This is a story where
Jun. 27th, 2007 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ultraviolet9aThis is a story where
TITLE: This is a story where
AUTHOR: ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: Season 2 heavy, especially on the two part finale.
ultraviolet9aSPOILER: Season 2 heavy, especially on the two part finale.
GENRE: gen
CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other cameos. You’ll see.
SUMMARY: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway. Hopefully you won’t see the end coming either.
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own. Don’t sue. Pretty please with cheesecake on top.
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own. Don’t sue. Pretty please with cheesecake on top.
SIDENOTE: for found_fic_spnchallenge nr 7. I blame my eye drops a lot. I also blame Pratchett a lot (esp his The Truth book). *frown* And a plot donkey that didn’t come to life, not the way I planned it. Yet.
found_fic_spnchallenge nr 7. I blame my eye drops a lot. I also blame Pratchett a lot (esp his The Truth book). *frown* And a plot donkey that didn’t come to life, not the way I planned it. Yet..::::.
This is a story where nobody dies. That’s important. Important for those who want a happy ending; just not the way you think. Not sure if that’s an ending really, if you know what I mean. Important for those tired of grand last stands and heroes and blazes of glory. Just not the way you think. It’s all a matter of perspective, semantics, pragmatics. And faith. Oh yes. Faith is always important.
This is a story where nobody dies. They don’t have to die, see. They’re already dead.
See? Told you. Pragmatics.
You can hate me all you want, but you can never say I lied to you.
.::::.
It doesn’t matter if the story picks up a year to the point after that mid June in Cold Oaks, Nebraska. Doesn’t matter if the story picks up ten, twenty, thirty years later.
What’s important is that the story. picks. up.
Here’s how it goes.
.::::.
The world seems faded, wrapped up in flimsy fog, as if everything’s been photoshopped with the dodge tool.
“Dude, I feel like that hot chick in Silent Hill,” Dean says. Sam looks at him.
“Gee, Dean, it’s never too late to come out of the closet.”
Dean flips him.
“Man, she was hot,” he sighs, then stands up, legs wide apart, hands on his waist looking around him. The cowboy cemetery stretches like a surreal movie set.
There are fallen leaves around. Could be autumn. Could be any time. One cannot vouch for seasons or places when they don’t belong to the living. Seasons don’t fear the Reaper, sure, but the Reaper doesn’t give a shit about seasons either.
Still, feels real enough for Sam to sit on a broken tombstone, ginormous legs sprawled ahead of him. He’s still cradling the Colt.
“Hey, Dean?”
“What?”
“You think this is the actual Colt or just the spirit of the Colt?”
Dean turns to him.
“Is that supposed to make sense to me now, Sammy?”
Sam smiles.
“I mean, did we actually lock the real gate again or did we just lock the gate…here?”
Dean frowns. He’s smart. He likes to come off as thick sometimes, likes to play down the brilliance that his brain is, hell, sometimes he doesn’t even really think that his brain is anything else except instinct and training, but you and I, we know it ain’t so. You just have to look in his eyes to get cut, that’s how sharp he is.
“I don’t know, Sam,” he says. It’s the truth. Reality is kind of like cake, lots of layers, and if you’re lucky, you’ll taste the good ones. “I’m sure Bobby will lock it up somehow if…you know. There. Here. Wherever.”
And Sam knows too. Hell, the boy thrives in this kind of stuff.
“If he’s still around,” he mutters. Dean’s head snaps to him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well…we don’t even know exactly the where and you’re cock sure about the when?”
“Oh.”
“I mean…for all I know we could have been stuck there for millennia.”
And millennia really is the kind of fancy words his brother will use, but Dean doesn’t complain. He kind of likes it. Makes Sam well…Sam.
“Which reminds me,” Dean says looking at him. “What the hell where you thinking?”
“What the hell I was thinking?” Sam asks.
“Why’d you go and do that for, Sammy? I told you not to come looking for me. I told you!”
“Yeah, right, as if I’m doing everything you tell me to.”
“Point.” Dean sighs. He lets himself huddle next to his brother. “You didn’t have to play the goddamn hero, Sam.”
“Says the guy who struck a deal with the crossroad bitch?”
“All I wanted was to keep you safe. I wanted a good life for you.”
Sam rolls his eyes.
“And life would have been really good knowing that my brother is somewhere in hell while I’m still alive, oh yeah, Dean, I’m sure that would have worked out great.”
And they’re Winchesters and they’re next to each other and they could probably spend another ten twenty thousand fancy millennia sitting just like that and talking. Except, you know. They’re Winchesters. So Sam gets up pulling Dean with him.
“I go this way,” he says pointing with his thumb towards a direction that could be North South West East up down and a few more for all he knows. “You go that way,” and he points towards the opposite direction.
“Nuh-uh,” Dean says. “You nuts? We don’t split up. Like, ever.”
Then he frowns.
“Dude, where’s my baby?”
“Baby?”
“Dude, where’s my car?”
Sure, it’s a movie reference of the kind Dean would get a kick out of, but right now he’s too worried to notice. Sam shrugs.
“I don’t know. Before I walked in I parked it over there. Maybe it’s not…here. Or maybe it’s been too long and Bobby took it away. I don’t know.”
Dean’s face is a mask of misery.
“Aw damn, Sammy,” he says. All this time in hell, through hell, all that kept him was the thought of Sam and his car, driving down the roads with his brother by his side, free of anguish. Memories of miles that kept him going, driving on with his mind. He closes his eyes.
Well, two out of three ain’t so bad.
“Let’s walk,” he says.
They do.
.::::.
It would have been great if there was a glorious sunset (more dramatic) or sunrise (more optimistic) in front of their eyes and they were walking into the sun in a way, like old time gunslingers. Would have been great and would have looked damn fine too, but I’ve said before, this is a story about happy, not endings.
