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SpN: Memory: the act of remembering
Title: Memory: the act of remembering
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Rating:PG
Word Count: 753
Spoilers: references Dark Side of The Moon vaguely, Pilot ep, vaguely
Summary: a little Dean introspection following 5:16
I'm trying to break this block, so whatever comes to mind I throw down. I did enjoy playing with this. More Gen. What the fuck?
So he’s working over-time on a “Miller Time” shift; he’ll stumble back in sooner or later, Sam had said, like he thought that all Dad was, was a drunk. But he wasn't. So every once in a while, John Winchester had had a few too many, crossed the line from buzzed to blitzed. So what. Mostly, what he'd got was what he called "morose". He'd look on the edge of crying, and sigh great big old gusty, windy, sighs. Sometimes he'd talk about their mother, what a saint she was, how perfect, how beautiful, and how he'd worshiped the ground she walked on. Though every once in a while, he'd used to give Sam a long, narrow squint from across the room and whisper to Dean, she was so damn hard-headed and nearly impossible to live with, that woman, she was god-damn beautiful and she'd give you the shirt off her back, but stubborn and set and one-strike-you're out, you know? Can't believe how soft I was back then, how easy to hurt…then he'd clap his hand over Dean's shoulder and say, don’t let them hurt you, boy, gotta get you tough, tougher than Sammy if you’re going to take care of him….
John Winchester did his best and cared for his boys with all he had left to care with, so it hurt Dean when Sam's memories were all of going away, and confused Dean when his own good memories weren't really all that good…except for the field, and that was mostly because it was probably the last time Sam hugged him that he wasn't dying or just come back from being dead….
Bucket of extra crispy and Dad passed out on the couch, that was what Sam had said Thanksgivings were and Dean felt some kind of way about that because it wasn't true, at least it wasn't always true. Well, yeah, the chicken part maybe but Sam forgot the fun they had too, like watching the game together and cursing the screen and Dad telling them stories about hunts gone really, really good or hunts gone comically wrong—Dean would never forget the exploding pixies as long as…well, until he got older and realized pixies weren't as funny as Dad had made them out to a fourteen and a ten year old. Plus he must have forgot that Dad would bring them pie to go with the extra crispy sometimes and sometimes it was homemade and really good and Dad'd be smiling, a little red washing his cheeks, that now Dean thought about it, probably wasn't brought on by a shot and a Bud. So what--those pies were good. When they were kids, Dad would give them each a splash of beer in a cup to go with dinner and as they got older the glass got bigger. Made them feel like men. It was cool, at least it was to the kid who wanted to be just like him. No doubt the other kid thought it was child abuse, not that Sammy'd ever refused it….
Sam's two weeks of adventure and John Winchester had almost cried, looking for the kid those days he was missing, his heart in his throat and worry all over his face. Dean had thought they'd both were going to die for worry of Sam. And when they'd found him, when they'd found him, Dad was a towering lightning-shot cloud of black rage, speechless with fury. Pointed at the car with thunder in his face and murder in his eyes. Sam scooted out without a word, leaped in the backseat and cried all the way home about some mutt he'd left. Dad cried for his son and Sam cried for the dog and no one cried for Dean sore from head to toe and bruised and his back raw and not even Dean cried for Dean. 'Cause he'd screwed it up. Again.
After that, the disappointment lurked in the edges of every smile he got from Dad forever…right up to the end. Past the end. And Sam just kept on being Sam and Dean just kept on being Dean because what other choice did he have? He asked himself that in the darkest part of night when he had two minutes to himself not worrying about everyone and everything. Did he, have choices, because he can't remember ever having them….
So, yeah, memories and stuff…like they say, one man's meat is another man's poison or some shit like that. Anyfuckingway.
~fin~3-5-2011
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Rating:PG
Word Count: 753
Spoilers: references Dark Side of The Moon vaguely, Pilot ep, vaguely
Summary: a little Dean introspection following 5:16
I'm trying to break this block, so whatever comes to mind I throw down. I did enjoy playing with this. More Gen. What the fuck?
