To The Waters And The Wild 22
5/30/09 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 2973
A/N: Remember when I said this was going to be 22 parts, and then we laughed because we knew I was lying? Yeah.
They checked into a drab, cracker box of a motel, left all their gear in the car—they weren't staying long enough to do anything but catch a few hours of sleep. The room was dark, stuffy, but fine for the night…in the morning maybe he'd know what to do. Tonight, he was letting his battered brain and body do its best to rest.
Dean stood by the door, next to the bags. He looked wrung out and beat up. Sam hadn't even looked at his shoulder and ignored the twinge—the *blast*--of guilt that came on the heels of that thought. Dean swayed, licked dry, cracked lips. "Ah…do you want…should I sleep here? Or…I could sit outside, watch the car…"
Sam grabbed the bridge of his nose and rubbed hard. Dean was asking him for permission. To sleep. "Jesus—just--get on the bed," he snapped, and the other looked pathetically grateful. "Take your stuff off." Sam hated the wary hope that flared in the other's eyes. He turned away without a word, and unzipped one of the duffels, took out the first aid kit.
When he turned back to the bed, Dean was slumped, his head resting on his hands, staring at what passed for carpet. His posture screamed defeated. Resigned. "So, you're going to patch me up. Not killing me tonight, hunh?"
"You know what, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll kill you right now. Lemme see that shoulder." Sam yanked the collar of the shirt, ripping it open. The shoulder was swollen, bruised where the bullets had ripped gouges; the edges of the wounds looked chewed. Sam noticed a faint smell, as if the flesh was necrotic. His lips twisted with disgust and a faint twinge of sympathy. The silver had done that. It must have hurt horribly. The pain must still be incredible—he felt Dean's minuscule jerks under his hand, heard his breath hitch as Sam probed at the wounds.
"Come on." He prodded Dean into the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet. Under the un-shaded bulb, Dean looked gray, shivered the whole time Sam washed the wounds but said nothing—not a word, not a moan. He kept his eyes trained on the tiles, and when it seemed the pain got too much for him, he twisted the hem of his torn tee-shirt in his hands but never once asked Sam to stop, or reached out to him….
When he decided the gouges were clean enough, Sam pulled gauze and tape out of the kit, thought about it for a few seconds and then, took a small silver flask out and laid it next to the gauze. Dean eyed it with a trace of fear, bit his lip, but was silent.
Sam picked up the flask, and said, "Okay. This is might hurt. Is probably going to hurt. I…I hope it doesn't, but it if I'm right…it should sort of cauterize the wounds." He hoped that he was wrong, that it wouldn't do a damn thing…he tipped a splash of holy water into the wounds and Dean's head snapped back.
No. No, fuck, fuckfuck--Watching the water boil furiously, watching Dean pant hard and whine through clenched teeth as the holy water ate like acid into his flesh was a nightmare--the ultimate nightmare—Sam felt weirdly disconnected, unattached to what was happening here. Nothing felt real. His eyes traced the course of the water dripping down Dean's chest and idly noted it ran clear, normal. He didn't notice his hands shaking, didn't feel his heart racing.
Dean dropped his head, the panting got harsher, faster and he listed suddenly to one side. Instinct sent Sam jumping forward, to reach out and catch Dean. It was--he could feel Dean's pain, it flowed under his fingers, hot and twitching, burning like it was his own. Suddenly, a switch flipped--everything rushed back in, right under his skin. He couldn't help himself…he laid a hand against Dean's cheek for moment and felt Dean lean into it…"Hey—do you need me to stop?"
"'M'okay. Okay," he slurred, "Finish." Sam pressed a gauze pad against the area, instructed Dean to hold the pad tight. He wrapped Dean's shoulder as well as he could and when he was confident the gauze would stay in place he stepped back, staring at…the other. After a long moment he walked out of the bathroom, and returned with a flask of JB from out of the duffle. He poured Dean a shot in the plastic bathroom cup.
"Drink this."
Dean gulped it, wiped his mouth with a sigh. "Another?"
Sam filled the cup, and Dean drank it down, eyes closed. "Go to sleep," Sam said, and walked away.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
He sat in the Impala and called Bobby's number. He cursed himself when it was Dean who answered instead, though really, why should his screwed up life start to improve now?
"Stop being stupid and come back, Sam…please. It's not like I don't get it—you've been through a lot of shit, you're confused. But you know the truth now…whatever it is, whatever it's been telling you, it's a lie. Monsters…that's what they do, Sam. They find your weak spot and they fuck you up."
"It's not like that," Sam said, and hated how weak, how uncertain he sounded. "He's not…he needs me."
"And I don’t? You're my brother. I need to know you're safe. I need you here. The silence stretched until Sam was sure Dean had disconnected, and then, his brother sighed, spoke again. Listen…if word gets around that you're carting some…some freak *thing* around with you, what do you think's going to happen, hunh?"
"Dean…"
"*You're* going to be hunted. Hunters will take it as a—a—sign, you understand me? You'll never be able to stop if you run, Sam; you'll be looking over your shoulder all the time—"
Sam laughed miserably, and sunk lower in the seat. He cupped the phone to his face, when he could bring himself to speak again, he felt like all the life had drained out of him. "How 'bout you tell me how that'll be different, Dean—like I don't have life-long experience with being scared, looking over my shoulder—" The reply he got was in that same tone, the voice sad, raw, the voice of a much older man. Dean, the real Dean, sounded like Dad.
"Yeah, well, you never saw me back there before."
"Dean, you can do that? I *love* you…loved you…"
"Damn it. Me too, Sammy, you're my brother but…shit. I'd never *want* to hurt you. I won't. You know that. But I'd save you from yourself. After all we fought for, and what I gave—I can't have you throw that away."
"I don't…I thought I saved you, Dean. I *did*. I mean…I was sure…" Sam shook his head, too full of emotion to speak.
"Sam—Sammy, come on--"
"And you don't love me, not the way I mean—I need. You can't, I know that. And…I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I screwed up."
"Sam…" His brother wrestled his voice back from a shout, to an agonized whisper. "I can't let it live, Sam."
Sam tried to breathe. "I know. I just. Give me some time." He broke the connection and dropped the phone. His brother didn't get it. It wasn't like—like—this false Dean showed up on his doorstep, lying his way into Sam's life. Sam had fought for him; they'd worked hard together, to help him be something like normal. Sam couldn't just turn his back on him, hand him over like…some stray animal.
There was a part of Sam that wished that he'd never done any of it, wished he was free of it, and safe home with his brother. But, there was also that part of him that couldn't imagine not having done it….
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
He went back into the room, and stood over this Dean's bed, watching him sleep, listening to the tiny, helpless whimpers he made in his sleep. Dean was out hard—the pain-killer he'd palmed into the JB should keep him out for a while. Sam pulled the Taurus out, letting the weight settle his hand, his thoughts. He aimed, focusing on a freckle between the—Dean's eyebrows. One shot, and it would all end. He swallowed. End everything. There really was no going back for him. Dean and Bobby were…another life, a life he couldn't fit back into, anymore than he could fit back into his New York life. Being with this person had changed everything.
Sam looked down the barrel at the freckle. At the monster with his brother's face. Who'd come into the world needing him. Had suffered so much, and done it all for Sam. Just like his brother had. Had sworn to protect him, just like his brother had. Given Sam everything he had to give...what monster does that?
What kind of monster jumps in front of a bullet for you?
Dean made a noise and woke up, staring up at Sam. He closed his eyes again. "It's okay."
It was not fucking okay—it was the furthest thing ever from okay. Sam took the clip out of the gun. Whatever happened next, he'd deal with. Whatever it took, he'd do it. Fuck. He had to keep Dean. It was supposed to be—had to be. Dean was made for him, right? That meant he was fucking keeping him. "You…you know how in--in the movies, the good guys say 'it's us against everyone?'"
