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SpN: Lodi part 15A
Title: Lodi part 15 part A,
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2267
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
This here posting is the act of a desperate woman. The last chapter is in two parts because if I don't post at least part of it, I might never post this sucker at all. you know how it goes. So here, part A. Probably part B will get posted tonight if I can stop hating it long enough…oy. *wrings hands and calls out to the heavens for help…raspberry-chocolate flavored coffee will do*
15
So they're on the shore, warded as well as they can be—salt in their pockets, and nails, for the iron—the nails shift bad sometimes and stab the shit out of their legs—but Sam's thinking it's kind of worth it, whenever Dean flinches and muffles a pained yelp. They stand, waiting for evening, talking softly about nothing special...the lady's going to come, they have no doubt, they expect her to because of her connection to Sam. Sam's not worried; he's got plenty of protection plus the unshakable belief that she won't—can't--hurt him. He's pretty sure she'll come because she seemed to like him. As for the rest of it, he's hoping things go fast, real fast.
It's been dark for an hour or so, but of course it's still sticky hot, Sam feels like he's wearing a wet wool blanket and all the world's a giant steam room. The lake smells no better at night than it does in the day, Sam wishes they were farther back, where the smell of honeysuckle growing on the chain link fence overpowers all the other smells…he sighs. It's just…the smell of the lake reminds him of the last time they'd been there, the good and the bad of it. Even though he has no bad feeling towards her personally, after what happened, or almost happened, to Patrick, he's certain that what they plan tonight is the right thing to do.
~~~~~~
Finally the sun is completely down, and Dean sets up the grill and lights the coals. He's got a little smile on his face and his eyes are warm, crinkled a little at the corners, like he's forgotten why they're here, like he's about to whip out the burgers and franks. When Dean smiles, Sam can't help but smile too, but he is beginning to wonder if maybe Dean just plain likes burning things up….
Patrick stands off to the side, clutching the various herbs they're going to have to toss in the flames. Sam's rehearsed him on the order each little plastic baggie of herbs he's holding, has to go into the coals. He's holding those bags like they're filled with gold, or the meaning of life. His eyes are closed and he's muttering something…Sam can barely hear it. "Chamomile, lilac, the wort stuff, than bay…." Good. He doesn't want to worry about Pat, not when he has to speak the summons and not fuck it up--plus toss in the last ingredient. A nervous laugh bubbles up his throat. Yeah, the secret ingredient….He sticks his hand in his pocket and rolls the tiny plastic tube, holding a few drops of his blood, between nervous fingers. When the coals get hot enough, and Patrick's done his bit, tossing this in finishes it.
Which is why he's got Dean guarding his back and Patrick's the one who's standing next to the fire. Because Patrick won’t have any idea what the blood means. Well…that, and he's a fucking lousy shot.
"Hey, fire's going good—you ready?" Dean's voice at his ear makes him shiver. The arm round his shoulder feels cool and then hot, but it's good, especially when Dean squeezes. Comforting. "Don’t worry, okay? It's going to go perfect. I feel it." Sam feels it too. It's like the night is huge, and small at the same time. Like there's only enough room for him, and for Dean. He opens his eyes—surprised that they were closed, surprised that he's leaning against Dean, and Dean's hand has moved from his shoulder, to cup his hip, slide up under the edge of his tee shirt. He pulls it back slowly, trailing fingertips across Sam's super heated skin, and says, "Go—"
Sam smiles, a smile all for himself and suddenly there's Patrick, staring at him, all lit up orange with the glow of the little grill. Sam blushes, he'd kind of forgotten about Patrick.
Dean walks away back into the shadows, leading with the shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Patrick moves to stand next to Sam, waiting for his signal to begin—but first, he pulls Sam towards him. "You know what I was trying to tell you earlier, right? I was trying to tell you--" He crams the baggies of chamomile, and bay leaves, and lilac into the crook of his elbow, takes Sam's palm and presses his lips against it, and it's coincidence he kisses the spot Sam had cut into earlier, to fill the little tube.
"Oh, how did you cut yourself?" Patrick asks, and tsks, kisses the little cut. His tongue worries at the edges of it. Sam's kind of amazed at how very not painful that is….
