Maimat the Rat

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

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 17:10:17 GMT

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!!!

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 13:51:57 GMT

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

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 05:43:14 GMT

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.

“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 before using it to wipe his face clean.

“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

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 02:29:25 GMT

The episode tags are going to be great!

Very short reaction to SPN 4.05

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 12:39:21 GMT

Yep, that's about the sum of it.

Monster Lore is Love

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 01:36:35 GMT

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]

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 18:20:48 GMT

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]

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 03:46:56 GMT

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

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 01:58:31 GMT

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

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 04:07:28 GMT

“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

Fri, 23 May 2008 04:47:17 GMT

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...

Thu, 15 May 2008 16:15:59 GMT

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

Thu, 15 May 2008 15:28:30 GMT

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: How do you not talk to your own brother for months or even years at a time?

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

Tue, 06 May 2008 15:02:04 GMT

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

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?”

“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 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!

Fri, 02 May 2008 13:15:11 GMT

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, Can't Get It Out Of My Head, Gen, T

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 18:53:06 GMT

Title: Can’t Get It Out Of My Head

Author: maimat
Rating: T
Length: 2460
Warnings: Language
Spoilers: Up to and including BUABS
Characters: Dean, Sam.
Notes: Gen
Summary: Post BUABS. Sam’s not okay, and Dean is doing the best he can, but sometimes everything needs to fall apart before it can be put back together again.

Thanks to my awesome beta, jackfan2!

They drove, and at first Dean was hopeful Sam was going to be okay. They’d talked a bit, and Dean was able to get Sam to almost laugh. Miles passed and Sam didn’t move, he didn’t fidget, he didn’t ask where Dean was taking him, he simply sat and stared out the window.

“Time for a break.” Dean said, and got the standard reaction from Sam; nothing. Dean needed to talk, because if he didn’t then there would be the both of them not talking, and that would be worse. The more Dean talked, the less he had to listen the words his own head. If only. In the miles of silence Dean couldn’t stop thinking that if only; if only he’d been there when Sam got possessed to begin with, if only he’d been suspicious when he found Sam back in that motel room.

Dean pulled into a motel parking lot along the highway. It only took five minutes to fill out the registration and pay, but it was five minutes of leaving Sam alone. At least renting a room meant doing something constructive, and before he knew it he was back in the car and back to feeling completely inadequate.

Dean pulled the car up to their room and cut the engine. “Well, here we are.” He tried for casual. “Home sweet home right?” And discovered he sucked at casual. Could he sound more lame? Sam didn’t react, didn’t grimace at the stupid joke, didn’t grin, he just kept staring out the side window.

Dean reached out to shake Sam’s arm to get his attention but stopped short. He hadn’t touched Sam since decking him right after the demon had been expelled. He didn’t even know why he’d hit him, Sam hadn’t deserved it, and now Dean felt aprehensive over the though of possibly hurting Sam again.

“I got us a room.” 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 actually survived the ordeal. This whole zombie act Sam had going was frankly scaring the shit out of him.

“Time to get up.”

It was like watching someone move in slow motion. There was an unnatural stillness about Sam since leaving Bobby’s house (since being possessed). It looked almost like Sam wasn’t sure how to move anymore. Dean walked at his side with a hand near (but not on) Sam’s shoulder, ready to offer support if needed, though it wasn’t.

Straightaway, Sam settled himself on the bed closest the bathroom and lay down.

Dean busied himself with bringing in their bags and the laptop. It felt comforting to fall into a well-known routine; the familiar sounds of the duffle bag’s zipper, the rustle of clothes pulled out, stuffed back in, unpacking toiletries. The only thing wrong was that it still felt like Sam wasn’t here; it was too quiet and too much like the last week gone by when Dean had been alone. Except he wasn’t alone anymore because Sam was right here in the bed next to his, but it still felt like he was alone, and that was almost more difficult than actually being alone. If only.

“How’s your arm?” Dean asked, looking at the burn on Sam’s forearm.

“Fine.”

Dean nodded his head. Fine, everything’s just fucking A-OK. He hooked a thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get cleaned up. You’ll be okay?” No response, not that Dean expected one.

Keeping the door open a crack the entire time, Dean took some painkillers, showered, cleaned the wound in his shoulder, and did all the normal routine stuff he always did. While doing those things he started to wonder; while Meg had been in control of Sam, did she brush his teeth, shower, and do all those normal little routine things that have to be done? Did she bother to feed him? And in between all those routine things, what else had she done?

When Dean came back out, he noticed it didn’t look like Sam moved an inch the whole time. “You want a shower?”

Dean kept telling himself, everything is going to be okay, because Sam was back with him. The burn on Sam’s arm was all that was left of the mark Meg used to lock herself inside him. Had Sam felt it when Bobby burned through the link? Had Sam felt Meg being burned by the holy water? At least holy water didn’t leave scars.

“Do you need any anything? Tylenol?”

“No.”

“Sam, please, help me out here. Is there anything you want?” Still no answer. Frustration seeped into Dean’s voice. “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.

Dean gazed uncertainly at Sam. “You sure you’re okay?”