"Yeah…?" came the careful reply.
Sam pressed fingers against his closed eyes and groaned. "That probably sucks more ass than you can imagine."
Dean licked his lips, and jade eyes mellowed to a soft green. He pushed himself up until his shoulders were pressed against the headboard, and stared at Sam, his gazed darting between Sam and the gun held by his side. "Yeah. I bet it does."
Sam snorted. He laid the gun on the nightstand, yanked his shirts off and dropped them, kicked off his shoes and hesitated. He glanced at the second bed, and back at Dean.
"Do you want to lay down here? I won't touch you, I promise." He looked so sincere, trying hard to be brave, so Sam nodded; entirely certain it was a very bad idea. "Okay, then," Dean said and held up the blanket and pushed himself to the very edge of the bed, away from Sam.
Sam got in, and shoved himself against Dean's chest. After a shocked inhale and a beat or two, soft lips pressed fleetingly to the top of Sam's spine, made him shudder. "I swear to God, it's going to be okay, Sam."
Sam thought maybe some day he could learn to live with that.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
They were well out of South Dakota before Sam felt safe enough to stop again. He picked a nondescript place, the kind of place that looked like its clientele were mostly transients. Inside, it was dark and cool, and the air was thick with the smell of things frying. There was no attempt to be anything than what it was, a cheap place to eat--just wood floors and chairs along a counter, a few booths against the back wall of the place. Dean headed towards a booth that let them see the exits….
The smell of the place, the buzz of conversation, orders being shouted and the clash of silverware—places like this was where Sam felt most at home. Cheap out of the way diners like this were the kind of places he'd spent a good part of his childhood in, eating breakfast and lunch and dinner, doing homework, or just waiting--for Dad, for Dean--
"Places like this are pretty much like coming home to me--sad as that is," he said, and Dean tilted his head. Sam hesitated, but had to ask. "Do you…remember stuff like this?"
Dean looked away, the straw in his hands suddenly fascinating. "Yeah. I remember sitting in this one place, felt like all day, sucking on a watery coke, and watching you. Waiting for you to finish your homework, I think, so we could go back to a real crummy ass room, and sleep. I remember we took turns sleeping in that place, to watch out for roaches. You really hate—hated--them." Dean bent the straw back and forth as he talked, watched that action like it was all that was important in the world. "I know those memories aren't mine," he whispered.
"Yeah." Sam shook his head—it was still—impossible to imagine. To believe. "Do you think…do you remember anything…else?"
"You mean like, before whatever this is happened to me?" He shook his head. "Not really. I remember running, I remember…hurting, all the time. Being horribly hungry and thirsty, and angry, just so fucking angry and wanting to hurt back. But not. Not real memories. Just feelings. They made me to hurt you, I think. But I wouldn't. Won't."
"You know what? Out of all the shit that's happened last few days…I don’t know why, but that's the only thing I'm sure of," Sam said, and Dean's expression didn't change, but his eyes lit up.
They waited for their order, and Dean's arm drifted, slowly, hesitantly, until it ended up across the back of the bench. It hovered behind him, until Sam leaned back, and then his fingers stealthily curled in the hair tucked into Sam's collar, and Sam heard the breath Dean let go. And really, it felt *good*, damn it. Dean was warm and solid, pressed into his side. Sam let himself relax, fucking refused to think about anything else but how good it felt to be sitting still and doing nothing for a precious few moments.
Of course, that couldn't last.
Over the diner door, there was an old school style clock, a huge saucer of a thing, with roman numerals printed around its face. The noise the thing made caught his attention. Tick-tock, tick-tock…when he looked down again, a familiar, smiling figure was tucked into the seat across from them. Dean was pale and stiff, his head down, hand locked on Sam's thigh hard enough to make him groan—in pain and in annoyance at their uninvited guest. "I'd like to say it's good to see you, but…" Sam shrugged and Dean sharpened all over, still with his head down but his whole appearance was of nervous expectation. "So." Sam sat back and glared at Esu. "Is this where you collect?" he asked.