Behind him Dean calls out, "Come on, Mary Beth, the fucking 'squitos are trying to empty me."
Right. This is it. Time to work. Sam licks dry lips. He starts the spell—a little short of breath, a little excited, and scared too, it's the biggest thing he's done to date—and he's doing it without permission, and he's doing it with Dean, backing *him* up. Following Sam's lead. That probably shouldn't excite him as much as it does, he's thinking….
The herbs burning smell good, the coals flare up with each new addition. There's a shimmer of neon blue out on the black surface of the lake, and then a sharp gust of icy wind rolls over the lake and blasts between them, past them, and into the woods. Patrick sways in the wake of it, and Sam can hear Dean cursing—he's okay.
"Yo, Sam…" Patrick whispers hoarsely. "Was that her—oh, *fuck*!"
She's there on the shore, glaring at them—flickers, and she's closer, close enough that Sam can tell she's pissed as hell, her small hands are knotted on her hips and her eyes—the warm brown eyes he remembered are flecked with orange, seem to whirl. Sam hopes like hell he hasn't screwed everything up. He's muttering frantically, trying to spout the Latin fast, but accurately--Patrick's emptied all the little bags, but one.…
"Sam," she says, drawing his name out in a way that lets him know she's angry, and disappointed in him—but she doesn't come any closer to them.
Patrick throws bay leaves into the aromatic fire--following the directions, Sam's scratched 'come' on each leave that goes into the coals, and she comes all right—zipping up the shore, she makes a beeline straight for Dean.
Sam almost passes out, he wants to scream, but his training outs—he doesn't break the ritual, keeps on even when she stops in front of Dean. She sights down the barrel of the shotgun, and smiles, nothing at all like the smile she'd given to Sam. "You're so much like your brother, you guys, you scare the shit out of me…" she draws back, "it might be better if I made you come with me." She shakes her head, and looks less like a scary-ass spirit bent on killing and more like a frustrated mom. Glaring at Dean, she says, "You're an idiot. You're surrounded by love, not just your brother's…you just have no idea, do you?"
Sam is quickly muttering the Latin, trying to read it fast, without stumbling, clear but quick, and then he throws that little vial of his blood into the center of the grill and it flares like mad, blue and yellow and green--he jerks his head at Patrick who jumps back away from the grill like it’s going to explode, his face creased with worry. "Sam, come away—"
There's a shimmering in the air, and Sam thinks—he's not sure—thinks he can see thin black ribbons of shadows that aren't their's, twisting at the edges of the fire light, but maybe not, because Dean's staring down the shore, not at the fire. Right at the edge of the water, a boy not much younger than Sam stands up, yawning. His long limbs unfold slowly, like he's been napping; he rubs his eyes, and looks up. Smiles.
She turns toward them, anger twisting her face into the frightening mask again. "What've you done, you boys? What did you—" She stops, and wonder lights her from inside, makes her round, brown eyes glow like gold. "It's you—at last! You're here." The boy nods and says something that Sam can't hear, but it makes her expression shatter, she looks…horrified, raises her hands to her face. "Help me, please," she whispers.
The boy holds out his hand. She looks at Sam for a long time and nods. He steps away from the fire, ignoring Dean's angry shout, and goes to her. She presses a kiss he can't feel on his forehead. "Sam, don’t be so impatient," she says, "Chill man, soak up some life."
She takes her son's hand, and they step into a bright light, or they become a bright light—it's hard to see just what happens. All Sam really knows is she's *gone*, they're both of them gone, completely and forever. Everyone's safe, and his little sacrifice worked without backfiring on him—thank God.
Patrick is shaking like he's about to fall down. He looks stunned, and a little confused. "That's—that's it? It's done? That's all there is?"
Sam gapes. "All there is? *All* there is? Are you fucking kidding--"
Dean comes up and throws an arm around Patrick's shoulder. "Yeah, that's it. Sometimes it doesn’t take more than that. Those are the good ones."
"All there is…" Sam mutters. Ass. He murmurs a short prayer of thanks, like the spell instructed, and burns the paper he'd written the summoning spell on in the grill and then, he tosses the contents into the lake as far as he can throw them. The coals and ash throw up a much bigger fountain of water than they should—the hiss of the dying coals is loud enough to make them all jump. He kneels in the warm, wet sand, and washes the grill in the lake, washes his hands and makes Patrick wash his hands too.
