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tigriswolfTitle: There Was A Story, Once
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Originally posted to fanfiction.net, never posted to livejournal, deleted during one of my frequent fic purges.
Jeeze, it’d been a long time since I’d thought of this fic, when the lovely tru_faith_lostbrought it up. I can’t even remember where I got the idea.
tru_faith_lostbrought it up. I can’t even remember where I got the idea. Also, my commentary will be in purple. It’s the best color, you know.
“Tell me again,” he whispered in the darkness of the room.
“But, Sammy,” Dean said, “I’ve already told you three times.”
“Please.” Dean could hear the puppy-dog eyes and pouting lips.
“Okay,” he sighed, and pulled up the covers. “C’mere.” Jeeze, this dialogue feels stilted. Can you tell this was one of my early attempts? I figure, mid-2006, maybe.
Sammy slipped out of bed and shot across the room, sliding in bedside Dean.
“Which do you want?” Dean asked, wrapping his arms around Sammy.
“Tell me about Daddy’s last fight, Uncle Dean,” the five-year-old begged, burrowing into Dean’s powerful arms.
“Alright,” Dean said softly. *glee* Bet you thought it was a lilWin fic, huh? And Jensen with a little kid? *happy sigh*
It was a hunt like any other.
Sam researched in the library and on the ‘net; Dean spoke to friends, learning about the victims as people, as Mark and Natalie and Greg, rather than numbers.
The one-year-old he held in his arms kept Sam’s attention, and he didn’t dig as deep as he should have. I just love the thought of Jared Padalecki holding a baby!
“Is it my fault?” Sammy asked as Dean paused. “Did I kill Daddy?” *sniff* eh?
“No,” Dean replied, kissing Sammy’s forehead. “It wasn’t your fault at all.” And, aww.
“No,” Dean replied, kissing Sammy’s forehead. “It wasn’t your fault at all.” And, aww.
Dean slipped back into their room and smiled when he saw Sam asleep on his bed, the baby—John Samuel Dean Winchester, tentatively called Johnny—sleeping on his chest. He padded over, quieter than a ghost, and gently picked up his nephew. Everyone, say it with me: “Aww.”
Sam moved the second he no longer felt his son. His hand grabbed Dean’s arm, but Dean was ready and didn’t lose his balance.
“It’s alright, Sammy” Dean told his brother, voice calm and sure. “It’s me.”
Sam’s hand loosened and fell back to his side, and he reentered sleep. If either of them ever has a baby on the show, I’ll pay good money for their interaction to be like that.
Dean shifted Johnny and walked over to Sam’s laptop, pulling up all the information and reading over it. Again, stilted. Everything seemed in order—as soon as Sam’d rested, they could head out and get the poltergeist.
“Like the one Grandma killed?” Sammy asked sleepily.
“Yeah,” Dean answered, yawning. “Like the one Mom got, saving me and your daddy.” I don’t remember why I added this—it seems fairly pointless. I guess, to show, again, that the italics are Dean telling a story?
A few hours passed and then Sam stretched, sat up. He immediately searched for his son and relaxed when he saw Dean pacing around, Johnny laughing in his arms.
Dean didn’t pause in his quiet singing but glanced over and raised an eyebrow.
Ready to go?
Sam nodded and stood. Let me take a shower, then we’ll head out. No, they’re not telepathic, just very in-tune with each other. As he walked towards the bathroom, he listened to Dean’s song.
And the hunters fought,
Fully together and in control,
And one by one the demons fell
Before their slashing blades.
Sam laughed and shut the door.
“I like that song,” Sammy whispered, finally falling asleep.
“I know you do,” Dean said, closing his eyes, trying to halt the flow of memories.
And like every time Sammy asked for this story, Dean failed. I do like that sentence.
They dropped Johnny off with a kind woman who’d taken a liking to Dean during the investigation. Well, really, who wouldn’t? She’d been friends with Greg, the final victim, and had researched herself, learning about things she’d never truly disbelieved.
All three of them, the brothers and Kylie, knew Dean would pay for the hours she spent on Johnny with sex, and none of them even acknowledged it. *hee* One of my first hustler!Dean stories! I really should have found a better way to work that into the story.
“We’ll be back by dawn,” Sam told her, Johnny asleep in his arms. “And if we’re not, the phone’ll ring. Listen to the woman on the line.” Missouri.
Kylie nodded, gently taking Johnny, and glanced over at Dean. He strode to her, a giant panther, coiled muscle and liquid grace; he leaned down and softly caressed her lips, careful of the baby, and whispered, “Take care of my nephew,” into her mouth. Dean pulled back, smiled, and walked out the door. *sigh* I also like that paragraph.