"Samuel, Samuel. I 'collected' the second you took the chance given you." Esu spread his hand over the table top, and a steaming cup of tea appeared. He smiled and lifted the porcelain cup to his lips.
"Tell me what you want." Sam snapped. "This has to do with the doors—"
Esu interrupted. "Let me tell you a story, boy.
There was this one day Eshu (or Nansi, or Legba, whatever you like) decided was a perfect day for a stroll, a perfect day to wear his best and favorite hat—red on the one side, and on the other side, black. His stroll took him through a very prosperous village and (being the friendly sort) he smiled and tipped his hat, greeting folks along the way. Now, not long after he passed, the people there began to argue whether that fine hat was red, or black, seeing as those on one side of the road could only see the black and those on the other side could only see the red. They got so riled about that hat, they fought, and fought, brother against brother, father against son—on and on until no one was left to argue. When Eshu strolled though on his way back and saw what had happened, he had a pretty good laugh and said "Change comes in all kinds of ways, and bringing it on brings me joy."
"Is that why you did this to me? So I would change things?"
"Well, pretty Samuel, that's what everyone wants. Me, I want what you want--it's bound to be interesting. Look at you now."
"What do you get from changing things?"
"Already done told you. It's just…the fun of it all. Boy, I have no ill will toward you—either one of you. Whatever you decide is sure to be pleasing." He stood, his face wreathed in a brilliant smile. "Have a good life. Oh, and FYI, Samuel--the meatloaf--don't order it."
At that Dean lifted his head and stared Esu right in the eye, and lifted his lip. His teeth gleamed white, a brief moment, before he dropped his head again.
Esu murmured "Good boy," winking at Dean, and giving Sam a little wave, he disappeared.
Sam stared at the empty place in front of them watched the tea cup shimmer into nothingness. "Good boy," he whispered and Dean didn’t turn his head to him, but he laughed.
Their order came, and Dean worked his way through his hamburger and Sam's too, while Sam thought about what Esu had told him.
Part 23
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 2973
A/N: Remember when I said this was going to be 22 parts, and then we laughed because we knew I was lying? Yeah.
They checked into a drab, cracker box of a motel, left all their gear in the car—they weren't staying long enough to do anything but catch a few hours of sleep. The room was dark, stuffy, but fine for the night…in the morning maybe he'd know what to do. Tonight, he was letting his battered brain and body do its best to rest.
Dean stood by the door, next to the bags. He looked wrung out and beat up. Sam hadn't even looked at his shoulder and ignored the twinge—the *blast*--of guilt that came on the heels of that thought. Dean swayed, licked dry, cracked lips. "Ah…do you want…should I sleep here? Or…I could sit outside, watch the car…"
Sam grabbed the bridge of his nose and rubbed hard. Dean was asking him for permission. To sleep. "Jesus—just--get on the bed," he snapped, and the other looked pathetically grateful. "Take your stuff off." Sam hated the wary hope that flared in the other's eyes. He turned away without a word, and unzipped one of the duffels, took out the first aid kit.
When he turned back to the bed, Dean was slumped, his head resting on his hands, staring at what passed for carpet. His posture screamed defeated. Resigned. "So, you're going to patch me up. Not killing me tonight, hunh?"
"You know what, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll kill you right now. Lemme see that shoulder." Sam yanked the collar of the shirt, ripping it open. The shoulder was swollen, bruised where the bullets had ripped gouges; the edges of the wounds looked chewed. Sam noticed a faint smell, as if the flesh was necrotic. His lips twisted with disgust and a faint twinge of sympathy. The silver had done that. It must have hurt horribly. The pain must still be incredible—he felt Dean's minuscule jerks under his hand, heard his breath hitch as Sam probed at the wounds.