And that's it. They're standing on the shore and Sam sighs. "Well, here we are. Dad's gonna kill us when he finds out. No, not us—he'll know. He's going to kill me."
"Believe me, it'll be both of us, and he'll kill me harder because I'm the oldest," Dean snorts. "Yeah, but after that, he'll be proud of you, Sam, I promise. You did good." He turns to Patrick and slaps him on the back. "And you. You handled that like a Winchester," he says and Patrick jerks like he's being electrocuted.
"Oh God, like a Winchester…" He shudders. "Don't—don’t say that."
~~~~~~
They collapse in a pile on Dad's bed, wrapped around each other, too worn out to do more than sleep. The covers are on a pile on the floor, and the miserable little window AC unit is wheezing its heart out, struggling to cool the air…it sucks out some humidity but the room's still an oven and even so, they're touching everywhere they can, hands and knees and feet, like they can't bear to be separated and Sam wants more, he's just too drained, too weak….
Sam wakes up and for a second he has no idea where he is, and there's the tail end of this dream he had flickering in his head. It was kind of pointless, but what he remembers of it is weird…it's him walking down the hallway in the dark, and he stops to peek into Dad's room, Dean's on the bed asleep, and Patrick is there too, his back to the door. Patrick rolls to face him and he mimes shh. Climbs off the bed, grabs Sam by the hand and pulls the door shut as he pushes him out. Says, 'Come on, I want to show you something.'
'Show me what?'
Patrick tugs Sam along, and suddenly, they're in a garden. In the sun, Patrick's eyes are the same color as Dean's. 'Look,' he says, and points into the middle of a square of big green peppers. There's a huge bright yellow and black spider, bigger than the span of Pat's hand. Sam remembers jerking back in surprise, and then, hanging over it, fascinated. 'Why'd you show me this?'
Pat shrugs. 'I thought you'd like it.' He grins. 'Dean would just pick up a rock and kill it.'
Sam nods, 'yeah, screaming all the way.' Patrick grins, draws a knuckle along the line of Sam's cheek, before walking back to the house and Sam thinks maybe he disappeared before going inside--
What the hell—spiders? He blinks and tries to stretch but he feels too heavy. Spiders. He hates spiders—more likely that he'd smack it with a rock than Dean would. Showing him the thing seems like something Patrick would do though….
Another few minutes pass before he realizes that it's just him and Dean in the bed, Dean face down and one arm hanging off the side of the bed. The weight Sam's been feeling is Dean's leg—he's pretty much trying to fill the empty space where Patrick had been. The shades are still down so Patrick must have woken much earlier. Probably not in the bathroom, Sam can't hear the shower….
He rolls out of bed…he's not looking forward to this day, he's got this feeling it's going to be a shit ass day…maybe because of the dream about spiders. Or maybe because he knows that after last night, there's no way Dean's not going to call Dad—no fucking way. Fuck, he's pretty much got to--maybe mange some damage control before Dad comes home.
Patrick's not in the living room and he's not in the kitchen either, and Sam's disappointed. He was hoping for pancakes. He must have left for work already. Before Sam can head back to bed, Dean wanders into the room, yawning and scratching. He's got last night's jeans on and nothing else, but for some reason, it feels to Sam like he's wearing armor. Dean looks…he looks kind of gray…a little shaky. He doesn't say a word; he just eyes Sam up and down with a little frown, that one he gets when he's being all thoughtful. Makes Sam wonder what it is Dean's seeing—maybe he's thinking Sam looks crappy, too. He sure feels it.
"Fuck, that really took it out of me. Weird, hunh?" Dean leans against the door frame. "I've done ghosts a couple of times with Dad, but this one was…pretty fucking weird. It was just so…aware."
"Yeah, yeah, it was intense." Sam rummages through the fridge, pulls open cabinet doors, just pretty much focusing on anything but Dean. "Oh, hey--Pat forgot his vest. Wanna take it to him, maybe get breakfast?"