Sam grinned at her thunderstruck expression, kissed his son on the forehead, and followed his brother. I figure Sam did that a lot, growing up.
Dean slid from the bed, tucked Sammy in, and imagined it was his brother for a moment.
The shaggy dark hair added to the illusion, and the questions—except Uncle Dean was never the same as Dean—and the small build that would someday tower over him, it all made him think his Sammy was there, instead of his Sammy’s son.
But the eyes—Sammy’s large, dark brown eyes weren’t Sam’s sharp green.
Dean missed his Sammy so much, and it always intensified around his brother’s son. Oh, my Dean—*hugs him*
The poltergeist wasn’t even that strong. But Sam worried about Johnny and Dean worried about Sam and the spirit threw them through a wall. Sam went through first and Dean landed on him and the sound of bone snapping had never been so loud. Clearly, I didn’t much care for commas back then. *sigh*
Dean lay there, on his little brother, for the longest moment of his life.
And then he rolled off, a few ribs in the wrong places, bright spots dancing behind his eyes, and Sammy gazed at nothing and never would again. Ooh, I do like those descriptions.
And rage welled up in Dean, a deep all-consuming fury, and despair, such despair—and a scream tore from his throat, answered by the ghost howling, and it was exorcised back to Hell.
Sam was gifted but Dean was cursed, and now Sam had gone. Yeah, those two paragraphs don’t make sense to me, either. But they sound good, don’t they?
Dean walked to the kitchenette and poured a glass of milk, drained it in one sip and poured another. His hand clenched around it and he remembered Sam telling him he’d die for him.
And he had sworn to himself that Sam would never have a chance of dying for him, would never be given the choice.
But the choice was stolen from them both when they went flying and Sam landed first. Poor Dean, eh? Such a sudden, impossible-to-stop end… and after everything…
The glass shattered in his grip and he felt the shards pierce his skin. He welcomed the pain, welcomed that bitter, sharp pain shooting from his palm, and imagined Sammy—his Sammy, his brother, the only thing he had lived for—standing there, staring at him, then he stepped forward and gently grabbed Dean’s hand. Led Dean to the sink, turned on the water, pulled Dean’s hand under. Said, “How’s my son, Dean?” Ooh, interesting!
Dean answered, “He’s good. He’s like you all over again.” Tears poured down his face as his brother fished glass out of his palm.
Dean answered, “He’s good. He’s like you all over again.” Tears poured down his face as his brother fished glass out of his palm.
“Were you going to kill yourself? Take one of the pieces and cut?” Sam’s voice, quiet and calm, slashed Dean to his soul. I do like that dialogue.
“I hurt,” he whispered. “I hurt so much.”
Sam released his arm and turned, grabbed Dean’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I know, Dean. I know. But—I don’t need you to take care of me anymore. I’m happy—content. Except I saw you getting ready to kill yourself when my son still needs you.”
Shame curled through Dean, staring into Sam’s gentle green eyes. Eyes he hadn’t seen except in memories or pictures for four years. “I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry. I let you die. I failed.” Ever taking guilt he shouldn’t have to shoulder… oh, Dean.
Sam reached from Dean’s shoulder to his face. “It was not your fault, Dean. Just like it’s not my son’s.”
Dean, in a daze, burned down the house with Sam’s body still in it. He walked back to the Impala, climbed in, drove slowly to Kylie’s. He snuck in, grabbed Johnny gently, and hurried back to his car. He left town that night and didn’t look back till days later.
He started calling Johnny ‘Sammy’ and told him everything. Whispered of Sam as a child, murmured of the hunt, spoke of the plans that would now never come to pass. Spoke for hours and days and weeks, never shut up, and Sammy II didn’t cry once.
At age four Dean swore to always take care of Sammy. At age twenty-nine he swore to always take care of Sammy again. Dean’s slightly lost it, you know? But he has his family to watch out for.
“Do you remember when we learned about Sammy?” Dean asked, trembling in Sam’s grip.
“Yeah. You were so pissed,” Sam laughed.
“I couldn’t believe you gave that chick your number—and she calls us up to tell you she was pregnant.” Dean scoffed. “Damn, I was mad.”
Sam smiled and gently wiped away Dean’s tears, caressed his face. “You didn’t fail, Dean,” he whispered, pulling his brother into his arms. “You didn’t fail me. You’ve never failed me. If anything, I failed you.”
“No!” Dean denied, pulling back. “Sammy, you’ve never failed me.”
“I left you. Twice, I walked away from you. You kept offering your heart, your trust, and I kept shattering it.” He looked away from Dean’s glimmering hazel eyes. “How many times did I break you, Dean?”
Dean smiled and said, “About as many as I broke you.” Not wincest, kiddies!
It was hard going, taking care of a baby and hunting. But his father had managed it, with two kids, and Dean would not give away his brother’s son.
He thought about protecting Sammy, then training Sammy—he didn’t want Sammy to hunt, but he didn’t want him to be an easy target, either. Remember, the kid’s name was Johnny. But Dean’s still calling him Sammy…
Dean also thought about calling his father, tell him about his grandson—they’d tried reaching him, but never actually got past his voicemail, and it wasn’t the type of thing you leave in a message—and about Sam, but he never worked up the courage. Too terrified that Dad would blame him, hate him—and the guilt already overwhelmed him. He honestly couldn’t take any more. I’m pretty sure I wrote this before I decided that I like John.
Sam rested his chin on Dean’s head as he held his brother. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I forgive you, Dean. It wasn’t your fault, and you couldn’t have done anything, but I forgive you.”
Dean laughed and muttered, “I forgive you, too, Sammy. For leaving me so many times.”
Sam released Dean and back away. “My time’s almost up, Dean. I have to go again.”
Dean nodded, wiped his eyes. “Do you want to see Sammy?”
Sam smiled, the brightest grin Dean had seen in a long time. “I’m always watching him, Dean. And you. He feels me, but you’ve been blocking me out.”
Dean shook his head. “I’ve never blocked you out, Sam.” He looked up at Sam, who stood waiting. The realization slammed into him—“I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he breathed, and Sam nodded.
“I never really left you. My body died, yeah, but my spirit lingered, trying to keep you company, watching out for you and my son.” Dean looked away and Sam kept talking. “I tried getting your attention for months, but you never saw me, never heard me. I’d expected you would feel me, but you never did. It was like you didn’t want me back, no longer wanted me around, and that hurt, Dean, hurt more than anything, even more than dying. And Sammy, he felt me. Why do you think he never cried? And I listened to you, to everything you told him, and I started crying. I didn’t stop for months.” *hee* Wrote this way before “Playthings,” yo.
Dean reached up and brushed tears off his little brother’s face. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I swear I won’t shut you out any more. Are you sure you have to go back?”
Sam grinned. “If you stay open this time, I won’t be gone at all.” He glanced towards the bedroom. “Sammy’s the second chance. For normality. I understand you’re a hunter, won’t ever really be anything else. But him…”
“I never had the choice, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “Neither did you, not really. But it’s in his blood, like it’s in ours. And I’ll raise him to be strong, strong enough to leave. And I’ll be strong enough to let go. That’s all I can promise.”
Sam looked back into his eyes and nodded one final time. “That’s all I ask.” He glanced up, then at Dean and said, “I love you.”
Dean laughed, almost brokenly, and replied, “God, we’re chick-flicky tonight.” He reached out, clasped Sam’s shoulder, and said, “I love you, too, Sammy.”
Sam faded out, like every ghost they’d ever killed, and Dean’s hand fell through empty air.
Dean stood in the kitchenette for the second longest moment of his life and then went back to the bedroom and slid into the bed with Sammy, imagined he was a child again.
When he felt his brother, he relaxed and slipped into the realm of gentle, bloodless dreams. *sigh* Damn, that’s a chick-flicky section. To me, it doesn’t really ring true to the characters. I guess that’s why I deleted it…
tru, hope that’s what you wanted! Next, for you, m’dear, is “Set Free.”
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-17 06:28 pm (UTC)I really love the commentary, though the purple didn't quite show up as purple on my screen. Ihad to squint a little. It's nice to know that some of the stuff that didn't make sense to me, way back when I first read this, didn't make sense to you either. I'm always afraid to say, "huh?" at the end, because as a writer, I know I'd be hurt if my point just went flying over someone's head. I mean, what's the point of writing if no one gets it. But then, I also add things just cuz they sound pretty, too. Readers don't really appreciate that. Sometimes, I just say, 'screw 'em.'LOL.
This story makes me aww in all the places you awwed, but breaks me into little tiny pieces, just the same.
I ♥ you so much for this. *smish*
Tracy
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 02:53 am (UTC)I'm glad you still enjoy it, though!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 02:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 03:14 am (UTC)I have a weird memory. I can remember plots and titles, but not math rules. *shrugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 10:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 12:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-19 12:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 05:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 12:31 pm (UTC)