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roxyTitle: To The Waters And The Wild
Author: roxy
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Spoilers: very vague references to events in season three
Word Count: 1186
Summary: this is a very AU version of events after Dean goes to hell--in this version Sam saves him--maybe.
The address was in a section of town homes, older, good shape—made of money. He straightened his jacket, fixed a sympathetic smile on his face and ran fingers through his hair. 'Bout time for a haircut, Sammy? You're lookin' more an' more like a princess every day…or a yeti.
"Shut the fuck up Dean," he muttered and knocked on the door.
The family—what was left-- was distraught, thrown into some horrendous sideways world they were trapped in and Sam could see that what they really wanted was for him to assure them that it was going to be different tomorrow, tomorrow they'd find out that all this was a horrible, tasteless, practical joke. Sam listened, nodded, murmured reassuringly, and all the while he could feel his nose wrinkling…he could smell rot taking hold. The husband was wide eyed and too, too calm. He looked polished--both he and his wife were well dressed, perfectly groomed and looked as if they were about to shatter into a million screaming pieces.
Sam quickly reviewed what he knew in his head. The daughter and the husband's brother were dead, former by strangulation and the latter by a gunshot to the head, self inflicted. It was a nasty story, but not all that rare, he found. He grimaced faintly. He hadn't given up hunting monsters at all….
"We think…we're going to leave. Until…until the…it's cleaned. I guess I'm not handling…this well," the father of the dead girl said, and Sam winced. The poor guy felt he had to apologize for wanting to get out of the ruins of his home? The mother just sobbed into her handkerchief.
"I just feel like…like…she's here. I—I feel her touching me. My baby." She cried harder and the husband bent his head over his wife's and breathed deeply and unsteadily.
Sam was about to excuse himself and give the couple a bit of privacy, when an unwelcome but familiar sensation stung him—a feeling as if electric sparks were shooting down his arms and out the tips of his fingers. He blinked hard, tried not to lose the calm, soothing tone, the sympathetic expression. "Stress can cause physical reactions like that," he said, as goose-bumps pimpled his arms. He said to the husband, "If you and your wife decide to leave the house overnight we can work straight through, my team and I. We'll need to take up the carpet, and--" He thought of the pink room, splashed black and red. "The curtains, the bed…they'll all need to go."
The husband stood. "Do what you have to."
They didn't want a catalogue of what their child had endured. Sam felt a low level buzz of energy flow over his skin and looked toward the bedroom. A young girl stood in the doorway, staring at him. Not violent. Not yet. Resentful. Maybe a little angry. Confused.
He might be able to talk to her--he hoped so. He blinked, and she was gone.
Raphael, Cassandra and Danny were with Sam when he came back that evening. He unlocked the door and the crew started to set up. Raph dropped a couple of plastic bag lined boxes in the hallway, and plugged in fans behind them. Cass and Danny were togged out and ready to go, carpet knives in hand.
Raph and Sam stripped the bed, and threw the linens on the floor for Cass to pack in boxes—they wrapped the mattress in plastic, wrapped a lavender boudoir chair, soaked in blood and dotted with bits of dead human, in plastic too before moving it….
The crew worked straight through, and a little after ten, he took a break--figured he'd send everyone home.
When Sam found him and told him the crew could leave, Raph said, "Gay Danny and Cass are loading the smaller stuff in the truck now. I plugged in the ozone machine…I guess we're pretty much done. You gonna be okay?" He looked at Sam significantly, glancing around the mostly empty pink and white room…the formally pink and white room. "I can stay and get the little areas with you."
Sam rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. "Nah--I'm okay, Raph." See, what I'm gonna do now is talk to a little girl ghost and try to get her to realize she can move on. Failing that, I'll be sneaking into a metropolitan graveyard later tonight and basically vandalizing her grave. He glanced away and the little girl in question was sitting on the floor where her bed had been. "And damn it, stop calling the kid Gay Danny."
"But he *is* gay." Raph shivered. "Dang, it's freezing ass cold in here…shit. You know, some of these jobs really give me the creeps. Most of them, not too bad--I mean, you know what I mean--but every once in a while, dude, my skin crawls an' I feel like someone's *watching* me--like now."
Danny leaned around the doorway, his hood down and a respirator in his hand. Dark brown hair stood up in sweat damp spikes all over his head, and a long finger poked wire rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his thin nose. "Cass and I've got the truck loaded, Sam. We're leaving?"
Raph raised eyebrows, Sam waved them off. "You're leaving. Go, relax, I'll catch a cab home…"
He watched the crew leave from the bedroom window, wondered if maybe…maybe he should have a heart to heart with Raphael before he freaked completely. Explain the realities of the unseen world. Or maybe just recommend the poor guy find other employment.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
It was really late, or really *really* early depending on the viewpoint. Weak yellow sunlight poured through the windows and made grids stretch across the clean, clean floor. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, and even though he spoke as softly as he could, his voice echoed oddly in the nearly empty room. The little girl he'd seen standing in the doorway the night before was curled in his lap, silently listening to him as he rocked back and forth, cradling her in his arms, and talking….
Finally, she understood there was somewhere else to go--maybe, somewhere better. She lay her head on his chest, took a deep breath and let go.
A sweet wave of warm content washed through him and a bright light filled his eyes, blinded him for a moment and when he opened them again he was alone. He thought about it briefly, how very not afraid she'd looked right before the light and wondered…but only for a brief few seconds before he swallowed hard. He was *not* about to ask why again. He'd spent a whole mother fucking year asking why. It wasn't like he'd gotten any kind of answer. He got stiffly to his feet, staggered a second before stretching with a groan, grimaced when his neck popped. His life was not kind to his body….
Coffee. That's what he needed. A huge fucking cup of coffee and maybe a bun, stuffed with nuts and raisins and dripping with sugar…he shuddered.
part 4
Author: roxy
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Spoilers: very vague references to events in season three
Word Count: 1186
Summary: this is a very AU version of events after Dean goes to hell--in this version Sam saves him--maybe.
The address was in a section of town homes, older, good shape—made of money. He straightened his jacket, fixed a sympathetic smile on his face and ran fingers through his hair. 'Bout time for a haircut, Sammy? You're lookin' more an' more like a princess every day…or a yeti.
"Shut the fuck up Dean," he muttered and knocked on the door.
The family—what was left-- was distraught, thrown into some horrendous sideways world they were trapped in and Sam could see that what they really wanted was for him to assure them that it was going to be different tomorrow, tomorrow they'd find out that all this was a horrible, tasteless, practical joke. Sam listened, nodded, murmured reassuringly, and all the while he could feel his nose wrinkling…he could smell rot taking hold. The husband was wide eyed and too, too calm. He looked polished--both he and his wife were well dressed, perfectly groomed and looked as if they were about to shatter into a million screaming pieces.
Sam quickly reviewed what he knew in his head. The daughter and the husband's brother were dead, former by strangulation and the latter by a gunshot to the head, self inflicted. It was a nasty story, but not all that rare, he found. He grimaced faintly. He hadn't given up hunting monsters at all….
"We think…we're going to leave. Until…until the…it's cleaned. I guess I'm not handling…this well," the father of the dead girl said, and Sam winced. The poor guy felt he had to apologize for wanting to get out of the ruins of his home? The mother just sobbed into her handkerchief.
"I just feel like…like…she's here. I—I feel her touching me. My baby." She cried harder and the husband bent his head over his wife's and breathed deeply and unsteadily.
Sam was about to excuse himself and give the couple a bit of privacy, when an unwelcome but familiar sensation stung him—a feeling as if electric sparks were shooting down his arms and out the tips of his fingers. He blinked hard, tried not to lose the calm, soothing tone, the sympathetic expression. "Stress can cause physical reactions like that," he said, as goose-bumps pimpled his arms. He said to the husband, "If you and your wife decide to leave the house overnight we can work straight through, my team and I. We'll need to take up the carpet, and--" He thought of the pink room, splashed black and red. "The curtains, the bed…they'll all need to go."
The husband stood. "Do what you have to."
They didn't want a catalogue of what their child had endured. Sam felt a low level buzz of energy flow over his skin and looked toward the bedroom. A young girl stood in the doorway, staring at him. Not violent. Not yet. Resentful. Maybe a little angry. Confused.
He might be able to talk to her--he hoped so. He blinked, and she was gone.
Raphael, Cassandra and Danny were with Sam when he came back that evening. He unlocked the door and the crew started to set up. Raph dropped a couple of plastic bag lined boxes in the hallway, and plugged in fans behind them. Cass and Danny were togged out and ready to go, carpet knives in hand.
