caffienekitty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
caffienekitty) wrote2010-04-08 04:25 pm
caffienekitty) wrote2010-04-08 04:25 pm
Entry tags:
SPN Fanfic: The Absence of Water
Title: The Absence of Water
Characters: Sam (introspective)
Rating/Warnings: Spoilers for 5.16. GEN, PG. Meta-ish, maudlin and not everyone may agree with the assertions regarding characters. I'm not sure about them either.
Word Count: 470-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, no ownership claimed.
Summary: An episode tag for 5.16, just like everyone else is writing.
A/N: Damn thing ambushed me during the day. May be edited later. Not that happy with it. [LJ-only]
-
The Absence of Water
by CaffieneKitty
-
Sam stood in the hotel room and stared at the closed door between him and his brother. The clunk of the pendant hitting the bottom of the trash can had been louder than any gunshot, and hurt more.
He couldn't control what he'd experienced in Heaven, any more than Dean could. Heaven showed Sam's best memories as being time spent with other people's families, of leaving, of being alone. Why? There were lots of good memories with Dean, with Dad too. Why hadn't they turned up?
That Thanksgiving dinner, Dean had driven him to the house and would pick him up after. Sam had snagged a turkey leg and a piece of pie for him. Being alone in Flagstaff, Sam had known if he couldn't handle it he could go back; Dean would probably tear a strip off him for leaving, but he would be there. Stanford... he'd known that Dean wasn't the one telling him not to come back. That if he came back, wherever Dad and Dean were, Dean would welcome him, even if Dad wouldn't.
Dean just... was. All through growing up, more often than not, Dad wasn't there, Dean was. Sam didn't really think of it because it wasn't something he had to think about. Dean was just always there. Like air, or gravity.
A fish never thinks about water.
They spent most of their lives closer than any family, living in ratty apartments and the same ever-changing twelve by sixteen hotel rooms. It was hard to get time alone, time to think. Sam escaped to school and libraries, but he knew Dean would always be there when he went back, smirking about Sam's bookworm habits and offering cold pizza or a bag of nachos.
Sam never doubted Dean would be there until Dean started hunting. He remembered when Dean told him he was going to be a hunter, like Dad. Sam had been twelve. He remembered the feeling of rage, the feeling that Dad was taking his brother from him and putting Dean in danger. It was Dean's choice, and not the first time he'd been hunting, but the feeling was there. Irrational.
When Dean had died and gone to Hell, in the dark scramble of days right after, the thought Sam had shoved away most violently was "How dare Dean leave?" An ugly thought, selfish, rooted in childish solipsism, but in the worst patches of night it rose up and caught him off-guard. The last thought of a fish drowning in the air, angry at the absent water.
Dean was alive now. He was whole. He wasn't in Hell. They were together, a family. It was them against the world. But...
Sam bent and retrieved the pendant from the trash. The metal had dulled from the bright thing he'd given Dean so long ago, worn and pitted. He folded the cord into his hand.
He had to make things right. Somehow.
- - -
(that's all.)
ETA: The more I think about it, the more I'm sure that the fish and water metaphor is subconsciously adapted from something in a book somewhere (possibly one of the Vorkosigans?) *facepalm*
Characters: Sam (introspective)
Rating/Warnings: Spoilers for 5.16. GEN, PG. Meta-ish, maudlin and not everyone may agree with the assertions regarding characters. I'm not sure about them either.
Word Count: 470-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, no ownership claimed.
Summary: An episode tag for 5.16, just like everyone else is writing.
A/N: Damn thing ambushed me during the day. May be edited later. Not that happy with it. [LJ-only]
The Absence of Water
by CaffieneKitty
-
Sam stood in the hotel room and stared at the closed door between him and his brother. The clunk of the pendant hitting the bottom of the trash can had been louder than any gunshot, and hurt more.
He couldn't control what he'd experienced in Heaven, any more than Dean could. Heaven showed Sam's best memories as being time spent with other people's families, of leaving, of being alone. Why? There were lots of good memories with Dean, with Dad too. Why hadn't they turned up?
That Thanksgiving dinner, Dean had driven him to the house and would pick him up after. Sam had snagged a turkey leg and a piece of pie for him. Being alone in Flagstaff, Sam had known if he couldn't handle it he could go back; Dean would probably tear a strip off him for leaving, but he would be there. Stanford... he'd known that Dean wasn't the one telling him not to come back. That if he came back, wherever Dad and Dean were, Dean would welcome him, even if Dad wouldn't.
Dean just... was. All through growing up, more often than not, Dad wasn't there, Dean was. Sam didn't really think of it because it wasn't something he had to think about. Dean was just always there. Like air, or gravity.
A fish never thinks about water.
They spent most of their lives closer than any family, living in ratty apartments and the same ever-changing twelve by sixteen hotel rooms. It was hard to get time alone, time to think. Sam escaped to school and libraries, but he knew Dean would always be there when he went back, smirking about Sam's bookworm habits and offering cold pizza or a bag of nachos.
Sam never doubted Dean would be there until Dean started hunting. He remembered when Dean told him he was going to be a hunter, like Dad. Sam had been twelve. He remembered the feeling of rage, the feeling that Dad was taking his brother from him and putting Dean in danger. It was Dean's choice, and not the first time he'd been hunting, but the feeling was there. Irrational.
When Dean had died and gone to Hell, in the dark scramble of days right after, the thought Sam had shoved away most violently was "How dare Dean leave?" An ugly thought, selfish, rooted in childish solipsism, but in the worst patches of night it rose up and caught him off-guard. The last thought of a fish drowning in the air, angry at the absent water.
Dean was alive now. He was whole. He wasn't in Hell. They were together, a family. It was them against the world. But...
Sam bent and retrieved the pendant from the trash. The metal had dulled from the bright thing he'd given Dean so long ago, worn and pitted. He folded the cord into his hand.
He had to make things right. Somehow.
- - -
(that's all.)
ETA: The more I think about it, the more I'm sure that the fish and water metaphor is subconsciously adapted from something in a book somewhere (possibly one of the Vorkosigans?) *facepalm*
no subject
no subject
no subject
Also, I really like the metaphor about fish.
no subject
One of the great things about fiction is that clues and implications can be interpreted in as many ways as there are readers. ;-)
Also, I really like the metaphor about fish.
It's actually a paraphrasing and extension of something in one of the Vorkosigan Saga books, I think. Kind of a reversal too, becaus iirc in the book it was relating to an abusive situation and this isn't.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
A fish never thinks about water."
This is just what I thought about it too. Sam doesn't love Dean any less than Dean loves him, just more sublimely. I've often compared the two of them to Louis and Lestat of the Vampire Chronicles(Sam to Louis and Dean to Lestat)- just because Sam deliberately functions through his emotions, doesn't mean he doesn't have them.
I like the style of this, the simplicity, the repetition of the metaphor and the moving through memories. It suits the rythem of Sam's thoughts.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Perfect bit of Sam psychoanalysis there. I think you're right too, Sam kind of did take Dean for granted until he wasn't there any more.
no subject
no subject
You have a lovely lyrical style here, too, which works really well with the sombre, thoughtful tone. Beautifully done.
no subject
It's actually reworked and extrapolated from a line in one of the Vorkosigan novels I think. I've added acknowledgement at the nottom of the story.
You have a lovely lyrical style here, too, which works really well with the sombre, thoughtful tone. Beautifully done.
Aw, thanks. :-)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject