tigriswolf | Taillights - SN fic

Title: Taillights
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.
Warnings: AU for "Devil's Trap"
Pairings: Sam/OC(barely)
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1160
Point of view: third and second
Notes: the italics is the present. The regular font is the past.

The jagged nails screech against the wall and he covers his ears. Doesn’t work, though. The noise still leaks through.

---

“He’s your brother,” the Creature says with Dad’s voice. “Shouldn’t you give up everything for him?”

Yes, you should—so you say something, anything—you never remember what—and It whirls around, glares at you with Dad’s eyes, and starts to kill you in his place.

“No!” he screams, “Me! It’s me you want…” You glance over at him and can’t smile—it hurts too much—but you can tell he sees it anyway.

---

Tears leak from his eyes as he watches the wall peel beneath the force—he thought he’d escaped. He thought he’d finally run fast enough, far enough…

The shrieking continues unabated and he can guess what It looks like—It’s the Thing from his nightmares, the Thing that wore his father’s skin—

The Thing that stole his brother with a laugh.

---

You force out a smirk as It shreds your skin and blood wells up and everything darkens and brightens at the same time. You latch onto his eyes with your last breath and you silently scream at him to survive. Get out of this—live. Live.

He swears just as silently that he will. The images of him that you take with you into the darkness are his tears and his eyes hardening.

He’ll live. If only to avenge you, he’ll live.

And you can die happy with that knowledge.

---

Somewhere during the torment, he’d fallen to his knees. He glances up up up—is this the Thing that stole his father’s form? The Monster that haunts his sleep and his waking hours and his every single thought?

God—where are You?

The noise stops as suddenly as it started and he drops his hands. He stands, anger and fear warring with hate for dominance.

“Hello,” It says politely. “How’ve you been?”

----

But you don’t. You don’t die.

At the last moment, in the milliseconds of your last breath—It changes Its mind. It whirls around and slices your brother instead.

And you feel—numb. Numb with horror, with pain, with despair, with rage—you can feel the maelstrom starting, hate and despair and loss swirling around… every emotion associated with death and loss and theft mingle in you, but the fury drowns them all.

And still wearing Dad’s face, It looks back at you, golden eyes glowing. “You said you’d give up anything, Sammy,” It lectures you. “And now you have.”

It lets you fall to the floor and saunters out. You drag yourself over to him, to your brother, to Dean—everything hurts, your body and your soul, and you don’t know what to do. You close his eyes and lie down beside him, stroking his hair.

You start talking, to cover the silence. “Remember when I was nine, Dean? When Dad gave me the .45 to shoot the monster in my closet? I shot a full clip and killed only clothes. I expected you to laugh at me, at wimpy Sammy, scared of the dark—but you didn’t. You didn’t. You told me that just because there wasn’t a monster this time didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one the next.” You scoff and look down at him, at the blood and the cuts and the charm around his neck. “That shouldn’t have comforted me. But it did.”

----

“How’ve I been?” he snarls, straightening to his full height. It still towers over him, but he feels a little better. “How have I been?”

“You have everything you ever wanted, Samuel. You have a real job—working in a book store, true, but isn’t it better than hunting? You’re fully healed, and the doctors were amazed by your progress. You have a girlfriend that believes your bullshit lies and will never guess the truth—not like Jessica. She wondered, didn’t she?” It smirks around Its fangs as he growls and continues on, ignoring him. “She would have quizzed you when you got back—if she’d been alive. She wouldn’t have stopped until you broke down and confessed.”

It steps closer, wings settling. “And your brother—he’s out of the way now, isn’t he? Nothing to stop you from attaining your dreams. Except… you’re not even close. What happened? You lose your way? Is that it, Sammy?”

He glares into Its yellow eyes and knows that he’s failed. He wanted time to heal, to prepare—and instead he’d floundered, gotten wrapped up in life.

Instead he’d tried to forget. But he can’t forget.

He can’t forget Dean, not this time.

---

You lower your head, unable to look at Dean anymore. You glance around—there’s his leather coat. You stretch, just barely touch it—

And it leaps to your hand.

After everything, that’s what causes you to breakdown. Not your brother’s death, not that it was Dad’s body, not even that you failed…

Your power didn’t come back until after it was too late.

When you wake in the hospital three weeks later, that’s what you remember. And that’s why you try so hard to forget.

---

It reaches out with one of Its talons and he just has to ask. “What are you?”

As It runs Its claw gently up and down his cheek, It says, “One of the Fallen, dear boy. You never had a chance—not even that gun could kill me.”

“Why did you do all this?” he begs, hating himself for the weakness. It doesn’t matter why all the pain happened—only that it did.

This Thing killed Dean. And for that the Thing will die.

“I told you—your mother and Jessica were in the way. My plans have since fallen through, but at that time, they still were in motion.” Its yellow eyes laugh at him. “You are the last loose end, Sammy.”

----

Dad died when you were a baby, in a fire with Mom. Dean is traveling the country, with his band. You date Molly and work in Barnes and Noble. You and Dean were shifted from one foster home to another till he was old enough, and you don’t like to talk about your scars.

This is the life you’ve chosen to remember. Sometimes, you wish it’s the life you’d had.

Sometimes you wear his coat and imagine the Impala just pulled away. Sometimes you pull Molly close and imagine her auburn hair is sun-kissed flaxen.

And sometimes you imagine hunting It down so you can kill It and then yourself.

---

His powers didn’t work until it was too late to save Dean. He hasn’t tried them since.

“My name,” he says softly, reaching up and grabbing the Thing’s talon, “is Sam.”

----

Sometimes, you see the Impala drive by and you watch the taillights recede into the darkness. You never see the driver—you don’t need to. You know who the passenger is—will be. When it's time.