Myth of Freedom - SN fic - R
Jul. 8th, 2007 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Myth of Freedom
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: the Winchester boys and all their pretty issues aren’t mine. just for fun.
Warnings: implied non-con, pedophilia, spoilers for up to “Folsom Prison Blues”
Pairings: OMC/Dean
Rating: R
Wordcount: 590
Point of view: third
Notes: written for spn_boc, to the song title “Myth of Freedom”
spn_boc, to the song title “Myth of Freedom”More notes: not in chronological order
Contrary to popular belief, Dean Winchester does not enjoy the Fourth of July. Dad’d be disappointed if he knew, but about this one thing? Dean doesn’t care. Sammy likes it, though, so Dean always takes him to the firework show at wherever they are.
The bright colors and loud booms remind Dean of blood.
He doesn’t remember much—a small mercy. He thinks he may have howled, but knows he never begged. Knows he didn’t do much more than whimper, probably, and swear vengeance.
Unfortunately for the nightmares, that vengeance never came to pass.
Sam always points out the most beautiful fireworks, purple and green and gold and red, lighting up the night sky like dawn.
Dean barely keeps down the bile, wanting to double over and clean himself out. His hands clench into shaky fists, and he blinks back fear and pain and lingering rage—it’s over, it’s done, he’s moved past it.
Look at that one, Dean! Sammy shrieks, laughter threading through the words.
Dean does, tasting blood and come in the back of his throat.
It reenters his consciousness in spurts, over years. He’s never been truly free of it, and he never truly will be. He used to imagine that he could outrun it, when it was just shadows on his dreamscape, but now—
Sometimes, he just stands still and shudders, again feeling the grip of those hands on his skin.
It only lasted a day, barely, and then he escaped. Ran for the hills and didn’t look back, fled to Dad and Sammy. He hadn’t been gone long, and he’d told Dad nothing. He was thirteen and he’d stormed out after a rare fight. But he came back, hiding pain. He came back, and that’s what he told himself to get through the years.
For a long time, Dean can’t stand anyone but Dad and Sammy touching him. He doesn’t flinch away, but his whole body stiffens at any other touch. He can’t think with anyone’s flesh next to his, anyone but Dad or Sammy.
He gets over that, finally, when he discovers girls. But he still can’t suffer men touching him.
Over the years, Dean shoves the memories to the back of his mind; they only reveal themselves in nightmares he can’t explain to Dad or Sam.
He’s twenty-five when he sees the man for the first time since then; he’s at a bar, a country away from Sam and twelve states away from Dad.
Dean remembers those hands and that voice and how the man tasted. For the life of him, he can’t remember the bastard’s name, but that doesn’t matter.
It’s the second hardest thing Dean’s ever done, but he flirts with the man and leads him to the hotel room. He lets(lets, lets, lets, it’s different, this time) the man fuck him and takes no pleasure. That hasn’t changed. And after the man is sated and loose, stretched out next to him, Dean slips from the bed to rifle through his bags, looking for his favorite knife.
He’s twenty-seven and wonders why they only have three first-degree murders on his record.
He still hates July fourth and Sam still loves it, despite—well, despite everything. So they check out the firework show and Dean watches Sam’s boy-like joy.
He turns his gaze to the sky, how it’s painted and beautiful, and fancies that he tastes blood and come.
Dean closes his eyes and wonders, for just a single heartbeat, if he’ll ever be free.
He doubts it, and Sam’s laugh rings out.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-14 12:57 pm (UTC)Sammy's clueless. And that's how Dean wants him to stay.