Maimat the Rat

Kazcon... Im here!

2009-08-06T20:26:03Z

First off, apologies to anyone who doesn't care. LOL.

I have failed at finding food, sort of. I drove, looked, found a convenience store and am now munching on Powdered Donettes and chocolate milk. They aren't technically FOOD, but they are sort of edible and the important part- strangely filling.

maimat @ 2009-08-05T20:45:00

2009-08-06T01:46:13Z

Headed to Kazcon, drove 790km today, will do the rest tomorrow! If you see this on your friends page and you are going to be there, send me a message!

Awkward Questions

2009-04-24T17:58:26Z

So uh... How many kinds of monsters out there drink blood?

Vampires,
Ghouls (they seemed to be enjoying it)
uh... Sam.
Chupacabras (they drain cows blood)

What else?

SPN Fic, Who'll Stop the Rain, Gen

2009-03-30T04:30:38Z

Title: Who'll Stop the Rain
Author: Maimat the Rat
Category: Episode tag, 4.17
Pairing: none
Rating: T
Word Count: 766
Date: March 29/2009
Status: Complete
Season/Spoilers: Season 4, 4.17
Summary: Did anyone wonder why the elevator wasn’t working that morning?
Feedback: Welcome

Sam Wesson felt lost.

Not lost like needing a map, but just lost. Nothing really seemed to fit with anything else. This life, his job. This damn stupid stuck-in-a-cubical life he was living, and did he really just bash his phone in with an iron poker? What the hell possessed him to keep it under his damned desk anyhow? Seriously, did he think the ghost would come and tap him on the shoulder during working hours even after seeing it burn up or whatever that was? Or maybe he just wanted to be prepared just in case there were more ghosts out there ready to attack him at his useless job? Lame.

What was he even doing here? Last night was unlike anything... it was... and oh dear lord what about the security guard?

Sam took the stairs. There just didn’t seem to be a lot of options last night. After the severing incident the elevator started working again and Sam just pulled the rest of the security guard into the elevator and pressed the emergency lock button. Maintenance wouldn’t get around to fixing it for at least half the day, and then... well it wasn’t like anyone was going to be able to help the guy no matter how soon he was found.

But now what? It was like Dean said; you can’t just go hunting ghosts with no health insurance. Who did he think he was? Bruce Wayne? He didn’t even have a car. He could go track down those Ghostfacers and see if they could use some help. At least they seemed to know what they were talking about.

Sam sat down in the stairwell and tried to think. He didn’t even know where to find the Ghostfacers. Anyway, every time he thought about hunting, he thought about Dean. It all felt connected, and without Dean...

A wave exhaustion rushed over him, and Sam’s vision went hazy for a moment. Sam leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for just a second. And everything came rushing back. There was no slow transition. It felt like a veil over his eyes had been lifted and now he could see. He saw it all. He saw Dean Smith. He saw Dean Winchester. Sam Wesson and Dean Smith, Smith and Wesson. Seriously? What the hell? Who was playing mind games with them this time? Sam Winchester didn’t know what to do anymore.

-0-0-0-0-

Dean ran down the stairs taking two at a time. The first thing he did was stop at Sam’s floor, but Sam wasn’t there. The remains of what was once a phone lay crushed on the desk, and several cubical jockeys were more than happy to reiterate the incident.

“The guy went postal. Well, not postal, but you know, like freaking nuts. With a tire iron.”

“You mean fire poker?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, sure whatever. He quit. Seriously, he was, like, totally unhinged.”

Okay, that wasn’t all that surprising considering what they just went through the night before, and hadn’t Dean just done about the same, though minus the fire poker. “Where’d he go after that?”

“Stairs. Elevator’s broke again and he probably wanted to get out before security came to haul his ass out of here. The elevators have been crap slow today. If it weren’t for my asthma I’d have taken the stairs myself this morning, as it was it took ten minutes for the freaking elevator to get there, I swear I think I must be freaking cursed...”

From the sound of it, Sam ‘quit’ his job before Zachariah talked to Dean. So did that mean Sam quit on his own, like Dean had? Did Castiel’s boss give Sam his memories back before he talked to Dean? Did Sam even have his memories back yet?

He ran down the stairs again, hoping to catch Sam before he got too far.

Or not that far. Dean just about tripped over Sam before seeing him sitting there. “Shit. Hey.” He stopped running and sat down on the stair beside his brother. His brother. How could he not have known? Sam knew. Sam was the one who knew something was off all along while Dean just sat back in his cushy office and drank those pissy detox things.

“So.” Sam said.

“So. You remember?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. What the hell?”

“It was an Angel.”

Sam bit his lip. “Why?”

“To show me the true meaning of Christmas?”

Sam snorted. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. If that bastard did anything to my car...”

The end

SG-1 Fic, Comparisons, gen

2009-03-16T15:51:17Z

Title: Comparisons
Author: Maimat the Rat
Category: Episode tag
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Status: Complete
Series: Nope
Season/Spoilers: Season 9, Ripple Effect, and mentions of Meridian, Fallen
Synopsis: An alternate team has a chat with Daniel
Feedback: Welcome

It felt weird. Daniel sat in the commissary drinking tar-like coffee and tried not to be aware of the alternate team sitting at the table across the room watching him. The four members consisted of Samantha, Jack, Teal’c, and Jonas.

He accidentally caught Jack’s eye and offered a small grin of greeting that subsequently made Jack look ill. Teal’c stood up, walked over, and took a seat.

“It is good to see you well Daniel Jackson.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The fact he answered seemed to signal the rest of them to come over and join his table. All except for Jonas, who remained seated alone, staring down at the table.

“So.” Jack looked around the commissary. “I see this place looks as drab as ever.” The tone sounded light, but Daniel couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all waiting for him to do something.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Daniel asked.

“There is.” Teal’c answered, but did not elaborate.

“We could talk in my office?” Daniel offered in order to break the uneasy silence.

The three of them stood up as one, and Daniel followed suit moments later.

“What about Jonas?”

Jack glanced back at the fourth member of his team sitting alone across the room. “You know him?”

Daniel nodded.

“This is for us.” Samantha smiled and gently touched Daniel’s arm.

Daniel led the way.

“It’s different.” Jack walked inside and surveyed the room. Carter closed the door behind them, and watched Daniel perch on the end of his desk.

“What were you expecting?”

“We did not know what to expect.” Teal’c replied as he studied the shelves and artefacts, finally settling his attention on a wooden burial statue.

“Did you meet the gamekeeper?” Jack asked while running a finger along the spines of journals in the shelf. His finger came to rest where Jonas had added journals, counted them carefully, and then kept going.

Daniel nodded. “Barrel of laughs.”

“Ever been to Kelowna?”

“Yes.”

They shared a look amongst themselves, and then Jack cleared his throat. “I need to know what’s different. Or if there’s still something we could do…”

“About Kelowna?” Daniel asked.

“You’ve been there.” Jack stated. “You know Jonas. This is where things probably change. There was a reactor explosion, or there would have been if you hadn’t have stopped it.”

“Sounds the same.”

Jack closed his eyes. “You were injured, badly.”

Daniel nodded. “I know.”

Samantha squinted a second while trying to blend that information with the seemingly healthy man sitting in front of her. “You were dying from radiation poisoning.”

“DanielJackson.” Teal’c stepped forward. “If you experienced these same events, we would like to know how it is you recovered, so that we may help the DanielJackson of our reality.”

“Obviously, you’re here.” Jack pressed his hand against the journals on the shelf. “How… what did we do?”

Daniel stared at funeral statue Teal’c held. “I can’t give you the answers you want. Maybe one of the other Daniels can help you?”

“The DanielJackson you refer to would not answer our question. He replied that we should leave our friend as he is and that the cure was worse than the disease. It is my understanding that he was healed by sarcophagus, leaving him physically healed but less than what he was.” Teal’c studied Daniel carefully. “I have no reason to believe that your spirit has been corrupted by Goa’uld technology.”

Biting her lip, Samantha stepped forward and took his hand, studying the perfect skin under her fingers. “You have no scars. Our Daniel has scars. The hand device couldn’t heal you completely, but you still work with us as a consultant.”

“It’s not me Sam.” Daniel stepped away from her and moved to put his desk between himself and the alternate team. Daniel cleared his throat. “What happened after Jacob healed your Daniel.”

Jack paced impatiently. “He’s trapped in a wheel chair, scarred with radiation burns, and suffering from chronic pain. How did we save you?”

“Have you heard of Oma Desala, did you ever go to Kheb?”

“Where we found Shi’fu, yes. We were able to get her to help you?” Jack asked.

“Not exactly. She came to me. You know what she is?”

“An Ancient.” Samantha answered

Daniel wasn’t sure how to continue. “I died. There was no sarcophagus. Jacob was healing me, but I asked you to stop him. Oma helped me ascend.”

“And you gave up? Just like that?” Jack asked incredulously.

“No. I thought I could do more.”

“So, are you still dead?” Jack asked.

“We know the Ancients are able to take human form.” Samantha came around the desk to stand next to Daniel, she touched his arm. “Is that what you did?”

“I’m not ascended anymore. I’m just... me.” He looked at them, saw they still didn’t understand, and he didn’t care to do any more explaining. “It’s a long story.”

Samantha raised a frustrated hand up to wipe her eyes. “What about Sha’re?”

Daniel felt his heart skip a beat. “What about Sha’re? She’s alive?” Daniel asked.

Jack nodded.

“And Abydos?”

“What about it?”

“It’s still there?” Daniel asked.

Jack, Teal’c, and Samantha looked confused.

“And Anubis?”

“He was destroyed in the battle against the Replicators, along with most of the other system lords.”

“You beat the Replicators?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you?”

“We did. Yes.” Daniel stared at the floor for a long ten seconds before looking up again. He knew this was a question he shouldn’t be asking, but he needed the answer nonetheless. “Sha’re is alive. How?”

Teal’c spoke. “The Goa’uld Ammonet was incapacitated with a Zatnikitel, and the Tok’ra removed the symbiot.”

That was it then. “My Sha’re died with Ammonet six years ago.” It took a few minutes before Daniel could find his voice again. “Am I... is you’re Daniel Jackson still with Shar’re? Are they happy?”

“I believe they are content.” Teal’c answered.

“There isn’t anything here that is better or more right. I can’t help you.”

“We apologize for disturbing you DanielJackson. I wish you peace.” Teal’c bowed his head and walked out the door, reluctantly followed by Samantha and Jack.

“Jack?”

Jack stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Yes?”

“I chose to ascend because I thought I could do more. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Tell him that it’s not about what we do, it’s about the strength with which we face our challenges.”

“You sure you’re not still glowy?”

“Not me. Oma. I didn’t understand what she meant then, but I think I’m beginning to now.”

Jack looked about to say something more, but instead nodded and left Daniel alone with his thoughts.

the end

Fic, Many Things I Didn't Know, [Gen, T]

2009-03-16T13:29:54Z

Title: Many Things I Didn't Know

Author: Maimat
Rating: T
Spoilers: Season 3
Characters: Dean, Sam.
Notes: Gen, Episode tag to 4.07

Summary: Extending the last few scenes of 4.07. Angst, and Zombie insight, and brotherlyness.

Dean watched as the black smoke belched up and out of the host body, tumbling slowly through the air and down into the cold, marble floor. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed Sam’s powers, but this?

This was so not right; blood dripped from Sam’s nose, and his eyes were squinty. Dean didn’t even spare a glance at the dead guy now sprawled on the floor.