"Yeah…lemme get my cigarettes…" Dean wanders out to the living room. Sam's halfway through making coffee when he comes back into the kitchen. Smoke naturally makes its way straight to Sam and Dean grins an apology, chuckles when Sam flips him off. He's heading to the back door when his cell spits out Zepplin—it's Dad. He winces and Sam's stomach just—falls. Shit. That really bad feeling just got worse….
Dean practically slams through the screen door out into the back yard, "Dad, listen, I've got to tell you something—"
Sam stands in the kitchen, torn between rage and sorrow…he's not so fucked up that he thinks the conversation could ever be Dad, guess what, we found out just how great three together can be—did I tell you about Pat and Sam? How about me and Pat and Sam…. Not unless he wants Dad to shoot them all and bury them somewhere out in the woods….
Sam hears Dean practically shout Dad, and please and then…silence. He comes to the back door and hears him say, "Yes sir. Yeah. Yes sir." Daddy's little soldier. Fuck him. Fuck everyone.
part 15B, conclusion
TBC
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2267
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
This here posting is the act of a desperate woman. The last chapter is in two parts because if I don't post at least part of it, I might never post this sucker at all. you know how it goes. So here, part A. Probably part B will get posted tonight if I can stop hating it long enough…oy. *wrings hands and calls out to the heavens for help…raspberry-chocolate flavored coffee will do*
15
So they're on the shore, warded as well as they can be—salt in their pockets, and nails, for the iron—the nails shift bad sometimes and stab the shit out of their legs—but Sam's thinking it's kind of worth it, whenever Dean flinches and muffles a pained yelp. They stand, waiting for evening, talking softly about nothing special...the lady's going to come, they have no doubt, they expect her to because of her connection to Sam. Sam's not worried; he's got plenty of protection plus the unshakable belief that she won't—can't--hurt him. He's pretty sure she'll come because she seemed to like him. As for the rest of it, he's hoping things go fast, real fast.
It's been dark for an hour or so, but of course it's still sticky hot, Sam feels like he's wearing a wet wool blanket and all the world's a giant steam room. The lake smells no better at night than it does in the day, Sam wishes they were farther back, where the smell of honeysuckle growing on the chain link fence overpowers all the other smells…he sighs. It's just…the smell of the lake reminds him of the last time they'd been there, the good and the bad of it. Even though he has no bad feeling towards her personally, after what happened, or almost happened, to Patrick, he's certain that what they plan tonight is the right thing to do.
Finally the sun is completely down, and Dean sets up the grill and lights the coals. He's got a little smile on his face and his eyes are warm, crinkled a little at the corners, like he's forgotten why they're here, like he's about to whip out the burgers and franks. When Dean smiles, Sam can't help but smile too, but he is beginning to wonder if maybe Dean just plain likes burning things up….
Patrick stands off to the side, clutching the various herbs they're going to have to toss in the flames. Sam's rehearsed him on the order each little plastic baggie of herbs he's holding, has to go into the coals. He's holding those bags like they're filled with gold, or the meaning of life. His eyes are closed and he's muttering something…Sam can barely hear it. "Chamomile, lilac, the wort stuff, than bay…." Good. He doesn't want to worry about Pat, not when he has to speak the summons and not fuck it up--plus toss in the last ingredient. A nervous laugh bubbles up his throat. Yeah, the secret ingredient….He sticks his hand in his pocket and rolls the tiny plastic tube, holding a few drops of his blood, between nervous fingers. When the coals get hot enough, and Patrick's done his bit, tossing this in finishes it.
Which is why he's got Dean guarding his back and Patrick's the one who's standing next to the fire. Because Patrick won’t have any idea what the blood means. Well…that, and he's a fucking lousy shot.
"Hey, fire's going good—you ready?" Dean's voice at his ear makes him shiver. The arm round his shoulder feels cool and then hot, but it's good, especially when Dean squeezes. Comforting. "Don’t worry, okay? It's going to go perfect. I feel it." Sam feels it too. It's like the night is huge, and small at the same time. Like there's only enough room for him, and for Dean. He opens his eyes—surprised that they were closed, surprised that he's leaning against Dean, and Dean's hand has moved from his shoulder, to cup his hip, slide up under the edge of his tee shirt. He pulls it back slowly, trailing fingertips across Sam's super heated skin, and says, "Go—"
Sam smiles, a smile all for himself and suddenly there's Patrick, staring at him, all lit up orange with the glow of the little grill. Sam blushes, he'd kind of forgotten about Patrick.
