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blue_bellsI have written Supernatural fanfic! This is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bob_ette who asked kindly (and persistently), but was patient each time I needed her to wait, I've never written for this fandom before and for a week there was a great threat the mental block would not move aside -- but it did! And in the end it was fun =D
Brother duos are gaining prominence in TV shows (eg. Supernatural, numb3rs) .... Here's to the Winchesters! The most grounded family to fight evil on television!
» Title: It's a Brand, Not a Name
» Author:_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Rating: PG
» On Going (WIP)/One-off/Series Name: One-off
» Classification(s): Drabble | Light humour
» Warnings: Mild violence, horror
» Pairing(s): None
» Summary: When in doubt, reload.
How many people go through life without ever witnessing death? And how many others are spared from the sight of raw murder?
Less than we think.
Sam Winchester was months old when his mother was killed. He lay in his crib as she bled, pinned to the ceiling moments before the fire came. At least that's that he was told. Some of their house survived the fire. Of course, his mother did not.
He knows Dean used to worry it had followed them when they first moved, he remembers Dean mumbling about it once he was old enough to understand, and before Dean was smart enough to stop talking about it. He was about fifteen when, after a particularly bad argument with their Dad, he had cursed, sworn to himself he'd make his own life as soon as he could and it would be ghoul-free and normal. There were a lot of things he'd said that night, but to his credit he clamped down before the worst could be voiced. Because if only that thing had followed them, they might have settled it then, their Dad might not have devoted his life chasing a phantom and dragging them along. But he couldn’t say that because he knew they hadn’t been ready.
Twenty-two years and not a whisper of the thing that killed her.
Until Jessica. Her eyes had been open, but her lips never moved -- she was already dead, wasn't she? How much had she bled before he lay down, he wonders, every night that he sees her face. He should have known before he saw her there. Mary knew. She would have cut the truth from his dark, pretty eyes if he wasn't so ready to admit it, but they both knew he was guilty of doubt. Don't ever again doubt what you see, that's what Mary had taught him.
That wasn’t to say everything he saw in dreams was prophecy. One night he dreamed Dean chased him down an endless, doorless corridor of cotton candy, colossal rubber mallet in hand as he yelled, “Mom told you to eat your pancakes! Sammy, eat your pancakes!” Sam had a feeling that had more to do with the second piece of rhubarb pie he refused before bed, than imminent doom on the horizon. Of course, in their line of work they could never tell. A week later Dean was threatening him with a bottle of maple syrup after he noticed Sam had to tighten his belt day the before.
“You know what Mom would have said,” Dean smirked and assumed an air of poise and menace. “Sammy-dimms,” he entreated, voice high and soft, “evil doesn’t wait for skinny boys to finish their breakfast.” The bottle of maple syrup had slammed down on the table. “Now si’down and eat your goddamned pancakes.” Dean’s face turned sulky. “I mugged three kids for that stuff!”
Sometimes Dean could really make him smile.
If true loss is what makes a tragic hero Sam Winchester should have had his own theme song, maybe even a super-suit, or at least an Ode to Loves Now Lost. But here was the difference between Sam and the stories: he was a Winchester, just one of three and it meant he had strength to draw on because there were others sharing his grief. It almost didn’t matter that their father was MIA when he had a brother at his back who would shoot a demon up the ass singing Oklahoma (the next time Dean asked for a round of Dutch Courage before “ass-whooping the unknown”, Sam would say no).
There had to be a reason their Dad was running and Sam was getting impatient for the guy to get in contact and share said reason. He had a feeling they were coming closer to the old nightmare, the real evil that had visited their family twenty-two years ago and he suspected they would both feel better if the Real Authority were around.
Maybe their Dad knew less than he claimed, but that was a disquieting thought.
Once they left home and their mother behind for good, resolution seemed farther away than ever before. Dean had thought if there was any time their Dad would return, it would have been then. It was the first time Sam had seen their mother outside of his dreams and she was… amazing. But their Dad hadn’t come back and it wasn’t the real evil haunting their old home.
Maybe there was no way to be ready. Winchester was not just a name, it was a brand. That’s more than most super heroes could claim.
The days came harder and Sam just had to remember to reload. Dean hid extra ammunition in his pockets anyway.
bob_ette who asked kindly (and persistently), but was patient each time I needed her to wait, I've never written for this fandom before and for a week there was a great threat the mental block would not move aside -- but it did! And in the end it was fun =DBrother duos are gaining prominence in TV shows (eg. Supernatural, numb3rs) .... Here's to the Winchesters! The most grounded family to fight evil on television!
