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Feb. 6th, 2011 09:51 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hoodie_time
Title: Chipping Away
These chapters are so short I'm gonna post a few at a time. I'd post them as one chapter but I liked the titles. This is chapters 2,3, 4
Author: Thru Terry's Eyes
Rating: PG13/Language
Warnings: None/Pre-series
Pairings: None
Genre: Family, angst
Summary: Dean's POV at 22ish, It's been a long day and Sam and Dad are fighting again, the affect it has on Dean as things spiral out of control.
Disclaimer: Only get pleasure no money.
Chapter 2: Clarity
Sam pushed Dean through the door into the relative warmth of the house, stripping off his own soaking jacket and tossing it on the broken down couch.
Dean had stopped moving when Sam stopped pushing and was just standing there shivering so Sam grabbed Dean's arm again with a rough, "Come on…" and dragged him down the hall to the tiny bathroom.
Sam pushed Dean down on the closed toilet. "Get those wet clothes off!" he ordered. The bathroom had a small old fashioned gas heater. Crouching down, he turned on the gas and lit it with a match from his pocket. He turned it up all the way and then faced Dean again.
"Are you outta your friggin' mind? Look at you!" He demanded, kicking the door shut as Dean struggled to get the wet t-shirt off. He was shivering so much his breath was jerking in and out. Sam reached into the shower and turned the hot water on. When he turned back Dean was trying to toe off the wet sneakers but was watching Sam through half closed eyes. Little slits of glittering green.
"What?" Sam snapped. "You want me to apologize for you being to damn dumb to come in out of the rain?" He threw a towel at Dean. "The water's hot, get in the shower. I'll get some dry clothes for you. Yell if you want something." He slammed out the door.
Dean controlled his hands enough to get his jeans undone and shoved them down, stepping out of them. He really didn't know what Sam wanted him to say. Whatever Dean might have to say wasn't going to make Sam feel any better, which would certainly make Dean feel worse. Dean fumbled in the cabinet but couldn't find any aspirin, although he did manage to knock several items into the sink with his shaking hands. "Shit….." he grumbled. Dragging off the rest of his wet clothes he stepped into the steamy shower swearing at the burn as the hot water hit his icy skin.
Sam stalked down the hall into the small bedroom he shared with Dean and started digging through the pile of clothes on Dean's bed. They didn't have a lot of clothes, but Dean always managed to pile his stuff in a way that made it seem like he did. Putting clothes away was not a concept Dean was ready to embrace.
Sam attacked the pile like it was a personal enemy, searching through it for some sweat pants and a shirt. Inside he was seething at what Dean had spouted at him.
You want me to pick a side? Fine, Sammy. Whose side should I pick?
Sam suddenly stopped rummaging, was that what he and dad had been asking Dean to do? He and Dean had talked a lot… well, he talked and Dean had appeared to listen anyway, Dean knew how much Sam wanted to see what life outside of the black hole nightmare they lived in could be like. Sometimes, even though Dean didn't really get it, he seemed to understand what Sam was saying, at least he was trying.
Sam saw Dean as a tragic victim of circumstances beyond his control. Scarred by the horrible loss of their mother; losing his innocence and his childhood in one fell swoop. Dean had accepted his new role as soldier and protector and become exactly what he needed to be to survive in the graphically frightening life their father had carved out for them. His mind and body had thrived on it, but it seemed sometimes to Sam, that Dean's soul was lost somewhere in the maze that Dean had constructed brick by brick to save himself from facing himself.
I am so God damn tired!
Sam was good hunter, nowhere close to Dean, who seemed to have a natural ability for things violent, but pretty damn good nonetheless. But he did it because he had no choice. Choice was something he'd never been allowed to have.
He had changed schools repeatedly because he'd had to, never created much in the way of lasting friendships when there was no point, because he'd had to. He'd moved from one dump to another, squatted in warehouses and slept in the car because he'd had to, gone hungry, seen Dean and his father injured, broken and bleeding and sewn them back together because he'd had to. Why was it so wrong to want something different, something you didn't have to do, something that would make a real difference in your life, that would give you a life? How could he make his father and Dean…
Dean….Sam closed his eyes.
At least one of your fucking soldiers turned out right!
Dean, who willingly protected Sam with his own body if he had to, went hungry so younger Sam would have something to eat, lied, stole and hustled so they would have someplace to sleep. Had comforted Sam when he was afraid, teased him, fought and infuriated Sam into the man he was becoming. Had always been there, without question. Had stepped between Sam and their Dad more than once during their increasingly frequent and escalating shouting matches. Until Sam had shoved Dean back and told him to stay out of it.
Then called him on it when he did.
You always manage to disappear when I need you to show me some support!
"Jesus…" Sam whispered.
Chapter 3: Rising Tide
Sam started at the sound of a cough behind him. Dean stood in the doorway, clad in a skimpy towel. He wasn't shivering anymore, but his eyes looked glassy and his face was now flushed.
"I, uh…thought you were gonna bring me some clothes." He coughed against his fist, wincing, and cleared his throat. His voice was getting hoarse and there was a dull ache in his chest.
"Oh, sorry," Sam said, grabbing a pair of boxers from the pile and a pair of socks rolled into a ball. Dean preferred to mate his socks that way because in younger days it made a better weapon to attack Sam with and had just become a habit. And it still occasionally made a good weapon. "Here." He handed the bundle to Dean as he came slowly into the room and moved the rest of Dean's clothes off the bed, jerking down the blankets.
Dean dropped the towel and pulled on the boxers. Sam ignored Dean's nakedness, they spent to much together time in cramped quarters and helping to repair each others injured bodies to indulge in false modesty. Dean pulled the sweatpants on with a visible effort and sat down on the side of the bed picking up the t-shirt.
"Dean, you look like crap," Sam stated flatly watching Dean rubbing his eyes. "If you were sick why didn't you say so when you got home?"
What a stupid question, Sam thought, you know why.
Dean squinted up at Sam sideways as he pulled the t-shirt over his head. "It's not a big deal, Sam." He said. "Besides, you and Dad were busy when I got home. Didn't seem like the time. It's the flu or something, everyone at work's got it. No big deal."
Sam made a frustrated noise. "It is a big deal, Dean!" he spat. "You standing outside in the freezing rain for an hour because you'd rather do that than listen to us fighting again is a big deal. You're hurting yourself because of us…."
Dean made a face and rolled his eyes. Now that he wasn't freezing to death, he was so not in the mood for Sam's game of "how do you feel about that." Sam had caught him off guard in a bad moment outside and he'd shot his mouth off.
"Dude, I could really use some aspirin," he said, as much to distract Sam as to ease his eyes from wanting to blow out of their sockets. "There wasn't any in the bathroom." He pressed his fingertips between his eyebrows.
Sam nodded, "I'll get some for you, how many?"
Dean held up six fingers. Sam made a face then but went into the kitchen.
Dean leaned over to put on his socks and was fascinated and repelled to discover the floor was suddenly undulating. He sat back slowly, eyes closed, stomach rolling and braced his hands on either side of his legs, waiting for the movement to stop.
"Whoa…" He shook his head. Christ, it was hot in here all of a sudden. Where the hell was Sam with the damned aspirin?
"Here." Sam's voice jerked him upright and his eyes snapped open to see four tablets in the palm of Sam's hand.
Dean had actually wanted four but if he had asked for four Sam would have brought three, requesting six was guaranteeing four. They normally bought coated pills so that they could be easily dry swallowed but Dean was grateful for the water Sam offered him, swallowing the pills all at once in a quick gulp. He started coughing again, holding his hand against his chest.
Sam watched him frowning. "Dean, are you sure you're ok? You really sound bad"
Dean took another sip of water and shot Sam a dirty look. "I'm fine, back off!"
Clearly, Sam could tell, the door of opportunity for Dean talking was closing.
Dean set the glass on the table harder than necessary and pushed himself back up into the bed, propping a pillow up behind him for his aching head. Sitting up made it easier to breathe. He dug his hands into his eyes.
"Cut the lights will you?" He heard Sam flip the wall switch and even through his hands the relief was immense. A soft glow lit the room as Sam hit the switch on the small bed table lamp.
He felt the blankets being pulled over his legs.