"Come on." He prodded Dean into the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet. Under the un-shaded bulb, Dean looked gray, shivered the whole time Sam washed the wounds but said nothing—not a word, not a moan. He kept his eyes trained on the tiles, and when it seemed the pain got too much for him, he twisted the hem of his torn tee-shirt in his hands but never once asked Sam to stop, or reached out to him….
When he decided the gouges were clean enough, Sam pulled gauze and tape out of the kit, thought about it for a few seconds and then, took a small silver flask out and laid it next to the gauze. Dean eyed it with a trace of fear, bit his lip, but was silent.
Sam picked up the flask, and said, "Okay. This is might hurt. Is probably going to hurt. I…I hope it doesn't, but it if I'm right…it should sort of cauterize the wounds." He hoped that he was wrong, that it wouldn't do a damn thing…he tipped a splash of holy water into the wounds and Dean's head snapped back.
No. No, fuck, fuckfuck--Watching the water boil furiously, watching Dean pant hard and whine through clenched teeth as the holy water ate like acid into his flesh was a nightmare--the ultimate nightmare—Sam felt weirdly disconnected, unattached to what was happening here. Nothing felt real. His eyes traced the course of the water dripping down Dean's chest and idly noted it ran clear, normal. He didn't notice his hands shaking, didn't feel his heart racing.
Dean dropped his head, the panting got harsher, faster and he listed suddenly to one side. Instinct sent Sam jumping forward, to reach out and catch Dean. It was--he could feel Dean's pain, it flowed under his fingers, hot and twitching, burning like it was his own. Suddenly, a switch flipped--everything rushed back in, right under his skin. He couldn't help himself…he laid a hand against Dean's cheek for moment and felt Dean lean into it…"Hey—do you need me to stop?"
"'M'okay. Okay," he slurred, "Finish." Sam pressed a gauze pad against the area, instructed Dean to hold the pad tight. He wrapped Dean's shoulder as well as he could and when he was confident the gauze would stay in place he stepped back, staring at…the other. After a long moment he walked out of the bathroom, and returned with a flask of JB from out of the duffle. He poured Dean a shot in the plastic bathroom cup.
"Drink this."
Dean gulped it, wiped his mouth with a sigh. "Another?"
Sam filled the cup, and Dean drank it down, eyes closed. "Go to sleep," Sam said, and walked away.
He sat in the Impala and called Bobby's number. He cursed himself when it was Dean who answered instead, though really, why should his screwed up life start to improve now?
"Stop being stupid and come back, Sam…please. It's not like I don't get it—you've been through a lot of shit, you're confused. But you know the truth now…whatever it is, whatever it's been telling you, it's a lie. Monsters…that's what they do, Sam. They find your weak spot and they fuck you up."
"It's not like that," Sam said, and hated how weak, how uncertain he sounded. "He's not…he needs me."
"And I don’t? You're my brother. I need to know you're safe. I need you here. The silence stretched until Sam was sure Dean had disconnected, and then, his brother sighed, spoke again. Listen…if word gets around that you're carting some…some freak *thing* around with you, what do you think's going to happen, hunh?"
"Dean…"
"*You're* going to be hunted. Hunters will take it as a—a—sign, you understand me? You'll never be able to stop if you run, Sam; you'll be looking over your shoulder all the time—"
Sam laughed miserably, and sunk lower in the seat. He cupped the phone to his face, when he could bring himself to speak again, he felt like all the life had drained out of him. "How 'bout you tell me how that'll be different, Dean—like I don't have life-long experience with being scared, looking over my shoulder—" The reply he got was in that same tone, the voice sad, raw, the voice of a much older man. Dean, the real Dean, sounded like Dad.
"Yeah, well, you never saw me back there before."
"Dean, you can do that? I *love* you…loved you…"
"Damn it. Me too, Sammy, you're my brother but…shit. I'd never *want* to hurt you. I won't. You know that. But I'd save you from yourself. After all we fought for, and what I gave—I can't have you throw that away."
