Fanfic Preview: "Blood and Bone and Fire"
Jul. 16th, 2008 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raloriaI've been meaning to post this for several days now. My Crazy Muse needs some feedback. After all I've only got *eeep!* a month to two months approximately to get these two sequels for "Unwilling To Let Go" written and posted. Yikes! Time to buckle down and actually get these things typed up!
Just to catch everyone up with this fanfic series of mine...I wrote "Unwilling To Let Go" back in May of 2007. It was my take on how Dean was going to die and go to Hell....way before Season Three even began. I received numerous requests to continue the story, so I've been working on two sequels ever since. Part Two is called "Walking Through Hellfire" and Part Three is called "Blood and Bone and Fire". I posted a preview section of "Walking Through Hellfire" in April. I suggest reading those two posts first before you venture into this one. With this entry I'll give you taste of Part Three "Blood and Bone and Fire".
Please keep in mind that what you read here is subject to change as I continue to work on the story.
Warning for major angst! I do not make things easy for Dean, or even Sam for that matter. Have your tissues handy. ;)
Please feed my Crazy Muse! Comments are love! *hugs*
Sam stepped outside, the warm afternoon breeze full of the scent of the earth, grass, and trees. He'd been cooped up inside for so long, he'd almost forgotten what the outdoors even smelled like. Walking around the corner of the dilapidated old house he found Bobby, tilted back in a rickety wooden chair, a beer bottle in his hand. He seemed to be lost in thought as he watched the wind blow the branches of the nearby trees.
Sam stretched as he approached, making enough noise so he didn't startle Bobby. He needn't have worried.
“How is he?”
“Still sound asleep.”
Standing to the right of Bobby, Sam watched the tree limbs swaying. They stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the peacefulness of the scene, until Bobby spoke up again.
“Did you get enough sleep?”
“About the usual.” He could just hear Bobby sigh over that one.
“You gotta take care of yourself, Sam. This is gonna be a long haul and you need to prepare yourself.”
“I know, Bobby....I know....but he keeps having those nightmares.” Bobby nodded his head slightly and took a drink of his beer. There really wasn't more to say to that. Every night Dean had nightmares, awakening them all with his screams. There wasn't anything to be done about it except learning to live with it. They had to be patient and wait for Dean to work this out his own way.
A muffled crash and a barely heard scream got the attention of both men as they turned to look at each other.
“Did you hear that?”, Bobby asked as another crash could be heard from upstairs.
Sam's face fell into a panic, “Dean!”
He turned and ran back inside, scaling the stairs as fast as he could, the sound of crashes suddenly stopping. Sam didn't even notice if Bobby was following, all he knew was that he had to get to his brother. Rushing into their room he immediately noticed the two empty beds and the closed bathroom door.
“Dean?” No answer. Sam went to the bathroom door and listened. It was dead quiet. “Dean? Is everything alright in there?” He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Figures. Dean locks everything.
“Dean, open the door.” More silence. Sam was getting nervous. Was Dean even conscious? Or was he passed out on the floor?
“Dean, I'm gonna come in there one way or another. You're not the only one that can kick down doors.” It was an attempt at humor, but it fell flat, even to Sam's ears. Taking one more moment to listen for any sound on the other side, he took a step back and kicked the door near the knob. The wood framing splintered next to the lock and the door swung open easily.
He saw Dean, sitting on the floor at the other end of the small room, slumped against the wall with his back to the tub. Bottles, toothbrushes, and other paraphenalia littered the tiled floor, along with numerous shards of mirror. Stepping inside, Sam looked to his right to see the mirrored medicine cabinet doors shattered in several places, with broken pieces and splatters of blood in the white sink below.
Turning his attention back to his brother, he saw that Dean was using the blood coming from his broken and mangled knuckles to write on the wall. Sam took a few tentative steps closer to read them, squatting down to his brother's level. What he could make out from the scrawled letters on the blue wall made Sam's heart drop into his gut.
It's not me. Worthless. Pathetic.
Dean was starting on a new word, but Sam couldn't read it yet. He had to get Dean's attention, but carefully.