"Better?" Sam asked softly. Dean nodded and then regretted it as his brain started short circuiting again. He felt the side of the bed sink as Sam settled onto it. Without thought, Dean shifted his legs to make room, waiting in silence for whatever was coming.
"Dean…." Sam began, his eyes and face were shadowed in the dim light and he wished Dean would look at him. "I'm sorry. What I said outside…I was way outta line, I didn't mean it…" Sam couldn't tell if Dean laughed in response or was fighting a cough.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, lowering his hands but keeping his eyes closed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "You never mean it…" He sighed and opened his eyes to gaze at Sam.
Sam frowned, stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dean narrowed his eyes. If he hadn't felt so bad he would never have said it, but son of a bitch, he was so freakin' tired…
"It means don't shoot me and then say you didn't mean it." He said wearily. "You took the shot, Sam. On some level you meant it or you wouldn't have said it…" Dean closed his eyes again, hands held to his head.
"Night after night I sit there and listen to you and Dad scream at each other, knowing there's nothing I can do to fix this." He paused, wanting to stop himself, but unable to keep the words from bleeding out of his mouth. "I'm part of what you want to walk away from so badly, how the hell do you think that makes me feel? Why does is surprise you so much that I finally can't take it anymore. Hell, most of the time you and Dad are so busy eating each other alive you never even know I'm gone!"
His voice dropped and he cocked his head at Sam. "Sam, you always say you don't mean it when you know you've gone too far. Well, what you said to me out there went way the fucking hell to far and you know it!" Dean voice rasped angrily, the air felt too thick to breathe. His eyes flicked away and he sat back, scratching his hand through his still wet hair. "It doesn't matter. Forget it. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Sam stared at him. "Dean, I…I can't forget it, I can't just leave it like this. I was wrong, what I said was….Jesus, it was unforgivable, I don't even know why I said it. I was mad at Dad, I couldn't find you. Dean you've always been there for me, I know that. You've practically raised me by yourself and I am so god damned sorry for what I said." My God, he thought, how could he make this better. He had cut out Dean's heart and spit on it.
"Dad and I do put you in the middle, you're right, and it's not fair to you. I just never thought about it…..you at least listen to me, you try to understand, but Dad just shuts me out and the next thing I know we're yelling again." Over Dean, through Dean and at Dean, unintentionally or not. Sam's voice thickened. "I don't mean for it to happen…" Fuck, there were those words again, he thought.
Dean watched him, sighing when he was done. "Well, you know what Sammy," he said softly, "maybe Dad doesn't mean for it to happen either. You guys are always so busy yelling neither one of you hears what the other is saying. I hear it Sam, but I don't have any answers for you." He grimaced and rubbed his hand over his chest, shifting again. The anger was leaving him, but nothing was replacing it, leaving him feeling hollow. "Sam, I want you to be happy, but why does you being happy mean everybody else has to unhappy?"
Sam sniffed and swiped at his eyes. "I dunno." He looked at Dean from under his bangs. "Christ, Dean. I am so sorry. I'm sorry you're sick, I'm sorry for what I said, I'm sorry what we're doing is driving you to this…"
Dean sighed again. The aspirin he had taken and his stomach were not getting along and he was feeling a little nauseated. "I know you are Sammy, I know. You're not driving me to anything. I just need to get away from it sometimes. It's okay….really." He added at Sam's look.
Sam's mouth twitched in a weak smile, but his manner brightened perceptibly. "Listen, uh…. I know dinner was a bust. Do you want something to eat? I think there's some mushroom soup."
Dean shook his head. "I'm kinda not really hungry," he replied. He started coughing again, leaning forward. The coughs were congested sounding and made his lungs burn. He kicked at the blankets to get them off his legs, it was to fucking hot in here…
Chapter 4: Revelations
Sam frowned and got up as Dean kicked his legs to get the blankets away. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," Dean said shortly, rawing a wheezing breath. "I'm just hot."
Sam eyed Dean warily. "You were freezing twenty minutes ago," He commented. He reached out a tentative hand to feel Dean's flushed face, but Dean avoided him with a practiced twist of his head even though the movement made him slightly dizzy.
"I guess I overdid the hot shower." Dean replied. He sucked in air and coughed again. If he could just get his throat clear.