"I don't…I thought I saved you, Dean. I *did*. I mean…I was sure…" Sam shook his head, too full of emotion to speak.
"Sam—Sammy, come on--"
"And you don't love me, not the way I mean—I need. You can't, I know that. And…I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I screwed up."
"Sam…" His brother wrestled his voice back from a shout, to an agonized whisper. "I can't let it live, Sam."
Sam tried to breathe. "I know. I just. Give me some time." He broke the connection and dropped the phone. His brother didn't get it. It wasn't like—like—this false Dean showed up on his doorstep, lying his way into Sam's life. Sam had fought for him; they'd worked hard together, to help him be something like normal. Sam couldn't just turn his back on him, hand him over like…some stray animal.
There was a part of Sam that wished that he'd never done any of it, wished he was free of it, and safe home with his brother. But, there was also that part of him that couldn't imagine not having done it….
He went back into the room, and stood over this Dean's bed, watching him sleep, listening to the tiny, helpless whimpers he made in his sleep. Dean was out hard—the pain-killer he'd palmed into the JB should keep him out for a while. Sam pulled the Taurus out, letting the weight settle his hand, his thoughts. He aimed, focusing on a freckle between the—Dean's eyebrows. One shot, and it would all end. He swallowed. End everything. There really was no going back for him. Dean and Bobby were…another life, a life he couldn't fit back into, anymore than he could fit back into his New York life. Being with this person had changed everything.
Sam looked down the barrel at the freckle. At the monster with his brother's face. Who'd come into the world needing him. Had suffered so much, and done it all for Sam. Just like his brother had. Had sworn to protect him, just like his brother had. Given Sam everything he had to give...what monster does that?
What kind of monster jumps in front of a bullet for you?
Dean made a noise and woke up, staring up at Sam. He closed his eyes again. "It's okay."
It was not fucking okay—it was the furthest thing ever from okay. Sam took the clip out of the gun. Whatever happened next, he'd deal with. Whatever it took, he'd do it. Fuck. He had to keep Dean. It was supposed to be—had to be. Dean was made for him, right? That meant he was fucking keeping him. "You…you know how in--in the movies, the good guys say 'it's us against everyone?'"
"Yeah…?" came the careful reply.
Sam pressed fingers against his closed eyes and groaned. "That probably sucks more ass than you can imagine."
Dean licked his lips, and jade eyes mellowed to a soft green. He pushed himself up until his shoulders were pressed against the headboard, and stared at Sam, his gazed darting between Sam and the gun held by his side. "Yeah. I bet it does."
Sam snorted. He laid the gun on the nightstand, yanked his shirts off and dropped them, kicked off his shoes and hesitated. He glanced at the second bed, and back at Dean.
"Do you want to lay down here? I won't touch you, I promise." He looked so sincere, trying hard to be brave, so Sam nodded; entirely certain it was a very bad idea. "Okay, then," Dean said and held up the blanket and pushed himself to the very edge of the bed, away from Sam.
Sam got in, and shoved himself against Dean's chest. After a shocked inhale and a beat or two, soft lips pressed fleetingly to the top of Sam's spine, made him shudder. "I swear to God, it's going to be okay, Sam."
Sam thought maybe some day he could learn to live with that.
They were well out of South Dakota before Sam felt safe enough to stop again. He picked a nondescript place, the kind of place that looked like its clientele were mostly transients. Inside, it was dark and cool, and the air was thick with the smell of things frying. There was no attempt to be anything than what it was, a cheap place to eat--just wood floors and chairs along a counter, a few booths against the back wall of the place. Dean headed towards a booth that let them see the exits….
