Supernatural: Untitled
Jul. 3rd, 2007 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laneroseYou know, I seem to recall saying that I wouldn't get into this fandom. That I wouldn't write anything for it at least, that I would just stay on the fringes if I got into it at all. But then I was rewatching season one, and I had this idea, and I couldn't find it written anywhere else, and well maybe I should have been working on that Saiyuki fic I still need to re-do for the third time (my laptop hates me and broke down, and just when I had a second version almost done, it dumped its physical memory), but I couldn't get this idea out of my head.
Anyway, fic. I don't even have a title for this one. Feel free to make suggestions? Short bit, really.
Dean is glad that she's dead.
He didn't used to be. Right when Jessica died, he couldn't be. He wasn't exactly upset about it – how upset could you get about a girl you'd met once for five minutes being dead? But Sammy was upset. Sammy, who had been dating her for over a year, who had said he might want to marry her, who maybe even loved her - Sammy had been as upset as Dean had ever seen him. He had been almost… frightening in those first few days after Jessica had died, focused on finding some sort of sign with an eerily bright, intense gleam in his eyes. Sammy would have missed the funeral if Dean hadn't reminded him.
Sam had stood silently at the funeral, dragged by Jessica's older sister into the front row, with the family. The whole family had been nearly in tears. Sam had stared at the closed casket as though it were responsible not only for the death of his girl but also his extended family for six generations on either side. Dean stayed by his side as Sam's friends came over and offered condolences and hugged his little brother. One of them had even pulled Dean aside and told him that if he needed anything, even just someone to sit with Sam for five minutes while he ran out for coffee, to give him a call. Dean wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. Thanks, glad you think my brother's suicidal but I got this one covered? Yeah, right. So no, at first, Dean wasn't too happy with the whole Jessica's dead thing.
He still remembers the first time he was glad about it. They were tracking that wendigo up near Black Water Ridge. Hell, Dean wouldn't have even known it was a wendigo if Sam hadn't pointed it out to him. Well, maybe he would've figured it out, but probably not fast enough to keep himself and that family safe that first night, and even if he'd managed that, it still wouldn't've done much good when he got captured the following day. Maybe, maybe, he might have managed to get away. Probably not before someone else had died, though.
When he opened his eyes, trapped in that freaky thing's mines, chained to the ceiling, and Sam was standing there before him and getting him down – yeah, Dean was glad she was dead.
After that, it kept happening. Sure, there were times – especially when the whole thing with Mary happened – times when Dean wished she was still alive, and that Sam was still living his apple pie lifestyle and getting a law degree or whatever other crap he decided he wanted, because at least then he would be happy and maybe even safe. But most of the time? Most of the time, Sam was coming up with some freakin' brilliant solution to a problem Dean wouldn't have even realized existed, or pulling Dean's bacon out of the fire for the millionth time or doing some other completely necessary task that kept Dean going. And then it was the little things, right down to having someone to share the driving with and fight about the music with and talk to before falling asleep at night and –
"Hey, Dean, you ready to go?" Sam calls, coming in the door of their latest motel room with fresh coffee in one of those take out pieces of cardboard in one hand and scooping up his already packed duffle with the other. Sam smiles, brandishes the coffee at Dean. Dean grabs a cup, and his duffle.
"Yeah, Sammy, let's get going." Dean heads for the door and out to the Impala, and Sam follows after tossing the motel room key onto the "express checkout" label on top of the tv.
"It's Sam, jerk," Dean's brother says as they open their car doors, tossing their stuff into the back seat.
"Whatever. Bitch." Dean starts the car, and cranks up the music, and they drive off into the sunrise, headed for some new hunt where Sam will undoubtedly save his ass again. Dean knows he'll never say anything, 'cause god, Sam would kill him…
- but Dean is glad that she's dead.
Anyway, fic. I don't even have a title for this one. Feel free to make suggestions? Short bit, really.
Dean is glad that she's dead.
He didn't used to be. Right when Jessica died, he couldn't be. He wasn't exactly upset about it – how upset could you get about a girl you'd met once for five minutes being dead? But Sammy was upset. Sammy, who had been dating her for over a year, who had said he might want to marry her, who maybe even loved her - Sammy had been as upset as Dean had ever seen him. He had been almost… frightening in those first few days after Jessica had died, focused on finding some sort of sign with an eerily bright, intense gleam in his eyes. Sammy would have missed the funeral if Dean hadn't reminded him.
Sam had stood silently at the funeral, dragged by Jessica's older sister into the front row, with the family. The whole family had been nearly in tears. Sam had stared at the closed casket as though it were responsible not only for the death of his girl but also his extended family for six generations on either side. Dean stayed by his side as Sam's friends came over and offered condolences and hugged his little brother. One of them had even pulled Dean aside and told him that if he needed anything, even just someone to sit with Sam for five minutes while he ran out for coffee, to give him a call. Dean wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. Thanks, glad you think my brother's suicidal but I got this one covered? Yeah, right. So no, at first, Dean wasn't too happy with the whole Jessica's dead thing.
He still remembers the first time he was glad about it. They were tracking that wendigo up near Black Water Ridge. Hell, Dean wouldn't have even known it was a wendigo if Sam hadn't pointed it out to him. Well, maybe he would've figured it out, but probably not fast enough to keep himself and that family safe that first night, and even if he'd managed that, it still wouldn't've done much good when he got captured the following day. Maybe, maybe, he might have managed to get away. Probably not before someone else had died, though.
When he opened his eyes, trapped in that freaky thing's mines, chained to the ceiling, and Sam was standing there before him and getting him down – yeah, Dean was glad she was dead.
After that, it kept happening. Sure, there were times – especially when the whole thing with Mary happened – times when Dean wished she was still alive, and that Sam was still living his apple pie lifestyle and getting a law degree or whatever other crap he decided he wanted, because at least then he would be happy and maybe even safe. But most of the time? Most of the time, Sam was coming up with some freakin' brilliant solution to a problem Dean wouldn't have even realized existed, or pulling Dean's bacon out of the fire for the millionth time or doing some other completely necessary task that kept Dean going. And then it was the little things, right down to having someone to share the driving with and fight about the music with and talk to before falling asleep at night and –
"Hey, Dean, you ready to go?" Sam calls, coming in the door of their latest motel room with fresh coffee in one of those take out pieces of cardboard in one hand and scooping up his already packed duffle with the other. Sam smiles, brandishes the coffee at Dean. Dean grabs a cup, and his duffle.
"Yeah, Sammy, let's get going." Dean heads for the door and out to the Impala, and Sam follows after tossing the motel room key onto the "express checkout" label on top of the tv.
"It's Sam, jerk," Dean's brother says as they open their car doors, tossing their stuff into the back seat.
"Whatever. Bitch." Dean starts the car, and cranks up the music, and they drive off into the sunrise, headed for some new hunt where Sam will undoubtedly save his ass again. Dean knows he'll never say anything, 'cause god, Sam would kill him…
- but Dean is glad that she's dead.
