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31_days2007-05-26 10:39 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-05-26 10:39 pm
[May 26] [Supernatural] The Rest Is Silence
Title: The Rest Is Silence
Day/Theme: 26 May / "Blood and love without the rhetoric"
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: Dean falls back into some old habits.
Notes: Takes place shortly after "All Hell Breaks Loose, Pt. 2."
They haven't spoken once since leaving South Dakota.
Granted, it's been less than a day since they put the cemetery behind them, but still... Once Sam found out about the deal and once Dean declared that they had work to do, it was as if they'd run out of things to say. Dean keeps waiting for Sam to bring up the deal, to bring up something about the meaning of it all, or what he feels about it all being over, or what Dean wants to get out of the next year, or something. Anything. After all, Sam's the one who always wants to get all Oprah about things. Always has been, although Dean noticed the habit became noticeably worse after Sam spent all that time in California.
Sam was always the one with all of the questions. Always wanting to know what. Always wanting to know why and how come. Always wanting to know what Dean was feeling, of all crazy things--as if talking about it would make it better or fix things that were deep down unfixable.
Sam did say something about ten miles back about pulling over next time they saw a gas station or a diner so he could take a leak and they could pick up some coffee, but that doesn't count. Dean just grunted in acknowledgement and kept on driving.
They're heading dead south, plummeting through Nebraska on a two-lane state highway that goes straight through nothing. Dean's resting his elbow on the open window, and his right hand dangles loosely over the top of the steering wheel. There's a tape playing, of course, some mix tape of hard-pounding tunes that fill the car, drowning out the sound of the engine and the sound of the wind. The dashed lines on the road pulse by in time with the music.
They're not sure where they're going yet. Kansas, maybe. If they stay on this road, that's where they'll end up. Dean wonders if they're being drawn back by some homing instinct, or some need to go back to where it all started, now that it's more or less over. It's not the sort of thing he'd normally think about long enough to put into words, even in the quiet of his own head, but he knows why he's thinking it.
It's the sort of thing Sam might bring up out of the blue. If he was talking. He's not, so it's just the wind and Ozzy snarling through the speakers and the weight of Sam's eyes on him every time they blast through another crossroads.
Maybe Sam is waiting for him to say something. If that's the case, he may have to wait a while.
Sam lifts his hand, points a ways ahead of them and mutters something that might have been "over there." Dean nods. He's seen it, too, probably even before Sam did.
A flick of the wheel and a tap on the brakes, and they swing into the parking lot of a diner. There's a bit of drift when asphalt turns to gravel, but Dean corrects easily enough and pulls up the railroad-tie curb.
Sam looks at him for a moment. Dean turns off the music, and the only sound is a faint knocking from the cooling engine. Dean shakes his head, and Sam sighs and gets out of the car. A few seconds later, Dean follows. As Sam tromps up the steps into the diner, Dean cannot keep his eyes from that one spot on Sam's back. He can still see the blood blossoming out across Sam's jacket. He can still feel the shocking warmth and the stickiness of Sam's blood on his hand.
Dean knows he did the right thing. There's nothing to talk about. He wipes his hand on his jeans and follows Sam into the diner.
Ten minutes later, they're on the road again. Sam did all of the ordering, even picking up an entire apple pie for the two of them to share over the next few days.
At some point one of them will bring it up. One of them will mention that Dean's only got a year left--a year minus a couple of days now. As far as Dean is concerned, they've already gone over the why. He loves his little brother, his world ended when Sam died, and he can still feel Sam's blood on his hand. That's all there is to that.
After a while, Sam starts talking. He talks about the pie, and how the old lady who ran the diner said they were all homemade, right down to the crust. He talks about it being too bad Ash was dead and he asks Dean if he thinks Ellen will rebuild the Roadhouse. He wonders how they're going to get word to Jo that her mother's alive. He wonders which of their dad's old friends they should track down to tell about all of the demons that have been released. He asks Dean if he thinks it's possible to have new bullets made for the Colt. He asks Dean if he's even listening.
