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tigriswolfTitle: Reflection
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my creations, those beautiful boys; written purely for the pleasure of torturing the poor dears
Warnings: AU for “Dead Man’s Blood”; incestuous slash of the Sammy and Deanio variety; a smidge of character death
Rating: R(just to be safe, dears)
Pairings: if you’d read the warnings, you’d know
Point of View: third
Wordcount: 687
Point of View: third
Wordcount: 687
Dean hasn’t looked into a mirror for five years. The mirrors to drive don’t count—you can’t really see yourself in those, so they’re okay.
He knows he looks bad, but eyes still follow him, people still stare and smile appreciatively. Even with one eye gone and torn clothes, you can still tell he once was beautiful.
-
He never really liked mirrors, didn’t trust them. Sam’s green eyes were enough of a reflection, told him everything he needed to know.
Women and men told him how gorgeous he was; someone once asked him what it was like, looking at perfection every day.
If he remembers right, he got three hundred dollars for that one and two nights later broke the man’s jaw.
-
Mirrors lie.
Dean knows he’s not beautiful. Dean knows he’s a killer and towing a fine line drawn in shifting sand. Dean knows he’s just a fucked-up boy playing a man’s game.
Dean knows he’ll catch up to Dad soon and become a killer again.-
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he wiped off Sam’s blood and shattered one into a million pieces.
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he couldn’t see Sam’s reflection but felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder and Sam’s teeth in his neck,
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he killed the thing his brother had become.
-
Mirrors lie. He avoids looking into one like the plague, fearing one will finally tell the truth.
Dean answered, “Mirrors are maybe’s, Sammy. We see what they let us, because they’re scared we’ll break ‘em if we don’t see what we want.”
For some reason, Sammy accepted that. Dean never understood why.
-
Dean hopes Dad can’t bear his reflection, either.
Deep inside, he knows it wasn’t Dad’s fault. None of them were prepared for the vampires. The plan got fucked-up because there were ten instead of three.
But deep inside is deep inside, and Dean’s grief is too much.
-
“Join me, Dean,” Sam whispered in his ear, fingers threading through his hair. “We can have forever.”
Dean’s reflection stood alone, hazel eyes wide with loss, fear, and rage.
You’re not Sammy coursed through him like a tidal wave but now lips were pressed against his neck and teeth nipped at him.
“Say yes,” Sam whispered into his skin. “I don’t want to force you.”
Dean’s reflection had tears trailing down his face and Sam hadn’t noticed the machete lying on the counter, half-covered by a towel.
“You’re not Sammy,” Dean said and NotSammy without a reflection laughed.
NotSammy gently turned Dean around and pushed him back against the counter. Dean didn’t look at him—if he couldn’t see Sam’s green eyes, maybe he could actually set Sam free. NotSammy kissed and licked his way down Dean’s face and Dean’s hand closed around the machete.
-
It wasn’t Dad’s fault. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. It wasn’t Sam’s fault.
It was the vampires’ fault and Dean made sure they paid the price in full.
One of the good things about near invincibility—the amount of pain it takes to die.
-
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since the last time he cried, Sam’s blood on his face and Sam’s name on his lips, the ghost of Sam’s—NotSammy’s—kiss on his neck.
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror for half a decade and wonders what of his reflection is left.
-
If souls are how you get a reflection, he’d bet he doesn’t have one anymore. Killing demons, exorcising ghosts, slaying varying degrees of evil—fighting the Darkness turns bits of you dark, unless you have something to cling to.
Dad had them. Dean had Dad and the memory of Sam for those four years his little brother escaped.
And now all Dean has is Dad’s trail and the feel of Sam’s teeth gently tearing into his neck.
It’s just not the same and the darkness beckons with Sam’s voice.
-
Dean doesn’t trust mirrors. And he’s afraid to look into one because it might tell him he died five years ago.
He knows he looks bad, but eyes still follow him, people still stare and smile appreciatively. Even with one eye gone and torn clothes, you can still tell he once was beautiful.
-
He never really liked mirrors, didn’t trust them. Sam’s green eyes were enough of a reflection, told him everything he needed to know.
Women and men told him how gorgeous he was; someone once asked him what it was like, looking at perfection every day.
If he remembers right, he got three hundred dollars for that one and two nights later broke the man’s jaw.
-
Mirrors lie.
Dean knows he’s not beautiful. Dean knows he’s a killer and towing a fine line drawn in shifting sand. Dean knows he’s just a fucked-up boy playing a man’s game.
Dean knows he’ll catch up to Dad soon and become a killer again.-
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he wiped off Sam’s blood and shattered one into a million pieces.
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he couldn’t see Sam’s reflection but felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder and Sam’s teeth in his neck,
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he killed the thing his brother had become.
-
Mirrors lie. He avoids looking into one like the plague, fearing one will finally tell the truth.
-
Sam used to ask why mirrors reflected the world, if something existed behind them.Dean answered, “Mirrors are maybe’s, Sammy. We see what they let us, because they’re scared we’ll break ‘em if we don’t see what we want.”
For some reason, Sammy accepted that. Dean never understood why.
-
Dean hopes Dad can’t bear his reflection, either.
Deep inside, he knows it wasn’t Dad’s fault. None of them were prepared for the vampires. The plan got fucked-up because there were ten instead of three.
But deep inside is deep inside, and Dean’s grief is too much.
-
“Join me, Dean,” Sam whispered in his ear, fingers threading through his hair. “We can have forever.”
Dean’s reflection stood alone, hazel eyes wide with loss, fear, and rage.
You’re not Sammy coursed through him like a tidal wave but now lips were pressed against his neck and teeth nipped at him.
“Say yes,” Sam whispered into his skin. “I don’t want to force you.”
Dean’s reflection had tears trailing down his face and Sam hadn’t noticed the machete lying on the counter, half-covered by a towel.
“You’re not Sammy,” Dean said and NotSammy without a reflection laughed.
NotSammy gently turned Dean around and pushed him back against the counter. Dean didn’t look at him—if he couldn’t see Sam’s green eyes, maybe he could actually set Sam free. NotSammy kissed and licked his way down Dean’s face and Dean’s hand closed around the machete.
-
It wasn’t Dad’s fault. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. It wasn’t Sam’s fault.
It was the vampires’ fault and Dean made sure they paid the price in full.
One of the good things about near invincibility—the amount of pain it takes to die.
-
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since the last time he cried, Sam’s blood on his face and Sam’s name on his lips, the ghost of Sam’s—NotSammy’s—kiss on his neck.
Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror for half a decade and wonders what of his reflection is left.
-
If souls are how you get a reflection, he’d bet he doesn’t have one anymore. Killing demons, exorcising ghosts, slaying varying degrees of evil—fighting the Darkness turns bits of you dark, unless you have something to cling to.
Dad had them. Dean had Dad and the memory of Sam for those four years his little brother escaped.
And now all Dean has is Dad’s trail and the feel of Sam’s teeth gently tearing into his neck.
It’s just not the same and the darkness beckons with Sam’s voice.
-
Dean doesn’t trust mirrors. And he’s afraid to look into one because it might tell him he died five years ago.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-16 02:12 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading!