Let Me Count The Ways
May. 2nd, 2012 03:43 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hoodie_time
Title: Let Me Count The Ways
Author: Thru Terry's Eyes
Artist: Thru Terry's Eyes
Genre: Dark humor
Pairings: None
AN: This Story was originally written for a zine called Every Possible Way. It is from Sam's POV but hopefully fulfills the hurt part of the Dean H/C as it explores the different and varied ways Dean dies.
It is spoilerish for the episode if you haven't seen it and yes, there is a character death. It's Mystery Spot, what the hell did you expect? This is my rare, twisted and dark attempt at humor. This was written a while ago but I never posted it here. I hope you enjoy. If it doesn't work for this sites theme feel free to dump. Also it probably REEKS of grammar fubars so take pity.
___________________________________
Day 93
Sam sat at the booth he now considered theirs, on the side that was now his (after all they used it every day, it was theirs by squatters rights if nothing else) and watched Dean happily and obliviously eat his usual breakfast.
Again.
After Dean's comment about pigs in a poke.
Again.
After Sam had caught the bottle of hot sauce as it fell.
Again.
After Sam had stolen the old man's keys, listened to the waitress tell Cal to order something or he had to leave, heard the suit guy order pancakes and tried to explain what the freaking hell was going on to Dean.
Again.
Waiting for Dean to finish eating so that they could leave the diner and find some new and interesting way for Dean to die.
Again.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, same old, same old, so on and so forth, etcetera, et-fucking-cetera.
After so many times, fully aware that he was losing his mind, for Sam it had turned into a macabre little game. How far into the day would they get before Dean bit the big one in what had become increasingly bizarre and unexpected ways?
Cause seriously....
They had made it almost all the way to midnight of Day 67 and Sam had foolishly begun to wonder if they had finally turned the corner and this insane nightmare was gonna end.
The lightning strike had come from out of nowhere.
One second Dean was there and the next...ZAP…and only his smoking boots and the smell of burnign ozone remained.
Then it was Asia and Tuesday morning.
Again.
And no matter how many times it happened, how many insane and unexpected ways it happened, even though he knew the result would be the same, Sam never stopped trying to save Dean if it was even remotely possible.
Day 42's aneurism had been a surprise. Sam had prepared himself to try and fend off cars, people, falling buildings—he was still trying to blank out Day 26—and attacks by rabid weasels, but Dean, walking along next to him while they had a conversation Sam could have repeated with every inflection, pause and hand gesture, suddenly putting a hand up to his eye and speaking slurred gibberish had definitely caught Sam with his guard down.
Dean was dead before he hit the ground.
Thinking back on it, Sam was actually a little relieved at the time. The numerous and varying opportunities he had been given to experience Dean's demise had cemented the fact in Sam's mind that a sudden, swift death was to be preferred over the see-it-coming-and-this-is-never-gonna-end-holy-shit variety.
Case in point, Day 13's taco botulism debacle.
It may have been a selfish attitude on his part, but some things were just too messy to deal with.
Of course, Sam was willing to admit that he may have overreacted to the situation on the morning of Day 76 when he had lost control "in the heat of the moment" and shot Dean himself.
And then the radio.
Then had put the gun to his own head and just started to squeeze the trigger…
And it was Tuesday.
Again.
It didn't seem to matter what they did either. If Sam was a stubborn bastard and forced the issue, they stayed in the room all day. Dean was then smothered by the pillow in his sleep, or accidentally slashed his own wrists sharpening his knives, or, as happened on Day 59, had stupidly, knowing better and before Sam could stop him, looked down the barrel of his .45 to see why in the hell it had jammed.
If Sam gave in and they left the room, a sudden storm would come up with hail the size of bowling balls (crushed skull, Day 81) or a window would break as they walked by and a piece of glass the like a saber would go through Dean's eye and out the back of his head (Day 68).
Two men in the street would get into an argument and suddenly one would pull a gun and fire at the other, only to shoot Dean by accident, or the bullet would ricochet and still hit Dean, or kill the driver of a nearby car who would then lose control of his car and proceed to run Dean down (Days 43, 44, 45). The third time Sam was ready, sure he could push Dean out of the way, but the careening car had hit a telephone pole which had broken off at the base and fallen on Dean, pounding him into the ground like a tent stake.
Day 46 both car and pole had missed Dean, but a snaking power line hadn't.
Somewhere after Day 84, the surprise factor had vanished and Sam had become almost blasé. Maybe he had reached the acceptance stage. He knew there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it, so he just moved along waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He still thought burning the Mystery Spot to the ground had been a good idea, but how was he supposed to know Dean would trip on his way out and knock himself unconscious just as the fire bomb had blasted through the building?
Now, really, was that his fault?
"So this time loop thing…it's like Groundhog Day, right?" Dean asked for the 93rd time.
Sam mouthed the words along with Dean and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever," he replied.
"Geez, you're tense," Dean accused. "you know what?" he said with sudden enthusiasm, "I think we need to take a little time off and have some fun. Relax a little." He brightened noticeably at the thought. "Hey, they have some kind of animal park or something right outside of town, we could go there. You could feed an Ostrich!"
Sam just stared at him. "We've already been there." Sam intoned. "Twice."
Day 78. Sam had never thought about how long it took for a man being eaten alive by a tiger to die.
Day 79. Watching the happy children and relaxing businessmen fishing at the pond in the park had been very pleasant.
It had taken Dean less than a minute to bleed to death after the badly cast hook had ripped through his carotid.
