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Title: Agnatus - Part Two
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language/adult themes)
Category: Dean/Sam
Words: 2,064
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox* and to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyra_wing for Americanisation and beating my grammer into some semblance of recognition.
Summary: Two sons were born to John Winchester, years and miles apart. They grew up strangers but fate had other plans for them, and a black sense of humour.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“Where are we this time?”
Sam is dangling his long legs off a pier, toes just touching the water’s surface. A shadow falls over him and he looks up and back.
“Don’t you remember? We went fishing here when you were seven.”
“That’s right,” Sam sighs, leaning back on his hands so the sun is on his face again. “I remember falling in the water in the first five minutes and you hauling us back home because it was the middle of winter.”
“I know. Your mom tore strips off me for that one.”
Sam huffs a laugh, rolling his shoulders until they pop. “I don’t want this to change,” he sighs.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean my dreams always start out nice with you but then… change.”
“Sam, you’re going to have to elaborate.”
“Well, I-”
Dark clouds have been gathering as they have been talking and Sam only notices when a chill runs through his body. A hand lands on his shoulder, cold and damp and when he looks down at it, the skin is bloated and sloughing off. The hand creeps towards his neck, walking on fingers like a fleshy spider. Sam would move away, but he feels frozen, limbs heavy and leaden.
“Hey,” a gentle voice says, and Sam opens his eyes.
“Another bad one?” Jo could be a real bitch, probably ninety-nine percent of the time if you’d asked Sam’s opinion during the daylight. Here and now, when the sun was just tinging the sky amber as it rose and with Jo running a gentle hand through Sam’s hair and concern in her eyes, Sam would also say, best sister in the world.
“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling onto his side and Jo let her hand slide down to his neck and a frown marred her features.
“You’ve got this weird cold spot, right here,” she said, splaying her fingers and pressing down harder so the warmth of her hand leeched into his skin. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? You’ve been having nightmares for weeks now.”
Months Sam nearly corrected, but he flopped over onto his back again and offered her a grin. “Nah, just probably shouldn’t eat your cooking before bed,” he said and Jo’s expression shifted from gentle concern to annoyance, just like he’d hoped.
“Dick,” she snapped, taking her hand away and swatting his shoulder with it. “Get up, Mom wants you to fix some tiles that have come free from the roof.”
“Alright, just give me a sec okay?” Sam sighed, dropping his arm over his eyes and he heard Jo sigh and stand. The concern was back in her face and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could deflect her with simple jibes. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but he wasn’t sure how without sounding insane. How his nightly dreams always started off somewhere pleasant but don’t finish that way. How he felt like something was stalking him and how sometimes…
How sometimes he carried wounds he got in his dreams into the waking world.
000
He was in the library in Manning, a couple of towns over so no one would recognize him, when a familiar figure crossed his line of vision.
“Uh, hi,” he said when Dean’s head turned and his eyes landed on Sam.
“Ellen’s kid,” Dean said, pointing a cocked finger gun at him, sounding as surprised to see him as Sam felt and Sam offered out a hand.
“It’s Sam,” he said and Dean grunted and ignored the proffered hand, dropping himself into the chair opposite. Sam let his hand hover for a moment, feeling like an idiot and then curled it back towards himself, using it to scratch his temple like that’s what he meant to do all along. Dean ignored this too, instead poking at the books Sam had piled up in front of him.
“Heavy reading,” he noted, and Sam curled an arm around his books and pulled them towards himself.
“It’s for a…case,” Sam said, and Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“You hunt?” he asked.
“A bit,” Sam lied, tapping the books. “My dad taught me.”
“Mine too,” Dean nodded, something wistful on his face.
“There’s something invading people’s dreams,” Sam said, hating the way it sounded out loud, but Dean didn’t look annoyed or amused like he expected. Instead he looked interested.
“Anything that can get into your dreams is tricky,” Dean said, snagging one of Sam’s books and dragging it back towards himself. He flipped it open but Sam could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. “You can’t really… do much,” Dean continued, balling his hands into fists and doing a little one-two punch in the air to illustrate his point.
“Yeah, I figured,” Sam sighed, surprised how disappointed he felt. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe for someone like Dean to just say, “Oh, right, dream monsters. Well, the thing to do about those…”
“Can you handle a shotgun?” Dean asked out of the blue and Sam blinked at him.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, leaving out the part where his father had taken him shooting just the once, right before he died.
“Cool,” Dean said, a grin on his face. “I got a Woman in White who keeps showing up and knocking me on my ass whenever I get close to her grave. I need someone to come and keep her at bay while I take care of the bones. You done stuff like that with your dad?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, of course,” Sam nodded and Dean clapped his hands together, looking positively cheery.
