismisses most of them and just decides to open the door slightly.
There is no one there. Just the stillness.
And as Sam goes to shut the door and chalk up the scratching to his overactive imagination, he sees the cat watching him. It is a damn big cat.
~*~
They'd never had pets. Sam found a lizard once, but it died three days later. Sam buried it in the park. Dean called him a pansy.
~*~
Sam watches the cat back. It's not really a cat. It's not normal sized. It looks too big. It also looks familiar, but that thought makes no sense. How do you recognize a cat? Sam crouches in front of but still angled away from it. It's a lion cub. How the hell a baby lion got this far into pseudo-civilization, Sam ponders for twenty seconds. He stands up, backs up and waits for the cub to follow him.
It does.
Sam knows he's supposed to grasp something here. Something is not right, and he's supposed to know what.
He goes back to the door, shuts it, turns around and leans on it. Sam and the lion stare at each other, and he knows.
Sam knows.
Those eyes are his brother's eyes.
~*~