“Sam,” Dean strode toward him, “you alright?”

Sam staggered, stumbled backward, and landed gracelessly on the floor.

“We need to get out of here.” It took all of five steps for Dean to bridge the distance to Sam’s side. The sound of sirens were an audible reminder to get the hell out before the cops arrived. Dean made a grab for Sam’s wrist in order to haul him to his feet, but hesitated at the feel of his brother’s unnaturally cool skin. Sam looked like ten miles of bad road; his nose was still bleeding and Dean could feel him shaking. How badly could Sam hurt himself by exorcising something like Samhain?

Sam shook off Dean’s hand and pushed himself back onto his feet.

“Sam? Dude, come on.” Dean didn’t wait for Sam to get moving, he took hold of Sam’s wrist once more and was ready to drag him away if he needed to.

Sam’s hand caught the door on the way out. “The knife.”

Dean looked back and saw the light reflect against the blade. It was across the room from where Sam clashed with Samhain, and as Dean picked it up he also noticed that there was dried blood on the blade.

Not a word was spoken the entire ride back to the motel. Dean felt like he was supposed to be piecing together a puzzle without knowing what the final picture should look like. It had nothing to do with the freaky mind power demon thing. Well, maybe a little, but not everything. This new Sam was too quiet; there were too many secrets between them. How could Sam not tell him about the demon blood for an entire year? Did Sam think he wouldn’t have been able to handle knowing the truth?

“Sam. Sammy, hey.” Dean shook Sam’s shoulder, and jumped as his brother suddenly regained consciousness. “Hey, we’re back at the motel.”

Sam blinked as he tried to focus, and Dean watched him carefully. “We’re going inside?” Sam asked.

“That’s normally how it’s done.”

Sam nodded. He waited while Dean unlocked the motel door, and then went straight to his bed and crashed.

“Your head still hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Dean pulled the first aid kit from his bag and dug out the bottle of advil. “Extra strength?”

“No thanks.”

“Right.” Dean put two on the night table. He sniffed the air, and wrinkled his nose,“Ugh, is that…” He sniffed his coat, “I smell like smoke and formaldehyde.” He suddenly grinned at Sam hoping to lighten the mood, “Dude, Zombies! Freaking zombies. They were crawling right out of the crypts and everything, just like a Romero film. You know what would have been even better though, if they were chanting BRAINS, but I don’t think they could talk.”

“Brains?”

“Yeah, you know,” Dean screwed up his face and groaned, “BRAINS!”

Sam rubbed his eyes and tentatively touched the blood dried to his face. “Zombies eat flesh. Anyway, they’d have to break the skull of everyone they kill to get at the brains.”

“Thank-you Encyclopedia Brown.” Admitting defeat, Dean sighed and considered his brother’s motions, “You want to shower first? I could wait.”

“No.” Sam let his arm drop and just sat like he was waiting for something. Only Dean wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

“Hang on a sec…” He walked into the bathroom grabbed a washcloth, wetted it and returned to Sam’s side. “Here,” he held his hand out, “might make you feel a little better.” Sam took it and stared at it for a while. “Or if not you, it will definitely make me feel better, because dude, you look as bad as some of those Zombies.”

“So the knife…” Dean took out Ruby’s knife and rinsed it in the sink before placing it on the table between the beds.

Sam looked up briefly before turning away again. “It, uh, I screwed up. You were right.”

“What do you mean I was right?”

“I don’t know.” Sam rubbed at his eyes again. “It’s all just…” He waved vaguely at his head. “I’m tired.”

“Then sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Sam closed his eyes, and the conversation ended.

Picking up the discarded washcloth, Dean took it to the bathroom and added it to the pile on the floor with the other dirty towels from their stay. He stripped off his clothes and tossed those too on the floor and stepped into the shower. The evening’s events played over and over again in his mind…

Sam battling Samhain. Sam’s hand outstretched. Sam’s eyes squinted in obvious pain and intense concentration. The knife lay by the entry of the smaller room, no where even close to where Sam now stood his ground.

“Stop him Dean,” Dean’s memory of Castiel’s warning echoed, “or we will.”

He stayed in the shower just long enough to get clean, and then got dressed for bed. How could he save Sam from this? They’d get everything straightened out in the morning. .

* * *

Dean got up around nine. Sam slept in, so he went to get breakfast and coffee. He passed a playground and watched the kids playing for a minute; all this would be gone if the Angels had gone through with their plan to go Gomorrah on the whole town. Everything looked picture perfect; clear blue sky, warm day, kids laughing. They failed and another seal was broken. The world was one step closer to ending, and the little boy being pushed on the swing by his pregnant mother was going to get the chance to be a big brother.

Then Castiel appeared beside him.

It was about an hour before Dean went back to the room. He picked up some breakfast and a coffee for Sam along the way.

Sam was still sleeping.

Something banged against the motel room door and Dean dropped the bag of food on the table to pick up the knife. Ruby’s knife. Lately it seemed liked there were demons waiting for them around every corner.

He heard laughter coming from outside followed by the rumble of an engine coming to life and it was quiet again. Sometimes a noise is just a noise.

“Time to get moving, Sam.”

Sam hadn’t moved. He lay on his back, dead to the world.

He was just sleeping.

“Sammy?”

No response, and Dean felt himself transported back to another time when Sam had lain on his back, unresponsive.

Not bothering to take the time to put down the knife, Dean shook Sam’s shoulder roughly with his left hand. Still no response.

He grabbed Sam’s face and turned his head towards him. He’d had another nosebleed sometime during the night. Dried blood stained the side of Sam’s face, trailing down his neck and pooling on the sheet.

He leaned in close enough to feel Sam’s breath on his face, and Dean finally let go of the lungful of air he was holding. Of course Sam wasn’t dead, it was stupid to even think it, but Dean still placed his fingers on the side of Sam’s neck. He found the pulse easily. Sam’s skin was cool, but not cold. Dean knew what cold felt like. He let his hand rest on the side of Sam’s neck.

It had taken about half an hour for Sam to get cold last time. Dean remembered sitting in the dirt with his hand on the back of Sam’s neck because he wasn’t ready to let go of his brother yet. It was a mistake. It just wasn’t real. Dean wouldn’t let go, even after his brother was cold. Even though Sam was cold, he held Sam’s fingers in his other hand and rubbed his thumb over Sam’s calluses. It couldn’t be real.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped; Sam stared up at him, confusion quickly turning to alarm. “Dean?”

Dean got up quickly, really not interested in trying to explain his emo moment to his very much alive brother. “Nothing. Uh, you’ve got blood on your face.” He escaped to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh cloth, soaked it in warm water and came back to hand it to his brother.

Sam sat up and accepted the cloth, but didn’t move to wipe the blood away. “What’s with the knife?”

He looked at his hand and then at the door, why was he still holding the damn thing? “Nothing.” He wanted to explain his paranoia even less. “I was putting it away.”

“Right.” Sam didn’t take his eyes off him.

Dean placed the knife back on the table. “Well, yeah, what else would I be doing with it?”

“You tell me.” Sam looked towards his duffle bag on the floor and frowned. “Did you go through my stuff?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“It was packed. I was packing it when... I was packing my bag, but…” Sam coughed and looked back down at his clearly unpacked bag. “Uriel was here. Was I sleeping?”

“Yeah, you were sleeping.”

“So Uriel wasn’t here?”

“I saw Cas in the park. They do that; make you think you’re awake when you’re not. What did he say?”

Sam looked around the room. “Same old.”

“You want to be more specific?”

“Not really.” Sam wiped his face, and looked down at the blood on the cloth. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“I must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque because you’ve totally lost me Sam.”

“It’s not like I’m going to be looking for opportunities, but with what we do, you know. I’ll understand if you side with them. But-”

“Shut up. I don’t know what’s going through that messed up skull of yours, but whatever it is, it’s full of shit. You got me?”

Sam looked at the knife again. Dean tossed it across the room. “Do you hear me, Sam? Whatever kind of bullshit Uriel said, he was wrong. Whatever it is you think I’m thinking, you’re wrong about that too.”

“Last night...”

“Last night you did what you had to do. What you did, it’s better than having a demon running around making monster mash out of this town right?”

“But-”

“Forget about the damn angels. They don’t know anything. And they certainly don’t know you.” Enough with the emo bullshit already, it was about time he started acting like a brother again. Dean picked up the bag of food.

“Here, I brought back some breakfast.”

He watched Sam tentatively take the bag; waited for him to open it; waited for Sam to take a bite.

Dean grinned; it was time. “So, how do you know Zombies don’t eat brains?”

“What?”

“How do you know they don’t eat brains. It’s not like they’re picky. Not like they just eat the living either. Remember the tomb in New Orleans dad took us to? It was sealed tight and so they all just ate each other until there was one last half eaten zombie left. Remember your jacket? I can’t believe Dad just wiped it off and washed it. I thought you were going to puke every time you put it on. How long did it take wash out the smell?”

“It didn’t.” Sam swallowed and put the sandwich down.

Dean grinned. Score! Of course Sam remembered. He’d never seen anyone puke like Sam puked after dad told him to get in there and pour some gas around so they could burn the place. “You see, so that proves it. You lock one of those nasties in a room long enough and they suck the marrow right out of the bones. The flesh only lasts for what, a day tops, before it’s eaten away. Then what? Brains Sam. Doesn’t matter if it’s the main course or dessert, they still eat’em.”

Sam groaned and shoved the food back in the bag. “You suck Dean.”

Dean laughed. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

the end

In which I mourn the loss of 90 minutes of my life...

2008-11-17T17:10:17Z

Move Review...

So, I just watched (at the insistence of a friend) the move Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed. I feel… insulted and annoyed and just plain ripped off. I thought this movie was supposed to be a study on Intelligent Design, and instead it is an attack on Evolutionists going so far to blame Darwin for the Holocaust. It is a very (VERY) biased set of interviews and cartoonish inserts that try to manipulate the viewer into a mind set of fear. The message is that North America is not free, Christians are being prosecuted, humble scientists that dare to question the establishment are being EXPELLED from academia because other scientists are threatened by what they are saying will upset the status quo. It tries to sway the viewer to their viewpoint by insinuating that if you believe in Evolution, you believe in Genocide, going so far as having a long minute of Ben Stein looking reproachfully at a statue of Darwin after visiting concentration camps.

Horrible, biased movie. I even do (did?) agree with Intelligent Design, though after seeing this movie I am loathe to admit it.

VOTE FOR SPN!!!

2008-11-12T13:51:57Z

Vote in the Peoples Choice Awards and tell your friends!!!

http://www.pcavote.com/pca/index.jsp

Fic, For there were many things I didn't know, Gen, T

2008-11-06T05:43:14Z

Episode Tag 4.07

Title: For there were many things I didn't know

Author: maimat
Rating: T
Length: 2305
Warnings: mild language
Spoilers: Up to and including 4.07
Characters: Dean, Sam.
Notes: Gen, Episode tag to 4.07

Summary: Extending the last few scenes of 4.07. Some H/C, Limp!Sam, Angst, and Zombie insight
Thanks to Jackfan2 for being an awesome Beta.

Dean watched as the black smoke belched up and out of the host body, tumbling slowly through the air and down into the cold, marble floor. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the depth of Sam’s powers, but this?

After what seemed like hours Dean finally tore his eyes from the demon’s meat-suit and caught Sam’s pained expression. This was so not right; blood dripped from Sam’s nose, and his eyes were squinted in obvious pain and intense concentration.

“Sam,” Dean strode toward him, “you alright?”