» Title: It's a Brand, Not a Name
» Author:
_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com» Fandom: Supernatural
» Rating: PG
» On Going (WIP)/One-off/Series Name: One-off
» Classification(s): Drabble | Light humour
» Warnings: Mild violence, horror
» Pairing(s): None
» Summary: When in doubt, reload.
How many people go through life without ever witnessing death? And how many others are spared from the sight of raw murder?
Less than we think.
Sam Winchester was months old when his mother was killed. He lay in his crib as she bled, pinned to the ceiling moments before the fire came. At least that's that he was told. Some of their house survived the fire. Of course, his mother did not.
He knows Dean used to worry it had followed them when they first moved, he remembers Dean mumbling about it once he was old enough to understand, and before Dean was smart enough to stop talking about it. He was about fifteen when, after a particularly bad argument with their Dad, he had cursed, sworn to himself he'd make his own life as soon as he could and it would be ghoul-free and normal. There were a lot of things he'd said that night, but to his credit he clamped down before the worst could be voiced. Because if only that thing had followed them, they might have settled it then, their Dad might not have devoted his life chasing a phantom and dragging them along. But he couldn’t say that because he knew they hadn’t been ready.
Twenty-two years and not a whisper of the thing that killed her.
Until Jessica. Her eyes had been open, but her lips never moved -- she was already dead, wasn't she? How much had she bled before he lay down, he wonders, every night that he sees her face. He should have known before he saw her there. Mary knew. She would have cut the truth from his dark, pretty eyes if he wasn't so ready to admit it, but they both knew he was guilty of doubt. Don't ever again doubt what you see, that's what Mary had taught him.
That wasn’t to say everything he saw in dreams was prophecy. One night he dreamed Dean chased him down an endless, doorless corridor of cotton candy, colossal rubber mallet in hand as he yelled, “Mom told you to eat your pancakes! Sammy, eat your pancakes!” Sam had a feeling that had more to do with the second piece of rhubarb pie he refused before bed, than imminent doom on the horizon. Of course, in their line of work they could never tell. A week later Dean was threatening him with a bottle of maple syrup after he noticed Sam had to tighten his belt day the before.
“You know what Mom would have said,” Dean smirked and assumed an air of poise and menace. “Sammy-dimms,” he entreated, voice high and soft, “evil doesn’t wait for skinny boys to finish their breakfast.” The bottle of maple syrup had slammed down on the table. “Now si’down and eat your goddamned pancakes.” Dean’s face turned sulky. “I mugged three kids for that stuff!”
Sometimes Dean could really make him smile.
If true loss is what makes a tragic hero Sam Winchester should have had his own theme song, maybe even a super-suit, or at least an Ode to Loves Now Lost. But here was the difference between Sam and the stories: he was a Winchester, just one of three and it meant he had strength to draw on because there were others sharing his grief. It almost didn’t matter that their father was MIA when he had a brother at his back who would shoot a demon up the ass singing Oklahoma (the next time Dean asked for a round of Dutch Courage before “ass-whooping the unknown”, Sam would say no).
There had to be a reason their Dad was running and Sam was getting impatient for the guy to get in contact and share said reason. He had a feeling they were coming closer to the old nightmare, the real evil that had visited their family twenty-two years ago and he suspected they would both feel better if the Real Authority were around.
Maybe their Dad knew less than he claimed, but that was a disquieting thought.
Once they left home and their mother behind for good, resolution seemed farther away than ever before. Dean had thought if there was any time their Dad would return, it would have been then. It was the first time Sam had seen their mother outside of his dreams and she was… amazing. But their Dad hadn’t come back and it wasn’t the real evil haunting their old home.
Maybe there was no way to be ready. Winchester was not just a name, it was a brand. That’s more than most super heroes could claim.
The days came harder and Sam just had to remember to reload. Dean hid extra ammunition in his pockets anyway.
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 12:54 pm (UTC)Anyway, I am more important than cousins and charity!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 01:00 pm (UTC)First frankfurts, now mini's. I think I am going to have to take your education in hand.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 01:02 pm (UTC)One thing at a time.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 01:04 pm (UTC)You have learnt about frankfurts, what else are you learning?
Are you hiding something?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-23 01:36 pm (UTC)Stupid girl.