Adoration Alone - SN fic - PG13
Nov. 8th, 2006 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Adoration Alone
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: I own neither the Barrs nor the Winchesters.
Warnings: spoilers for "Dead in the Water"
Pairings: one sided non-incestous slash
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1220
Point of view: third
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: I own neither the Barrs nor the Winchesters.
Warnings: spoilers for "Dead in the Water"
Pairings: one sided non-incestous slash
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1220
Point of view: third
He fell a little in love that day. He didn’t know it, not for a long time. He didn’t understand why no one ever measured up, why no matter how much he tried to have crushes on the little girls he went to school with, he couldn’t. He thought there was something wrong with him.
The memories were faded, far away. Sometimes he dreamed about it, all that happened. He’d asked Mom for the story, but she never told. Just smiled sadly and said he didn’t need to know, not really.
The memory that stood out most, the only one he could be absolutely sure had happened, was in the park. The sun shone down on him while he drew; he hates it now, but he knows he drew like crazy back then. He didn’t enjoy it, but he couldn’t stop. But he was drawing in the park and Mom was on the bench, watching him, worried and sad.
The man from Grandpa’s work walked over and talked to him, drew for him, and said he’d listen if Lucas ever decided to speak.
And he was the first person Lucas spoke to after he decided he needed to speak.
He can’t remember everything the man said, can’t remember what all he told him. Can’t even remember his name or what he looked like. Can’t remember what he smelled like when Lucas hugged him goodbye.
But his voice echoes in Lucas’ head sometimes. He can’t make out the words, but he hears the gruff tone, the kindness laced through each syllable. He remembers feeling safe in the man’s presence, in his arms.
Lucas knows now, though, why no one ever called to him, why he never felt attracted to anyone, until—
He wants to ask Mom if it’s normal but she’s caught up in Robert and Leah and her second life. Lucas doesn’t begrudge her that; she deserves happiness. She deserves love, after everything.
But Lucas can feel something calling him. Something that says it’s time to go.
He fell a little in love that day in the park. He’s compared everyone to a man he can’t even really remember, a man he met when he was six-years-old.
In the weeks leading up to his leaving, he starts drawing again. Frenzied and dark, even he can’t make out what they’re supposed to be. Leah watches him shade the papers, watches with wide eyes. He can see the question on his little sister’s face, but she doesn’t ask.
Even if she did, he has no answer.
In the middle of the pages, he sketches eyes. Around them, everything is dark, black. But he grabs a light green pencil and he colors them in.
He remembers meeting that warm hazel gaze, remembers feeling safe. Remembers not wanting to let go after being pulled from the lake.
That lake still haunts his dreams.
Leah hugs him the night before he takes off, kisses his cheek. “I love you, Luke,” she says and he wraps his arms around her.
When Mom gets up the next day, Lucas is gone. He takes clothes, money, and notebooks, along with all of his pencils.
He’s seventeen and Robert, like Lucas knew he would, convinces Mom to let him go.
Something is pulling him, calling him, summoning him. Each night, he draws eyes and slowly fills in the rest of the face. He can’t be a hundred percent sure, but he feels that it’s an accurate portrait. Gazing at his picture, he hears the voice again, the words clear. Everything he said, Lucas remembers.
He doesn’t know where he’s going, has no clue what he’ll do when he gets there. But it doesn’t matter.
That day in the park, over a decade ago—he fell in love. He realizes that now. He knows, now, that no one will ever compare. But he can’t remember the man’s name. He knows that the man won’t love him back, can’t—even if he remembers him, he’ll think of Lucas as a child, a little boy.
And something is still pulling Lucas.
Two months after he leaves home, Lucas is in Lawrence, Kansas. A graveyard. In front of someone named Mary Winchester’s headstone. He looks around; the world is quiet. The sun shines, not a cloud in the sky.
“Who’re you?” a harsh voice demands. “What’re you doing here?”
Lucas spins and looks up—“Sam,” he says, the name coming to him out of the blue.
The man pauses, green eyes pinning Lucas to the spot. He’s not as big as Lucas remembers, but he’s still bigger than most anyone Lucas has ever met.
