SpN fic: Tail Gunner 1/5
5/14/07 01:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Tail Gunner
Fandom: SpN
Pairing:
Rating:3
Word count:3213
Summary: some people are born soldiers, some are made into soldiers.
Tail Gunner
They were arguing again but he was used to that. They made a lot of noise so he spent a lot of time blocking it out—and keeping Sandy quiet. Daniel knew how mad it made Daddy for Sandy to cry even though they were screaming at each other, and how Daddy heard Sandy over the noise he never knew. Daddy always seemed to know when he was crying too, so he was pretty good at not doing it.
His brother was in bed with him, curled close to his chest. Daniel put his hands over Sandy’s ears but he was fast asleep. It was probably because noise was familiar, and these nights weren’t so bad for him. He always played with Sandy when their parents fought. Peek-a-boo, but quietly, and One Two Three. That was a game he made up, they counted fingers, and Sandy loved playing it.
The argument got louder and louder, and he heard his Mommy’s voice—high, weird--she was saying, no, no, in a way that made his stomach twist. For a second he felt like he was going to throw up, but then all the noise went away, it was quiet again. Dan breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this was the end for tonight. Tomorrow, everyone would be quiet again and pretend nothing happened—Daddy would go to work without a word and Mommy would make them breakfast and look at Dan like somehow, this was all his fault…maybe. Maybe it was. Maybe he was doing something that was upsetting Daddy. Or Mommy.
He tried to remember what he’d done that day—he’d had breakfast, and washed the dishes and wiped the table and Mommy gave Sandy a bath while he did that. Then they watched TV while Mommy talked on the phone to her friend and cried a little. He did a good job keeping Sandy quiet, and giving him his snack—Mommy said so. Then before they were supposed to have dinner, he’d taken Sandy outside, and sat on the porch with him, played patty-cake and held his hands so he could walk up and down the sidewalk--just kept him occupied until the sun finally started to dip.
Almost all the afternoon warmth was gone from the concrete under his butt before they came back inside, and Daddy hadn’t come home yet. Dinner turned cold and greasy on the stove and Mommy had been sound asleep on the couch. He remembered that her face was wet, and that made him feel bad, it always made him feel bad when she cried. He thought maybe if he took care of the baby, she’d feel better, so he fed Sandy and himself, and then got Sandy ready for bed.
He’d just got Sandy in his crib and was just crawling into bed himself when he’d heard the front door open. He’d held his breath and waited—it was pretty quiet, he could hear the news on the TV, and daddy’s boots clumping across the living room and he’d started to relax, the breath he’d held eased out—and then Mommy’d started yelling, and Daddy yelled back. He’d felt his heart sink--and that’s when everything started. He’d climbed out of bed, and got Sandy out of his crib without startling him too much—he’d smiled when Dan picked him up. He’d laid Sandy in his bed, and closed the bedroom door. He’d pushed against the wall, and shoved a pillow under one side of him, and settled his brother on his chest. Sighed, and was glad when Sandy had dropped right back to sleep.
All this noise and fighting…he tried his best all the time to push it out of his mind—but then his Mommy made a sound that was kind of like…when Daddy took him hunting and shot a rabbit. Mommy sounded like that, like the rabbit. High pitched…and then it cut off. Quiet.He lay still for a while, and just listened to the small sounds Sandy made. His round head was a warm weight on his shoulder, and the warm pressure of him on his chest was making him finally fall asleep. The smell of milk and skin was comforting....
He opened his eyes. The air was thick; it smelled like campfires and charred hamburgers. It was foggy in the room, and the air was getting hot and smoky--like getting too close to the campfire. For a confused moment, he thought that maybe they were camping like they did once before and then he saw the blue walls, the cookie monster poster…he slid Sandy carefully onto the bed and ran for the door, but the knob wouldn’t turn, and he wondered if it was locked, did he lock it by mistake? He pulled, and there was resistance and then the door opened and Daddy was looking at him. Maybe it was his Daddy. Maybe it wasn’t. The eyes…the eyes were blank and flat, like doll’s eyes. This wasn’t his Daddy. This thing was looking at him with no…recognition, no feeling, no nothing—
It felt like a long, long time that it was like that--Daddy staring at him, the door easing closed again—he hung on the knob, tried to pull back, tried to speak but he couldn’t open his mouth…he couldn’t say ‘let us out’… Dan would never forget what it had been like to look at Dad at that moment--like looking into a deep deep hole, a black deep hole. He thought ‘Daddy’s gone,’ and then his Daddy snapped back to life behind his eyes and was looking down at him.
Flames filled the hall, and his Daddy said, “Go get your brother.”
He did that and Daddy took Sandy from him, looked down the hall at the fire. Dan grabbed his arm, pulled on his sleeve, and then, slowly, slowly, Daddy handed him the baby back. “Go out on the lawn. Now.”
Dan grabbed Sandy and ran, ran so fast—out of the house and ended up sitting on the lawn, Sandy screaming in his lap, watching their house burn down. He cried—his mommy was in the house and the house was on fire. Firemen and police men were holding Daddy back—it looked like he was trying to run into the house and that was strange, and he was crying, and that was weird too, because Daddy hadn’t cried in the house at all.
******
People in the town were nice to him. Mommy was dead, that’s what Daddy said, and other people said.
Daddy took care of them now. He made them breakfast and dinner. In the mornings, he dropped them off at the house of one of the ladies in town, Mrs. Dorn. They watched TV, and Sandy sat in a playpen, and they had to be quiet and they were good at that so it was no problem. He helped; he washed dishes like at home, and changed diapers and fed Sandy so it was really not too bad. Mrs. Dorn talked to the TV a lot, but it was just a lot of boring grown-ups doing boring things, so he colored in coloring books most of the time he wasn’t playing with Sandy.
Daddy was sad a lot, and mad, but it was a different mad than before. He was mad at—everything. Himself. The world. Them…his job, his boss…just. Everything.
The house was burned, so they couldn’t live in it—that’s what Daddy said. Mrs. Dorn said the insurance company would pay to fix it, and they could live in it again, but Dan was pretty sure he didn’t want to live there again. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he heard his mom make that rabbit sound, and smelled the bad, bad smell of burning meat….
******
They moved to an apartment over a bar. Dan thought it might have been a bad idea.
Daddy started to talk a lot to himself. And reading, he was reading a lot of books, there were books all over the apartment and they were scary—full of pictures of monsters and scary things, and even the writing was spooky in some of them. Dad would read aloud from some of them, and he wrote in notebooks, and drink. He had notebooks stacked up with the books. There were so many of them, so many.
Dan didn’t know what Daddy was doing, but it wasn’t something he thought a lot about. He was used to ignoring what grown-ups did, more and more he felt it was for the best.
By the time summer rolled around, Daddy had moved them a couple of times. This time now, they live in a little house on a busy street full of other little houses like theirs. This house was the best place they’ve ever lived in yet, a cheerful bright yellow, with white shutters and a small white porch. Window boxes are nailed to the railing. He hoped that maybe if Dad thought he was being good, he’d let him plant some flowers, like Mommy used to do.
Even though taking care of Sandy had become his full time job, and he wasn’t allowed out of the house or to answer the door or the phone when Daddy wasn’t home, he really liked being there. There was a yard, and a sandbox, and when Dad was home he had permission to play outside with his army men, and play with the other kids on the street.
******
Sandy was sound asleep in his crib; Daddy was at work at the garage in the center of town. Dan had decided that this day was so fine that once—just this once, he’d break the rules. Just once. He decided to eat lunch outside. He sat on the porch step of the little yellow house, and watched the neighborhood kids race up and down the street on their bikes. The sun blazed in the sky, heating the black tee shirt he was wearing, making the concrete hot, making the air smell like dust and dry grass. He could smell the street, hot tar and gas from passing cars. The air rang with the sound of kid’s voices, yelling and laughing. He really liked living there.
Lunch was rolls of bologna and big plastic cup of grape kool-aid. Later maybe Daddy would buy some bread…Dan gnawed on the lunchmeat and watched the kids and wished he could have a bike too, he wished that he could run around with the other kids…but if he couldn’t do that, at least he could watch them….
When Daddy came home, he was sitting on the couch, windows and door locked and Sandy on his lap, watching an old movie with three funny guys who poked each other and made weird noise all the time.
His dad looked at the screen and laughed; he came around the couch and sat next to him. Daddy smelled a little like wet pennies, and Dan could see black in the creases of his hands when he took Sandy from him.
******
He was sound asleep dreaming that he had a bike and Sandy had one too, and was big, as big as him and they were riding down the street and it was sunny in front of them but dark and stormy behind them, a wind was kicking up thick swells of dust and trash danced on the swells…
“Dan! Wake up!”
Dan shot up in bed, horrified. Had he done something wrong, was something wrong with Sandy?
It was his dad, hanging over the bed, wet-faced, his eyes were puffy and red. “Wake up Dan; I have to tell you something. Explain something.” He pulled at Dan until he got up and he followed as his dad shuffled out to the kitchen. He could smell liquor, sharp and sweet in the humid air…Daddy sat at the table and told Dan to sit too.
“I didn’t kill your mother,” he said and Dan felt like he’d been dipped in ice water. He’d never thought that until this moment—as soon as Daddy said it, he knew he’d done it. His daddy had killed his mommy.
“I didn’t kill your mother,” he repeated, “but I know what did.” He pulled a book from the chair next to him under and dropped it in the center of the table. Dan made out Malleus Maleficarum on the cover. He could string together the letters but not make sense of it—but it was one of Daddy’s new books, the ones he didn’t like much, with scary letters and scarier pictures.
“There are things on the edge of our sight boy, things that live right on the edge, if you turn your head, you’ll forever catch them moving away--right on the edge, right on the edge--
there are things that smile and wear the face of a lover or a friend and they are neither boy and you have to have the strength and courage to destroy these abominations…” His daddy’s voice was low and dry, like he needed water. Tears ran down his cheeks, dripped from his chin and splashed on the table. “Things exist out there, son. Things that want to hurt you, and enjoy the hurting. Things that will suck the soul from you and feast on your flesh.” He looked up from wherever his thoughts had taken him and stabbed Dan with his eyes. “I’m telling you this because I’m trying to protect you and I need your help to do that.”
His dad looked ragged and pale, the color of American cheese. Dan noticed that he was too skinny and too dirty to be his daddy. This man was…some one he didn’t know. Daddy looked at him, the tears in his eyes making them shiny. His breath rattled in his throat and he made claws from his hands and held the book. Dan felt like screaming. The black circles around his daddy’s eyes made the glassy red of them frightening. Dan felt alone, unprotected—he and Sandy weren’t safe anymore…
No more sound disturbed the thick dead air except the heavy slow drip of the faucet, the sound the drips made as they hit the stainless steel sink. They sat still and silent under the blue-white bulb that lit the kitchen and when Dan moved his head, he saw them, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them dash into the dark outside the circle of light. “They’ll get you boy. If you don’t watch all the time, they’ll get you…dressed in the skin of people you know, or wearing their own blasted faces…”
Dan knew about demons and monsters. Oh yes. He has seen monsters. He stared at Daddy. Yes. He knew that they hid in people. He believed in monsters whole-heartedly. Dan tried to speak, tried once or twice before he could get words to form. “Sandy—we have to protect him.”
Daddy just looked at him. His face was frozen like a mask, nothing moved but his lips. “…Sandy?” Daddy’s eyes were flat, shiny, like the sun hitting a tin can. “Sandy.” He licked his lips, and his tongue looked too pale, white—puffy…. “You. You look out for him, son. He’s your responsibility. You do whatever you have to…” Daddy stood and wandered around the kitchen, checking locks. He reached into the cabinet and did something weird. Dan watched him open-mouthed.
Dad took the blue box of salt out and opened the little silver spout and carefully as Dan used to draw a line before it got easy, Daddy poured a straight line of salt along the windowsill, and then walked to the doorway, and drew a line of salt along the threshold. He was saying something under his breath.
He turned to Dan and said, “Never ever disturb the line. Understand? *Don’t* break the line.”
Dan nodded and Daddy said, “Good, go to bed.”
That was all. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched little Sandy sleep. Counted the lines the bars of the crib threw over his body. He thought, ‘I have to be good, and I have to be strong. To protect my brother against anything. Anyone.’
******
One day Daddy came home and told Dan to pack. “Pack everything—no, pack the important things. We’re leaving.”
“But I like it here; I don’t want to leave--”
Daddy whipped around and slapped him, slapped him so hard that he felt like bees were stinging him all over and under his skin and in his ears. “Do it now. Pack.”
He knew not to make noise but he couldn’t help crying. He threw clothes in a suitcase and stuffed all the books and toys that the plastic garbage bag Daddy gave him could hold. It wasn’t very much.
Daddy walked into the bedroom and stared down at Sandy. He just stood, looking at him, not speaking not moving, not breathing. Daddy must have hurt himself at work. There was blood on his ear, and his neck and on his hands. There was so much Dan could smell it, that wet penny—iron smell, and he shivered. It felt like a warning, something was telling him, get used to the smell….
Dad whispered, “They wear the faces of friends. They speak in the voices of loved ones and they tell you terrible things. They make you love them and then--” His hand went over Sandy’s face, covering his open eyes, and smiling mouth. Dan reached past his dad, carefully moved his hand and took the baby. “We’re ready, Daddy.”
The monster left Daddy’s face and he nodded.
Dan didn’t know why Daddy had to tell him about the monsters that hide. He’d known about them since he was five years old.
******
Daddy was reading a paper that had a picture of his garage on the front page. There were pictures of people next to the pictures of the garage.
‘Four dead’. The headline read. Dan was proud that he’d taught himself to read. He read the headline out loud. Dad turned to him.
“They’re liars, children of the Prince of Lies, remember that."
They were in a motel room far, far away from where the little yellow house was. Dad had driven all night, all day. They’d left the car somewhere far away and Daddy took another car, a dark blue car that smelled like old bread and dirty clothes. After that it was another car, and then another, and now they were somewhere he didn’t know. All he knew was that it was a very small room, and it was dark and the sheets were damp and smelled.
Daddy sat him on a chair in the little bathroom and cut his hair. After, he made him repeat a few sentences over and over. He watched him, watched his eyes, his mouth, and Daddy's eyes were flat again. “Say it, boy. Say it again.”
“My name is Dean. My brother’s name is Sammy. My name is Dean, my brother’s name is Sammy. My name is Dean, my brother’s name is Sammy.”
part 2
Fandom: SpN
Pairing:
Rating:3
Word count:3213
Summary: some people are born soldiers, some are made into soldiers.
Tail Gunner
They were arguing again but he was used to that. They made a lot of noise so he spent a lot of time blocking it out—and keeping Sandy quiet. Daniel knew how mad it made Daddy for Sandy to cry even though they were screaming at each other, and how Daddy heard Sandy over the noise he never knew. Daddy always seemed to know when he was crying too, so he was pretty good at not doing it.
His brother was in bed with him, curled close to his chest. Daniel put his hands over Sandy’s ears but he was fast asleep. It was probably because noise was familiar, and these nights weren’t so bad for him. He always played with Sandy when their parents fought. Peek-a-boo, but quietly, and One Two Three. That was a game he made up, they counted fingers, and Sandy loved playing it.
The argument got louder and louder, and he heard his Mommy’s voice—high, weird--she was saying, no, no, in a way that made his stomach twist. For a second he felt like he was going to throw up, but then all the noise went away, it was quiet again. Dan breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this was the end for tonight. Tomorrow, everyone would be quiet again and pretend nothing happened—Daddy would go to work without a word and Mommy would make them breakfast and look at Dan like somehow, this was all his fault…maybe. Maybe it was. Maybe he was doing something that was upsetting Daddy. Or Mommy.
He tried to remember what he’d done that day—he’d had breakfast, and washed the dishes and wiped the table and Mommy gave Sandy a bath while he did that. Then they watched TV while Mommy talked on the phone to her friend and cried a little. He did a good job keeping Sandy quiet, and giving him his snack—Mommy said so. Then before they were supposed to have dinner, he’d taken Sandy outside, and sat on the porch with him, played patty-cake and held his hands so he could walk up and down the sidewalk--just kept him occupied until the sun finally started to dip.
Almost all the afternoon warmth was gone from the concrete under his butt before they came back inside, and Daddy hadn’t come home yet. Dinner turned cold and greasy on the stove and Mommy had been sound asleep on the couch. He remembered that her face was wet, and that made him feel bad, it always made him feel bad when she cried. He thought maybe if he took care of the baby, she’d feel better, so he fed Sandy and himself, and then got Sandy ready for bed.
He’d just got Sandy in his crib and was just crawling into bed himself when he’d heard the front door open. He’d held his breath and waited—it was pretty quiet, he could hear the news on the TV, and daddy’s boots clumping across the living room and he’d started to relax, the breath he’d held eased out—and then Mommy’d started yelling, and Daddy yelled back. He’d felt his heart sink--and that’s when everything started. He’d climbed out of bed, and got Sandy out of his crib without startling him too much—he’d smiled when Dan picked him up. He’d laid Sandy in his bed, and closed the bedroom door. He’d pushed against the wall, and shoved a pillow under one side of him, and settled his brother on his chest. Sighed, and was glad when Sandy had dropped right back to sleep.
All this noise and fighting…he tried his best all the time to push it out of his mind—but then his Mommy made a sound that was kind of like…when Daddy took him hunting and shot a rabbit. Mommy sounded like that, like the rabbit. High pitched…and then it cut off. Quiet.He lay still for a while, and just listened to the small sounds Sandy made. His round head was a warm weight on his shoulder, and the warm pressure of him on his chest was making him finally fall asleep. The smell of milk and skin was comforting....
He opened his eyes. The air was thick; it smelled like campfires and charred hamburgers. It was foggy in the room, and the air was getting hot and smoky--like getting too close to the campfire. For a confused moment, he thought that maybe they were camping like they did once before and then he saw the blue walls, the cookie monster poster…he slid Sandy carefully onto the bed and ran for the door, but the knob wouldn’t turn, and he wondered if it was locked, did he lock it by mistake? He pulled, and there was resistance and then the door opened and Daddy was looking at him. Maybe it was his Daddy. Maybe it wasn’t. The eyes…the eyes were blank and flat, like doll’s eyes. This wasn’t his Daddy. This thing was looking at him with no…recognition, no feeling, no nothing—
It felt like a long, long time that it was like that--Daddy staring at him, the door easing closed again—he hung on the knob, tried to pull back, tried to speak but he couldn’t open his mouth…he couldn’t say ‘let us out’… Dan would never forget what it had been like to look at Dad at that moment--like looking into a deep deep hole, a black deep hole. He thought ‘Daddy’s gone,’ and then his Daddy snapped back to life behind his eyes and was looking down at him.
Flames filled the hall, and his Daddy said, “Go get your brother.”
He did that and Daddy took Sandy from him, looked down the hall at the fire. Dan grabbed his arm, pulled on his sleeve, and then, slowly, slowly, Daddy handed him the baby back. “Go out on the lawn. Now.”
Dan grabbed Sandy and ran, ran so fast—out of the house and ended up sitting on the lawn, Sandy screaming in his lap, watching their house burn down. He cried—his mommy was in the house and the house was on fire. Firemen and police men were holding Daddy back—it looked like he was trying to run into the house and that was strange, and he was crying, and that was weird too, because Daddy hadn’t cried in the house at all.
People in the town were nice to him. Mommy was dead, that’s what Daddy said, and other people said.
Daddy took care of them now. He made them breakfast and dinner. In the mornings, he dropped them off at the house of one of the ladies in town, Mrs. Dorn. They watched TV, and Sandy sat in a playpen, and they had to be quiet and they were good at that so it was no problem. He helped; he washed dishes like at home, and changed diapers and fed Sandy so it was really not too bad. Mrs. Dorn talked to the TV a lot, but it was just a lot of boring grown-ups doing boring things, so he colored in coloring books most of the time he wasn’t playing with Sandy.
Daddy was sad a lot, and mad, but it was a different mad than before. He was mad at—everything. Himself. The world. Them…his job, his boss…just. Everything.
The house was burned, so they couldn’t live in it—that’s what Daddy said. Mrs. Dorn said the insurance company would pay to fix it, and they could live in it again, but Dan was pretty sure he didn’t want to live there again. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he heard his mom make that rabbit sound, and smelled the bad, bad smell of burning meat….
They moved to an apartment over a bar. Dan thought it might have been a bad idea.
Daddy started to talk a lot to himself. And reading, he was reading a lot of books, there were books all over the apartment and they were scary—full of pictures of monsters and scary things, and even the writing was spooky in some of them. Dad would read aloud from some of them, and he wrote in notebooks, and drink. He had notebooks stacked up with the books. There were so many of them, so many.
Dan didn’t know what Daddy was doing, but it wasn’t something he thought a lot about. He was used to ignoring what grown-ups did, more and more he felt it was for the best.