Dean walks away back into the shadows, leading with the shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Patrick moves to stand next to Sam, waiting for his signal to begin—but first, he pulls Sam towards him. "You know what I was trying to tell you earlier, right? I was trying to tell you--" He crams the baggies of chamomile, and bay leaves, and lilac into the crook of his elbow, takes Sam's palm and presses his lips against it, and it's coincidence he kisses the spot Sam had cut into earlier, to fill the little tube.
"Oh, how did you cut yourself?" Patrick asks, and tsks, kisses the little cut. His tongue worries at the edges of it. Sam's kind of amazed at how very not painful that is….
Behind him Dean calls out, "Come on, Mary Beth, the fucking 'squitos are trying to empty me."
Right. This is it. Time to work. Sam licks dry lips. He starts the spell—a little short of breath, a little excited, and scared too, it's the biggest thing he's done to date—and he's doing it without permission, and he's doing it with Dean, backing *him* up. Following Sam's lead. That probably shouldn't excite him as much as it does, he's thinking….
The herbs burning smell good, the coals flare up with each new addition. There's a shimmer of neon blue out on the black surface of the lake, and then a sharp gust of icy wind rolls over the lake and blasts between them, past them, and into the woods. Patrick sways in the wake of it, and Sam can hear Dean cursing—he's okay.
"Yo, Sam…" Patrick whispers hoarsely. "Was that her—oh, *fuck*!"
She's there on the shore, glaring at them—flickers, and she's closer, close enough that Sam can tell she's pissed as hell, her small hands are knotted on her hips and her eyes—the warm brown eyes he remembered are flecked with orange, seem to whirl. Sam hopes like hell he hasn't screwed everything up. He's muttering frantically, trying to spout the Latin fast, but accurately--Patrick's emptied all the little bags, but one.…
"Sam," she says, drawing his name out in a way that lets him know she's angry, and disappointed in him—but she doesn't come any closer to them.
Patrick throws bay leaves into the aromatic fire--following the directions, Sam's scratched 'come' on each leave that goes into the coals, and she comes all right—zipping up the shore, she makes a beeline straight for Dean.
Sam almost passes out, he wants to scream, but his training outs—he doesn't break the ritual, keeps on even when she stops in front of Dean. She sights down the barrel of the shotgun, and smiles, nothing at all like the smile she'd given to Sam. "You're so much like your brother, you guys, you scare the shit out of me…" she draws back, "it might be better if I made you come with me." She shakes her head, and looks less like a scary-ass spirit bent on killing and more like a frustrated mom. Glaring at Dean, she says, "You're an idiot. You're surrounded by love, not just your brother's…you just have no idea, do you?"
Sam is quickly muttering the Latin, trying to read it fast, without stumbling, clear but quick, and then he throws that little vial of his blood into the center of the grill and it flares like mad, blue and yellow and green--he jerks his head at Patrick who jumps back away from the grill like it’s going to explode, his face creased with worry. "Sam, come away—"
There's a shimmering in the air, and Sam thinks—he's not sure—thinks he can see thin black ribbons of shadows that aren't their's, twisting at the edges of the fire light, but maybe not, because Dean's staring down the shore, not at the fire. Right at the edge of the water, a boy not much younger than Sam stands up, yawning. His long limbs unfold slowly, like he's been napping; he rubs his eyes, and looks up. Smiles.
She turns toward them, anger twisting her face into the frightening mask again. "What've you done, you boys? What did you—" She stops, and wonder lights her from inside, makes her round, brown eyes glow like gold. "It's you—at last! You're here." The boy nods and says something that Sam can't hear, but it makes her expression shatter, she looks…horrified, raises her hands to her face. "Help me, please," she whispers.
The boy holds out his hand. She looks at Sam for a long time and nods. He steps away from the fire, ignoring Dean's angry shout, and goes to her. She presses a kiss he can't feel on his forehead. "Sam, don’t be so impatient," she says, "Chill man, soak up some life."
She takes her son's hand, and they step into a bright light, or they become a bright light—it's hard to see just what happens. All Sam really knows is she's *gone*, they're both of them gone, completely and forever. Everyone's safe, and his little sacrifice worked without backfiring on him—thank God.