“Dean.” No response. Sam inched a little closer, not wanting to startle his brother for fear of what might happen. He noticed, thankfully, that Dean was running out of blood to use, as his wounds started dry up a little. His eyes at half mast, yet intently looking at the word he was trying to write, Dean looked to be miles away. Off in his own little world again. Far away from me. Sam sighed quietly, looking into his brother's face for some kind of lifeline he could grab onto.
Just then, Sam heard footsteps in the bedroom behind him. Turning his head to look, he saw Bobby standing in the doorway, taking in the carnage of the bathroom. “Lord have merc..”
“Bobby”, Sam nearly whispered, “I've got this. Don't worry, okay.” Meeting Bobby's eyes, the old man gave a slight nod of his head and quietly left, trusting that Sam knew what he was doing. The young Winchester wished he knew himself. He had to get through to Dean to figure out what was going on inside his brother's tortured mind. Turning his attention back to his traumatized sibling, Sam tried to break through again.
“Dean?” Still nothing. Sam carefully reached out his hand and touched Dean's sleeve. With the contact his brother instantly came to life. “No! Stay away from me!” Even though he had nowhere to go, Dean tried to scrunch himself farther back into the corner, fear and panic shading his eyes as he looked at Sam for the first time.
“Shhhh. It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you.” Sam held up his hands, not wanting to appear threatening in any way.
“It's me....it's Sam. Okay?”
Dean was breathing fast, his eyes meeting Sam's and finding some recognition. “S-sam?”
Sam smiled just a little. At least he knows who I am. It was a start.
“Yeah. It's me. What's goin' on?” It seemed like a stupid question, but if the last few weeks had taught Sam anything, it was that he had to treat Dean carefully, as though he was made of glass. “Keep things simple” had become his motto along with “One step at a time”. It was like dealing with a frightened child, but it had been the only way.
Dean's face crumpled a bit, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “It's not...me! It's not me!”
Sam was confused. What did he mean? “What Dean? I don't understand.”
Dean's breathing was ragged, as he struggled for his next words. “It's....I'm....I'm...not me.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you're you.” Sam spoke in gentle tones, like one would speak to a hurt and frightened animal. “You're my brother”, he said, with a small smile on his lips, hoping to encourage Dean out his shell a little more.
“No....no....I'm not. I'm not.” A few tears streamed down Dean's face as he shook his head.
“Yes you are. You're my big brother Dean and you're gonna let me help you out of here, okay?” Sam inched a little closer, bridging the gap between them even as Dean tried to back away.
“No....no....Sam...I'm....” Dean's lips trembled, but Sam kept advancing, slowly. He had to get his brother out of here. The smell of blood was rising in the warm confines of the small room, the stench slightly turning his stomach. He reached carefully for Dean's hand.
“Here....give me your hand. You're hurt, Dean.” Without his brother realizing it, Sam tenderly took Dean's hand, careful not to touch the damaged knuckles. “We gotta get these cleaned up, okay? Can you stand up?”
Somehow, Dean acknowledged the help and with Sam's assistance, stood up on shaky legs. “Good. Now let's get you back to bed.” Dean just looked at Sam with frightened, tear-filled eyes, but he moved, allowing his brother to lead him back to his bed.
Sam spent the next hour cleaning pieces of glass and mirror out of Dean's hands and then bandaging them. Dean, meanwhile, stared off into the distance, shutting himself off yet again. Sam tried talking to him, but ended up talking to himself as he tended to the many cuts. When he finished, he got Dean under the covers once more and gently ran his hand through Dean's short hair, much the same way his older brother had done with him when he was a child. Is this the way things are going to be big brother? Me taking care of you now? It's my turn, isn't it? I just didn't think it would be so soon.
“Sleep Dean. Everything's okay now.” Dean, almost out of instinct, closed his eyes and Sam took a deep, yet quiet breath of relief. Straightening up, he put the first aid kit away, deciding he'd clean up the mess in the bathroom later. He quietly left the room, leaving the door open, so he'd hear if Dean stirred again. I never should have left him alone.
He only went over to the landing at the top of the stairs that had a table and a couple of chairs. Sitting heavily into the nearest one, Sam leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands....utterly defeated emotionally. Tired beyond his young years, Sam felt more lost than he could ever remember. His brother was back, but to what? More torture and pain from the memories of hell? What have I done? Oh, Dean...what have I done?
So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Think I should be tied up for torturing the brothers so much? Heh. :P
Help motivate my Crazy Muse. She loves Jensen and finds him very distracting, so help me tell her to get back to work. ;)
Just to catch everyone up with this fanfic series of mine...I wrote "Unwilling To Let Go" back in May of 2007. It was my take on how Dean was going to die and go to Hell....way before Season Three even began. I received numerous requests to continue the story, so I've been working on two sequels ever since. Part Two is called "Walking Through Hellfire" and Part Three is called "Blood and Bone and Fire". I posted a preview section of "Walking Through Hellfire" in April. I suggest reading those two posts first before you venture into this one. With this entry I'll give you taste of Part Three "Blood and Bone and Fire".
Please keep in mind that what you read here is subject to change as I continue to work on the story.
Warning for major angst! I do not make things easy for Dean, or even Sam for that matter. Have your tissues handy. ;)
Please feed my Crazy Muse! Comments are love! *hugs*
Sam stepped outside, the warm afternoon breeze full of the scent of the earth, grass, and trees. He'd been cooped up inside for so long, he'd almost forgotten what the outdoors even smelled like. Walking around the corner of the dilapidated old house he found Bobby, tilted back in a rickety wooden chair, a beer bottle in his hand. He seemed to be lost in thought as he watched the wind blow the branches of the nearby trees.
Sam stretched as he approached, making enough noise so he didn't startle Bobby. He needn't have worried.
“How is he?”
“Still sound asleep.”
Standing to the right of Bobby, Sam watched the tree limbs swaying. They stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the peacefulness of the scene, until Bobby spoke up again.
“Did you get enough sleep?”
“About the usual.” He could just hear Bobby sigh over that one.
“You gotta take care of yourself, Sam. This is gonna be a long haul and you need to prepare yourself.”
“I know, Bobby....I know....but he keeps having those nightmares.” Bobby nodded his head slightly and took a drink of his beer. There really wasn't more to say to that. Every night Dean had nightmares, awakening them all with his screams. There wasn't anything to be done about it except learning to live with it. They had to be patient and wait for Dean to work this out his own way.
A muffled crash and a barely heard scream got the attention of both men as they turned to look at each other.
“Did you hear that?”, Bobby asked as another crash could be heard from upstairs.
Sam's face fell into a panic, “Dean!”
He turned and ran back inside, scaling the stairs as fast as he could, the sound of crashes suddenly stopping. Sam didn't even notice if Bobby was following, all he knew was that he had to get to his brother. Rushing into their room he immediately noticed the two empty beds and the closed bathroom door.
“Dean?” No answer. Sam went to the bathroom door and listened. It was dead quiet. “Dean? Is everything alright in there?” He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Figures. Dean locks everything.
“Dean, open the door.” More silence. Sam was getting nervous. Was Dean even conscious? Or was he passed out on the floor?
“Dean, I'm gonna come in there one way or another. You're not the only one that can kick down doors.” It was an attempt at humor, but it fell flat, even to Sam's ears. Taking one more moment to listen for any sound on the other side, he took a step back and kicked the door near the knob. The wood framing splintered next to the lock and the door swung open easily.
He saw Dean, sitting on the floor at the other end of the small room, slumped against the wall with his back to the tub. Bottles, toothbrushes, and other paraphenalia littered the tiled floor, along with numerous shards of mirror. Stepping inside, Sam looked to his right to see the mirrored medicine cabinet doors shattered in several places, with broken pieces and splatters of blood in the white sink below.
Turning his attention back to his brother, he saw that Dean was using the blood coming from his broken and mangled knuckles to write on the wall. Sam took a few tentative steps closer to read them, squatting down to his brother's level. What he could make out from the scrawled letters on the blue wall made Sam's heart drop into his gut.
It's not me. Worthless. Pathetic.
Dean was starting on a new word, but Sam couldn't read it yet. He had to get Dean's attention, but carefully.
“Dean.” No response. Sam inched a little closer, not wanting to startle his brother for fear of what might happen. He noticed, thankfully, that Dean was running out of blood to use, as his wounds started dry up a little. His eyes at half mast, yet intently looking at the word he was trying to write, Dean looked to be miles away. Off in his own little world again. Far away from me. Sam sighed quietly, looking into his brother's face for some kind of lifeline he could grab onto.
Just then, Sam heard footsteps in the bedroom behind him. Turning his head to look, he saw Bobby standing in the doorway, taking in the carnage of the bathroom. “Lord have merc..”
“Bobby”, Sam nearly whispered, “I've got this. Don't worry, okay.” Meeting Bobby's eyes, the old man gave a slight nod of his head and quietly left, trusting that Sam knew what he was doing. The young Winchester wished he knew himself. He had to get through to Dean to figure out what was going on inside his brother's tortured mind. Turning his attention back to his traumatized sibling, Sam tried to break through again.
“Dean?” Still nothing. Sam carefully reached out his hand and touched Dean's sleeve. With the contact his brother instantly came to life. “No! Stay away from me!” Even though he had nowhere to go, Dean tried to scrunch himself farther back into the corner, fear and panic shading his eyes as he looked at Sam for the first time.
“Shhhh. It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you.” Sam held up his hands, not wanting to appear threatening in any way.
“It's me....it's Sam. Okay?”
Dean was breathing fast, his eyes meeting Sam's and finding some recognition. “S-sam?”
Sam smiled just a little. At least he knows who I am. It was a start.
“Yeah. It's me. What's goin' on?” It seemed like a stupid question, but if the last few weeks had taught Sam anything, it was that he had to treat Dean carefully, as though he was made of glass. “Keep things simple” had become his motto along with “One step at a time”. It was like dealing with a frightened child, but it had been the only way.
Dean's face crumpled a bit, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “It's not...me! It's not me!”
Sam was confused. What did he mean? “What Dean? I don't understand.”
Dean's breathing was ragged, as he struggled for his next words. “It's....I'm....I'm...not me.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you're you.” Sam spoke in gentle tones, like one would speak to a hurt and frightened animal. “You're my brother”, he said, with a small smile on his lips, hoping to encourage Dean out his shell a little more.
“No....no....I'm not. I'm not.” A few tears streamed down Dean's face as he shook his head.
“Yes you are. You're my big brother Dean and you're gonna let me help you out of here, okay?” Sam inched a little closer, bridging the gap between them even as Dean tried to back away.
“No....no....Sam...I'm....” Dean's lips trembled, but Sam kept advancing, slowly. He had to get his brother out of here. The smell of blood was rising in the warm confines of the small room, the stench slightly turning his stomach. He reached carefully for Dean's hand.
“Here....give me your hand. You're hurt, Dean.” Without his brother realizing it, Sam tenderly took Dean's hand, careful not to touch the damaged knuckles. “We gotta get these cleaned up, okay? Can you stand up?”
Somehow, Dean acknowledged the help and with Sam's assistance, stood up on shaky legs. “Good. Now let's get you back to bed.” Dean just looked at Sam with frightened, tear-filled eyes, but he moved, allowing his brother to lead him back to his bed.
Sam spent the next hour cleaning pieces of glass and mirror out of Dean's hands and then bandaging them. Dean, meanwhile, stared off into the distance, shutting himself off yet again. Sam tried talking to him, but ended up talking to himself as he tended to the many cuts. When he finished, he got Dean under the covers once more and gently ran his hand through Dean's short hair, much the same way his older brother had done with him when he was a child. Is this the way things are going to be big brother? Me taking care of you now? It's my turn, isn't it? I just didn't think it would be so soon.
“Sleep Dean. Everything's okay now.” Dean, almost out of instinct, closed his eyes and Sam took a deep, yet quiet breath of relief. Straightening up, he put the first aid kit away, deciding he'd clean up the mess in the bathroom later. He quietly left the room, leaving the door open, so he'd hear if Dean stirred again. I never should have left him alone.
He only went over to the landing at the top of the stairs that had a table and a couple of chairs. Sitting heavily into the nearest one, Sam leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands....utterly defeated emotionally. Tired beyond his young years, Sam felt more lost than he could ever remember. His brother was back, but to what? More torture and pain from the memories of hell? What have I done? Oh, Dean...what have I done?
So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Think I should be tied up for torturing the brothers so much? Heh. :P
Help motivate my Crazy Muse. She loves Jensen and finds him very distracting, so help me tell her to get back to work. ;)