“Good deal,” he said. “I can swing by the Roadhouse and-”
“No,” Sam blurted and then pasted on a grin. “I mean, I still got a lot of research to do. You can come by here and get me later when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded and rose, waving a hand. “Catch you later.”
000
“Fuck- watch out!”
Sam looked up just in time to feel something solid connect with his chin and send him sprawling backwards. He slid to a stop on the muddy ground, cracking his head on a tombstone. Black washed his vision and he shook his head, trying to clear it.
Dean had loaded the shotgun with a grin and a wink, tossing it to Sam along with some extra cartridges. “If it moves and you can see through it, shoot it,” had been Dean’s only instruction and Sam figured he’d been doing well, right up until he’d had to reload, or try to reload. He’d only just managed to get the shotgun cracked open, head down and pretty much oblivious to anything else when Dean’s panicked shout had gotten his attention.
He had no idea where his weapon was now and something heavy was settling across his legs. He looked up into the face of a pretty girl, able to make out the trees behind her, through her. Sam could hear Dean saying, “Goddamn water proof matches my ass!” somewhere off to the left as the rain beat down and the woman leaned forward, breath cold and reeking of something Sam didn’t even want to think about.
“Do you know what I do with bad boys?” she breathed, a grin getting impossibly wide on her face until it looked like her head would split in two. Rot flowed out from the edges of her lips and curled up her face, ruining her pretty visage. Her hair lengthened and reached out, curling around Sam’s neck gently at first, getting ever tighter as he started to struggle.
Sam tried to call for Dean, but all that came out was the last of his air. He tried digging fingers between her hair and the skin of his throat, but it was like trying to grab onto air. Just as his vision greyed, there was a triumphant whoop and the woman seemed to collapse in on herself with a shriek, dissolving into smoke and ash that Sam managed to breath in with his first desperate lungful. He choked, gagging, falling forward with eyes streaming. His face stopped inches from the ground when hands grabbed his shoulders and then arms circled around, fingers under his chin and tilting his face up and to the side so he could breathe again.
“You okay kiddo?” There were soothing circles being rubbed on his back and Sam felt pathetically grateful, just happy he could breathe and didn’t have a faceful of dirt. As soon as he was able to breathe properly, he was shoved aside though and he rolled onto his back, blinking up at the sky.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Dean railed. “Is this a joke to you?”
“What?” Sam grumbled, voice hoarse. He touched fingers to his throat and pressed lightly, wincing at the feel of tender flesh.
“I’ve seen a lot of dumb shit in my life, but this takes the cake. You told me you’d hunted before,” Dean snarled, prodding a boot into Sam’s side. “What were you thinking?”
“I have-”
“Don’t keep lying to me, Jesus!” Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Why would you do that?” Dean sounded more disappointed than angry.
“I want to, okay?” Sam snapped, getting slowly to his feet. Rain was still pounding down and Sam wrapped his arms about himself, trying to stop the way he was shivering. Dean was watching him, narrowed eyes and hair black with water, incredulous.
“You want to?” Dean repeated. “You gotta be ready to hunt. You gotta know how to handle a weapon, how to handle yourself and how to keep a fucking eye on the ghost that wants to choke the life outta you.”
“So show me,” Sam implored, surprising himself. Dean just blinked at him, hands held out to the sides, water running down his face.
“What lit a fire under your butt all of a sudden?” he asked, more curious now than anything.
“I don’t… there’s things… I don’t know,” Sam sighed, pushing his hair out of his face with his fingers. “Ever since my Dad died…”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
Dean stepped closer to Sam, tapping his own chin with a finger. “Go on, right in the chops.”
“What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”
“If I’m going to teach you anything,” Dean sighed, shrugging his jacket off and laying it on the nearest headstone. “I need a level. I need to know if you’re a lost cause.”
Sam stared at Dean for a few moments until Dean put his fists up and did a little boxer’s dance, grinning. “C’mon Nancy, see if you can-”
Sam moved, swinging out and felt his wrist caught and then his whole arm was twisted up behind his back and he dropped to his knees in the mud. “Cheeky fucker,” Dean said, but he sounded like he was smiling. “If you hadn’t been trying to punch past me, you might’ve connected.”
Sam felt himself released and he dragged himself to his feet again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your dad die before you put on your Jolly Green Giant size?” Dean asked, looking Sam up and down appraisingly.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded slowly.
“Figured. You hit like a fourteen year old.”
“Hey!”
“You got a hell of a reach. You should use it. I’d have to get up close to stop you clocking me before I got in striking distance,” Dean mused, moving forward until he had a foot in between both of Sam’s. “I’m not a short guy, but I gotta fight like one if I were fighting you.”
Sam hitched a breath when Dean knocked the inside of his thigh with his own as he turned and moved back. Dean looked back over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s raining. C’mon.”
Sam watched Dean’s back for a moment, bringing his arms up to hug himself again, thinking uh-oh.
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language/adult themes)
Category: Dean/Sam
Words: 2,064
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox* and to
lyra_wing for Americanisation and beating my grammer into some semblance of recognition.Summary: Two sons were born to John Winchester, years and miles apart. They grew up strangers but fate had other plans for them, and a black sense of humour.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“Where are we this time?”
Sam is dangling his long legs off a pier, toes just touching the water’s surface. A shadow falls over him and he looks up and back.
“Don’t you remember? We went fishing here when you were seven.”
“That’s right,” Sam sighs, leaning back on his hands so the sun is on his face again. “I remember falling in the water in the first five minutes and you hauling us back home because it was the middle of winter.”
“I know. Your mom tore strips off me for that one.”
Sam huffs a laugh, rolling his shoulders until they pop. “I don’t want this to change,” he sighs.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean my dreams always start out nice with you but then… change.”
“Sam, you’re going to have to elaborate.”
“Well, I-”
Dark clouds have been gathering as they have been talking and Sam only notices when a chill runs through his body. A hand lands on his shoulder, cold and damp and when he looks down at it, the skin is bloated and sloughing off. The hand creeps towards his neck, walking on fingers like a fleshy spider. Sam would move away, but he feels frozen, limbs heavy and leaden.
“Hey,” a gentle voice says, and Sam opens his eyes.
“Another bad one?” Jo could be a real bitch, probably ninety-nine percent of the time if you’d asked Sam’s opinion during the daylight. Here and now, when the sun was just tinging the sky amber as it rose and with Jo running a gentle hand through Sam’s hair and concern in her eyes, Sam would also say, best sister in the world.
“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling onto his side and Jo let her hand slide down to his neck and a frown marred her features.
“You’ve got this weird cold spot, right here,” she said, splaying her fingers and pressing down harder so the warmth of her hand leeched into his skin. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? You’ve been having nightmares for weeks now.”
Months Sam nearly corrected, but he flopped over onto his back again and offered her a grin. “Nah, just probably shouldn’t eat your cooking before bed,” he said and Jo’s expression shifted from gentle concern to annoyance, just like he’d hoped.
“Dick,” she snapped, taking her hand away and swatting his shoulder with it. “Get up, Mom wants you to fix some tiles that have come free from the roof.”
“Alright, just give me a sec okay?” Sam sighed, dropping his arm over his eyes and he heard Jo sigh and stand. The concern was back in her face and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could deflect her with simple jibes. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but he wasn’t sure how without sounding insane. How his nightly dreams always started off somewhere pleasant but don’t finish that way. How he felt like something was stalking him and how sometimes…
How sometimes he carried wounds he got in his dreams into the waking world.
He was in the library in Manning, a couple of towns over so no one would recognize him, when a familiar figure crossed his line of vision.
“Uh, hi,” he said when Dean’s head turned and his eyes landed on Sam.
“Ellen’s kid,” Dean said, pointing a cocked finger gun at him, sounding as surprised to see him as Sam felt and Sam offered out a hand.
“It’s Sam,” he said and Dean grunted and ignored the proffered hand, dropping himself into the chair opposite. Sam let his hand hover for a moment, feeling like an idiot and then curled it back towards himself, using it to scratch his temple like that’s what he meant to do all along. Dean ignored this too, instead poking at the books Sam had piled up in front of him.
“Heavy reading,” he noted, and Sam curled an arm around his books and pulled them towards himself.
“It’s for a…case,” Sam said, and Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“You hunt?” he asked.
“A bit,” Sam lied, tapping the books. “My dad taught me.”
“Mine too,” Dean nodded, something wistful on his face.
“There’s something invading people’s dreams,” Sam said, hating the way it sounded out loud, but Dean didn’t look annoyed or amused like he expected. Instead he looked interested.
“Anything that can get into your dreams is tricky,” Dean said, snagging one of Sam’s books and dragging it back towards himself. He flipped it open but Sam could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. “You can’t really… do much,” Dean continued, balling his hands into fists and doing a little one-two punch in the air to illustrate his point.
“Yeah, I figured,” Sam sighed, surprised how disappointed he felt. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe for someone like Dean to just say, “Oh, right, dream monsters. Well, the thing to do about those…”
“Can you handle a shotgun?” Dean asked out of the blue and Sam blinked at him.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, leaving out the part where his father had taken him shooting just the once, right before he died.
“Cool,” Dean said, a grin on his face. “I got a Woman in White who keeps showing up and knocking me on my ass whenever I get close to her grave. I need someone to come and keep her at bay while I take care of the bones. You done stuff like that with your dad?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, of course,” Sam nodded and Dean clapped his hands together, looking positively cheery.
“Good deal,” he said. “I can swing by the Roadhouse and-”
“No,” Sam blurted and then pasted on a grin. “I mean, I still got a lot of research to do. You can come by here and get me later when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded and rose, waving a hand. “Catch you later.”
“Fuck- watch out!”
Sam looked up just in time to feel something solid connect with his chin and send him sprawling backwards. He slid to a stop on the muddy ground, cracking his head on a tombstone. Black washed his vision and he shook his head, trying to clear it.
Dean had loaded the shotgun with a grin and a wink, tossing it to Sam along with some extra cartridges. “If it moves and you can see through it, shoot it,” had been Dean’s only instruction and Sam figured he’d been doing well, right up until he’d had to reload, or try to reload. He’d only just managed to get the shotgun cracked open, head down and pretty much oblivious to anything else when Dean’s panicked shout had gotten his attention.
He had no idea where his weapon was now and something heavy was settling across his legs. He looked up into the face of a pretty girl, able to make out the trees behind her, through her. Sam could hear Dean saying, “Goddamn water proof matches my ass!” somewhere off to the left as the rain beat down and the woman leaned forward, breath cold and reeking of something Sam didn’t even want to think about.
“Do you know what I do with bad boys?” she breathed, a grin getting impossibly wide on her face until it looked like her head would split in two. Rot flowed out from the edges of her lips and curled up her face, ruining her pretty visage. Her hair lengthened and reached out, curling around Sam’s neck gently at first, getting ever tighter as he started to struggle.
Sam tried to call for Dean, but all that came out was the last of his air. He tried digging fingers between her hair and the skin of his throat, but it was like trying to grab onto air. Just as his vision greyed, there was a triumphant whoop and the woman seemed to collapse in on herself with a shriek, dissolving into smoke and ash that Sam managed to breath in with his first desperate lungful. He choked, gagging, falling forward with eyes streaming. His face stopped inches from the ground when hands grabbed his shoulders and then arms circled around, fingers under his chin and tilting his face up and to the side so he could breathe again.
“You okay kiddo?” There were soothing circles being rubbed on his back and Sam felt pathetically grateful, just happy he could breathe and didn’t have a faceful of dirt. As soon as he was able to breathe properly, he was shoved aside though and he rolled onto his back, blinking up at the sky.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Dean railed. “Is this a joke to you?”
“What?” Sam grumbled, voice hoarse. He touched fingers to his throat and pressed lightly, wincing at the feel of tender flesh.
“I’ve seen a lot of dumb shit in my life, but this takes the cake. You told me you’d hunted before,” Dean snarled, prodding a boot into Sam’s side. “What were you thinking?”
“I have-”
“Don’t keep lying to me, Jesus!” Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Why would you do that?” Dean sounded more disappointed than angry.
“I want to, okay?” Sam snapped, getting slowly to his feet. Rain was still pounding down and Sam wrapped his arms about himself, trying to stop the way he was shivering. Dean was watching him, narrowed eyes and hair black with water, incredulous.
“You want to?” Dean repeated. “You gotta be ready to hunt. You gotta know how to handle a weapon, how to handle yourself and how to keep a fucking eye on the ghost that wants to choke the life outta you.”
“So show me,” Sam implored, surprising himself. Dean just blinked at him, hands held out to the sides, water running down his face.
“What lit a fire under your butt all of a sudden?” he asked, more curious now than anything.
“I don’t… there’s things… I don’t know,” Sam sighed, pushing his hair out of his face with his fingers. “Ever since my Dad died…”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
Dean stepped closer to Sam, tapping his own chin with a finger. “Go on, right in the chops.”
“What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”
“If I’m going to teach you anything,” Dean sighed, shrugging his jacket off and laying it on the nearest headstone. “I need a level. I need to know if you’re a lost cause.”
Sam stared at Dean for a few moments until Dean put his fists up and did a little boxer’s dance, grinning. “C’mon Nancy, see if you can-”
Sam moved, swinging out and felt his wrist caught and then his whole arm was twisted up behind his back and he dropped to his knees in the mud. “Cheeky fucker,” Dean said, but he sounded like he was smiling. “If you hadn’t been trying to punch past me, you might’ve connected.”
Sam felt himself released and he dragged himself to his feet again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your dad die before you put on your Jolly Green Giant size?” Dean asked, looking Sam up and down appraisingly.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded slowly.
“Figured. You hit like a fourteen year old.”
“Hey!”
“You got a hell of a reach. You should use it. I’d have to get up close to stop you clocking me before I got in striking distance,” Dean mused, moving forward until he had a foot in between both of Sam’s. “I’m not a short guy, but I gotta fight like one if I were fighting you.”
Sam hitched a breath when Dean knocked the inside of his thigh with his own as he turned and moved back. Dean looked back over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s raining. C’mon.”
Sam watched Dean’s back for a moment, bringing his arms up to hug himself again, thinking uh-oh.