Title: A Far Better Rest
Info: "Born Under a Bad Sign" tag
Author: Olivia Sutton
Warnings: Sensitive Material
Rating: PG-13, T
Spoilers: Massive spoilers for "Born Under a Bad Sign"
Season: Supernatural, Season 2
Feedback: Yes, please
Date: 7 August 2008, 21 September 2008
Quote: "It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
AN: Ravenmerc dragged me kicking and screaming into Supernatural fandom this summer :-), but now I'm completely hooked on the show and our angsty boys. BUaBS in particular (along with Croatoan) really stuck in my brain, it finally processed and I wrote this in one go, last night, long-hand. It's since been reviewed and betaed before posting. I'd love some feedback and reviews on this since I'm so new to the fandom (tho' not to fanfic writing).
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Kripe and the CW do and I'm not making any profit from this. This is for the enjoyment of other fans. Feedback and reviews are most welcome.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
AN2: I had a hard time coming up with a title for this story, so ideas for a better one will be gratefully accepted.
A Far Better Thing I Do
Takes place shortly after "Born Under a Bad Sign"
Dean Winchester woke with a start, then flipped on the bedside lamp. He looked around the cheap motel room and spotted Sam, hunched over his laptop, his face lit stark white by the glow of the screen, sporting a serious case of bed head. Dean sighed, yep, his big brother sense of knowing something was wrong with Sam was right, he thought, then he got out of bed and moved to Sam's side. Lightly, he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.
Sam jumped, slightly, then grabbed the top of the laptop to shut it.
Dean placed a hand over Sam's holding the laptop open. He scanned the print on the webpage, then let go of his brother.
"GHB? Date-rape drugs?" Sam, is there something you're not telling me?" Dean asked, softly.
"No," answered Sam by reflex. Then he relaxed in the straight-backed wooden metal chair, "Well, ..."
Dean snapped to, focusing all his attention on his little brother. "Sam, talk to me."
Sam nodded. Then he gestured towards the two beds, "May as well get comfortable." He snapped the laptop shut, then sat on the edge of his own bed, his long legs reaching the floor.
Dean sat on his own bed across from his brother. In his mind, he began to fret and worry, then he focused on Sam.
"Dean, I..." Sam paused, took a deep breath, then started again, "Dean, when Meg possessed me, What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened?" Dean asked carefully.
"I mean, what happened? I can't really remember anything. She, it, let me see me killing Steve Wandell, and I, I mean, she... she shot you and left you for dead. But I..." tears came to Sam's eyes.
Dean took a deep breath, "It doesn't matter, Sam. And it wasn't you who shot me ... it was a demon, the demon we knew as Meg, though that's probably not it's real name."
Sam leaned forward, tears in his eyes, "But it does matter, Dean. It matters because I can't remember," Sam's voice strengthened, "I remember bits and pieces. Flashes. Images and words that make no sense. You, looking at me, looking like hell, Dean, with my handgun in your hand. But there's no context. No real memory. Damnit, Dean!" he shouted, then Sam's voice became quiet, "I need to know what I did, what she, it, did to you."
Dean nodded, once. "Why the website on GHB, on date rape?"
"Because that's what it feels like," said Sam, "These girls, well, mostly girls, from what I've read, they're at a party or a bar, and next thing they know it's a couple of days later, and they have unexplained bruises. Someone doses them with this drug - and they don't even know they were raped until they see a doctor. It's horrible."
"Humans," said Dean with disgust. "But what's..."
"Because that's how I feel, Dean. Like Meg raped my mind. Used me. Used me to hurt you. To hurt Jo. And I can't... I can't remember..." Sam ran a hand through his dark long hair, causing it to get even more messy.
Dean nodded, then he got up, moved to Sam's side, and sat, "You want to know?"
"Are you sure? Sam ... promise me you won't blame yourself. That you will know ... you'll really know you're not to blame. Meg controlled you."
Again Sam nodded, then he whispered, "God, Dean, What did I do?"
"Well, among other things, you asked me to kill you, Sam."
"What?" asked Sam.
Dean leaned slightly back. "It was like River Grove, Oregon, all over again. You handed me your gun. You sounded like you, Sam, not like Meg, like you. And you asked me, begged me, to shoot you before you hurt anyone. God, Sam," Dean's voice shook.
"Maybe you should have," whispered Sam.
"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that, Sam!"
Sam looked at Dean, then nodded.
"We're going to figure out exactly what Dad's last words meant. And you won't go darkside. Forewarned is forearmed, Sammy."
Again Sam nodded, then said, "So, obviously you didn't shoot me. What else?"
Dean looked up at the motel ceiling, counted to five, then continued, "Well, to go back a bit, you'd been gone a week, when you called my cell, told me where you were. I found you, in a motel, covered in blood. I thought you'd been stabbed but..."
"It was from the other hunter."
"Yeah," Dean answered, "Do you remember that? Because, Sammy, when I found you, I thought you were, you know, you." Dean looked off into space.
"Yeah, vaguely. We found the garage, the car, the gas station... tracked what I ..."
"Not you, Sam."
"What Meg did."
"Right. We found a motel and that's when..."
Sam nodded. "Okay."
"Please, Sam, never again."
Sam nodded again.
"Then you clocked me. I woke up the next day and you were long gone again. Eventually, I found you with Jo. I don't know exactly what went down between you two, but Sam, you attacked her."
"You probably would have ... it wasn't you, Sam."
"Oh, god," moaned Sam, then he rubbed his hand across his face.
"We got there first. Jo was a bit scared, but she's OK now, remember that," Dean answered.
"I tried to capture you, you shot me, Jo rescued me. By the way, that woman is not someone you want digging a bullet out of your shoulder. Anyway, you went to Bobby's - he got you in a devil's trap. I arrived, we tried an exorcism, it failed, you attacked me again, Bobby burned off the binding spell and Meg left you," Dean let out the rest of his air in a rush, then took in a couple of deep breaths to compensate for his breathless spiel.
Sam nodded, "So I ... I killed a hunter, tried to convince you to shoot me, attacked Jo - nearly raping her, attacked Bobby, oh yeah, shot you, then attacked Bobby, and attacked you again."
"Nice sum-up, Sam."
"Dean, I'm sorry."
"Sam. It wasn't you," Dean got off the bed, knelt before Sam, grabbed his shoulders and said, "It was not your fault. Promise me you won't feel guilty about any of this. Promise, Sam."
Sam looked down, his eyes avoided Dean's.
Dean shook Sam, "Promise, Sammy."
Sam's eye met Dean's then he said, "I promise, Dean."
"It was Meg, not you, say it Sam."
A small smile lit Sam's face, "It was Meg not you.'
"You know what I meant," said Dean patiently.
Sam nodded, a million memories of his older brother taking care of him when they were children together flooded his brain, then he looked at Dean and said, "It was Meg, not me."
Sam smiled back, then murmured, "Thanks, Dean."
Dean smiled again. "Anytime, Sam. Now get some sleep."
Dean got up, and slipped into his own bed. He reached for the light.
"Leave it on," said Sam.
"Sam - you need sleep. If you need to talk, man, I understand, I'll be here for you and we'll talk."
Sam shook his head. "Nah, I don't need to talk. I just, can't quite sleep yet."
Dean nodded. "Don't stay up too late. Turn off the light when you turn in."
Again Sam nodded.
Dean rolled over, pulled a blanket over his head, and tried to sleep.