Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, or any other characters in this fic. They all belong to the people who own Supernatural. I write for fun.
Author's Note: This was written solely for the Novice Writer's March 1 to May 31 Fan Fiction Contest, and is complete, in its entirety. I have a companion piece, which is also a one shot, and a multi-chaptered fic continuing along the same lines as this story, planned, but they are separate pieces and will not be published until the end of this contest. This fic can be read as a stand-alone, without any need of reading anything else I may produce in this universe, and it is intended to be so.
This story won first place in the Novice Writer's March 1st - May 31st 2008 Fan Fiction Contest.
The fic itself is 1896 words long, and is taken from the sixth episode of the hit TV show, Supernatural, entitled "Skin". Almost all of the external dialog and action is taken from the end of the episode. I wrote this because I loved the angst in this episode and was frustrated that I couldn't find a good companion fic to go alongside it. Thus, "And I Know It's True" was born. Enjoy!
I struggled against my bonds, warily watching as he passed in front of me. He didn't even spare me a glance, as though he was completely in charge and I was above his notice... Just like Dean would with a captive. 'It's not Dean. Don't let him get to you... He's trying to mess with you, don't let him win!'
"What do you want with me?" I asked.
He turned to me, and with that voice, the voice that was just so, so Dean, so arrogant and so proud, replied, "I'm not going to do anything. Dean will though."
'See, it's not Dean... He's even saying he's not Dean!'
The shape shifter opened a drawer, and then closed it without removing anything.
"They'll never catch him."
I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was giving me his patented, "Sammy-I-know-more-than-you-I'm-the-older-brother" look. "Oh, it doesn't matter. Murder in the first, his own brother? He'll be hunted for the rest of his life."
He grabbed a knife off of the counter and set it back down again. I knew he was trying to play with me... I knew it. Why did I let him get to me?
"You know, he hates you. He hates that you got such better grades than him in school, hates how you always had friends, even if you were only in that town for a week. He hates you for fighting so strongly against Dad." His tone of voice changed from calm and matter-of-fact to angry and spiteful. "I hate you for leaving to go to Stanford! You left me all alone with Dad! He got so possessed with trying to kill the thing that killed Mom!
"I hate you for every minute of those two years. I hate you for getting a full ride to college. What if I wanted to get away? I hate not having a place to call home, hate having to live on Dad's whim! I always had to be the good one to make up for you, "Daddy's perfect little soldier". He called me that once, you know. After you left, he got drunk and called me that after raging about you for hours!"
'God, please stop! Why do you hate me? I tried so hard! I just couldn't do it, just couldn't do what you and Dad did so well...'
"I hate you for everything you are. I hate you for existing and making me have to deal with your sorry ass all of these years. But most of all? Most of all I hate you because you're the reason Mom's dead."
Honestly, I'm not sure how long he taunted me. He switched back and forth between Dean and Doppelganger, I lost any sense of time or reality I had left after the blow to the head.
"I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother's got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do. Cheers."
'What is he talking about? Is he just playing with me, or is that how Dean really feels?'
Dean's doppelganger walked over to a duffel bag on the pool table, sipping at his amber colored drink. Setting his glass to the side, he ruffled around and pulled out a butcher knife. He contemplated it for a moment, before nodding at thrusting it into the table. "Dean" grinned at me as I jumped, before turning back to his bag.
I uselessly pulled at my bonds, but the thick rope tying my arms together wouldn't give. Glancing around, I searched desperately for a way out of this... But there wasn't one. The knife was still quivering from Dean's stabbing it into the table.
'He's not Dean damn it! Stop thinking that, he's not! Dean wouldn't treat me like this!'
Tearing my eyes from the dagger I glared at the shape shifter and raised my tied legs, kicking him in the knees. Dean fell, 'Stop calling him Dean!', and I quickly rolled forward and cut my bonds with the knife. Without stopping, I grabbed the knife and cut the rope binding my legs together.
He recovered quickly, I had barely managed to stand before he was advancing on me. I slashed out with the knife and he dodged. I slashed again, and he grabbed my arm, forcing the knife away from him. Suddenly, he twisted, and before I knew what was happening I was rolling.
Dad's voice rang in my ear, "Sam, always watch your opponent, take any opportunity you can to kill them." I was in too much of a haze to more than half hear the words, and almost all of Dad's training seemed to have left me.
I quickly stood, and Dean advanced on me, muttering, "You son of a bitch," as he threw a punch at me. Somehow I managed to catch his arm and used my height to elbow him in the face.
Before I knew what was happening, my arm was twisted behind me painfully, and I could feel his heavy breathing on the back of my neck. Throwing myself forward, I broke free and reversed the situation, forcing Dean's arm behind his arm back with enough force that he doubled over.