"Do you want something to drink?" Sam asked reaching for the glass on the bedside table.
Dean shook his head slightly. "I don't think it'll help. I just can't stop coughing." Dean wished Sam would occupy himself elsewhere so Dean could just sleep off whatever the hell was wrong with him.
Stop looking at me!
Sam continued watching him anyway.
Dean stared back. God, what now? he thought. It had already been a full evening as far as Dean was concerned. A long, God awful day and no dinner, but there had been a show. Dean experienced a bizarre urge to laugh. He coughed again instead.
Sam seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Dean…." his voice trailed away and he glanced to the side. Sam was obviously in some kind of distress. Welcome to the club, Dean thought and wanted to laugh again.
Dean had to clear his throat to get the words out. "What, Sam?" His voice sounded just as worn out as he felt.
"I know you don't feel good right now, but…I really need to tell you something." Sam began to worry the bottom button of his shirt, like a nervous six year old.
The motion irritated Dean and he slapped Sam's hand away from the shirt. "Stop that. What do you want to tell me?" He fought the next fit of coughing, but lost. The dull ache in his chest seemed to be getting worse with every passing moment.
Sam got up and walked the short distance over to his bed. He rummaged around under his mattress and came up with an envelope he flipped back and forth through his fingers as he walked back to the Dean's bed. Dean managed to quell his coughing fit and was eyeing Sam's guilty approach with trepidation. Whatever this was, he wasn't going to like it. His eyes met Sam's as Sam held out the envelope.
"What is that?" Dean wheezed cautiously. He reached out and accepted it with all the enthusiasm he might have exhibited if he had been handed a scorpion. He rubbed away sweat on his upper lip and slowly lay back against the pillow, one hand on his chest, although he found the touch oddly painful.
"Read it," Sam said, eyes darting from Dean's face to the letter and back again. Dean couldn't miss the sudden jump of excitement in Sam's eyes. Whatever this was, Sam was beside himself over it. Dean swallowed with an effort and turned the envelope over, deciphering the wriggling text with an effort. It was addressed to Samuel Winchester and in the upper left hand corner the return address read Stanford University. He could feel his heart start racing under his ribs. Jesus, tonight of all nights Sam decides to spring this on him?
Shakily, Dean pulled the letter out of the envelope, noting how limply it fell along the fold lines, making it obvious it had been read many times. He glanced at Sam one more time and then down at the letter. The words were jumping around to much for Dean to really focus on them and he didn't want to read anymore after, "We are pleased to inform you that your application to Stanford…"
Dean's heart somersaulted and the blood left his face in a rush. For an instant he thought the aspirin was about to make a sudden unannounced return. He stared at the paper for a long moment. Sam didn't seem to notice Dean's reaction and was almost squirming from ill-concealed excitement.
Heart pounding, making breathing even more difficult, Dean reached up and rubbed his forehead trying to gather his thoughts, which shouldn't have been so difficult. jesus, how was he supposed to respond to this? The only thought in his head, freezing his heart, was, Oh, God…..Sam was really going to leave…leaving them….leaving him.
"I got in, Dean. Stanford. A full ride. I start this fall." Sam's voice rang with pleasure, sang with it, even through the roaring in Dean's ears. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but there just never seems to be a good time. So, I'm telling you now." Sam sat back down on the bed and touched Dean's leg briefly, "I wasn't sure how you would react…" Sam laughed a little. "I guess knowing you're in a weakened condition gave me the nerve." Sam's large hazel eyes begged for Dean's approval, his consent to do this thing.
Please, tell me it's okay, they begged.
"It's what I've dreamed of, Dean. I'm gonna go to law school."
Dean's jaw muscles clenched as he tried to force the words out that Sam wanted to hear. "Sam this…" Shit shit shit, " this is great." He finally choked. "Is this what the fight was about?" That would have explained a lot, although Dean thought he would've picked up on something like this being yelled over his head.
Sam shook his head. "Dad doesn't know. I don't know how to tell him. I haven't been able to figure out how to tell you. I didn't like keeping this a secret from you." Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure what he'll say when I tell him." Dean sensed just thinking about what his dad would say was overwhelming to Sam.