Day 30, before Sam's experience level at Deathwatch had reached professional, he had tried to drink himself insensible to just get through the day when he was sure he couldn't stand it any longer. In the ensuing fight with Dean over Sam's behavior, what had started as a shoving match had sent Dean stumbling backwards through the window and down the stairs to break his neck.
At least when Sam woke up he didn't have a hangover.
He had researched until his eyes had bulged from the effort. He could trace the history of the town, most of the people in it, the Mystery Spot, Hasselback's life back to the year he was born and could have taught a class on the theory of time loops, but he still didn't have clue on how to escape one.
Basically he didn't have shit.
"You ready?"
Sam jerked. "What?"
Dean was standing by the table. "Are you ready to go? You said you wanted to check out that Mystery Spot. Let's go."
Sam could have built a perfect replica of the Mystery Spot from memory, down to the position of the tiniest nail, but saying so seemed sort of pointless.
"Yeah, fine…" He said listlessly, pushing to his feet.
Dean caught Sam's arm, face suddenly serious. "You okay?"
Sam didn't laugh, but God, he wanted to. He was just afraid that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop.
"We'll figure this out, Sam. Whatever the hell it is." Dean looked hopefully a Sam, obviously trying, but seriously at sea with this whole concept. He smiled and cocked his head toward the door. "Let's get to it."
Sam snorted and shook his head, following slowly along behind, pausing as he reached the door to take deep breath, then pushing himself out into whatever today's nightmare would be.
Unable to stop himself, body on high alert, Sam kept his eyes constantly moving, roving over the ground lest Dean stumble on an unseen obstacle and fall face down to the pavement, shoving the bones of his nose into his brain or land in one of the puddles lining the curb, unconscious and drown in the muddy water.
Side-stepping Mr. Pickett as he groped for his dang keys, Sam resisted the ever stronger urge to kick the crap out of that damned dog as it jumped at its leash barking at them.
"Don't even think about it," Sam growled, shoving Dean forward as he paused beside the animal.
"It's just a dog—" Dean protested.
"I don't care if it's a newborn kitten, stay the hell away from it!"
Dean frowned, falling into a sullen silence as they walked along.
As Hasselback's daughter bumped into him for the umpteenth time with a hurried, "Excuse me," Dean turned with the same appreciative smile he always did. His shoulder should have been calloused in that spot by now.
"Hey," Dean said suddenly, "All the times we walked down this street, I ever do this?"
He started off after the girl, but Sam grabbed his arm. "Yes," Sam said flatly. "You have. Seven times. Once she thought you were trying to molest her and she sprayed you with pepper spray. You had an allergic reaction and suffocated when your throat swelled shut."
Once someone else thought you were trying to molest her and shoved you backwards into that damned dog who proceeded to tear your throat out. Another time you got a paper cut—a frigging paper cut, Dean—from one of her flyers that turned septic and you died of blood poisoning six hours later. Shall I go on?" Sam ended, breathing rather heavily.
Wide-eyed, Dean looked at the girl's retreating back (and back end, he couldn't help himself) and nodded. "Okay…so no talking to the girl, then."
Sam made sure Dean stayed to the inside of the sidewalk, away from the traffic, giving the two guys moving the huge table a wide berth. The image of Dean with a leg that had broken off the table as it dangled over their heads, staking him through the chest (Day 18) was still, even now, fresh in Sam's mind.
To Dean's utter dismay, Sam literally held out his arms and herded them away from the group of giggling Girl Scouts heading down the sidewalk toward them.
"Dude! It's a bunch of little girls!"
"Don't ask," was all Sam would say, averting his eyes from them.
"This is ridiculous!" Dean yelped.
"You think so?" Sam shouted. He fisted Dean's shirt and dragged him into the alley, slamming him up against the stone wall to yell in his face. "I have watched you die, ninety-three times, Dean! Ninety-three! I've watched you die in ways I wouldn't have thought it was possible to die. I've killed you myself four times!"
Dean just looked at him in shocked surprise.
"You bend down to pick a penny up off the sidewalk and a sign above you breaks loose and cuts your fucking head off!" (Day 54) You help a kid get her balloon out of a tree and the balloon breaks. You inhale a piece of it and choke to death! (Day 37) Dean, those are two of the normal ways you've died!
You've been snake bit, you've been hanged, you've been shot, suffocated, electrocuted, poisoned, had rabies, hit by a car—six times—eaten by a Goddamned tiger!"
Sam pushed up close to Dean and hissed. "But I gotta tell you, that day with the twist tie?" Sam shuddered at the memory. "That was wrong in so many ways it's not even funny!"
To emphasize his words Sam repeatedly slammed Dean back into the wall as he yelled.
Slam!
"I can't keep doing this anymore!".
SLAM!
"I'm afraid if I turn my back for a second a gnat will fly up your nose and lay eggs in your brain, that if I don't watch you constantly an earthquake will rip open the ground you're standing on and you'll fall into the middle of the earth!"
SLAM!
And one more time 'cause he was JUST. SO. DAMNED. TIRED. OF. THIS.
Sam knew he sounded like a madman, wasn't really that far behind in actuality, could feel the reigns of sanity sliding through his fingers.
Dean saiud nothing. Just stared at him.
And stared.
A steady, unblinking unfocused stare.
When Sam shook him, Dean's head fell forward and Sam could see the bright smear of red running down the wall from the impact of Dean's head with the unforgiving stone when Sam had thrown him against the wall.
Again.
And again.
Sam grabbed frantically at Dean's shirt as Dean's body began to slide limply down the wall.
Closing his eyes, Sam rested his head against Dean's unmoving chest, blood from Dean's head wound dripping languidly upon him.
They just couldn't catch a break...
"Heat of the moment…"
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
And it was Tuesday.
Again.
The End.
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