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fannishlisstitle: Bright
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fannishliss
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating: PG
Summary: It's good to have a bunker of your own, and it's good sometimes to really talk things out.
---
The bunker was absolutely quiet at night. It freaked Dean out a little. He wasn't used to such an air of peacefulness. The buzz of fluorescent lightning, the whirr of HVAC systems, the purr of a furnace -- even the sounds of most modern buildings were silenced in the timeless Hall of Letters. Pulling fresh seeming laundry out of cupboards that had been packed decades ago made Dean wonder if spellwork weren't somehow involved.
Dean's room, for the first time ever, was no one's but his own. He remembered with a frown when he'd first moved in with Lisa, how kind she'd been, and how awkward and wrong he'd felt in her pleasant, suburban guest room, tossing and turning between high thread count unbleached cotton sheets, unsoothed by the scent of organic lavender detergent. It hadn't seemed right until the night he'd spilled a tumbler of Jack into the carpet; from then on he could pretend he was still in some skanky hotel room, that the murmurs of the sleeping house around him were somehow Sam, the familiar huffs of his breath.
The Men of Letters had excellent taste in Scotch whiskey. Their sheets were nice but not crazy nice. The rooms were not too big -- dormitory rooms for men (and women too, judging by the woman who'd been hijacked by Abaddon) who meant business. Sturdy, well made furniture; simple, traditionally appointed bathrooms; a nicely outfitted kitchen and dining facilities.
All told it all made Dean feel at home, like he could easily live here. He moved in and made himself cozy, and that's how it felt -- like he had come home. His grandad, and maybe his great grandad and great great and so on, had all had a hand in making this place what it was. Hell, rummaging around in one of the bedroom bureaus he'd found a stack of men's handkerchiefs monogrammed with W. So it was natural that the place would all feel --not familiar, maybe, but welcoming, like he belonged.
He tried sometimes to imagine what it must have once been like, a peaceful hub of activity, Men of Letters keeping tabs on the world, making notes in their careful logs, interpreting and studying the Supernatural -- maybe even passing on jobs to Hunters if and when things got out of hand. Had old man Campbell known about the Letters? How could he not? Dean burned in frustration sometimes thinking of all of their heritage he and Sam had lost, without even knowing what they were losing.
But not right now -- now was time to take a deep breath -- to pause and appreciate the hand they'd for once been dealt. A bunker -- all their own! And not a squalid little fallout shelter buried in some crackpot's backyard -- not a muddy cave or a stinking sewer -- but a place so elegant it seemed like a palace! Dean could imagine some fussy old Alfred, Jeeves or Jarvis carrying Scotch on trays, ringing the bell to say "dinner was served," or polishing the brass on the telescope or whatnot.
Still, it was just so quiet. Usually, the quiet didn't do much more than wake Dean up with a start at 2:58 am, so that he would lie there staring at the time, till his eyes burned and the adrenaline faded and he'd sleep a little later the next morning.
But this time, the quiet rang in his ears like the silence of the dead. It reminded him of the morning he'd woken up in a coffin, eighteen inches of soil deadening off the sounds of the outside world until he'd burst through, scrabbling for light and life, the dirt of his own grave black beneath his fingernails, in his nostrils and in his eyes.
Dean swung his feet out of bed and turned on the light. It was bright, cheery, clear. He went down the hall to the bathroom and splashed his face. When he looked in the mirror, there he was, no one but himself. Purgatory had done something to him -- for once maybe not something bad. Dean thought it was called survival-- but there was no guilt, no despair, no moral quandaries -- just fighting for his life and winning for once. He and Benny made it out -- even Cas too, eventually.
"Dean!" Sam yelled.
In a heartbeat Dean was out the door, down the hall, skidding into Sam's bedroom.
"Dean! Dean!" Sam yelled again. He was thrashing in the bed, his eyes tightly closed.
"Sam -- wake up!" Dean said loudly.
Sam gasped and sat straight up, eyes wide until he focused on Dean.
Sam had always been one for dramatic nightmares, chest heaving as he sucked in breath.
"You were asleep," Dean said.
"I found you!" Sam panted.
"Room's just down the hall," Dean said drily.
"Uh-- I mean, I dreamed I found you. Never mind," Sam said blushing, looking away.
Dean realized what Sam was talking about when he recognized Sam's regretful, guilty look.