Patrick is shaking like he's about to fall down. He looks stunned, and a little confused. "That's—that's it? It's done? That's all there is?"
Sam gapes. "All there is? *All* there is? Are you fucking kidding--"
Dean comes up and throws an arm around Patrick's shoulder. "Yeah, that's it. Sometimes it doesn’t take more than that. Those are the good ones."
"All there is…" Sam mutters. Ass. He murmurs a short prayer of thanks, like the spell instructed, and burns the paper he'd written the summoning spell on in the grill and then, he tosses the contents into the lake as far as he can throw them. The coals and ash throw up a much bigger fountain of water than they should—the hiss of the dying coals is loud enough to make them all jump. He kneels in the warm, wet sand, and washes the grill in the lake, washes his hands and makes Patrick wash his hands too.
And that's it. They're standing on the shore and Sam sighs. "Well, here we are. Dad's gonna kill us when he finds out. No, not us—he'll know. He's going to kill me."
"Believe me, it'll be both of us, and he'll kill me harder because I'm the oldest," Dean snorts. "Yeah, but after that, he'll be proud of you, Sam, I promise. You did good." He turns to Patrick and slaps him on the back. "And you. You handled that like a Winchester," he says and Patrick jerks like he's being electrocuted.
"Oh God, like a Winchester…" He shudders. "Don't—don’t say that."
They collapse in a pile on Dad's bed, wrapped around each other, too worn out to do more than sleep. The covers are on a pile on the floor, and the miserable little window AC unit is wheezing its heart out, struggling to cool the air…it sucks out some humidity but the room's still an oven and even so, they're touching everywhere they can, hands and knees and feet, like they can't bear to be separated and Sam wants more, he's just too drained, too weak….
Sam wakes up and for a second he has no idea where he is, and there's the tail end of this dream he had flickering in his head. It was kind of pointless, but what he remembers of it is weird…it's him walking down the hallway in the dark, and he stops to peek into Dad's room, Dean's on the bed asleep, and Patrick is there too, his back to the door. Patrick rolls to face him and he mimes shh. Climbs off the bed, grabs Sam by the hand and pulls the door shut as he pushes him out. Says, 'Come on, I want to show you something.'
'Show me what?'
Patrick tugs Sam along, and suddenly, they're in a garden. In the sun, Patrick's eyes are the same color as Dean's. 'Look,' he says, and points into the middle of a square of big green peppers. There's a huge bright yellow and black spider, bigger than the span of Pat's hand. Sam remembers jerking back in surprise, and then, hanging over it, fascinated. 'Why'd you show me this?'
Pat shrugs. 'I thought you'd like it.' He grins. 'Dean would just pick up a rock and kill it.'
Sam nods, 'yeah, screaming all the way.' Patrick grins, draws a knuckle along the line of Sam's cheek, before walking back to the house and Sam thinks maybe he disappeared before going inside--
What the hell—spiders? He blinks and tries to stretch but he feels too heavy. Spiders. He hates spiders—more likely that he'd smack it with a rock than Dean would. Showing him the thing seems like something Patrick would do though….
Another few minutes pass before he realizes that it's just him and Dean in the bed, Dean face down and one arm hanging off the side of the bed. The weight Sam's been feeling is Dean's leg—he's pretty much trying to fill the empty space where Patrick had been. The shades are still down so Patrick must have woken much earlier. Probably not in the bathroom, Sam can't hear the shower….
He rolls out of bed…he's not looking forward to this day, he's got this feeling it's going to be a shit ass day…maybe because of the dream about spiders. Or maybe because he knows that after last night, there's no way Dean's not going to call Dad—no fucking way. Fuck, he's pretty much got to--maybe mange some damage control before Dad comes home.
Patrick's not in the living room and he's not in the kitchen either, and Sam's disappointed. He was hoping for pancakes. He must have left for work already. Before Sam can head back to bed, Dean wanders into the room, yawning and scratching. He's got last night's jeans on and nothing else, but for some reason, it feels to Sam like he's wearing armor. Dean looks…he looks kind of gray…a little shaky. He doesn't say a word; he just eyes Sam up and down with a little frown, that one he gets when he's being all thoughtful. Makes Sam wonder what it is Dean's seeing—maybe he's thinking Sam looks crappy, too. He sure feels it.
"Fuck, that really took it out of me. Weird, hunh?" Dean leans against the door frame. "I've done ghosts a couple of times with Dad, but this one was…pretty fucking weird. It was just so…aware."
"Yeah, yeah, it was intense." Sam rummages through the fridge, pulls open cabinet doors, just pretty much focusing on anything but Dean. "Oh, hey--Pat forgot his vest. Wanna take it to him, maybe get breakfast?"
"Yeah…lemme get my cigarettes…" Dean wanders out to the living room. Sam's halfway through making coffee when he comes back into the kitchen. Smoke naturally makes its way straight to Sam and Dean grins an apology, chuckles when Sam flips him off. He's heading to the back door when his cell spits out Zepplin—it's Dad. He winces and Sam's stomach just—falls. Shit. That really bad feeling just got worse….
Dean practically slams through the screen door out into the back yard, "Dad, listen, I've got to tell you something—"
Sam stands in the kitchen, torn between rage and sorrow…he's not so fucked up that he thinks the conversation could ever be Dad, guess what, we found out just how great three together can be—did I tell you about Pat and Sam? How about me and Pat and Sam…. Not unless he wants Dad to shoot them all and bury them somewhere out in the woods….
Sam hears Dean practically shout Dad, and please and then…silence. He comes to the back door and hears him say, "Yes sir. Yeah. Yes sir." Daddy's little soldier. Fuck him. Fuck everyone.
part 15B, conclusion
TBC
no subject
This is so intense.
I am sure the next part of this chapter is PERFECT SO PLEASE POST IT DO NOT LEAVE ME HANGING ok got it?
But god, please don't hurt Patrick, okay? I don't know if my heart could take it. I don't know why the kid inspires so much sympathy and maternal feelings in me. Just... eeek. I want happy. But I know this won't be happy.
*has heart palpitations*
Also... I love that Dean smokes in this fic.
*points to icon*
Kind of a thing with me.
no subject
You know, I tried not to hurt Patrick. I did my very best, I really did! But man, it makes me feel pretty damn good to know that folks liked him that much!
Also... I love that Dean smokes in this fic.
oh yeah--I love your icon. I know, I love Dean smoking! Why!? I love seeing him go through the business of getting ready to smoke, and the smoking, and thanks for helping me with that particular
kinkinterest.no subject
I have to admit... I'm scared of the sad I fear is to come, but I definitely enjoy pissed off!Sam, even if his pissy is inspired by a lot of hurt and fear. Daddy's little soldier. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. Adolescent Sam in a nutshell, yes?
Oh, I really enjoyed the magic at the beginning. It was sensual (I could see the way you described the light, smell the herbs, hear their voices). I was RIGHT THERE with the boys during the ritual, and that was pretty damn cool.
*sends virtual raspberry chocolate EVERYTHING*
no subject
I'm smiling from ear to ear--ah hell, I'm jumping up and down, so thrilled the magic bit worked for you! That held me back, I was so unsure about it.
And I should be truthful here--never underestimate how high I'm willing to jump for delicious feedback, lol! I'm working on the last bit right now, and your raspberry-chocolate flavored feedback is spurring me on. ;)
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That dream is real, girl. Long time ago, Mr. R called me out ot the garden to see "something interesting"--and it turned out to be the biggest effing yellow spider in the world! I screamed my brains out! Spiders--ewewew! And he wouldn't kill it either!! Meanie. And yeah, I bet Dean would be all "look at that holy shit" and smash the hell out of it with that look people get, all fascinated-horrified?
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*BLINK*
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I really loved that ritual you did there. Awesome.
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Again.
*hugs self*
This is just......going to suck. So hard. OMG. Patrick not being there is *bad*, all of it, just.....
*flails*
*hides*
*i freakin' love this fic, i just wish.....*
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I swear, next one, big happy ending all around. *whimpers*
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Or can I? *wibbles*
Now I need a Pat icon! :) Complete with long hair and goofy smile. . . and little-boy-lost eyes. :(
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:( {and not the good kind of suck--*pout*}
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Is it really goofy to want to write a happy story in that verse?