Raph and Sam stripped the bed, and threw the linens on the floor for Cass to pack in boxes—they wrapped the mattress in plastic, wrapped a lavender boudoir chair, soaked in blood and dotted with bits of dead human, in plastic too before moving it….
The crew worked straight through, and a little after ten, he took a break--figured he'd send everyone home.
When Sam found him and told him the crew could leave, Raph said, "Gay Danny and Cass are loading the smaller stuff in the truck now. I plugged in the ozone machine…I guess we're pretty much done. You gonna be okay?" He looked at Sam significantly, glancing around the mostly empty pink and white room…the formally pink and white room. "I can stay and get the little areas with you."
Sam rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. "Nah--I'm okay, Raph." See, what I'm gonna do now is talk to a little girl ghost and try to get her to realize she can move on. Failing that, I'll be sneaking into a metropolitan graveyard later tonight and basically vandalizing her grave. He glanced away and the little girl in question was sitting on the floor where her bed had been. "And damn it, stop calling the kid Gay Danny."
"But he *is* gay." Raph shivered. "Dang, it's freezing ass cold in here…shit. You know, some of these jobs really give me the creeps. Most of them, not too bad--I mean, you know what I mean--but every once in a while, dude, my skin crawls an' I feel like someone's *watching* me--like now."
Danny leaned around the doorway, his hood down and a respirator in his hand. Dark brown hair stood up in sweat damp spikes all over his head, and a long finger poked wire rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his thin nose. "Cass and I've got the truck loaded, Sam. We're leaving?"
Raph raised eyebrows, Sam waved them off. "You're leaving. Go, relax, I'll catch a cab home…"
He watched the crew leave from the bedroom window, wondered if maybe…maybe he should have a heart to heart with Raphael before he freaked completely. Explain the realities of the unseen world. Or maybe just recommend the poor guy find other employment.
It was really late, or really *really* early depending on the viewpoint. Weak yellow sunlight poured through the windows and made grids stretch across the clean, clean floor. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, and even though he spoke as softly as he could, his voice echoed oddly in the nearly empty room. The little girl he'd seen standing in the doorway the night before was curled in his lap, silently listening to him as he rocked back and forth, cradling her in his arms, and talking….
Finally, she understood there was somewhere else to go--maybe, somewhere better. She lay her head on his chest, took a deep breath and let go.
A sweet wave of warm content washed through him and a bright light filled his eyes, blinded him for a moment and when he opened them again he was alone. He thought about it briefly, how very not afraid she'd looked right before the light and wondered…but only for a brief few seconds before he swallowed hard. He was *not* about to ask why again. He'd spent a whole mother fucking year asking why. It wasn't like he'd gotten any kind of answer. He got stiffly to his feet, staggered a second before stretching with a groan, grimaced when his neck popped. His life was not kind to his body….
Coffee. That's what he needed. A huge fucking cup of coffee and maybe a bun, stuffed with nuts and raisins and dripping with sugar…he shuddered.
part 4
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/17/08 10:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/17/08 10:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/17/08 10:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/17/08 11:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/17/08 11:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/08 12:57 am (UTC)A few things....
Electric sparks shot down Sam's arms and out the tips of his fingers and he blinked hard
Really? I mean - can we see them? Perhaps it would be better to say something like 'the sensation of electric sparks' or 'a hot, tingling flash shot down...' You know? Otherwise, i'm having flashbacks to 'The Green Mile'.
"But he is gay."
That line either needs emphasis, like 'But he is gay!' or a contraction. Otherwise, it sounds pretty stilted.
I love Sam talking to Dean out loud. *hugs him*
(no subject)
10/18/08 04:40 am (UTC)"But he is gay."
I knew that should have had some sort of emphasis there, I saw it when I posted but let it go. I'm glad to know that my impulse was right, even if I didn't follow through. And yeah, I see now reading it that without the emphasis he just sounds like a dork. *G* Thank you a million times, beloved!!
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10/18/08 06:23 am (UTC):)
(no subject)
10/18/08 06:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/08 02:34 pm (UTC):)
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10/18/08 04:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
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10/18/08 06:23 am (UTC):)
(no subject)
10/18/08 06:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/1/09 03:47 am (UTC)Thanks for getting me hooked on this crap, you pusher you.
:P
*luffs you!*
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5/1/09 03:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/1/09 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/1/09 05:20 am (UTC)thanks for reading! :)