"You mean -- you were looking for me? in Purgatory?" It was hard on Dean to think that Sam hadn't even looked.
Sam bit his lip and turned guiltily away.
"You never even looked, man!" Dean accused. He knew he should let it drop, but he just couldn't.
Sam gave Dean a baleful stare, but made no reply.
"You just went straight to Texas and shacked up with that girl."
"Of course not!" Sam burst out.
Dean tapped his foot and waited.
The brothers glared at each other. This time, Dean was going to get an explanation.
"Fine, Dean! The whole miserable story of how I screwed up, yet again!" Sam shouted.
He was still in bed, but he pushed himself back to sit against the headboard, and gripped the bedspread between his hands.
"You killed Dick Roman and he exploded, and then there was this giant, resounding boom, and you were just gone. No sign of Cas. Kevin gone, all the demons gone, and the leviathans, they just shut down without Dick."
"So your first thought wasn't 'wonder where they all went'?" Dean said.
"My first thought, Dean, was that you were dead, again, that it was my fault, again, and that I did not have one solid lead to try and figure out how to get you back."
"You knew how to open the gate to Purgatory," Dean suggested, but he knew that wasn't really true.
"After we'd just barely defeated the Leviathan? after losing Bobby, and, and you? Really?" Sam waited, but Dean said nothing. "And besides, why would you have gone to Purgatory -- wasn't it supposed to be for monsters? Did Dick go there, or was he just -- wiped out?"
Dean had to admit it looked like Dick had been wiped out. He hadn't run into him in Purgatory anyway. Still. It was the principle of the thing. "What about Kevin?"
Sam's mouth sealed closed.
"What about Kevin?" Dean insisted.
"They tricked me," Sam said reluctantly. "The demons. Crowley called me, made it seem like Kevin -- begging -- tortured -- it was horrible."
Dean frowned, but then he had to admit, it did sound like something the demons would do. "So you ditched your phones?"
"They killed Kevin -- I heard them -- and then they just kept calling me to brag about it, and I finally just left the phones at the cabin. So I never got Kevin's messages. I know I messed up. I really regret that. I'm sorry."
Dean thought it over. "So.. it wasn't that you didn't look. It was that you didn't know how to start looking."
"What's the difference?" Sam said sadly. "I didn't get you out. I didn't even try."
Dean felt the knowledge click together in his head. "It wasn't that you didn't try, it was that you couldn't figure how to beat the odds."
"Same thing," Sam said, accepting all the blame.
"Forget it," Dean said.
"What?" Sam said.
"I kind of liked it in Purgatory. It kind of cleared my head somehow. It wasn't so bad."
Sam gaped.
"Better than Hell anyways," Dean said. "A lot more fun than Heaven that's for sure."
"You and Benny," Sam said, wiggling his fingers.
"A gentleman never tells," Dean said.
"So you can tell then," Sam said. It was an old pact between them, never to keep such secrets, especially not if asked outright.
"Not as such," Dean said, uncomfortably.
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Vampires.. don't…" Dean said.
"Hmm," Sam said, eyebrows high.
"I will punch your smug face," Dean said, but then he laughed, and Sam laughed, and before long they were side by side on Sam's narrow bed, laughing and laughing, until they calmed down, and they were smiling calmly at each other.
"You looked for me, you idiot," Dean said.
"I didn't know how," Sam whined.
"But you spent all that time running the problem through your gigantic brain," Dean said.
"Well, yeah," Sam groused, "much good it did me."
"I forgive you," Dean said, magnanimously.
"That's… that's good," Sam said, voice a little husky.
They were staring now, just inches between them.
"I got out," Dean whispered.
"I'm so glad," Sam said.
They breathed one another's breath until their lips met softly.
The Men of Letters bunker was still and quiet in the night, except for the peaceful rustling sound of lovers meeting.
----
Notes: Day by drabble midwinter prompt 27, bright.
Also, 28. photo of wintry tree blooming with pink and white blossoms.
And, 31. The woods [IN PURGATORY!] are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep. -- Robert Frost
Unused was 2. photo of man hunched over with dog in snow. (Riot!)
And sorry Coldplay, though this is somewhat reminiscent of the situation with Naomi:
23. Clearly I remember From the windows they were watching While we froze down below
When the future's architectured By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low If you love me, won't you let me know? "Violet Hill" by Coldplay
Yay! 8 seasons = 8 ficlets!! :D
author:
fannishlisspairing: Sam/Dean
rating: PG
Summary: It's good to have a bunker of your own, and it's good sometimes to really talk things out.
---
The bunker was absolutely quiet at night. It freaked Dean out a little. He wasn't used to such an air of peacefulness. The buzz of fluorescent lightning, the whirr of HVAC systems, the purr of a furnace -- even the sounds of most modern buildings were silenced in the timeless Hall of Letters. Pulling fresh seeming laundry out of cupboards that had been packed decades ago made Dean wonder if spellwork weren't somehow involved.
Dean's room, for the first time ever, was no one's but his own. He remembered with a frown when he'd first moved in with Lisa, how kind she'd been, and how awkward and wrong he'd felt in her pleasant, suburban guest room, tossing and turning between high thread count unbleached cotton sheets, unsoothed by the scent of organic lavender detergent. It hadn't seemed right until the night he'd spilled a tumbler of Jack into the carpet; from then on he could pretend he was still in some skanky hotel room, that the murmurs of the sleeping house around him were somehow Sam, the familiar huffs of his breath.
The Men of Letters had excellent taste in Scotch whiskey. Their sheets were nice but not crazy nice. The rooms were not too big -- dormitory rooms for men (and women too, judging by the woman who'd been hijacked by Abaddon) who meant business. Sturdy, well made furniture; simple, traditionally appointed bathrooms; a nicely outfitted kitchen and dining facilities.
All told it all made Dean feel at home, like he could easily live here. He moved in and made himself cozy, and that's how it felt -- like he had come home. His grandad, and maybe his great grandad and great great and so on, had all had a hand in making this place what it was. Hell, rummaging around in one of the bedroom bureaus he'd found a stack of men's handkerchiefs monogrammed with W. So it was natural that the place would all feel --not familiar, maybe, but welcoming, like he belonged.
He tried sometimes to imagine what it must have once been like, a peaceful hub of activity, Men of Letters keeping tabs on the world, making notes in their careful logs, interpreting and studying the Supernatural -- maybe even passing on jobs to Hunters if and when things got out of hand. Had old man Campbell known about the Letters? How could he not? Dean burned in frustration sometimes thinking of all of their heritage he and Sam had lost, without even knowing what they were losing.
But not right now -- now was time to take a deep breath -- to pause and appreciate the hand they'd for once been dealt. A bunker -- all their own! And not a squalid little fallout shelter buried in some crackpot's backyard -- not a muddy cave or a stinking sewer -- but a place so elegant it seemed like a palace! Dean could imagine some fussy old Alfred, Jeeves or Jarvis carrying Scotch on trays, ringing the bell to say "dinner was served," or polishing the brass on the telescope or whatnot.
Still, it was just so quiet. Usually, the quiet didn't do much more than wake Dean up with a start at 2:58 am, so that he would lie there staring at the time, till his eyes burned and the adrenaline faded and he'd sleep a little later the next morning.
But this time, the quiet rang in his ears like the silence of the dead. It reminded him of the morning he'd woken up in a coffin, eighteen inches of soil deadening off the sounds of the outside world until he'd burst through, scrabbling for light and life, the dirt of his own grave black beneath his fingernails, in his nostrils and in his eyes.
Dean swung his feet out of bed and turned on the light. It was bright, cheery, clear. He went down the hall to the bathroom and splashed his face. When he looked in the mirror, there he was, no one but himself. Purgatory had done something to him -- for once maybe not something bad. Dean thought it was called survival-- but there was no guilt, no despair, no moral quandaries -- just fighting for his life and winning for once. He and Benny made it out -- even Cas too, eventually.
"Dean!" Sam yelled.
In a heartbeat Dean was out the door, down the hall, skidding into Sam's bedroom.
"Dean! Dean!" Sam yelled again. He was thrashing in the bed, his eyes tightly closed.
"Sam -- wake up!" Dean said loudly.
Sam gasped and sat straight up, eyes wide until he focused on Dean.
Sam had always been one for dramatic nightmares, chest heaving as he sucked in breath.
"You were asleep," Dean said.
"I found you!" Sam panted.
"Room's just down the hall," Dean said drily.
"Uh-- I mean, I dreamed I found you. Never mind," Sam said blushing, looking away.
Dean realized what Sam was talking about when he recognized Sam's regretful, guilty look.