So he’s working over-time on a “Miller Time” shift; he’ll stumble back in sooner or later, Sam had said, like he thought that all Dad was, was a drunk. But he wasn't. So every once in a while, John Winchester had had a few too many, crossed the line from buzzed to blitzed. So what. Mostly, what he'd got was what he called "morose". He'd look on the edge of crying, and sigh great big old gusty, windy, sighs. Sometimes he'd talk about their mother, what a saint she was, how perfect, how beautiful, and how he'd worshiped the ground she walked on. Though every once in a while, he'd used to give Sam a long, narrow squint from across the room and whisper to Dean, she was so damn hard-headed and nearly impossible to live with, that woman, she was god-damn beautiful and she'd give you the shirt off her back, but stubborn and set and one-strike-you're out, you know? Can't believe how soft I was back then, how easy to hurt…then he'd clap his hand over Dean's shoulder and say, don’t let them hurt you, boy, gotta get you tough, tougher than Sammy if you’re going to take care of him….
John Winchester did his best and cared for his boys with all he had left to care with, so it hurt Dean when Sam's memories were all of going away, and confused Dean when his own good memories weren't really all that good…except for the field, and that was mostly because it was probably the last time Sam hugged him that he wasn't dying or just come back from being dead….
Bucket of extra crispy and Dad passed out on the couch, that was what Sam had said Thanksgivings were and Dean felt some kind of way about that because it wasn't true, at least it wasn't always true. Well, yeah, the chicken part maybe but Sam forgot the fun they had too, like watching the game together and cursing the screen and Dad telling them stories about hunts gone really, really good or hunts gone comically wrong—Dean would never forget the exploding pixies as long as…well, until he got older and realized pixies weren't as funny as Dad had made them out to a fourteen and a ten year old. Plus he must have forgot that Dad would bring them pie to go with the extra crispy sometimes and sometimes it was homemade and really good and Dad'd be smiling, a little red washing his cheeks, that now Dean thought about it, probably wasn't brought on by a shot and a Bud. So what--those pies were good. When they were kids, Dad would give them each a splash of beer in a cup to go with dinner and as they got older the glass got bigger. Made them feel like men. It was cool, at least it was to the kid who wanted to be just like him. No doubt the other kid thought it was child abuse, not that Sammy'd ever refused it….
Sam's two weeks of adventure and John Winchester had almost cried, looking for the kid those days he was missing, his heart in his throat and worry all over his face. Dean had thought they'd both were going to die for worry of Sam. And when they'd found him, when they'd found him, Dad was a towering lightning-shot cloud of black rage, speechless with fury. Pointed at the car with thunder in his face and murder in his eyes. Sam scooted out without a word, leaped in the backseat and cried all the way home about some mutt he'd left. Dad cried for his son and Sam cried for the dog and no one cried for Dean sore from head to toe and bruised and his back raw and not even Dean cried for Dean. 'Cause he'd screwed it up. Again.
After that, the disappointment lurked in the edges of every smile he got from Dad forever…right up to the end. Past the end. And Sam just kept on being Sam and Dean just kept on being Dean because what other choice did he have? He asked himself that in the darkest part of night when he had two minutes to himself not worrying about everyone and everything. Did he, have choices, because he can't remember ever having them….
So, yeah, memories and stuff…like they say, one man's meat is another man's poison or some shit like that. Anyfuckingway.
~fin~3-5-2011
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Break my heart again, why don't you, *damnit*, Miss Rose, your Dean is just so damn *resigned* to being not enough.
*cries for him*
Good stuff, good stuff.
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As for Dean feeling resigned to not being good enough--I think he's a littler less that way now, I think. Lisa and Ben had a good influence on him, whether he wants to admit it or not. I like to think that he's seeing a possibility that his life means more than being Sam's brother.
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*hugs him*
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Memory: the act of remembering
Re: Memory: the act of remembering
I'm taking that as a compliment!
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Same icon. :)
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we icon together! :)