Dean just glares at him. He was quick to notice that Sam's near-constant stream of chatter died off every time they went through a crossroads.
He thinks he knows what Sam is thinking about, and that's why he's not saying a damned word.
When Dean was four, he didn't speak for three whole weeks.
Back then, he wanted to ask Dad what happened to Mom, and if the things he thought he saw when he was sneaking out of bed to get a drink of water were really real. He wanted to ask why Sammy kept crying if he wasn't hungry and didn't need to be changed. He wanted Dad to fix it, but knew that there was nothing Dad could say to make it better and nothing he could do to fix something that was deep down unfixable. He wanted Dad to promise that he wouldn't leave, but even then Dean knew that a promise like that could never be made.
And right now, he wants to explain why he doesn't want Sam to try to horn in on the deal he made. He wants Sam to understand that he's been pulled back from death twice, at the cost of another's life, and that he can't go down that road a third time, and especially not if it's Sam's life that'll tip the balance. He wants to say that he hopes Sam will go back to school when this is all done, when the demons have been rounded up and the deal has been fulfilled.
He wants to tell Sam that he'd make the same damn deal all over again, no matter what Sam said about it. He wants Sam to promise him that he'll try to live a normal life after this.
He wants to explain why he's planning to ditch Sam a couple of days before the deal comes due. He wants to say that he's scared of what's going to happen, but he'd sooner face it alone and terrified than have to see the expression on Sam's face when he realizes that there's no saving him, not any more.
With so many things to keep quiet about, it'll probably be another day or two before Dean says anything other than "which bed do you want" or "dibs on the shower."
The only thing he's not wanting to say, the only thing that's not catching in his throat and trying to choke him, is that he loves Sam. He doesn't need to. And at the next crossroads, Dean's eyes leave the road just long enough to meet Sam's, and he knows he doesn't need to say any of the rest of it, either.
About fifty miles north of the Kansas border, Sam finally stops his nattering, and it's just the rush of the wind, the blare of the music, and the broken yellow line pulsing by.
Eventually, the silence becomes comfortable.
Day/Theme: 26 May / "Blood and love without the rhetoric"
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: Dean falls back into some old habits.
Notes: Takes place shortly after "All Hell Breaks Loose, Pt. 2."
They haven't spoken once since leaving South Dakota.
Granted, it's been less than a day since they put the cemetery behind them, but still... Once Sam found out about the deal and once Dean declared that they had work to do, it was as if they'd run out of things to say. Dean keeps waiting for Sam to bring up the deal, to bring up something about the meaning of it all, or what he feels about it all being over, or what Dean wants to get out of the next year, or something. Anything. After all, Sam's the one who always wants to get all Oprah about things. Always has been, although Dean noticed the habit became noticeably worse after Sam spent all that time in California.
Sam was always the one with all of the questions. Always wanting to know what. Always wanting to know why and how come. Always wanting to know what Dean was feeling, of all crazy things--as if talking about it would make it better or fix things that were deep down unfixable.
Sam did say something about ten miles back about pulling over next time they saw a gas station or a diner so he could take a leak and they could pick up some coffee, but that doesn't count. Dean just grunted in acknowledgement and kept on driving.
They're heading dead south, plummeting through Nebraska on a two-lane state highway that goes straight through nothing. Dean's resting his elbow on the open window, and his right hand dangles loosely over the top of the steering wheel. There's a tape playing, of course, some mix tape of hard-pounding tunes that fill the car, drowning out the sound of the engine and the sound of the wind. The dashed lines on the road pulse by in time with the music.
They're not sure where they're going yet. Kansas, maybe. If they stay on this road, that's where they'll end up. Dean wonders if they're being drawn back by some homing instinct, or some need to go back to where it all started, now that it's more or less over. It's not the sort of thing he'd normally think about long enough to put into words, even in the quiet of his own head, but he knows why he's thinking it.