"You mean -- you were looking for me? in Purgatory?" It was hard on Dean to think that Sam hadn't even looked.
Sam bit his lip and turned guiltily away.
"You never even looked, man!" Dean accused. He knew he should let it drop, but he just couldn't.
Sam gave Dean a baleful stare, but made no reply.
"You just went straight to Texas and shacked up with that girl."
"Of course not!" Sam burst out.
Dean tapped his foot and waited.
The brothers glared at each other. This time, Dean was going to get an explanation.
"Fine, Dean! The whole miserable story of how I screwed up, yet again!" Sam shouted.
He was still in bed, but he pushed himself back to sit against the headboard, and gripped the bedspread between his hands.
"You killed Dick Roman and he exploded, and then there was this giant, resounding boom, and you were just gone. No sign of Cas. Kevin gone, all the demons gone, and the leviathans, they just shut down without Dick."
"So your first thought wasn't 'wonder where they all went'?" Dean said.
"My first thought, Dean, was that you were dead, again, that it was my fault, again, and that I did not have one solid lead to try and figure out how to get you back."
"You knew how to open the gate to Purgatory," Dean suggested, but he knew that wasn't really true.
"After we'd just barely defeated the Leviathan? after losing Bobby, and, and you? Really?" Sam waited, but Dean said nothing. "And besides, why would you have gone to Purgatory -- wasn't it supposed to be for monsters? Did Dick go there, or was he just -- wiped out?"
Dean had to admit it looked like Dick had been wiped out. He hadn't run into him in Purgatory anyway. Still. It was the principle of the thing. "What about Kevin?"
Sam's mouth sealed closed.
"What about Kevin?" Dean insisted.
"They tricked me," Sam said reluctantly. "The demons. Crowley called me, made it seem like Kevin -- begging -- tortured -- it was horrible."
Dean frowned, but then he had to admit, it did sound like something the demons would do. "So you ditched your phones?"
"They killed Kevin -- I heard them -- and then they just kept calling me to brag about it, and I finally just left the phones at the cabin. So I never got Kevin's messages. I know I messed up. I really regret that. I'm sorry."
Dean thought it over. "So.. it wasn't that you didn't look. It was that you didn't know how to start looking."
"What's the difference?" Sam said sadly. "I didn't get you out. I didn't even try."
Dean felt the knowledge click together in his head. "It wasn't that you didn't try, it was that you couldn't figure how to beat the odds."
"Same thing," Sam said, accepting all the blame.
"Forget it," Dean said.
"What?" Sam said.
"I kind of liked it in Purgatory. It kind of cleared my head somehow. It wasn't so bad."
Sam gaped.
"Better than Hell anyways," Dean said. "A lot more fun than Heaven that's for sure."
"You and Benny," Sam said, wiggling his fingers.
"A gentleman never tells," Dean said.
"So you can tell then," Sam said. It was an old pact between them, never to keep such secrets, especially not if asked outright.
"Not as such," Dean said, uncomfortably.
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Vampires.. don't…" Dean said.
"Hmm," Sam said, eyebrows high.
"I will punch your smug face," Dean said, but then he laughed, and Sam laughed, and before long they were side by side on Sam's narrow bed, laughing and laughing, until they calmed down, and they were smiling calmly at each other.
"You looked for me, you idiot," Dean said.
"I didn't know how," Sam whined.
"But you spent all that time running the problem through your gigantic brain," Dean said.
"Well, yeah," Sam groused, "much good it did me."
"I forgive you," Dean said, magnanimously.
"That's… that's good," Sam said, voice a little husky.
They were staring now, just inches between them.
"I got out," Dean whispered.
"I'm so glad," Sam said.
They breathed one another's breath until their lips met softly.
The Men of Letters bunker was still and quiet in the night, except for the peaceful rustling sound of lovers meeting.
----
Notes: Day by drabble midwinter prompt 27, bright.
Also, 28. photo of wintry tree blooming with pink and white blossoms.
And, 31. The woods [IN PURGATORY!] are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep. -- Robert Frost
Unused was 2. photo of man hunched over with dog in snow. (Riot!)