“Who are you?” he repeats, voice softer.
“Lucas Barr,” he answers.
“Lucas,” Sam says. “Why are you here?”
Lucas shrugs. “I have to be.” He smiles embarrassedly. “I’m looking for your brother.”
Sam closes his eyes for a moment, face tightening. He looks haggard, old, but he can’t even be forty yet.
And Lucas knows. His heart clenches and the wind seems to rush around him. Sam opens his eye and says, “You’re five years too late, Lucas.” He glances past Lucas to Mary’s stone. “I scattered him here.”
Lucas swallows and nods.
“You’re the kid with the lake ghost,” Sam says, stepping forward. Lucas nods again, breathing shallowly. “How old are you now?” he asks, coming beside Lucas and resting a hand on Mary’s stone.
“Seventeen,” Lucas whispers.
Sam smiles. “He was a good guy,” he murmurs. “The best man I’ve ever known.” He shifts and places his other hand on Lucas’ shoulder.
“I can’t remember his name,” Lucas says. “I can remember everything else, finally, but not his name.”
“Eleven years,” Sam laughs. “Eleven fucking years.”
Lucas turns and looks up into his eyes. “Is it possible for a six year old to fall in love?”
Sam’s eyes look so much like his brother’s it hurts Lucas to stare into them.
“Must be,” Sam answers and looks out over the cemetery. The wind picks up and gently ruffles their hair. Sam chuckles. “He never forgot anyone. All the people we helped—he could list them off, one by one, say when and where we helped them, and their names.” He shakes his head and Lucas studies his profile, comparing what he sees in front of him to what he sees in his memory.
Sam’s hair is shorter. He stands taller than he did; from what Lucas remembers, he slumped, tried to seem smaller. He’s over that now. His face is weary. Haggard.
He can’t be more than thirty-five, but he seems old.
“What was his name?” Lucas whispers.
Sam sighs. “Come with me.” He turns and walks toward the entrance. Lucas follows with his eyes and sees the car, the Impala. For an instant, he sees Sam’s brother standing next to his car, alive and beautiful, grinning.
“Dean,” he says.
Sam pauses and looks back. “Coming?”
Lucas nods and hurries to catch up.
The memories were faded, far away. Sometimes he dreamed about it, all that happened. He’d asked Mom for the story, but she never told. Just smiled sadly and said he didn’t need to know, not really.
The memory that stood out most, the only one he could be absolutely sure had happened, was in the park. The sun shone down on him while he drew; he hates it now, but he knows he drew like crazy back then. He didn’t enjoy it, but he couldn’t stop. But he was drawing in the park and Mom was on the bench, watching him, worried and sad.
The man from Grandpa’s work walked over and talked to him, drew for him, and said he’d listen if Lucas ever decided to speak.
And he was the first person Lucas spoke to after he decided he needed to speak.
He can’t remember everything the man said, can’t remember what all he told him. Can’t even remember his name or what he looked like. Can’t remember what he smelled like when Lucas hugged him goodbye.
But his voice echoes in Lucas’ head sometimes. He can’t make out the words, but he hears the gruff tone, the kindness laced through each syllable. He remembers feeling safe in the man’s presence, in his arms.
Lucas knows now, though, why no one ever called to him, why he never felt attracted to anyone, until—
He wants to ask Mom if it’s normal but she’s caught up in Robert and Leah and her second life. Lucas doesn’t begrudge her that; she deserves happiness. She deserves love, after everything.
But Lucas can feel something calling him. Something that says it’s time to go.
He fell a little in love that day in the park. He’s compared everyone to a man he can’t even really remember, a man he met when he was six-years-old.
In the weeks leading up to his leaving, he starts drawing again. Frenzied and dark, even he can’t make out what they’re supposed to be. Leah watches him shade the papers, watches with wide eyes. He can see the question on his little sister’s face, but she doesn’t ask.
Even if she did, he has no answer.
In the middle of the pages, he sketches eyes. Around them, everything is dark, black. But he grabs a light green pencil and he colors them in.
He remembers meeting that warm hazel gaze, remembers feeling safe. Remembers not wanting to let go after being pulled from the lake.
That lake still haunts his dreams.
Leah hugs him the night before he takes off, kisses his cheek. “I love you, Luke,” she says and he wraps his arms around her.
When Mom gets up the next day, Lucas is gone. He takes clothes, money, and notebooks, along with all of his pencils.
He’s seventeen and Robert, like Lucas knew he would, convinces Mom to let him go.
Something is pulling him, calling him, summoning him. Each night, he draws eyes and slowly fills in the rest of the face. He can’t be a hundred percent sure, but he feels that it’s an accurate portrait. Gazing at his picture, he hears the voice again, the words clear. Everything he said, Lucas remembers.
He doesn’t know where he’s going, has no clue what he’ll do when he gets there. But it doesn’t matter.
That day in the park, over a decade ago—he fell in love. He realizes that now. He knows, now, that no one will ever compare. But he can’t remember the man’s name. He knows that the man won’t love him back, can’t—even if he remembers him, he’ll think of Lucas as a child, a little boy.
And something is still pulling Lucas.
Two months after he leaves home, Lucas is in Lawrence, Kansas. A graveyard. In front of someone named Mary Winchester’s headstone. He looks around; the world is quiet. The sun shines, not a cloud in the sky.
“Who’re you?” a harsh voice demands. “What’re you doing here?”
Lucas spins and looks up—“Sam,” he says, the name coming to him out of the blue.
The man pauses, green eyes pinning Lucas to the spot. He’s not as big as Lucas remembers, but he’s still bigger than most anyone Lucas has ever met.
“Who are you?” he repeats, voice softer.
“Lucas Barr,” he answers.
“Lucas,” Sam says. “Why are you here?”
Lucas shrugs. “I have to be.” He smiles embarrassedly. “I’m looking for your brother.”
Sam closes his eyes for a moment, face tightening. He looks haggard, old, but he can’t even be forty yet.
And Lucas knows. His heart clenches and the wind seems to rush around him. Sam opens his eye and says, “You’re five years too late, Lucas.” He glances past Lucas to Mary’s stone. “I scattered him here.”
Lucas swallows and nods.
“You’re the kid with the lake ghost,” Sam says, stepping forward. Lucas nods again, breathing shallowly. “How old are you now?” he asks, coming beside Lucas and resting a hand on Mary’s stone.
“Seventeen,” Lucas whispers.
Sam smiles. “He was a good guy,” he murmurs. “The best man I’ve ever known.” He shifts and places his other hand on Lucas’ shoulder.
“I can’t remember his name,” Lucas says. “I can remember everything else, finally, but not his name.”
“Eleven years,” Sam laughs. “Eleven fucking years.”
Lucas turns and looks up into his eyes. “Is it possible for a six year old to fall in love?”
Sam’s eyes look so much like his brother’s it hurts Lucas to stare into them.
“Must be,” Sam answers and looks out over the cemetery. The wind picks up and gently ruffles their hair. Sam chuckles. “He never forgot anyone. All the people we helped—he could list them off, one by one, say when and where we helped them, and their names.” He shakes his head and Lucas studies his profile, comparing what he sees in front of him to what he sees in his memory.
Sam’s hair is shorter. He stands taller than he did; from what Lucas remembers, he slumped, tried to seem smaller. He’s over that now. His face is weary. Haggard.
He can’t be more than thirty-five, but he seems old.
“What was his name?” Lucas whispers.
Sam sighs. “Come with me.” He turns and walks toward the entrance. Lucas follows with his eyes and sees the car, the Impala. For an instant, he sees Sam’s brother standing next to his car, alive and beautiful, grinning.
“Dean,” he says.
Sam pauses and looks back. “Coming?”
Lucas nods and hurries to catch up.
He fell in love that day, eleven years ago. He fell in love and no one has ever compared. Ever will compare, he knows.
Once they reach the car, Sam looks back. “I never imagined a world without him,” Sam says, opening the driver’s door. “Not once.”
Lucas nods, understanding. “Neither did I,” he responds.
Sam’s laughter is bitter and sad, but it’s laughter. Lucas almost smiles.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-05 11:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-05 11:10 pm (UTC)