Dean's brows drew together. He had a pretty damned good idea what their father would do. There would be hell to pay when Dad found out about this. He could feel his own body tensing up at the thought.
Dean closed his eyes again. His head was pounding now. Everything seemed to be getting a little fuzzy around the edges in the dim light from the small lamp. It was a little like he had a mild beer buzz, but there was no pleasure in the sensation, only a sense of losing control. With an effort he managed to pull his mind together enough to focus on the issue at hand. It was like trying reel in bubbles. The ache in his chest was getting worse and he was breathing hoarsely through his mouth, lifting his shoulders as if that would get more air in his lungs. He gestured loosely with the letter.
Sam listened to how labored Dean's breathing was becoming with increasing alarm. "Dean, are you okay? You're starting to sound awful."
"It's okay, Sam." Dean said, not sure himself, what he was referring to. Hating himself for saying it, wanting it to be true, but knowing better. "You always were the smart one- " he coughed. "You should go to college. This is great. I- I'm proud of you." Dean's voice cracked as he forced the words out and he began to cough again, deep, wet, choking coughs.
Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders and pulled him upright. Dean was doubled over he was so racked by the spasms, hands fisted against his chest, Sam's letter still gripped in one hand. Sam was shocked to feel the amount of heat pouring off of Dean. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat.
Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? Dean thought, feeling his body starting to freakout from not getting enough air. The flu meant puking, not this feeling like he had a steel band compressing his chest. His lungs felt as though he were starting to drown, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't cough the water out.
Sam reached out and put the back of his hand against Dean's face. Dean tried to jerk away, but Sam could feel the heat in Dean's skin and it wasn't just from the exertion Dean was going through. "Dean, you really got a fever! You're burning up!."
Dean rolled his eyes. "No, ya think?" he gagged, trying to brace himself.
"Do you want some more water?" Sam rose and grabbed the cup from the bedside table.
Dean nodded, unable to speak. Sam left the room. Dean's breath sawed in and out thick and noisy as if his throat was closing up and he was getting lightheaded. Small sparks of light were flashing at the edges of his vision.
Blearily, he glanced down at the letter he still had clutched in one hand and was surprised to see it was splattered with inexplicable red dots that were rapidly drying and turning brown. He rubbed his fingers across his mouth and they came away with red on them and he could taste it now in the back of his throat. Oh shit… he thought. He'd coughed blood all over Sam's precious letter. They were gonna love that at the admissions office.
He clumsily refolded the letter and stuffed it back in, smearing the envelope with more red from his fingers. He leaned over and crammed the envelope in the pocket of his jacket that was lying on the floor next to the bed. The last thing he needed was for Dad to find it. Dizziness swept over him, almost causing him to tumble from the bed. Acid burned the back of his throat and he retched weakly, leaving more bloody drops on the floor. He fell back onto the bed gasping, panicked. God, he couldn't breathe! Why couldn't he breathe? He clawed at his chest, his eyes slowly fluttering closed.
Dimly, in some still cognizant part of his brain he recognized the sudden sound of the front door slamming shut. Absurdly, before the darkness settled over him he thought, Oh, good... Dad's home…
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 05:36 pm (UTC)I really hope Sam and John change their ways, but if it takes something this serious with Dean to make it happen I don't know what to think about them.
I think you have captured Sam and Dean and their voices/and what they would do in certain situations perfectly.
I can't wait to read more.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 12:33 am (UTC)I love that you made Sam see the error of his attack at Dean and his realisation of what Dean has infact given up to keep Sammy safe and cared for. It makes compelling reading.
Dean's struggle to be positive and happy about Stanford was so endearing. And the visual impact of the blood stained letter and Dean's brave attempt at humour...just broke my heart. And still Dean thinks only to protect Sam from his father's wrath by trying to hide the letter even in this near death state....I just feel so much pity for Dean right now.
Had to smile at the last line sentence though...:). Oh Dean.
Great read. Looking forward to more soon. xx
no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 10:47 pm (UTC)Chipping Away
Date: 2011-02-07 09:52 pm (UTC)Re: Chipping Away
Date: 2011-02-07 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-09 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-09 02:20 pm (UTC)