Dean didn’t even realise Sam was unaware of his presence until he saw the look of absolute shock pass over Sam’s features. Sam stumbled backward and landed gracelessly on the floor.

“Whoa,” Dean came to an abrupt stop. “Hey, are you hurt?”

It took only five steps to bridge the distance to Sam’s side. The sound of sirens were growing louder each second, reminding Dean of the crucial need to get the hell out of Dodge. He grabbed Sam’s arm ignoring the way Sam flinched against his touch and hauled him up. “We’re getting out of here. You with me?” He didn’t wait for Sam to respond.

Sam’s hand caught the door on the way out. “The knife.”

Dean looked back and saw the light reflect against the blade. After propping him against a wall, he let go of Sam for a moment and ran to pick it up. It was across the room from where he’d found Sam and Samhain, and it didn’t escape his notice that there was dried blood on the blade but there was no time to stop and clean it.

Not a word was spoken the entire ride back to the motel. Sam fell asleep in the passenger seat and Dean turned off the car and simply sat for a moment looking at his brother. It was like trying to put together a puzzle without knowing what the final picture should look like. It Dean worried because one minute things would be just like they were before, and the next he’d be reminded all over again that there were four months that he had missed.

It had nothing to do with the freaky mind power demon thing. Well, maybe a little, but not everything. This new Sam was too quiet; there were too many secrets between them. How could Sam not tell him about the demon blood for an entire year? Dean didn’t want to be protected from the truth, no matter how horrible Sam thought it was. How many other surprises was Dean likely to find?

“Sam. Sammy, hey.” Dean shook Sam’s shoulder, and jumped as his brother suddenly regained consciousness. “Hey, we’re back at the motel.”

Sam blinked as he tried to focus, and Dean watched him carefully. “We’re going inside?” Sam asked.

“That’s normally how it’s done.”

Sam nodded. He waited while Dean unlocked the door, and then went straight to his bed and crashed.

“Your head still hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Dean pulled the first aide kit from his bag and dug out the bottle of aspirins. “Extra strength?”

“No thanks.”

“Right.” Dean put two on the night table. He sniffed the air, and wrinkled his nose,“Ugh, is that…” He sniffed his coat, “Crap, I smell like formaldehyde.” His eyes suddenly sparkled and he grinned at Sam hoping to lighten the mood, “Dude, Zombies! Freaking zombies. They were crawling right out of the crypts and everything, just like a Romero film. The only thing missing was the brains. I don’t think they could talk.”

“Brains?”

“Yeah, you know,” Dean pressed the cultural impression, “BRAINS!”

Sam rubbed his eyes and tentatively touched the blood dried to his face. “Zombies eat flesh. They’d have to split open the skull of everyone they kill to get at the brains. I don’t think they’re that picky.”

“Thank-you Encyclopedia Brown.” Admitting defeat, Dean sighed and considered his brother’s motions, “You want a shower? I could wait.”

“No.” Sam let his arm drop and just sat like he was waiting for something. Only Dean wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

“So the knife…” Dean took out Ruby’s knife and rinsed it in the sink before placing it on the table between the beds.

“I’m sorry Dean.” Sam looked up briefly before turning away again. “It, uh, I screwed up. You were right.”

“What do you mean I was right?”

“I don’t know.” Sam rubbed at his eyes again. “It’s all just…” He waved vaguely at his head. “I’m tired.”

“Then sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” No sooner did Sam close his eyes than the sound of deep, even breathing fill the room and Dean sighed in relief.

Picking up the discarded washcloth, Dean took it to the bathroom and added it to the pile on the floor with the other dirty towels from their stay. In an attempt to keep busy, he fussed around in the small room, tidying up a bit. The evening’s events played over and over again in his mind…

Sam battling Samhain. Sam’s hand outstretched. Sam’s eyes squinted in obvious pain and intense concentration. The knife lay by the entry of the smaller room now where even close to where Sam now stood his ground.

The first time Dean caught Sam expelling a demon with his mind had been bad enough, but this was completely different. Whereas the other one had been tied to a chair inside a Devils Trap, this one was free and much more powerful. The physical toll that keeping the demon at bay had on his brother was obvious, but he never faltered. Smoke began to heave out of the host body so slowly… and Sam’s strength to fight it continued to deteriorate. Sam did it though. He won.

“Stop him Dean,” Dean’s memory of Castiel’s warning echoed, “or we will.”

He tossed a towel angrily to the floor and paced the small room. No. They’d get everything straightened out in the morning. Fifteen minutes later Dean came out of the bathroom, the room was quiet; Sam’s eyes were closed. “I should've been there for you. My fault Sammy, not yours..."

Feeling exhausted, and with his thoughts in turmoil, Dean undressed slowly. How could he save Sam from this? He stretched out on his own bed, staring up at the ceiling until sleep claimed him in the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

Dean got up around nine. Sam was still sleeping, so he went to get breakfast and coffee. There was a park with benches across the street, so he decided to eat outside. Blue sky, warm day, kids playing. All this would have been gone if he and Sam hadn’t convinced the Angels not to go Gomorrah on the town. They failed and another seal was broken, and they were one step closer to losing everything. Then Castiel appeared beside him.

It was about an hour before Dean went back to the room. He picked up some breakfast and a coffee for Sam and an extra coffee for himself.

Sam was still sleeping. He looked over to Sam’s bed. He felt his stomach roll at the sight of Sam laying on his back, head turned away to the side, one arm swung over his stomach.

Something banged against the motel room door and Dean dumped the food on the table and reached for the knife. Ruby’s knife. He assumed last night they were dealing with only one demon, Samhain. But what if there was something else working with Tracy and Don? They’d been working old magic, so the question was; who taught them?

He heard laughter coming from outside and then an engine rumbled to life and it was quiet again. Time to get moving. They stayed in this town more than long enough as far as Dean was concerned.

“Sam?”

Sam hadn’t moved. He lay on his back, dead to the world.

He was just sleeping. Sam didn’t look dead. He was just sleeping.

“Sammy?”

Dean was leaning over Sam within seconds. With the knife still clutched in his right hand, he shook Sam’s shoulder roughly with his left. Still no response.

He grabbed Sam’s face and turned his head towards him. He’d had another nosebleed sometime during the night. There was dried blood down the side of his face, trailing down below his ear and making a stain on the sheets where it pooled.

He leaned in closer; Sam’s warm breath caressed his cheek. The relief that flooded through him just about made Dean fall off the bed. Of course Sam wasn’t dead, it was stupid for him to even think it, but Dean still placed his fingers on the side of Sam’s neck. He found the pulse easily. Sam’s skin was cool, but not cold. Dean knew what cold felt like. He let his hand rest on the side of Sam’s neck.

It had taken about half an hour for Sam to get cold last time. Dean remembered sitting in the dirt with his hand on the back of Sam’s neck because he wasn’t ready to let go of his brother yet. He’d thought that any minute Sam might wake up again, show Dean that he was wrong. It was a mistake, touch and go for a while, but it wasn’t over. It couldn’t just be over. He held Sam’s fingers in his other hand and rubbed his thumb over Sam’s calluses. It just wasn’t real. They found a house and put Sam on the old mattress. Dean wouldn’t let go, even though it was cold now. Even though Sam was cold. It couldn’t be real.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped; Sam stared up at him, confusion quickly turning to alarm. “Dean?”

Dean got up quickly, really not interested in trying to explain his emo moment to his very much alive brother. “Nothing. Uh, you’ve got blood on your face.” He grabbed a fresh cloth, soaked it in warm water and handed it to his brother.

Sam sat up and accepted the cloth, but didn’t move to wipe the blood away. “What’s with the knife?”

He looked at his hand and then at the door. “Nothing.” He wanted to explain his paranoia even less. “I was putting it away.”

“Right.” Sam didn’t take his eyes off him.

Dean placed the knife back on the table. “Well, yeah, what else would I be doing with it?”

“You tell me.” Sam looked towards his duffle bag on the floor and frowned. “Did you go through my stuff?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“It was packed. I was packing it when... I was packing my bag, but…” Sam coughed and looked back down at his clearly unpacked bag. “Uriel was here, or I thought he was. I just woke up?”

“Yeah, you were sleeping.”

“So Uriel wasn’t here?”

“He might have been. I don’t know. I saw Cas in the park. They do that though; make you think you’re awake when you’re not. What did he say?”

Sam looked around the room. “Same old.”

“You want to be more specific?”

“Not really.” Sam wiped his face, and looked down at the blood on the cloth. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I know what I said, but if it comes down to choosing between letting people die or using my powers, I don’t think I can do it. If you, you know, if you have to stop me, I won’t stop you.”

“I must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque because you’ve totally lost me Sam.”

Sam glanced over at the knife, and then back at Dean. “If I can’t stop myself.”

“What the hell Sam?”

“I’d rather you do it than someone else. If it comes down to that. I won’t fight you.”

“Shut up. I don’t know what’s going through that messed up skull of yours, but whatever it is, it’s full of shit. You got me? I’m not doing anything.”

Sam looked at the knife again. Dean picked it up and threw it across the room. “Do you hear me, Sam? Whatever kind of bullshit Uriel said, he was wrong. Whatever it is you think I’m thinking, you’re wrong about that too.”

“Last night...”

“Last night you did what you had to do. What you did, it’s better than having a demon running around making monster mash out of this town right?”

“But-”

“But nothing. You look like ten miles of bad road, and I want to get out of here as soon as you’re up to it. Here, I brought back some breakfast.” Dean passed Sam the coffee and breakfast sandwich. He waited for Sam to take a bit of his breakfast and then grinned. Enough with the drama already, it was time to be a big brother again. “So, how do you know Zombies don’t eat brains? You lock one of those nasties in a room long enough and I bet they’d suck the marrow right out of the bones. The flesh would get eaten away in like, what, a day tops. Then what? Brains Sam.”

Sam groaned and shoved the food back in the bag. “You suck Dean.”

Dean laughed. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Reaction to 4.07

2008-10-31T02:29:25Z

The episode tags are going to be great!

Very short reaction to SPN 4.05

2008-10-17T12:39:21Z

Yep, that's about the sum of it.

Monster Lore is Love

2008-08-25T01:36:35Z

The bonnacon is a beast with a head like a bull, but with horns that curl in towards each other. Because these horns are useless for defense, the bonnacon has another weapon. When pursued, the beast expels its dung which travels a great distance (as much as two acres), and burns anything it touches.

LMAO

Fic, Up Around The Bend, [Gen, T]

2008-06-27T18:20:48Z

Title: Up Around The Bend
Length: 1540 words
Warnings: none
Spoilers: After AHBL2
Characters: Dean, Sam
Notes: Gen
Summary: Early Season 3. Dean’s has a year left to live, and Sam is making plans.

A/N: jackfan2 thanks for all your help, for writing the letter from admissions, and for the awesome Beta!

What do you do when you fail as a brother?

Sam sat on his bed and stared at the door, as though staring at it could change what just happened.

The room still vibrated from the violence of the door slamming shut, and Sam felt numb. There was no way to take back the words he said, uttered in anger moments before... “Do you think I’m here because I want to be? I have nowhere else to go.”

Now, in the aftermath, laundry was strewn over the two beds, half folded. The computer sat on the table, screen glowing. An unnatural silence settled over the room. Sam rubbed his hands over his face and looked back at the screen. The e-mail didn’t mean a damn thing, and Dean wouldn’t have even known anything about it if Sam had used an ounce of sense and closed the screen before going for a pee.