Sam made a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. “Fine.” Sam answered and left it at that. Looking like an old man with bad arthritis; Sam got up and shuffled into the bathroom, locking 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? Dean stood by the door, hand ready to knock, but stepped away instead. So what if Sam was taking a long shower, that wasn’t so weird considering.

The water turned off and Dean listened to Sam moving around. It took ten minutes for him to brush his teeth, and even longer to floss. Dean knew because he timed it, but that was better than Sam doing nothing, right? 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 feeling exhaustion creeping in again.

If anything, Sam was still in shock, and in the morning he’d be better.

“Did the shower help?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t answer. There was one difference though, the stillness from earlier had been replaced somewhere along the way by shivering, but it didn’t look like an improvement.

“You cold?” Dean turned up the thermostat, even though the temperature in the room was already uncomfortably warm. There were extra blankets in the closet, Dean pulled one out and passed it to Sam. Sam tossed it on the bed beside him.

“Ooookay…” Dean scrubbed at the back of his head.

Defeated was not word Dean had ever associated with Sam, and he wasn’t about to start now. Sam wasn’t defeated; the whole possession thing had been a set back, but not a defeat. They won this round, didn’t they? Sam was back, Sam was safe, and Meg was gone. How dare Sam even consider letting the past week break him.

Biting back his annoyance and desire to shake his brother silly, 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 older Winchester could see the desire to resist flare, and then die. Stiffly, Sam moved to the table, and took the proffered seat across from him. The tremor in Sam’s hand continued even after resting his arm on the tabletop. Dean looked critically at the wound and placed antibiotic cream and gauze on the table. “Does it hurt?” By this point, Dean wasn’t even expecting answers anymore.

Sam stared at the wound on his arm. Dean picked up the gauze and hesitated. In a move that startled Dean, Sam grabbed it from his hand. Sam took over the ministration but Dean remained where he was. They worked together in silence, a familiar ritual they’d been through countless times in the past, each familiar with what needed to be done next.

With the wound tended too, Sam lapsed back into his earlier apathy. Dean cleaned up and repacked the kit. “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.”

“Come again?” Dean saw the apology reflected in Sam’s eyes and he felt his patience finally snap. “No Sam.” 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... “Don’t you say that! You have nothing to be sorry for!”

That was when Sam exploded.

Suddenly on his feet, the chair toppled backward and the table flung over and away, leaving a good sized dent in the clapboard wall where it hit. Towering over Dean, arms raised in frustration, Sam took a threatening step forward. Dean sat unmoving, too stunned by the sudden outburst to do more.

“If I can’t say sorry,” Sam’s voice sounded desperate. “What do you want me to say Dean?”

“Tell me what’s going on with you.” 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.

“You really wanna know?” Sam’s voice rose in volume. “You wanna know what’s going on with me? I remember trying to scream and not even being allowed to breathe on my own. Now that I’m back, now that I’m me again, it still feels wrong. ”

“We’ll get through this.”

“You were there Dean. How could you not know it wasn’t me? How could you just let her get away like that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? So it’s good enough for you to say, but not me?”

This time the first aid kit went flying. Sam grabbed it off the dresser and Dean felt the wind of it as it passed inches from his head, leaving yet another dent in the motel room wall across the room. Dean didn’t move, not a muscle, because he knew he deserved this. Sam was right. He should have known something wasn’t right as soon as he met Sam in that motel room, and everything that happened after that point could have been prevented if he’d just taken the time to think.

Before Dean could finish processing any of this, however, Sam continued.

“You’re right though; I have no right to be sorry. Steve Wandell has, had, a daughter. What can do? I can’t call her up and say, I killed your father but it wasn’t really me so, you know, sorry. Do you think Jo is going to sleep any better knowing that I’m sorry? I shot you Dean, and I was on my way to kill Bobby. Somehow I doubt there’s a hallmark card for that.”

“It wasn’t you Sammy.” Dean knew Sam didn’t want to hear, 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. None of it was your fault.”

The defence of helplessness only fuelled Sam’s growing rage. The first punch hit Dean in the jaw, but there wasn’t a lot of force behind it, Dean didn’t even stumble.

“There was nothing you could do.”

This time the strength behind Sam’s fist held enough power and anger to drive Dean to his knees. Sam followed Dean down, raised his fist again and stopped.

“I should have been able to fight it.”

The jolt of hitting the floor jarred his injured shoulder, and Dean bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. In spite of the sudden resurgence of pain Dean looked up at Sam, at the fist that hovered there and focused on his brother’s eyes. “Sammy, it’s going to be okay.”

He tensed for another punch, but none came.

Instead Dean felt Sam’s hand on his other shoulder, gentle now, guiding him into a sitting position with his back against the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry.” He gazed searchingly, nearly 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? I’m sorry I let you down, if I could go back and do it different, I would. 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.”

“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Dean nodded. “I do.” Then, he thought for a moment and grinned deprecatingly. “As for hitting me just now, that you can be sorry for. But honestly, bro, if that’s what it takes I’m okay with it, 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. “Okay. We’ll make it better. You and me.”

THUNDER!!!

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 16:08:44 GMT

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!