By the time summer rolled around, Daddy had moved them a couple of times. This time now, they live in a little house on a busy street full of other little houses like theirs. This house was the best place they’ve ever lived in yet, a cheerful bright yellow, with white shutters and a small white porch. Window boxes are nailed to the railing. He hoped that maybe if Dad thought he was being good, he’d let him plant some flowers, like Mommy used to do.
Even though taking care of Sandy had become his full time job, and he wasn’t allowed out of the house or to answer the door or the phone when Daddy wasn’t home, he really liked being there. There was a yard, and a sandbox, and when Dad was home he had permission to play outside with his army men, and play with the other kids on the street.
Sandy was sound asleep in his crib; Daddy was at work at the garage in the center of town. Dan had decided that this day was so fine that once—just this once, he’d break the rules. Just once. He decided to eat lunch outside. He sat on the porch step of the little yellow house, and watched the neighborhood kids race up and down the street on their bikes. The sun blazed in the sky, heating the black tee shirt he was wearing, making the concrete hot, making the air smell like dust and dry grass. He could smell the street, hot tar and gas from passing cars. The air rang with the sound of kid’s voices, yelling and laughing. He really liked living there.
Lunch was rolls of bologna and big plastic cup of grape kool-aid. Later maybe Daddy would buy some bread…Dan gnawed on the lunchmeat and watched the kids and wished he could have a bike too, he wished that he could run around with the other kids…but if he couldn’t do that, at least he could watch them….
When Daddy came home, he was sitting on the couch, windows and door locked and Sandy on his lap, watching an old movie with three funny guys who poked each other and made weird noise all the time.
His dad looked at the screen and laughed; he came around the couch and sat next to him. Daddy smelled a little like wet pennies, and Dan could see black in the creases of his hands when he took Sandy from him.
He was sound asleep dreaming that he had a bike and Sandy had one too, and was big, as big as him and they were riding down the street and it was sunny in front of them but dark and stormy behind them, a wind was kicking up thick swells of dust and trash danced on the swells…
“Dan! Wake up!”
Dan shot up in bed, horrified. Had he done something wrong, was something wrong with Sandy?
It was his dad, hanging over the bed, wet-faced, his eyes were puffy and red. “Wake up Dan; I have to tell you something. Explain something.” He pulled at Dan until he got up and he followed as his dad shuffled out to the kitchen. He could smell liquor, sharp and sweet in the humid air…Daddy sat at the table and told Dan to sit too.
“I didn’t kill your mother,” he said and Dan felt like he’d been dipped in ice water. He’d never thought that until this moment—as soon as Daddy said it, he knew he’d done it. His daddy had killed his mommy.
“I didn’t kill your mother,” he repeated, “but I know what did.” He pulled a book from the chair next to him under and dropped it in the center of the table. Dan made out Malleus Maleficarum on the cover. He could string together the letters but not make sense of it—but it was one of Daddy’s new books, the ones he didn’t like much, with scary letters and scarier pictures.
“There are things on the edge of our sight boy, things that live right on the edge, if you turn your head, you’ll forever catch them moving away--right on the edge, right on the edge--
there are things that smile and wear the face of a lover or a friend and they are neither boy and you have to have the strength and courage to destroy these abominations…” His daddy’s voice was low and dry, like he needed water. Tears ran down his cheeks, dripped from his chin and splashed on the table. “Things exist out there, son. Things that want to hurt you, and enjoy the hurting. Things that will suck the soul from you and feast on your flesh.” He looked up from wherever his thoughts had taken him and stabbed Dan with his eyes. “I’m telling you this because I’m trying to protect you and I need your help to do that.”
His dad looked ragged and pale, the color of American cheese. Dan noticed that he was too skinny and too dirty to be his daddy. This man was…some one he didn’t know. Daddy looked at him, the tears in his eyes making them shiny. His breath rattled in his throat and he made claws from his hands and held the book. Dan felt like screaming. The black circles around his daddy’s eyes made the glassy red of them frightening. Dan felt alone, unprotected—he and Sandy weren’t safe anymore…
No more sound disturbed the thick dead air except the heavy slow drip of the faucet, the sound the drips made as they hit the stainless steel sink. They sat still and silent under the blue-white bulb that lit the kitchen and when Dan moved his head, he saw them, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them dash into the dark outside the circle of light. “They’ll get you boy. If you don’t watch all the time, they’ll get you…dressed in the skin of people you know, or wearing their own blasted faces…”
Dan knew about demons and monsters. Oh yes. He has seen monsters. He stared at Daddy. Yes. He knew that they hid in people. He believed in monsters whole-heartedly. Dan tried to speak, tried once or twice before he could get words to form. “Sandy—we have to protect him.”
