Weather Patterns - SN fic - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: Weather Patterns
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: Those boys who break so beautifully, and their broken daddy?  Not mine.  I merely wrote this because I enjoy torturing them.  They wear angst well.
Warnings: spoilers for pilot and "Devil's Trap."  AU for "In My Time Of Dying"
Pairings: none at all
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 450
Point of view: third

It’s snowing, covering up the blemishes of the world. Dean stands in the backyard, face towards the sky. His eyes are closed, expression serene. The snowflakes drift down around him and some stick to his hair.

Dad’s on a hunt and Sam’s asleep. The world is quiet, calm, and Dean’s happy. He thinks, perhaps, life is getting better. Maybe when Dad comes back, he and Sam will get along, stop fighting, quit putting him in the middle.

Dean is fifteen.

-

It’s storming. Wind howls and rain streams down. Looking out the window, Dean can’t see anything; the rain is too thick.

Dad is glowering at the gun in his hand, cleaning it harshly. Everything he isn’t saying echoes loudly in Dean’s ears.

Sam is banging around their room, muttering and cursing; Dean winces when he hears his name.

Dean says nothing, doesn’t move. Dad slams the gun on the table and continues to the next one. Sam shuts the door to the bathroom with a bang.

Dean is nineteen.

-

There are no words to convey what Dean wants to say. He thought Sam knew, he really did, but if Sam ever could hear him, he can’t now.

Dad stormed out the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Dean sits on the bed in his room. He’s silent, still.

Sam enters slowly, hesitantly. Whatever he wants to say, he can’t find the words, either. Dean meets his eyes and Sam looks away. Dean tries to smile, to assure Sam that everything will be okay.

But his lips can’t hold the smile and his tongue feels too heavy to move.

Sam stands in the doorway for a moment more then sighs and walks away.

Dean is twenty-two.

-

It’s a beautiful day. The sun shines, not a cloud in the sky. The world is quiet, hazy. Dean tries to move but his body doesn’t respond. Through the window, he can see the endless horizon.

Beyond the building, he can hear the wind. Sighs and murmurs echo in his mind, soft noises that catch and keep his attention. In them he can make out words, just two. Dean and sorry. Over and over, he hears the wind say his name and apologize.

In the hall, people rush by, talking. He can’t understand the words, can’t turn his head. But he sees outside the window, he watches the azure sky.

Dean is twenty-seven. He can’t remember what happened. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where Sam is, if he’s okay.

He remembers screaming metal, golden eyes, and pain.

He tries to move, to speak, but all he can do is look out the window, at the infinite sky.

Comments

[tigriswolf]

Okay, I see it now. Thank you!