But he didn’t. It was stupid. It didn’t even mean what Dean thought it meant, not that explaining that to Dean would mean anything, because it wasn’t the e-mail that drove Dean away. Sam had done that all on his own.

After seeing the e-mail, Dean said nothing. Saying nothing was Dean’s equivalent of having a temper tantrum. The Dean Winchester philosophy of life: ignore it and it will go away.

Even though he knew he should just shut up and leave it alone, Sam couldn’t help himself. “You looked at my e-mail?” Sam asked.

“Not like I was deliberately going through your stuff if that’s what you mean, but yeah, I saw it.”

“You’re pissed off.”

“Who says I’m pissed off?”

“You’re saying you’re not?”

“Right.” Dean answered, and turned away to angrily pair socks from the laundry.

How was it even possible to angrily pair socks? Sam ducked as a sock-ball flew at his head. That was how. “Look, you already read it, so what do you think? I know now isn’t really an ideal time to think about it, but after...”

“Hey, if it’s what you want to do, do it. Not like I’ll be here.”

“What?”

“What do you want me to say? Yes Sam, it’s a good idea. Do it now if you want. There’s no one stopping you.” Dean said flippantly.

Sam got a sense for the conclusion Dean had drawn. “You think I want to go back to college?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, aren’t there things you want to do?”

“Yeah Sam. I want to enjoy the time I have left, and send the whole horde of those evil son’s of bitches back to hell before I have to go join them.” Dean gave up folding laundry and turned back to Sam. “How about you?”

“Isn’t there anything else you’d rather be doing?”

“You heard my answer. Now it’s your turn.” Dean’s tone was deceptively calm.

“Do you think I’m here because I want to be? I have nowhere else to go.”

And the next thing Sam knew, the door slammed shut and Dean was gone.

At least the car was still parked. If Dean had taken the car, Sam would have serious doubts as to whether or not his brother would be back. He sold his soul for me; do I really think he’d ditch me now over a stupid fight?

No. Of course not. Dean would be back, and Sam would explain.

It just took longer than anticipated for it to happen. Sam passed the day as best he could; he finished folding the laundry. He separated the clothes and repacked them. He cleaned up the pizza boxes and beer cans left from their mini we-killed-the-yellow-eyed-demon celebration the night before. He surfed news feeds for signs of demonic behaviour. He flipped through Dad’s journal looking for entries about crossroad deals already knowing he wouldn’t find any. He searched the net for information about deals with demons and made himself a list of books to look up.

Dean walked out the door at ten that morning. Sam phoned Dean’s cell at around six that evening. Dean answered, and the conversation went something like this;

“Hey.” Sam said.

“Hey.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

Sam wondered if an outsider might think they were co-dependant.

At around ten that evening he phoned again.

“Hey.” Sam said.

“Hey.” Loud music played in the background.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. You?”

“I’m sorry.” Sam blurted. “For earlier…I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re such a chick.”

“You didn’t read the whole e-mail, did you?” Sam asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I don’t nose around through your stuff.”

“Yeah, I know. Come back and read the rest of it. You deserve to know the truth.”

“Right. Later.” Dean answered and hung up.

Later turned out to be sooner than Sam anticipated, and within half an hour Dean was back in the motel room. Without saying a word, Sam downloaded the e-mail and got up to give Dean his chair so he could read.

“You really want to go back to college?” Dean asked before looking at the screen.

“Read it, I think it would be a good thing, you know?”

Sam chewed his lip, and though Dean didn’t move, he knew the moment Dean finished reading.

“When I said I had nowhere else to go, what I meant to say was you do. Hunting, all that crap about my destiny, it’s got us running in circles going no where. You deserve the chance to do something for yourself. Ash still had some friends over at MIT. They know you as Dean Jones; they already have your official transcripts and letter of recommendation. There are financial aide packages that cover most of the tuition. I figured I’d get a job and take care of what ever other expenses there’d be. Or if, you know, if I wasn’t there, there’s on-campus housing.”

Dean looked pale. “How long did it take to set this up?”

“A while. Ash and I, we worked on it between jobs, and research... before he…” Sam shrugged. “I needed something to focus on; something that wasn’t about the Yellow Eyed Demon.”

Sam waited for a response, but when the silence lingered and Dean’s eyes remained fixed on the computer screen, Sam got up and paced the room. “Look, I go where you go, you know that. And next year, you’ll see, you can still have that interview. That’s why I was looking at it again; I need to request an extension for next Fall.”

“Sam...”

“I’ve never seen anyone do stuff with electronics like you do. I showed Ash that EMF meter you made and even he was impressed you could get that from a Walkman. Not to mention all the other stuff you’ve put together out of nothing over the years. You can do it.”

Dean was looking at him now, his eyes soft but determined. “What we do matters, Sam. The lives we’ve saved.”

“Yea but… haven’t we given enough? We’ve both been on the losing side, and I…” Sam stopped, his voice choking back the swell of emotion. “I’m going to save you, Dean. But after, I don’t know if I can keep doing this and not lose my mind.”

Dean closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. “Okay.”

The response left Sam momentarily stunned and all he could do was stand there, blinking in surprise. He studied Dean’s face for any sign that he was placating or mollifying his little brother.

There was none… just earnest acceptance.

Sam nodded, satisfied. It was the closest he’d gotten to Dean admitting there was a possibility they’d make it through the year and for now, that had to be enough.

Drabble, What Kind Of Name Is Mutt? [Gen]

2008-06-26T03:46:56Z

Title: What Kind Of Name Is Mutt?
Rating: K
Length: 100 word Drabble
Warnings: none
Characters: Dean, Sam
Summary: Sometime in S3, While looking through John's storage locker they find...

“Sam, did you know we have a grandfather?”

“I always figured Dad had to come from somewhere.”

“No, Mom.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Dean pushed the box over to Sam. A picture of Mary Winchester and an older man lay on top. On the back was written,

Mutt and Mary Williams
Marshall College with Dad,1976.

In the picture they stood beside a motorcycle.

“Nice Harley.”

“You think he’s still alive?”

“Why not? We could find him, there can’t be more than five million Williams’ in the US.”

Sam stared at the picture. “What kind of name is Mutt?”

A/N: Crossover reference to Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull

Fic, Lookin' Out My Back Door, Gen, K

2008-06-25T01:58:31Z

Title: Lookin’ Out My Back Door
Author: Maimat the Rat
Rating: K
Length: 463 words
Warnings: none
Characters: Dean, Sam
Notes: Phantom Traveller tag
Summary: All those pictures on the wall... Tag to Phantom Traveller.

Sam liked to draw.

It wasn’t a hobby or anything, and he wasn’t serious about it, so calling it drawing was something of a stretch. It was... whatever. It wasn’t drawing and it wasn’t art or anything like that. Doodling sounded stupid, and he could imagine too well the field day Dean would have using that word. It was not doodling. Maybe sketching.

Sam liked to sketch.

He started sketching way back during their endless road trips as a way to pass the hours, or was it when Dad threw a pencil and paper at the back seat and told them that if he heard any more fighting both he and Dean were going to walk the next five miles?

He copied things he saw along the road. Weird things; an upside down car in the middle of a field, jeans hanging from a telephone wire. It wasn’t well done, and it often only vaguely resembled what he wanted it to be, but it passed the time.

Then, somewhere along the road, Dean started stealing the pictures and adding to them. Once he’d finished, Dean would pass it back, and Sam would add something else, and so on. It was fun. A lot more fun than being yelled at to shut up by Dad.

While at Stanford Sam sketched while researching term papers as a way to clear his head, but it never felt the same as it did back in the days he swapped pictures with Dean.

And so it was the research that prompted him to sketch again now.

Demons. It was hard to wrap his head around the concept they were actually dealing with a demon. This was big, as Dean so succinctly put it. Wendigo, werewolves, and spirits; that kind of thing they knew about. Demons were... Demons.

Some of the books they pulled out of the library for research explained what the author thought the subject might look like, but offered no pictures for reference. From the detailed and lurid description in the book, Sam sketched a bug like creature with great big bat wings.

Dean glanced at it as he picked up another book, and when he tossed a new page of notes on the table beside Sam, on his paper there was a lion head with horns that seemed to be breaking through the page.

They didn’t stop there. They tacked the notes to the wall beside the laptop, and along with the notes the pictures kept coming. A fat warty monk-like demon, a dancing half goat demon complete with flames, demon skulls, and a winged succubus, they sketched every kind of demon they could think of.

And somewhere along the way Sam remembered again why he and Dean weren’t just brothers, but friends as well.

Julie, Thank-you for the beta, you are an awesome friend

Kicking the habit

2008-06-03T04:07:28Z

“Yes, I’m one of those people who are powerless over spoilers. My fandom has become unmanageable. I can’t stop peeking ahead, it ruins my fun, and I want help.”

So... after suffering and freaking and generally spazzing over the season finale of Supernatural, I am going on the wagon. I'm done with spoilers, I'm done with it!!!! DONE! I shall start season 4 with a fresh start!

Is there a 12 step program for this sort of thing?

I didn't enjoy the episodes that I saw spoilers for as much as I enjoyed the ones where I went in blank. So, for the sake of my fun... NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE!

I just want to enjoy show. Let other people go crazy with all the other shit. I'm here for the fic, and I'm here for the fun of loving a show with a great fandom. So, blinders, on! If I don't like it, I will henceforth not see it.

Oh and for extra help in getting rid of spoiler demons....

in fandimo exeses es spoilerous daemonos exidos

Fic, Still Waters Run Deep, Gen, K

2008-05-23T04:47:17Z

Title: Still Waters Run Deep
Author: maimat
Rating: K
Length: 1377 words
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Set early season one, just before the end of Dead in the Water
Characters: Dean, Sam
Notes: Gen, and some Wee!Chester flashback.

Summary: Dean told Sammy to get lost. He told Sammy to go play in traffic. He told Sammy to take a long walk off a short pier. Sammy wouldn’t leave him alone.

Special thanks for my wonderful beta, Jackfan2!

Now

Dean got up early and walked down to the dock, picking up pebbles and small rocks along the way. He sat down on the weathered boards at the end of the pier and looked out over the lake.

There was no wind, and the water was completely still. How long would it take for the lake to drain once the dam falls apart? Would the bodies finally be found once the water was gone?

As the first pebble broke the surface, rings fanned out around it. Hard to believe someone lost their life here yesterday.

Drowning wasn’t the worst way to die. Dean could think of many nastier ways to go; strung up and slowly eaten by a Wendigo came to mind as somewhat horrible. Dying, no matter how you go about it, is rarely pretty.

The weight of his cell phone felt heavy in his pocket. He and Sam would both need to get new phones sometime today seeing as neither of them had time to think about emptying their pockets before jumping in the lake after Lucas.

He felt vulnerable without a working cell phone, and he couldn’t help but think, what if Dad phones and cant get a hold of me? One of these days, it was going to happen, Dad would phone and explain everything. Dean knew John Winchester wasn’t dead. It just wasn’t possible. So, where was he then?

And why? Did Dad know anything about how Sam’s girlfriend died?

Dean tossed another stone into the lake.

Yep, there were definitely worse ways to die than drowning; like being pinned to the ceiling and burned alive.

The hollow strike of footsteps sounded against the dock behind him, and Dean threw another stone into the water.

“I never took you for a sunrise loving kind of guy. Kids, sunrises, what else aren’t you telling me?” Sam asked as he sat down beside his brother.

Dean shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about that summer we spent on Lake Michigan.”

“When I was in grade three? What about it?”

“You remember that diving game we played?” Dean asked.

Sam went quiet; it took a minute for him to respond. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a game.”

“No. Not so much.” Dean tossed in another rock. “You know I’d never... you remember it was an accident, right?”

Then

It was the boredom. Thirteen years old; stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do, and only an annoying pesky little brother for company. When Dean finally did meet a boy his own age, the last thing he wanted was that annoying pesky little brother tagging along.

Dad was gone a lot, doing research and working at the local garage for extra money. That left Dean and Sammy alone with a lot of time of their hands.

At nine, Sammy didn’t need Dean to babysit him anymore, so Dean couldn’t figure out why he tried to tag along every time Dean wanted to hang out with Troy. So, Dean and Troy made up a new game, ditch the kid. Hide and seek worked best, but they were only able to do it twice before Sam caught on they weren’t trying to find him, and he refused to hide anymore. But he still wouldn’t leave them alone.

Troy found a bike for Dean and they told Sam if he could keep up he could play with them, but neither of them counted on the kid being so fast.

Dean told Sammy to get lost. He told Sammy to go play in traffic. He told Sammy to take a long walk off a short pier. Sammy just laughed like it was all a joke. Nothing worked. No matter how mean Dean was; Sammy wouldn’t leave him alone.

They called him names, pushed him in a puddle, and threw his shoe up a tree. Sammy kept coming back for more. Sammy even seemed to find some of the things they did to him funny, so it couldn’t be that bad right?

One day Dean and Troy were playing fetch with a stray dog, throwing a stick in the lake and watching the dog swim out onto the lake to get it. Troy saw Sam coming towards them holding his yellow Transformer toy. The dog took the stick and trotted off into the bushes.

“Hey Sammy, wanna play with us?”

The boy’s face lit up. “Sure!”

Troy grabbed the Transformer and threw it in the lake. “Fetch!”

As Sammy watched his toy sink, his eyes grew watery, and his hands clenched into fists.

“I’m telling Dad.” Sam promised.

“If you tell, I’m telling him why the toilet backed up last week.” Dean threatened.

Sammy fixed him with one last glare, then took off his shoes, and waded in. Troy laughed, and Dean laughed, Sammy really did look like a dog treading water and diving down to look for the toy. It was tangled with weeds and covered with mud, but Sam found it. As he climbed out of the water, Dean grabbed the toy again.

“Good boy, Sammy. Fetch!” This time Dean threw it a little farther.

Sam turned and watched the toy sink again. He stomped his foot in frustration and shouted at Dean, “Fart breath!”

“Turd rocket. Go get it or I’ll tell Dad you swore.”

“I didn’t swear, dork brain.” Sam wiped his eyes and trudged back into the water. He swam out to where he saw the transformer sink, and dived under. He came back up once, twice, and then... nothing.

Dean waited.

“Sammy?”

Troy laughed. “He’s probably just messing with you. Let’s go to my place and play video games.”

“Shut up.” Dean stared at the spot where Sam last disappeared. “SAMMY!” He hurriedly took off his shoes and stepped into the lake.

How many seconds was it? How long could Sammy hold his breath?

Dean waded in further and felt the weeds pulling at his feet. The weeds were a lot thicker than he thought they’d be. Where did Sammy go down? Dean dived and searched with his hands. Nothing. He came back up.

Troy was still on shore laughing.

“Do you see him?” Dean called out.

“Nope.”

Dean dived again, and this time he found what he was searching for. He took a fistful of Sam’s shirt and pulled. He was stuck. Dean adjusted his hold and wrapped his arms around Sam’s chest. He pulled again. He wasn’t coming back up without his brother.

This time he felt some give, he pulled again and they were free.

Sammy choked and coughed up water as they broke the surface and Dean held onto him as he swam. As soon as they were close enough that Sam could touch his feet to the ground, he pushed away from Dean and scrambled for the shore on his own. He sat, alone, still coughing, spitting water, and crying.

“We should get him some water wings.” Troy laughed.

“Shut up.” Dean sat as close to Sammy as he dared.

“What a cry baby. Maybe we should call the wah-bulance.”

Troy was on his ass, nose bleeding before he even knew what hit him. “I said shut up.” Dean stood over him; his face was wet too, and not just from lake water.

Troy ran home, and Dean didn’t see him again.

Now

“You know,” Sam started slowly. “We never did find that Transformer toy.”

“But I did give you my Walkman.”

Sam laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face when I threw it in the lake. I thought you were going to faint.”

“It had Dad’s Zeppelin tape in it.” Dean threw another stone into the water. “I was a jerk.”

Sam laughed. The tranquillity of the lake and forest surrounding them preserved the moment.

“Well,” Sam broke the silence. “You want to know what I remember?” Their eyes met, briefly before Dean looked back towards the lake and threw another rock. “I remember you sitting beside me after pulling me out of those weeds and helping me back to shore. I remember you breaking that kid's nose for making fun of me. That's the jerk of a big brother I remember." He got up and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

Boy will be boys...

2008-05-15T16:15:59Z

I watched Wendigo with jackfan2last night and she was kind enough to point this out for me... so I share.

Sam, do you know what your brother is doing behind you?

Got something good there Dean?

I love how he kind of rolls whatever he found in his hand here.

And we're done.

Fic, People Are Strange, Gen, K

2008-05-15T15:28:30Z

Happy Supernatural Day!!!!! And to celebrate, I wrote a little fic set way back in early season one. I just can't deal with the stress of the season finale today.

Title: People Are Strange
Author: maimat
Rating: K
Length: 540 words
Warnings: none
Spoilers: None. Set early season 1, shortly after Wendigo
Characters: Dean, Sam
Notes: Gen
Summary: Sometimes it’s easier not to talk to someone, than it is to draw attention to the fact that you have nothing to talk about.

Special thanks for my wonderful beta, Jackfan2!

(Set in early season one, shortly after Wendigo)

Dean watched the world from the driver’s side window of his car. After spending days driving along remote secondary highways, seeing so many people in one place felt bizarre.

It was just a bigger town in a long line of small towns they passed through. The people walked quickly down the sidewalk; looking neither left nor right, solitary, purposeful. Where were they going in such a hurry; jobs, family? None of them looked happy, though they didn’t look disturbed either. What was so desirably about having a so-called normal life anyhow? These people didn’t look like anything Dean should envy. All they did was get up, go to work, complain about work, come home, do housework, go to bed, and start all over again in the morning. They did it day in day out, ignorant to the things lurking in the dark waiting to hurt them; waiting to tear their lives apart.

There were a few brief jobs Dean had worked at over the years. Nothing he’d want to go back to. Nothing meaningful. But then, how do you find meaning in your life while selling hamburgers and changing tires?

What kind of meaning does your life have when you only see your family at Thanksgiving and Christmas? How do you not talk to your own brother for months or even years at a time?

Dean did it for two years. It wasn’t so hard. Sometimes it’s easier not to talk to someone, than it is to draw attention to the fact that you have nothing to talk about. Hi, how are you? Good. What’s new? Nothing. How can nothing be new after not talking to someone for three months?

During the four years that Sam was in college, Dean talked to him in person twice, and both times were awkward. How did that happen? They shared a room for eighteen years. He recalled a few times they’d even had to share a bed, at least sharing was better than fighting over who took the floor.

Once, when their Dad got sick of listening to them kicking each other under the covers, he hauled both their asses off the bed and taped a strip of duct tape down the center of the mattress. “Shut it, or you’ll both be sleeping the night on the floor.”

That didn’t stop them from fighting, but it did teach them to do it more quietly.

So, how do you go from being best friends to strangers so quickly?

The door to the diner opened and Sam backed out with a bag of food in one hand and two coffees gripped precariously in the other. He passed the cups through the window to Dean before walking around to the passenger side and getting in. Neither of them said a word, Dean took a tentative sip from his cup and grinned; apparently four years apart didn’t mean that Sam forgot how Dean drank his coffee.

How do you go from brothers to strangers and back to brothers so effortlessly? Dean didn’t have any answers. The Winchester brothers were together again, and it felt right, like how things were meant to be. Given some time, maybe Sam would come to see it the same way too.

I Got Nominated for SG-1 fic Comparisons

2008-05-06T15:02:04Z

Wow, I got nominated for a Skiffy Award.

WOW. I feel... I feel like someone other than my beta reader has read one of my stories!!!!! Whooop, Dance for joy!!!!

The story that got nominated is called Comparrisons, a SG-1 Daniel Jackson-Angst fic-episode tag to Ripple Effect that I wrote a while back. It can be found on fanfiction.net here, and I'll also add it here.

Title: Comparisons
Author: Maimat the Rat
Category: Episode tag
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Status: Complete
Length: 1050 words
Season/Spoilers: Season 9, Ripple Effect, and mentions of Meridian, Fallen
Synopsis: An alternate team has a chat with Daniel
Feedback: Welcome

He accidentally caught Jack’s eye and offered a small grin of greeting that subsequently made Jack look ill. Teal’c stood up, walked over, and took a seat.

“It is good to see you well Daniel Jackson.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The fact he answered seemed to signal the rest of them to come over and join his table. All except for Jonas, who remained seated alone, staring down at the table.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Daniel asked.

“There is.” Teal’c answered, but did not elaborate.

“We could talk in my office?” Daniel offered in order to break the uneasy silence.

The three of them stood up as one, and Daniel followed suit moments later.

“What about Jonas?”

Jack glanced back at the fourth member of his team sitting alone across the room. “You know him?”

Daniel nodded.

“This is for us.” Samantha smiled and gently touched Daniel’s arm.

Daniel led the way.

“It’s different.” Jack walked inside and surveyed the room. Carter closed the door behind them, and watched Daniel perch on the end of his desk.

“What were you expecting?”

“We did not know what to expect.” Teal’c replied as he studied the shelves and artefacts, finally settling his attention on a wooden burial statue.

Daniel nodded. “Barrel of laughs.”

“Ever been to Kelowna?”

“Yes.”

They shared a look amongst themselves, and then Jack cleared his throat. “I need to know what’s different. Or if there’s still something we could do…”

“About Kelowna?” Daniel asked.

“You’ve been there.” Jack stated. “You know Jonas. This is where things probably change. There was a reactor explosion, or there would have been if you hadn’t have stopped it.”

“Sounds the same.”

Jack closed his eyes. “You were injured, badly.”

Daniel nodded. “I know.”

Samantha squinted a second while trying to blend that information with the seemingly healthy man sitting in front of her. “You were dying from radiation poisoning.”

“DanielJackson.” Teal’c stepped forward. “If you experienced these same events, we would like to know how it is you recovered, so that we may help the DanielJackson of our reality.”

“Obviously, you’re here.” Jack pressed his hand against the journals on the shelf. “How… what did we do?”

Daniel stared at funeral statue Teal’c held. “I can’t give you the answers you want. Maybe one of the other Daniels can?”

“It’s not me Sam.” Daniel stepped away from her and moved to put his desk between himself and the alternate team. Daniel cleared his throat. “What happened after Jacob healed your Daniel?”

Jack paced impatiently. “He’s trapped in a wheel chair, scarred with radiation burns, and suffering from chronic pain. How did we save you?”

“Have you heard of Oma Desala, did you ever go to Kheb?”

“Where we found Shi’fu, yes. We were able to get her to help you?” Jack asked.

“Not exactly. She came to me. You know what she is?”

“An Ancient.” Samantha answered

Daniel wasn’t sure how to continue. “I died. There was no sarcophagus. Jacob tried healing me, and he could have saved my life, but I asked you to let me go, and Oma helped me ascend.”

“You’re telling me you chose to die?” Jack asked incredulously.

“I thought I could do more.”

“Then how are you here now?” Jack asked.

“We know the Ancients are able to take human form.” Samantha came around the desk to stand next to Daniel, she touched his arm. “Is that what you did?”

“It’s a long story.” He looked at them, saw they still didn’t understand, and he didn’t care to do any more explaining.

Samantha raised a frustrated hand up to wipe her eyes. “What about Sha’re?”

Daniel felt his heart skip a beat. “What about Sha’re? She’s alive?” Daniel asked.

Jack nodded.

“And Abydos?”

“What about it?”

“It’s not gone?” Daniel asked.

Jack, Teal’c, and Samantha looked confused.

“And Anubis?”

“He was destroyed in the battle against the Replicators, along with most of the other system lords.”

“You beat the Replicators?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

“We did. Yes.” Daniel looked up from where he had fixed his eyes one the floor. “Sha’re is alive. How?”

Teal’c spoke. “The Goa’uld Ammonet was incapacitated with a Zatnikitel, and the Tok’ra removed the symbiot.”

That was it then. “My Sha’re died with Ammonet six years ago.” It took a few minutes before Daniel could find his voice again. “There isn’t anything here that is better or more right. I would do anything to switch places with your Daniel, but I doubt he would say the same about me. I can’t help you.”

“We apologize for disturbing you DanielJackson. I wish you peace.” Teal’c bowed his head and walked out the door, reluctantly followed by Samantha and Jack. Daniel watched them go and bit his tongue against the questions he longed to ask. What good would it be to know who saved Sha’re or exactly when or how it was done? It was enough to know she lived, and that somewhere Daniel Jackson lived with her.

I love my show!

2008-05-02T13:15:11Z

That's it, no more spoilers for me.

Cause I think that was my problem with this episode, there was so much I wanted to have happen that didn't. I wanted Sam to be working on a lead that he couldn't tell Dean about. Whatever happened to the crossroad demon's warning that if Dean tried to weasel out of the in any way Sam would be rotting meat? Why are they visiting professors together? TOGETHER??? If Sam learns something important that could get Dean out of the deal and Dean learns about it, doesn't that mean that Sam is toast?

I also kind of hoped the monster would try and suck Sam's soul and choke on it or something. I am still holding onto the thread of hope that that demon blood in Sam is going to count for something other than background angst.

I was hoping for more stuff about the deal.

BUT, for what it was, awesome episode! Great monster, i loved seeing Sam's wrists bleeding from his effort to get out of the wire around his wrists. I loved seeing Dean all confused and sorry after beating the crap out of that poor guy. I loved them drinking beer at the end. I love my show!!!!!

And if you want a really good meta on the episode, go here.

Fic, Out Of My Head, Gen, T

2008-04-21T18:53:06Z

Author: Maimat the Rat
Title: Out of My Head
Rating: T
Warnings: language
Spoilers: Second Season
Characters: Dean, Sam. Gen

They’d talked a bit at first, and Dean was almost able to get Sam to laugh. The more miles that passed, however, the quieter things got, until Sam quit talking all together. Sam not only quit talking, he seemed to quit moving; he didn’t fidget, he didn’t ask where Dean was taking him, he simply sat and stared out the side window.

After a while, which didn’t take too long for Dean, the silence grew unbearable. “Time for a break,” Dean said, and Sam said nothing.

The blinking vacancy sign along the highway beaconed invitingly. The whole unnatural stillness that settled over Sam since leaving Bobby’s house, (since being possessed), made Dean restless. At least renting a room meant doing something constructive, for the whole five minutes it took to register.

Sam didn’t react when Dean left the car, and he didn’t react when Dean got back in the car and parked in front of their room. Dean reached out to shake Sam’s arm to get his attention but stopped short. It wasn’t like Sam was sleeping and didn’t hear him. It wasn’t like Sam didn’t know what was going on. Dean didn’t know what was going on in Sam’s head.

“Well, here we are,” He said more gently.

A wall would have been more responsive.

Was there some kind of manual about how to deal with post-possession? Rules? Hints? Anything? It would help if more people survived the ordeal. This whole zombie act Sam had going was frankly freaking Dean right out.

“Sam?”

When Sam did get up he moved like a ninety year old afraid to fall and break his hip. Dean walked behind, watching, and ready to help if necessary.

Sam walked straight to the bed and lied down on his back with his arm over his eyes.

Dean brought in both their bags and the laptop, the extra strain did do his shoulder any favours, but it did at least feel comforting to fall into a well-known routine; unpack, settle in. He thought about bitching about the lack of help, but didn’t.

“How’s your arm,” Dean asked instead, referring to the burn on Sam’s forearm.

“Fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Fine, everything’s just fucking A-OK. He hooked a thumb toward the bathroom. “You need the bathroom?” No response, not that Dean expected one.

Dean took his turn washing up, swallowed some painkillers, showered, cleaned the wound in his shoulder, and did all the normal routine stuff he always did. A new theory began to form; if he could just make Sam react to something, maybe he’d snap out of it. Kind of like breaking open the floodgates and letting everything start pouring out, and this was something Dean knew he could accomplish. If Dean knew how to do anything, it was how to provoke his little brother.

“Hey Sam?” Dean peeked out of the washroom while brushing his teeth. Sam didn’t move. “Your breath reeks like ass. You think Meg could have at least brushed your teeth for you now and then right?” He waited for a reaction; the least Sam could do was flip him the bird. Nothing.

“You’re wearing the same clothes you disappeared with. Think you could bring yourself to at least change your socks?” It might be unfair, but even a pissed off Sam would be better than a quietly traumatized Sam.

But Sam didn’t react.

“Want some Tylenol?”

“No.”

Well hallelujah, a word! Maybe he was getting through to him after all. “Come on, man, tell me what I can do.”

“A shower sounds good.” Sam’s voice sounded low and hoarse.

Now they were getting somewhere. Dean stood up and moved out of the way as Sam rolled over and pushed himself up, feet on the floor, elbows on knees, and head down. Looking like an old man with bad arthritis; Sam got up and shuffled into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him.

How long did Sam usually take in the shower? The water ran for over three quarters of an hour, it didn’t usually take that long, right? Was there even that much hot water? So what if Sam was taking a long shower, that wasn’t so weird considering.

The water turned off and Dean listened to Sam brushing his teeth. Finally the lock on the door clicked open, and Sam came out wearing the t-shirt and sweats that Dean threw in while Sam had been in the shower. (Seriously, did Sam think Dean couldn’t pick the lock on a motel bathroom?) He hobbled back to his bed and sat down again.

Dean waited for Sam to say something, like maybe, thanks I’m feeling better now, or better yet, glad that’s over with now let’s go grab a beer. But Sam said nothing, and Dean sat down and started feeling the exhaustion creeping in again.

“Did the shower help?” Dean asked. He saw Sam shiver. “You cold?” Dean turned up the thermostat, even though the temperature in the room was already uncomfortably warm.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Right. Cause fine is exactly the word I’d use to describe you right now.”

They won didn’t they? Sam was back, Sam was safe, and Meg was gone. Sam didn’t have to be perfectly okay, but he didn’t have to be quite so broken either.

The burn on Sam’s arm was all that was left of the mark Meg used to lock herself inside him. Biting back his annoyance and desire to shake his brother, Dean picked up the first aide kit and tossed it on the side table. “Let me see your arm.” Sitting at one of the chairs, Dean kicked the other chair out, beckoning Sam over. “Come sit over here.”

Sam locked eyes with Dean and the desire to resist briefly flared before fading out again. Gracelessly, Sam moved to the table, and took the seat across from him. Dean looked critically at the wound and placed antibiotic cream and gauze on the table. “Does it hurt?”

Sam stared at the wound on his arm.

“Sam?” Dean waited for a response, but Sam didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. “Can you try not ignoring me just once? I swear to God, I’m doing the best I can here.”

Sam leaned his arms on the table and stared down at the fake wood pattern. “Sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Dean saw the guilt in Sam’s eyes and he felt his patience snap. He was frustrated, exhausted, damn tired of this zombie-post-possession-Sam and not knowing how to fix things for his brother, but he did know this... “It wasn’t you.”

In less than a second Sam was on his feet, the chair he’d just been sitting in flung across the room. Dean sat unmoving, too stunned by the sudden outburst to do more than just stare.

“It was my body.”

“What Meg did while you were possessed isn’t your fault.” This was a good thing. This out of control and pissed off version of his brother was a million times better than the shell shocked automaton Sam had been until now. That was better than Sam doing nothing, right?

“Not my fault?” Sam’s voice rose in volume. “Steve Wandell, had, a daughter. What I can do? Call her up and say, I killed your father but it wasn’t really me so, you know, sorry. Somehow I doubt there’s a hallmark card for that.”

“We’ll get through this.”

“I should have been able to fight it.”

“She locked herself in; there was nothing you have done.”

“How do you know? Dad did it. When he was possessed he fought it off. Just for a second, but he did it.”

“It’s not your fault.” Dean knew Sam didn’t want to hear it, but Sam needed to hear it, and it had to be said now. The anger emanating off his brother was palpable.

Dean pushed it further. “You weren’t in control. It wasn’t you.”

The defence of helplessness only fuelled Sam’s growing rage. “It’s like my skin doesn’t even fit anymore. There’s blood under my fingernails, and I don’t even know whose it is. What else did she do that we don’t even know about?”

“Whatever happened, we’ll deal with it.”

He gazed frantically around the room. “I’ve... I have to get out of here.”

“Wait...” Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist with his good arm, pulled him back and met Sam’s panicked eyes. “Nothing we do is going to change what happened, but we can’t let it stop us either, right? What we have to do... the only thing we can do is move on from here and do what we can to make it better, right?” He felt Sam try and pull away, and held on tighter.

“How can you say that? I shot you.”

“Meg shot me, not you. We’re going to get through this together. You and me.” Dean swallowed. “But I can’t do it alone. I wont. Don’t you dare leave me again, Sammy.”

“I don’t’ know what to do.”

Dean nodded. “But I do. Just don’t shut me out again. Like I’ve said before, Sam, we’re stronger as a family, we just are.” Dean let go of Sam’s wrist.

Sam sat down beside Dean and nodded.

THUNDER!!!

2008-04-21T16:08:44Z

A storm! An honest to goodness real thunderstorm has descended on my home today, and it marks the first storm of spring. It is so great to hear the rumbling again, it feels like an old friend finally coming back from vacation to say hello. Here's to hoping for a spectacular and safe stormy summer!

The Dare

2008-04-12T04:26:48Z

Title: The Dare

Author: maimat
Rating: T
Length: 1761
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None, pre-series
Characters: Dean, Sam. Gen.
Notes: Weechester fic</span>

Summary: Basements and Brothers and Rats... OH MY!

Thanks to my awesome beta, jackfan2!

When Dean was thirteen and Sam was nine, the house they lived in that fall had a basement. It smelled of mildew, and it was dark, and John told them both to stay the hell away from it.

Dean was bored. It was Saturday, it was raining outside, Dad was away for the day, and there was no cable hook up.

“Hey Sammy, I dare you to go down stairs.”

Sammy leaned against the edge of the kitchen table picking the marshmallows out of his bowl of lucky charms and piling them beside his bowl. “Can I have your Gameboy if I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go into the basement.”

“Hell no. But maybe I’ll let you have a turn.”

Sammy sucked on the marshmallows one at a time while he thought. “How long of a turn?”

“Depends on how long you stay in the basement. If you just run down and run back up, that’s not going to count for anything.” Dean reached over and grabbed what he could of Sam’s marshmallow pile and popped them in his mouth before Sam could rescue them.

“No fair Dean, those were mine. You already ate your cereal.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think you wanted them.”

“Jerk. So, however long I’m down there, that’s how long I can play with your game?” Sam looked towards the basement door, closed as usual. The door was narrow, with white chipping paint and a hook latch on the top to keep it closed.

“I’ll time you.”

Sam got up and stood barefoot in front of the door, still contemplating the deal. “You aren’t going to lock me down there are you?”

“No.” Dean answered in his best offended tone.

“Not like the time we were playing hide and seek and you forgot to find me”

“I didn’t forget, remember, I couldn’t find you. I can’t help if your midget self could find all the best hiding places.”

“You were watching MTV.”

“Only after I couldn’t find you. And anyway, what does that have to do with anything? We aren’t playing hide and seek, I’m going to time how long you can stay in the basement.”

“You’ll leave the door open?”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Anyway, there’s no lights down there, how would you see to come back up? It’s not like I want you to have a long turn on my Gameboy.”

“You have your watch?”

“Duh.”

“And it works?”

“See, it works. Are you going to do it or not?”

“And you’ll go take a turn after?”

“As if you have anything I want. You want a turn on my Gameboy, then go. If you’re scared, I understand. You don’t have to do it.”

“I didn’t say I was scared.” Sam reached up and opened the latch. The door swung out on its own, and Sam looked at Dean. “You’re timing?”

Dean held the watch ready. “I’ll start when you reach the bottom.”

“Can I have a flashlight?”

“No.”

Sam sighed and went down. Dean started the timer and sat at the top of the stairs. Even with the door open it was too dark to see Sam at the bottom. “You okay down there?”

“It smells like old farts.” Sam called back.

“Nah, that’s just you.” Dean watched the timer and waited. The phone rang. Dean put the watch down and went to answer it around the corner. As soon as he moved away from the stairs, he heard a thunk.

Dean froze, eyes wide he turned and stared.

The door to the basement had closed. On its own. The whole reason for the latch to begin with was because the damn door never shut properly. It always swung open. All the time. It never closed on its own. That just never happened. Never.

The phone was still ringing, but Dean didn’t answer it. To hell with the phone. He promised Sam he wouldn’t shut the door, and he meant it. Dean lifted the latch and pulled. The bottom part moved slightly, but it was stuck on something at the top. Dean pulled again, harder. Still nothing.

“Hey Sam? I can’t get the door open.”

There was no answer from the other side of the door. Dean grabbed the knob with both hands and pulled again. There was a scraping sound, and he thought he was going to get it so he braced one foot on the doorframe and pulled again. A harsh crack echoed through the kitchen, and Dean fell on his back. There was something clenched in his fist and he looked down; it was the knob, it had come off in his hand.

“Oh shit, oh fuck. Sam?” Dean squeezed his fingers into the space where the knob had been and tried pulling, but he couldn’t get a decent grip. And why the hell wasn’t Sam answering him? He expected his little brother to be at the top of the stairs beating on the door and swearing at him by now. Why wasn’t Sam answering him?

Pulling on the door didn’t work, so Dean did the next best thing; he kicked it. There were panels on the inside frame of the door, and Dean aimed for those. He didn’t even think to put his shoes on first, because at this point he wasn’t thinking much, other than open door, find Sam.

After the second kick the bottom panel busted inwards. Dean pulled the rest of the broken board out his side and looked in. It was pitch black and his little brother was down there and why didn’t Dad warn me that the fucking basement ate little brothers?

“Sam!”

No answer.

Dean ran to the kitchen and dug in the drawer beside the fridge for a flashlight. He turned it on and remembered; oh crap I used the batteries in the walkie-talkie the other day. He couldn’t spend all day running around the house looking for the walkie-talkies and replacing the batteries while Sammy was stuck in the basement in the dark all alone. Back at the door Dean called down again.

“Hey Sammy! Come on, I got the door open, sort of. I didn’t shut it on you, I swear. Just come up stairs okay? You can play the Gameboy as long as you want. Okay? Sammy? Come on little bro, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” Oh please be mad at me and not something worse.

It was a tight fit to crawl though the hole he made in the door panel, and once he had, Dean realised it was darker on this side of the door than he thought it would be. The hole barely let in any light at all. “Sam?”

The stairs felt dusty and rough on his bare feet as Dean crept down. How the hell was he supposed to find Sam in the dark like this? It was stupid. The little bitch was probably just hiding out, pissed at Dean for allowing the door to shut.

The smell of mildew was ten times worse once he was actually down there. It wasn’t what Dean would describe as old farts, more like dead things. Rotten dead things. He stepped in something cold and wet and froze. Just water. Fuck.

Dean took another step and felt something brush against his face. This was so many kinds of wrong he couldn’t even begin to count. What was he thinking daring Sam to go downstairs? He knew, knew, there was something wrong with the basement and he sent his little brother down there? What kind of ass sends his kid brother into a basement with no light or anything? It was stupid, and now he couldn’t find Sam, and Dad was going to kill him.

“Quit playing around, you got me down here, you win. Just come out. Game over.”

What if Sam tripped and fell? What if he was hurt and unconscious? Dean explored the room, searching the corners, around the shelves. There was a recess under the stairs, Dean crouched down and reached in, his hand touched something soft and warm and furry. And it moved.

With a startled yelp Dean stumbled backwards and into a row of boxes, knocking them over. Rats. Holy shit, there were rats in this house. He could hear the squeaking now, and the light scratching of claws on cement. How many where there? Was there a nest in the boxes he tipped over, because it certainly didn’t sound like there was only one anymore.

And Sam was down here, possibly hurt and unconscious, and there were rats.

“Dean?”

From the top of the stairs... what the hell?

“Sam?”

“I’m up here. Dean, what are you doing down there?”

Dean ran back up the stairs and squeezed through the hole in the door in record time. “Where were you?”

Sam took a step back. “You okay?”

Dean rubbed his face, not really surprised to find it kind of damp, and wiped his hand off on his shirt. “I’m fine. Where were you? How did you get up here?”

“I found a window. It’s blacked out, and opens up out under the back porch.” Sam stared at the basement door. “I was going to come around and scare you.”

“The door slammed shut and I thought you were hurt down there or something. Holy shit Sammy.”

“I guess when I opened the window the change in air sucked the door in.” He was looking at the knob on the floor, the broken panel on the door. “So... really? You thought I was stuck down there and you kicked the door in? That’s so cool.”

Dean blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sam stared at the wrecked door for a minute. “You’d really do that for me?”

Dean grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. What do you think Dad’s going to do when he see’s the door?”

Dean shrugged. “Think we can fix it?”

Sam smiled. “I bet we can fix it so good he won’t even know it was broken.”

End Of Cares 5/5

2008-03-20T14:33:10Z

Title: End of Cares 5/5 (1,2,3,4,5)
Rating: T
Length: 3327
Warnings: language
Spoilers: Up to Route 666
Characters: Dean, Sam. Gen

Summary: Takes place right after Route 666, April 30^th ... six months after Jess died. Post Route 666, an anonymous email lead Sam and Dean to a new hunt, where Dean gets abducted, abused, and generally mistreated.

Note: This story was pretty much co-written by my dear friend jackfan2. Thanks for the beta work, you are awesome!!!

Chapter Five

Stars glittered overhead as the smell of smoke and charred embers dissipated in the air. They lay in the grass, panting, gulping desperately at the clean, smoke-free night breezes.

“You okay?” Sam finally asked.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was raspy and laced with exhaustion. “You?” Lying beside his brother on the cool grass, he turned his head. Sam was staring up into the pre-dawn sky.

“Good.” Sam answered. “Dean?”

After a brief coughing fit, the oldest Winchester sighed, “What Sam?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh God…” Great, what now? Dean sighed. “What?” He waited for an answer, one minute, two minutes. “What were you thinking Sam?”

“Just… you know.” He really shouldn’t but, “I told you so.”

“Huh?”

“The house,” Sam smiled. “I told you the house wasn’t eating people.”

Sam could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes, “Right.”

The sound of crickets and small nocturnal creatures filled the short silence.

“Dean?”

Dean groaned, “I swear Sam, if you--”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” That was it. “Dude, are you high? What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I should have found you sooner.”

Dean sighed. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“Okay.” Sam was quiet for all of thirty seconds. “Dean?”

“Dude, I thought we agreed you’d shut up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Silence hung between them. The cooling breeze whispered through the grass, carrying the still smoking wafts away from their resting place. The stillness soon became too much for Dean.

After a muttered expletive, “What?”

Sam grinned. “You reek.”

“Thanks.” The reply was slurred; sleep tugging at the edges of his rumbling tone. “You too.”

“Yeah.” Sam turned his head and watched his brother relax in the calm fresh night air. Gradually the rhythm of his breathing became slower, the breaths deeper. Sam sat up and leaned his back against the closest tree and just watched his brother sleep.

0-0-0-0

“We’re here.” The truck creaked and groaned as the engine turned off. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Sam turned and watched his brother for a minute. There wasn’t any easy way to do this. He had hoped cutting the engine would revive his brother, but no such luck. Dean slept reclined in the passenger seat of the old pick-up, his face squished up against the window.

“Dean?” Sam called just a little bit louder. Nothing.

Sam gently touched Dean’s arm, and practically had to jump back from the flurry of motion that followed.

“We’re here.”

Where? Dean felt like there was sand in his eyes and cotton in his head. The motel? How the hell? The last thing he remembered was climbing out of the cellar. And where did they suddenly get a truck from?

The passenger side door opened and Sam reached in to help pull Dean out, only to be slapped away.

“Back off.”

Sam stepped back and waited.

Dean didn’t seem to be getting ready to move any time soon. What was the rush? He only just got woken up, none too gently for that matter, and now Sam expected him to just hop up and jog into the motel.

And Sam waited…

Well, screw Sam. Dean was going to do this under his own steam, in his own time. And so what if the pavement looked miles away? His back and shoulder muscles were cramped and aching, his head still wasn’t sure which direction was up. Sam could damn well wait.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Dean didn’t move.

And Sam waited…

“Want a hand?” Sam didn’t look impatient. There was no tapping of feet, rising of eyebrows, or pinching of forehead signalling the trademark Sammybitchface. Just Sam. Standing and waiting. Looking like Boy Scout ready to help an old lady across the street.

Well, hell, pride definitely wasn’t getting him out of the truck any time soon, so Dean bit back his first instinct to do it himself and finally nodded. Sam reached up with his left arm and wrapped it around Dean’s back, acting as a crutch so that Dean could climb out of the truck without falling on his face. Even on the pavement things didn’t look much steadier, and he found himself leaning heavily on Sam for support.

Sam kept his arm in place, kicked the rusted door closed, and was stopped again by Dean.

“Sam, dude, where’s my car?”

"It’s still at the house. I'll get it later."

"Hell no, we’re getting it now." Dean started to pull away and head back to the truck on his own, which would have been more impressive if he hadn’t fallen to one knee after the first step. Sam’s arm still protectively wrapped around his waist was the only thing keeping him from face planting completely.

"Damn it Dean. Let’s get you inside first and I promise I'll go back for the Impala."

“But...”

“We’re a mess. It’ll probably be a week before the smell of smoke and whatever fades from the truck, you know? You really want to do that to your car? C'mon, let’s get inside."