'It's not Dean! Stop calling him Dean! I wouldn't be fighting Dean, not like this... Would I?'
"Not bad little brother!" he yelled.
Snarling, my anger forced back all of the confusion for half a second. "You're not him!"
Taking advantage of my distraction, he suddenly whirled and backhanded me in the face. I ended up leaning against the couch, several feet away, for support.
I turned and punched Dean, and when Dean straightened, I punched him again. He landed on the pool table and quickly came back after me, destroying any attempt I had at blocking his attack. He punched me, kneed me in the stomach, and then kicked me into a set of shelves built into the wall.
As we had been fighting, my mind had kept playing the same thoughts over and over again in my mind, in a never ending loop that was making me more and more desperate.
'Why is this happening? Why is Dean trying to kill me?' And then my cruel subconscious answered. It always answered, and its answers were always the truth. 'Because I was never worthy enough to be a Winchester, I'm useless. Dean was always better at me in the things that mattered, fighting and hunting. Dean was always Dad's favorite, Dean always went on hunts while I was forced to stay at home and study some book about demons or another. I'm worthless compared to him.'
Desperately, I reached for the edge of the pool table and tried to lift myself from the ground.
"Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass."
And it was true, wasn't it? I had never won against Dean, ever. No matter how hard I tried, I could never pin him; he was just too good. Hell, he's still too good.
I ducked the pool stick as it swung through the air, and barely managed to dodge against the following blows that destroyed the hanging lights. I saw an opening as Dean raised his arms to strike again with the pole. Still leaning against the pool table, I kicked him, sending him stumbling backwards.
'Dean, please stop!'
I couldn't even tell if it was really Dean anymore or not. The person in front of me looked like Dean, talked like Dean, had Dean's fighting style, but some small part of me was still protesting that this couldn't be Dean; and that's was when I remembered. It didn't matter if it was really Dean or not; the shape shifter got all of its victim's memories, and I knew my brother. Dean wasn't lying.
He advanced on me, and I threw a weak punch that I knew wouldn't go through. Dean shoved my arm to the side and punched me in the stomach, and I barely manged to avoid the next few blows.
The next part is a blur. Somehow I ended up on my back, on top of the splintered remains of Rebecca's coffee table, with Dean straddling me, his hands around my neck. Vainlessly I struggled against the strength stealing my breath from me, scratching at his hands, but they wouldn't leave. I was nearly unconscious when I felt him get off of me, and barely processed the two shots from a gun.
Still, the sound was enough to jar me back to my senses, and I weakly rolled onto my side, facing where Dean was... What I saw horrified me and made me feel a rushing feeling of relief at the same time. Dean, my older brother, my role model was dead, but Dean, my attacker and would be murderer couldn't hurt me anymore.
Rebeca was suddenly kneeling behind me, lifting my head to try to help me sit up. And Dean was slowly walking over to where Dean was lying dead... Dean?
'What's going on? Dean's dead, but he's not?'
The green countryside is rolling outside the window, and that night keeps replaying itself in my head. I've somehow managed to separate Dean and "Dean" in my mind, but there are still fuzzy spots in my list. And the first item on that list is Dean's feelings. Does he really hate me? I'm too much of a chicken to ask.
His voice startled me out of my reverie, and I asked, "About what?" before I could stop myself.
"I really wish things could be different, you know? I just wish you could be Joe College."
I mentally smiled. The look on Dean's face as he tried to apologize, which he nearly never did, was priceless.
"Nah, it's okay. You know, truth is, even at Stanford I never really fit in."
My words surprised me; I hadn't been able to admit that to myself before... I don't fit in anywhere, no matter where I go, do I?
"Well, that's cause you're a freak."
Despite my sarcastic reply, the words hurt. Was he going to tell me that he hated me? That he thought I was strange and a waste of space in his life?
"But I'm a freak too. I'm right there with you all the way."
'Yeah, freakishly good at everything that I could never do, everything that matters.'
"Yeah, I know you are."
Honestly, I'm already falling back into my role as the little brother who tagged along with his "super-cool older brother" wherever he went. I didn't believe a bit of the words either of us were speaking, but I still desperately wanted them to be true.
"You know I gotta say, I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it."
"How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?"
I half-smiled, because that was all that I could do. In all honesty, I have no idea how we had slipped back into our brotherly roles already. I still believe that Dean hates me. He told me so, and all of his reasons made perfect sense to me.
"Most of all I hate you because you're the reason Mom's dead."
And I knew it was true. Everything is my fault.
So what do you think? Please leave a detailed review... Oneliners like "This is awesome, can't wait for continuance" are nice, but they don't help me grow as an author. Please, please, please tell me which parts you liked, which parts you felt I could work on, even pointing out some of your favorite quotes so that I know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong would be wonderful.
Thanks for reading!