And sorry Coldplay, though this is somewhat reminiscent of the situation with Naomi:
23. Clearly I remember From the windows they were watching While we froze down below
When the future's architectured By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low If you love me, won't you let me know? "Violet Hill" by Coldplay
Yay! 8 seasons = 8 ficlets!! :D
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 12:35 pm (UTC)I love you. XD
I really enjoy the concept of legacy at play here--we have Dean marveling at the MoL base, relating it back to past domiciles, Dean thinking about the Men of Letters, the Winchester line, what by rights should have been his and Sam's birthright. Instead, it is more than not, a legacy lost. But at the same time, we have a reconfiguration of/further elaboration on the Winchesters' own illustrious personal history, when Dean and Sam have their exchange here about the past year--and that is a legacy in itself.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 06:37 pm (UTC)I love that Frost quote. I remember this bad movie from the 70s called "Telefon" about Russian moles that used the phrase as a trigger for sleeper agents. So I always hear that line in a thick Russian Accent. Maybe it is Castiel with Misha's Russian accent??? :P
Legacy became so important on Supernatural and it's kind of interesting how it crept in -- but it really was there from the very beginning. At first it was just "Dad's journal" and "the family business" and "getting the thing that killed Mom". Then it was the righteous man and being the chosen Vessels of Archangels in order to play out the Apocalypse. Then we met the Campbells -- kind of scary kickass uber Hunters you're not sure are really the good guys. And now the Men of Letters who overtly see themselves as Legacies. I like it, while at the same time being a bit suspicious on something that on the face of it is literally Patriarchal. I also think it's pretty clear (where does headcanon become Canon??) that the Angels were using the Men of Letters to breed the Winchesters as potential vessels -- right? We see how the MoL are given all this Angel spellwork .... yet so far we haven't seen it acknowledged (in so many words) that the Angels are the power behind the Men of Letters. I kind of love that SPN will do that -- plant these incredibly evocative clue trails but never say it outright and just let us assemble the facts and draw the conclusion. I like how the Golem and his reluctant Master tell the parallel story about legacy in s8 -- that ep was just freaking awesome as far as I'm concerned.
... and now I really want to rewatch 8.13!!!
no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-25 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-25 12:51 pm (UTC)I think show has given us a very complex character in Sam. He used to have so much arrogance -- part of it was justified belief in his own stellar abilities, a completely understandable desire to get out of the Hunting life and do what he was capable of doing, without the strictures that John (for reasons he refused to reveal) placed on him. It took Sam a while to get rid of that arrogance... but very sadly, what replaced the arrogance was just an underlying feeling that he'd repeatedly let everyone down. ): That's how I read his character and it really moves me and resonates with me.
I loved Sam in season 3 when he was trying to save Dean. That's the moment for me when his character turned around from being, pretty much, all about Sam and what Sam needed from life, to being a more observant guy about the extent of his brother's love for him, and an understanding that Dean didn't know how much he needed him, loved him, even idolized him. Sam has never really been able to internalize what he is to Dean... Dean's horror at Sam's choice to drink demon blood to make himself stronger alienated the two of them almost to the point of breaking, like at the beginning of s5 when they went their separate ways. Then Sam came back without a soul, and then, started devolving into insanity.
Poor Sam!!! So that brings us to s8. Sam, without one shred left of his original arrogance, completely lost without Dean, certain that he should be doing something but completely without resources to do anything. Ideally he would have found Kevin and they would have worked together. In my head canon, Crowley had something to do with why Sam jettisoned his phones...we've certainly seen the faking of voicemail messages before -- or it could have even been the Angels, so concerned with retrieving the tablets. But not everyone has to go with my headcanon obvs. :P
So that brings us to where we are, with Dean demonstrating to Sam that he comes first by aborting the trials. WOW. Throw the world on the fire and grab your brother, Dean!!
I've seen some skepticism about whether Carver was successful in reestablishing their bond. I myself am like, well, this is an ongoing drama, so drama between the boys is to be expected. But maybe, just maybe, Sam will be able to rebuild his confidence in himself this season? He won't regard himself as a long string of failures, but rather, as a great Hero who has saved the world against all odds more than once?? Here's hoping!
And too, here's hoping that Dean can see how the tables have turned, how it's no longer Sam undercutting every little victory of Dean's, but it's now Dean reminding Sam of his failures at every turn. Let's see them embrace one another, mindful of each other's failings, but grateful for each other's many many strengths. Cross fingers!!
Sam and Dean Campbell Winchester, the apotheosis of their legacies as Hunters and Men of Letters! <3
no subject
Date: 2014-01-03 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-03 11:15 am (UTC)but glad you liked it! My headcanon, you can haz.