It's the sort of thing Sam might bring up out of the blue. If he was talking. He's not, so it's just the wind and Ozzy snarling through the speakers and the weight of Sam's eyes on him every time they blast through another crossroads.
Maybe Sam is waiting for him to say something. If that's the case, he may have to wait a while.
Sam lifts his hand, points a ways ahead of them and mutters something that might have been "over there." Dean nods. He's seen it, too, probably even before Sam did.
A flick of the wheel and a tap on the brakes, and they swing into the parking lot of a diner. There's a bit of drift when asphalt turns to gravel, but Dean corrects easily enough and pulls up the railroad-tie curb.
Sam looks at him for a moment. Dean turns off the music, and the only sound is a faint knocking from the cooling engine. Dean shakes his head, and Sam sighs and gets out of the car. A few seconds later, Dean follows. As Sam tromps up the steps into the diner, Dean cannot keep his eyes from that one spot on Sam's back. He can still see the blood blossoming out across Sam's jacket. He can still feel the shocking warmth and the stickiness of Sam's blood on his hand.
Dean knows he did the right thing. There's nothing to talk about. He wipes his hand on his jeans and follows Sam into the diner.
Ten minutes later, they're on the road again. Sam did all of the ordering, even picking up an entire apple pie for the two of them to share over the next few days.
At some point one of them will bring it up. One of them will mention that Dean's only got a year left--a year minus a couple of days now. As far as Dean is concerned, they've already gone over the why. He loves his little brother, his world ended when Sam died, and he can still feel Sam's blood on his hand. That's all there is to that.
After a while, Sam starts talking. He talks about the pie, and how the old lady who ran the diner said they were all homemade, right down to the crust. He talks about it being too bad Ash was dead and he asks Dean if he thinks Ellen will rebuild the Roadhouse. He wonders how they're going to get word to Jo that her mother's alive. He wonders which of their dad's old friends they should track down to tell about all of the demons that have been released. He asks Dean if he thinks it's possible to have new bullets made for the Colt. He asks Dean if he's even listening.
Dean just glares at him. He was quick to notice that Sam's near-constant stream of chatter died off every time they went through a crossroads.
He thinks he knows what Sam is thinking about, and that's why he's not saying a damned word.
When Dean was four, he didn't speak for three whole weeks.
Back then, he wanted to ask Dad what happened to Mom, and if the things he thought he saw when he was sneaking out of bed to get a drink of water were really real. He wanted to ask why Sammy kept crying if he wasn't hungry and didn't need to be changed. He wanted Dad to fix it, but knew that there was nothing Dad could say to make it better and nothing he could do to fix something that was deep down unfixable. He wanted Dad to promise that he wouldn't leave, but even then Dean knew that a promise like that could never be made.
And right now, he wants to explain why he doesn't want Sam to try to horn in on the deal he made. He wants Sam to understand that he's been pulled back from death twice, at the cost of another's life, and that he can't go down that road a third time, and especially not if it's Sam's life that'll tip the balance. He wants to say that he hopes Sam will go back to school when this is all done, when the demons have been rounded up and the deal has been fulfilled.
He wants to tell Sam that he'd make the same damn deal all over again, no matter what Sam said about it. He wants Sam to promise him that he'll try to live a normal life after this.
He wants to explain why he's planning to ditch Sam a couple of days before the deal comes due. He wants to say that he's scared of what's going to happen, but he'd sooner face it alone and terrified than have to see the expression on Sam's face when he realizes that there's no saving him, not any more.
With so many things to keep quiet about, it'll probably be another day or two before Dean says anything other than "which bed do you want" or "dibs on the shower."
The only thing he's not wanting to say, the only thing that's not catching in his throat and trying to choke him, is that he loves Sam. He doesn't need to. And at the next crossroads, Dean's eyes leave the road just long enough to meet Sam's, and he knows he doesn't need to say any of the rest of it, either.
About fifty miles north of the Kansas border, Sam finally stops his nattering, and it's just the rush of the wind, the blare of the music, and the broken yellow line pulsing by.
Eventually, the silence becomes comfortable.