Once inside, Dean shook Sam off him yet again and leaned against the wall. The bathroom was to the left beside the TV. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

Step one: Reclaim the Dean Winchester independence

“Need any,” the bathroom door slammed shut in Sam’s face, “help?”

Step two: Turn on water.

Another wave of dizziness washed over him and Dean locked his knees to keep from falling and leaned back against the door.

Shit... maybe step two should’ve been ‘make it to the fucking tub without falling over, dumb ass!’ Who knew that step two would require real, actual physical steps?

Eyes closed, he waited for the darkness to stop sparking and oozing before attempting to move again. When he opened them again and the tile didn’t do the tilt and whirl thing, he moved slowly to sit on the edge of the tub.

Part two of Step two: Turn on the water.

Dean stared at the silver knobs, then at his uncooperative hands. Just reach in and turn on the tap. Easy right?

It should have been easy. So what if his muscles were sore? It was nothing. Nothing. Compared to the claw marks, concussions, and all the other things he’d been injured with in the past. Sore muscles should be a cakewalk.

Even as he moved his arm out from his side Dean felt his hand shaking. It took a few tries, but he did get it. The water ran hot from the faucet into the tub.

Step three: Remove clothes.

In natural succession, his gaze travelled down to the buttons of his shirt. The simple act of removing the garment suddenly looked like an insurmountable obstacle. To top it off, he was either hallucinating or the damn things were glaring tauntingly back at him, daring him to move. And he wasn’t moving. Well, fuck me.

It wasn’t just because the buttons were small and his hands were shaking. It wasn’t just because his fingers were swollen and uncooperative. It was because two days worth of damp and dirt were ground into the cotton fabric making his shirt rigid and unyielding.

Dean closed his eyes and wished he could just fall asleep as he was. The steady drone of water in the tub hummed in his ears... and damn he really just wanted to get this done with so he could lie down in a soft warm bed and sleep for a week.

“Sam.” And when that came out of his mouth, even he couldn’t believe it.

Part of him hoped his brother wouldn’t hear him. No such luck. It took all of two seconds for Sam to run to his rescue.

“Buttons.” Dean said, hoping he didn’t have to explain further.

It was a toss up between humiliation or exhaustion, and right then with Sam kneeling in front of him, helping Dean take off his own shirt; humiliation was definitely getting the upper hand. It did, however, help to see that Sam apparently was having no easier of a time with the buttons than Dean had.

After a frustrated grunt, Sam gave up and simply ripped the shirt open.

Dean flinched back as a few of the tiny plastic menaces spun vengefully toward his face. Most, however, clattered nosily off the mirror and various other ceramic surfaces of the small room.

“I could have done that myself genius.” Dean grumbled. Well, no matter, it’s not like the shirt was going anywhere but in the garbage after this anyhow.

“There.” Sam stood back, and had the decency to look awkward. “That should be, uh, is there anything...”

“Get out.”

Sam nodded, spun around quickly and left. For a minute Dean just stared at the door, pissed off at anything and everything.

Pissed off that he’d been stuck in that hole of a cellar for two days.

Pissed off that his wrists were cut to hell from the barbed wire, fucking barbed wire, used to restrain his arms behind his back.

Pissed off with Sam for treating him like an invalid.

Pissed off that his brother had ended up down in the cellar with him, armed only with a stupid plan that had no guarantee of working.

Pissed off that whenever he blinked he could still see the images the spirit tortured him with. Images of Sam splayed on the floor, skin yellowish and bruised, lifeless, rotting. When he let his guard down he could still feel the intruding weight of the spirit as it pushed into his mind, stripping away his resolve, and leaving only weakness in its wake. Leaving him with the empty hollow numbness of being left behind, of being forced to stay alive even after everything he cared about was dead.

Dean kicked his clothes under the sink and stepped under the warm spray of the shower, and as the hot water warmed his body he began to shiver. Here he was, finally warm, safe, home with Sam, and it felt like he was falling apart. Why did everything always have to be so fucked up all the time? He should have fought harder. For two days he’d been helpless. For two days he’d been a victim, vulnerable, weak, and powerless. Feeling nauseous again, Dean sat down and simply let the hot water rain down on him.

Weak and powerless were not words he normally associated with himself. He was a Winchester after all. Winchesters are not victims, they are fighters. Winchesters do not give up. But Dean did, so what did that make him? Eventually the hot water cooled, signalling the end of his shower, and the sudden silence in the bathroom after the tap was turned off felt deafening. Dean pulled back the curtain and tried to summon the energy to get up.

Fresh clothes were waiting for him, a sign that Sam had at some point returned to the bathroom. The soiled clothes he’d pushed under the sink were taken away. Dean pulled on the sweats and loose t-shirt, and walked out to face Sam.

“You okay?” Sam passed Dean a bottle of water and a couple Tylenol. Dean noticed his wallet and keys on the dresser rescued from the pocket of his jeans, but there was no sign of the old clothes.

Dean nodded, still shivering. Sam sat down at the table and started going through the first aide box, setting things aside that he would need. Sam didn’t look so hot either. There were dark circles under his eyes, the filth from the cellar still clung to his clothes and skin, and his wrists were spotted with dried blood.

“You should clean up first.”

Guilt flashed across Sam’s face as he looked up and briefly met Dean’s eyes. “My hands are clean.”

That wasn’t what Dean meant.

Too tired to press, Dean sat across from his brother and held out his wrists. The lacerations were mostly superficial and only a few of them needed stitches. Sam cleaned the wounds, applied the antibiotic ointment, and wrapped them with gauze. There wasn’t much to be done other than watch for infection. Dean would need a tetanus booster in the next couple of days.

Dean yawned. “I forgot to ask where that truck came from.”

“You were kind of out of it.” Sam grinned. “There was a farm about a mile away. I did some scouting while you slept.”

Dean nodded, remembering none of it. “Anyone going to miss it?”

“I’ll take care of it after my shower.” Sam shut the bathroom door, leaving Dean alone.

There were clippings neatly tacked to the wall, illustrating the disappearances of Muriel and Christopher, and then the other two men. Dean toured the room, looking at everything, piecing together what the past two days might have been like for Sam. On Sam’s bed there was a police folder detailing the case and the interviews, with notes interspersed throughout the pages in Sam’s handwriting. Time slipped away as Dean followed the research.

“See anything interesting?” Sam asked.

Dean hadn’t even heard Sam come out of the bathroom. He closed the folder and placed it back where he found it. “Did you figure it out?”

“No.”

“And you did all this in just two days?”

“It wasn’t enough,”

“But it’s a hell of a lot Sam. It’s real thorough.”

“Right.” That tone got Dean’s attention. “Well, nothing is still nothing whether it’s thorough or not. You hungry?” Sam asked, changing the topic.

Dean stopped. There was something off here. “Wait a minute, am I missing something?”

“Only if you’re hungry.” Sam moved to the dresser and grabbed the keys. “And, since you haven’t eaten in two days, the same two days I couldn’t find a single goddamn clue in my thorough wall of nothing, how about I go get us something?”

“Sam,” Dean blinked slowly. His mind was still a little too fuzzy grasp his brother’s sudden change, but he knew something was wrong. “Wait.”

“I’ll be back in about an hour.” Sam called on the way out the door.

“Sam!” Dean tried to catch his brother’s arm, but when the room blurred and his head spun; he barely made it to the corner of the bed. Grabbing for the soft mattress he managed to take a seat.

Staring at the closed door, Dean ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and sighed. Shit. Why did things always have to be so difficult?

0-0-0-0

“Soup.”

Dean blinked sleep out of his eyes and slowly sat up. “Yea.” Rolling his sore shoulders he asked, “Man, how long were you gone?”

“Couple of hours maybe.” Sam opened the Styrofoam container, and passed Dean a spoon. “I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be. I thought we could start with soup, and go from there.”

“How about you?”

“I had a sandwich in the car.”

“Right.” If Dean had a dollar for every time Sam claimed to have already eaten, he’d never have to hustle pool again. The chicken noodle soup looked good, it smelled good. “You hotwired my car, didn’t you?”

The keys landed on the bed beside him.

“I mean while I was gone. The keys were in my pocket Sam.”

His brother only shrugged, and Dean let it pass. “So I’ve been thinking, we should call the cops and leave an anonymous tip about the cellar.” He ate some more soup, and then put the container aside.

“I already did.”

Dean should have known Sam would take care of that part of things, but there was more he needed to know. “The spirit was taking people it saw as a threat to the family wasn’t it? It was trying to protect the family living there.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how you found me... you made it take you too, didn’t you?” No answer was necessary; Dean could see it plainly written all over Sam’s face. “You know you’re an idiot right?”

“Dean, I had to...”

“Shut up Sam.”

Sam shut up.

Dean scrubbed at the back of his neck searching for the right words. “You couldn’t find me, I get that. I see what’s going on, I’m not that dense. The research you did, it was solid Sam, and you did everything you could.” Dean approached the wall and gestured, “But, sometimes that’s how it goes, no matter how smart you are or how good the research is, that’s it. There aren’t always answers.”

It took three steps for Sam to stride past Dean and rip over half the notes off the wall. “Whoever murdered Muriel and Christopher Thompson is, in all probability, still out there and I may have destroyed the last evidence that could have led the cops to whoever did it.”

“Not like we had a lot of options. The rest of it, yeah it sucks. The bastard who killed that kid and turned him into the thing we faced down there, I hope he rots in hell, but that isn’t our job. We did what we came here to do, right? No one else is going to go missing. No one else has to die like that.”

Sam looked away and Dean pressed on, hoping he was getting through.

“The research wasn’t taking you anywhere, so you did the only thing you could, you acted on instinct. You had to stop thinking and ask yourself…”

“What would Dean do?”

“Hell yea!” Dean stopped. “Wait. What?” The sarcastic smirk on Sam’s face answered loudly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Look, I’m being serious here, what you did, putting yourself in the line of fire like that?” Dean’s mind instantly flashed to the images of Sam splayed on the floor, skin yellowish and bruised, lifeless, rotting. “Man, you had no idea what was going to happen did you? You didn’t even know it wouldn’t just kill you.”

“I didn’t even know if you were still alive. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t think, and I’d rather,” Sam’s voice faltered a beat. “Man, I’d rather die than live knowing there was something I could have done but didn’t.”

A tense quiet settled between the brothers, both lost in their own thoughts. The spectre of emotions: despair, helplessness and fear that covered the last forty-eight hours. The depth of what each of them would willingly do to save the other, suddenly apparent. It was too much to bear.

“Okay,” Dean offered calmly, the silence finally broken by acceptance. “I get it, I don’t like it, but I get it. Thanks for coming after me. Just,” Dean stopped and swallowed his temper, temper flared by worry... by memories... The empty hollow numbness of being left behind, of being forced to stay alive even after everything he cared about was dead. “Just, tell me you know it was stupid, and if there’d been another way, you’d have done it.”

Sam nodded. “Fine, if it makes you feel better, I know it was stupid and I swear if there’d been any other way, I’d have done it.”

Dean reached over and pointedly started eating the soup again, clearly sending the message that this discussion is over. “So what else did you bring me?”

“Chicken salad sandwich.” Sam pulled the bag away just as Dean reached for it. “Finish your soup first.” The conversation might be over, but that didn’t mean Sam had to stop thinking about it. He knew taunting the spirit to take him to Dean had been a stupid plan, but he’d do it again in a heart beat if it meant saving his brother, and he knew Dean would do the same for him if their situations were reversed. That’s just the way things were. Sam didn’t want it any other way.

The end.

1,2,3,4,5

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