The smell of the place, the buzz of conversation, orders being shouted and the clash of silverware—places like this was where Sam felt most at home. Cheap out of the way diners like this were the kind of places he'd spent a good part of his childhood in, eating breakfast and lunch and dinner, doing homework, or just waiting--for Dad, for Dean--
"Places like this are pretty much like coming home to me--sad as that is," he said, and Dean tilted his head. Sam hesitated, but had to ask. "Do you…remember stuff like this?"
Dean looked away, the straw in his hands suddenly fascinating. "Yeah. I remember sitting in this one place, felt like all day, sucking on a watery coke, and watching you. Waiting for you to finish your homework, I think, so we could go back to a real crummy ass room, and sleep. I remember we took turns sleeping in that place, to watch out for roaches. You really hate—hated--them." Dean bent the straw back and forth as he talked, watched that action like it was all that was important in the world. "I know those memories aren't mine," he whispered.
"Yeah." Sam shook his head—it was still—impossible to imagine. To believe. "Do you think…do you remember anything…else?"
"You mean like, before whatever this is happened to me?" He shook his head. "Not really. I remember running, I remember…hurting, all the time. Being horribly hungry and thirsty, and angry, just so fucking angry and wanting to hurt back. But not. Not real memories. Just feelings. They made me to hurt you, I think. But I wouldn't. Won't."
"You know what? Out of all the shit that's happened last few days…I don’t know why, but that's the only thing I'm sure of," Sam said, and Dean's expression didn't change, but his eyes lit up.
They waited for their order, and Dean's arm drifted, slowly, hesitantly, until it ended up across the back of the bench. It hovered behind him, until Sam leaned back, and then his fingers stealthily curled in the hair tucked into Sam's collar, and Sam heard the breath Dean let go. And really, it felt *good*, damn it. Dean was warm and solid, pressed into his side. Sam let himself relax, fucking refused to think about anything else but how good it felt to be sitting still and doing nothing for a precious few moments.
Of course, that couldn't last.
Over the diner door, there was an old school style clock, a huge saucer of a thing, with roman numerals printed around its face. The noise the thing made caught his attention. Tick-tock, tick-tock…when he looked down again, a familiar, smiling figure was tucked into the seat across from them. Dean was pale and stiff, his head down, hand locked on Sam's thigh hard enough to make him groan—in pain and in annoyance at their uninvited guest. "I'd like to say it's good to see you, but…" Sam shrugged and Dean sharpened all over, still with his head down but his whole appearance was of nervous expectation. "So." Sam sat back and glared at Esu. "Is this where you collect?" he asked.
"Samuel, Samuel. I 'collected' the second you took the chance given you." Esu spread his hand over the table top, and a steaming cup of tea appeared. He smiled and lifted the porcelain cup to his lips.
"Tell me what you want." Sam snapped. "This has to do with the doors—"
Esu interrupted. "Let me tell you a story, boy.
There was this one day Eshu (or Nansi, or Legba, whatever you like) decided was a perfect day for a stroll, a perfect day to wear his best and favorite hat—red on the one side, and on the other side, black. His stroll took him through a very prosperous village and (being the friendly sort) he smiled and tipped his hat, greeting folks along the way. Now, not long after he passed, the people there began to argue whether that fine hat was red, or black, seeing as those on one side of the road could only see the black and those on the other side could only see the red. They got so riled about that hat, they fought, and fought, brother against brother, father against son—on and on until no one was left to argue. When Eshu strolled though on his way back and saw what had happened, he had a pretty good laugh and said "Change comes in all kinds of ways, and bringing it on brings me joy."
"Is that why you did this to me? So I would change things?"
"Well, pretty Samuel, that's what everyone wants. Me, I want what you want--it's bound to be interesting. Look at you now."
"What do you get from changing things?"
"Already done told you. It's just…the fun of it all. Boy, I have no ill will toward you—either one of you. Whatever you decide is sure to be pleasing." He stood, his face wreathed in a brilliant smile. "Have a good life. Oh, and FYI, Samuel--the meatloaf--don't order it."