Daddy just looked at him. His face was frozen like a mask, nothing moved but his lips. “…Sandy?” Daddy’s eyes were flat, shiny, like the sun hitting a tin can. “Sandy.” He licked his lips, and his tongue looked too pale, white—puffy…. “You. You look out for him, son. He’s your responsibility. You do whatever you have to…” Daddy stood and wandered around the kitchen, checking locks. He reached into the cabinet and did something weird. Dan watched him open-mouthed.
Dad took the blue box of salt out and opened the little silver spout and carefully as Dan used to draw a line before it got easy, Daddy poured a straight line of salt along the windowsill, and then walked to the doorway, and drew a line of salt along the threshold. He was saying something under his breath.
He turned to Dan and said, “Never ever disturb the line. Understand? *Don’t* break the line.”
Dan nodded and Daddy said, “Good, go to bed.”
That was all. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched little Sandy sleep. Counted the lines the bars of the crib threw over his body. He thought, ‘I have to be good, and I have to be strong. To protect my brother against anything. Anyone.’
One day Daddy came home and told Dan to pack. “Pack everything—no, pack the important things. We’re leaving.”
“But I like it here; I don’t want to leave--”
Daddy whipped around and slapped him, slapped him so hard that he felt like bees were stinging him all over and under his skin and in his ears. “Do it now. Pack.”
He knew not to make noise but he couldn’t help crying. He threw clothes in a suitcase and stuffed all the books and toys that the plastic garbage bag Daddy gave him could hold. It wasn’t very much.
Daddy walked into the bedroom and stared down at Sandy. He just stood, looking at him, not speaking not moving, not breathing. Daddy must have hurt himself at work. There was blood on his ear, and his neck and on his hands. There was so much Dan could smell it, that wet penny—iron smell, and he shivered. It felt like a warning, something was telling him, get used to the smell….
Dad whispered, “They wear the faces of friends. They speak in the voices of loved ones and they tell you terrible things. They make you love them and then--” His hand went over Sandy’s face, covering his open eyes, and smiling mouth. Dan reached past his dad, carefully moved his hand and took the baby. “We’re ready, Daddy.”
The monster left Daddy’s face and he nodded.
Dan didn’t know why Daddy had to tell him about the monsters that hide. He’d known about them since he was five years old.
Daddy was reading a paper that had a picture of his garage on the front page. There were pictures of people next to the pictures of the garage.
‘Four dead’. The headline read. Dan was proud that he’d taught himself to read. He read the headline out loud. Dad turned to him.
“They’re liars, children of the Prince of Lies, remember that."
They were in a motel room far, far away from where the little yellow house was. Dad had driven all night, all day. They’d left the car somewhere far away and Daddy took another car, a dark blue car that smelled like old bread and dirty clothes. After that it was another car, and then another, and now they were somewhere he didn’t know. All he knew was that it was a very small room, and it was dark and the sheets were damp and smelled.
Daddy sat him on a chair in the little bathroom and cut his hair. After, he made him repeat a few sentences over and over. He watched him, watched his eyes, his mouth, and Daddy's eyes were flat again. “Say it, boy. Say it again.”
“My name is Dean. My brother’s name is Sammy. My name is Dean, my brother’s name is Sammy. My name is Dean, my brother’s name is Sammy.”
part 2
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*exhale*
5/14/07 07:46 am (UTC)Re: *exhale*
5/14/07 03:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/14/07 03:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/14/07 01:26 pm (UTC)I skimmed and went 'huh, i've read this before, why didn't i comment?'
Heeee! I'm so lame.
Luffed! Poor boys - so lost!
You should x-post, you know?
(no subject)
5/14/07 03:42 pm (UTC)I would, but where? I only know SN Slash and I posted there. too.
(no subject)
5/14/07 05:17 pm (UTC)Also, check
:)
*smooch*
(no subject)
5/16/07 10:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/3/07 02:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/3/07 05:23 pm (UTC)But of course!
(no subject)
6/3/07 09:38 am (UTC)Almost cries... But mostly can't wait for the SMEX!!! :P
(no subject)
6/3/07 05:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
6/3/07 10:07 pm (UTC)