At that Dean lifted his head and stared Esu right in the eye, and lifted his lip. His teeth gleamed white, a brief moment, before he dropped his head again.
Esu murmured "Good boy," winking at Dean, and giving Sam a little wave, he disappeared.
Sam stared at the empty place in front of them watched the tea cup shimmer into nothingness. "Good boy," he whispered and Dean didn’t turn his head to him, but he laughed.
Their order came, and Dean worked his way through his hamburger and Sam's too, while Sam thought about what Esu had told him.
Part 23
TBC
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(no subject)
5/30/09 07:04 am (UTC)I will read soon. And make big sad kitten eyes at you until you send me whatever else you've got planned :P
(no subject)
6/1/09 02:34 am (UTC)feel better!
(no subject)
6/1/09 02:50 am (UTC)I love this chapter. I was going to email when I was in my right mind, then remembered that I'm never in my right mind.
*ups the wattage on the big sad eyes to give you...DEAN doing puppy eyes! Bwaahahahaa*
(no subject)
5/30/09 07:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/1/09 02:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/1/09 04:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/30/09 09:35 am (UTC)And real!Dean's conversation with Sam on the phone...God, what it must be like for Dean to see his brother choosing what he sees as a monster over him - and for reasons that he can't understand.
Sam's trying to cocoon himself up in this safe little lie with fake!Dean, and it's just not gonna work...MEEP!!!!!!!
Awesome sauce! :D
(no subject)
6/1/09 02:54 am (UTC)Sam's trying to cocoon himself up in this safe little lie with fake!Dean, and it's just not gonna work...
*nods* He's really coming to consider it, he's feeling a little lost--and very confused!
(no subject)
5/30/09 03:23 pm (UTC)I *get* how Sam feels but no fucking way is he going to abandon his *brother*. Arrrgh!!!
*flails a bit*
There must be some other solution and Sammy, you'd better find it!!!
*pets them all*
(no subject)
6/1/09 02:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/1/09 05:55 am (UTC)Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhy why why do i let you do this to me?
Why?
*clings to you*
(no subject)
6/3/09 03:23 am (UTC)SO SORRY! CHOCOLATES? TEA? MINK MASSAGE?
Anything to make it better!!!!
(no subject)
6/3/09 03:48 am (UTC)STOP HURTING MY BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIS!!!!!
*whimpers*
(no subject)
6/3/09 05:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/3/09 05:38 am (UTC)*clings*
(no subject)
6/3/09 05:41 am (UTC)Next story, they're buying a cottage and growing roses! Or something like it. :)
(no subject)
6/3/09 11:33 am (UTC)You phreak.
*luffs hard*
(no subject)
5/30/09 05:48 pm (UTC)*shakes head* This is painful stuff, right here! I luvs it!
(no subject)
6/1/09 02:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/30/09 06:17 pm (UTC)And there's an important moral in this section: Always, ALWAYS...beware the meatloaf...
(no subject)
6/1/09 03:00 am (UTC)I know I'm treading on thin ice here--trying not to let my Roxy trip me up. Can you tell I really identify with Fake?Dean? *G*
(no subject)
5/30/09 06:19 pm (UTC)Amazing, awesome update; I can't wait to see what happens next.
(no subject)
6/1/09 03:02 am (UTC)*slowly backs out of room...*
(no subject)
5/31/09 02:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/1/09 03:03 am (UTC)Stop it!
No, really!
*meeep*
(no subject)
6/1/09 03:05 am (UTC)I just wanna see what you're planning that's all.
(no subject)
6/1/09 03:15 am (UTC)the eyes--I lied--I can't resist them!
*G*
(no subject)
6/1/09 03:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/1/09 07:54 pm (UTC)But Dean is right! They need to kill fake!Dean. Dude, he's admitted that he was created to hurt Sam, and even though he doesn't want to, that doesn't mean he can necessarily help himself.
Gah!
Okay, more please!
(no subject)
6/3/09 03:21 am (UTC)