No, you can’t call me a liar.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned that.
.::::.
So they don’t know where the hell they are, they don’t know when they hell they are, just that they’re probably out of hell, in that cowboy cemetery that tied up so many loose ends for them. Or one cowboy cemetery anyway. And they walk, so they have to reach somewhere in theory, right?
Except, you know. Reaching implies beginning and end. Fuck that.
They walk in a straight line (and Dean’s been checking the compass on his watch that seems to be working wherever that is and it’s really ridiculous but hey, afterlife is a whole different league) and yet they somehow always end up in the same place.
“Dammit, Sam,” Dean says sitting back on the self same stone they sat hours millennia seconds ago. “I can’t even bitch about how you read the map wrong or we took a wrong turn!”
“I never read a map wrong. And we walked straight ahead.”
“Yeah, right. Remember that time in…”
And there is always a remember and a time, except now there’s no time and remember brings back more questions.
“Hey, Dean? Dad came out of the same gate,” Sam says. “And we could see him. He was…in the world.”
“And then there was light.” Dean scratches his head. “And dad moved on. Did you see any light, Sam? Cuz I sure as hell didn’t, and I know what I’m talking about.”
“Ah, fuck,” Sam says. “Go ahead. Bitch to your heart’s content.”
“Bitch? What for?”
“Cuz we might have missed a turn after all.”
For a while both scowl sitting next to each other. But, you know. Winchesters.
“I really fucking hate this place,” Dean declares getting up, framing his mouth with parallel palms.
“HELLOOOOOOOO! IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?? HELLOOOOOO!”
“For fuck’s sake, Dean,” Sam says startled. Dean puts a finger to his mouth. Sam hushes.
There’s no sound. No wind. No rustling, no chipmunks, no birds, nothing. There is no other sound except for the ones they are making.
Sam looks at the sky. Or what passes as sky in these places, cuz what he sees is foggy, grey, thick vastness, like decaying mould, and yes, it’s superfluous, but it’s that kind of grey and thick and scary.
Dean opens his mouth again but Sam pulls him down.
“What are you doing? What if you catch the wrong kind of attention, Dean?”
Dean rolls his eyes.
“Cuz that’d be really scary, Sam, especially after our stint in hell and all the shit we’ve seen, much scarier than being trapped here forever.”
“We’re together,” Sam says and Dean wants to start about princess and chick flicks but something about Sam’s cadence cuts him short. This is the guy Dean died for with a song in his heart. This is the guy that walked through hell and got Dean out without even blinking, losing the very own life Dean traded his own life for and screw that cuz his head begins to ache and that’s not the point. Sam is. He’s not big with emo, but maybe he’s getting softer in his after life because his arm wraps around Sam’s shoulders and what the hell had they been feeding him? Never stuns him how broad and tall his squirt of a brother grew up to be.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Sam turns to look at him. Everything is grey, the after rain feel of bleak autumn inviting winter in, as if afterlife holds a grudge against vibrant colours. But even so, Sam’s eyes are a startling hazel with specks of gold and green and it’s comforting. Even so Dean’s eyes are a vibrant lush green and that is comforting too. It feels like home.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“Sorry for what?”
“I don’t know.”
Sam lets his head hang smiling, dimples all there.
“If you don’t know, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m not sorry, for one thing.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Anything. Everything. I’d do it all over again if I had to, Dean.”
“Me too.”
And in the dead windless silence, those words seem to be alive.
.::::.
So, yes, call me a voyeur, cuz I feel like one. But I can’t look away. It’s the Winchester boys, who could?
Not you, I’m sure.
If you say you could, I’m calling you a liar.
.::::.
They try, you see. They try walking some more, and then they start reading the names on the tombs to pass the time and then they start remembering things from back then and back there and then Dean starts singing at the top of his lungs.
At least they’re not hungry. They’re not thirsty. Not cold, not tired, not wounded, not anything. They just are. And that too could be put under inspection.
Pragmatics can be sneaky, but then again, so is Tessa.
.::::.
She holds exactly the same shape that Dean couldn’t remember when he was alive, but knows inside out now. Afterlife is enlightening in that respect. And Dean’s smart. Can’t hold grudges. She’s just doing her job after all, usherette of souls, not like she’s causing death or anything, she just helps souls move on, as he explains to Sam who gets it too, cuz hey, Dean said so. Dean knows.
Tessa smiles.
“Death brings wisdom,” she says. “Humility. Peace. It’s been a while, boys.”
She’s still damn pretty and Dean would have loved hitting on a girl like her, despite the arrogance or maybe because of that. If she wasn’t a weird reaper thing and all that, that is. The thought makes him feel alright, because it makes him feel like him. Solid somehow.
“Speaking of peace,” Sam says, “what the hell’s going on?”
“Well, hell certainly not for one thing,” Tessa replies sitting opposite them.
“Wasn’t there supposed to be a sparkly shiny light somewhere?” Dean asks. “One that we should follow while there are harps playing or bells ringing or whatever?”
She smiles.
“Or alternatively a black sleazy hole that would suck us in,” Sam offers. “Except you said this isn’t about hell. Anything but being stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“Without my car,” Dean mutters.
“Well…the thing is,” Tessa says brushing a hand through thick glossy hair, feline smile never leaving, “that things don’t always have to be like that.”
“What? Heaven or hell or afterlife?” Dean says. “So what did you come here for, gloat? Or did you take a shine on me?”
“Afterlife depends on who defines it. Or what can be believed in.”
.::::.
See? Told you. Pragmatics. Semantics. Details. They matter.
.::::.
“The yellow eyed son of a bitch really pissed me off,” Tessa says. “They ain’t got no right to mess with what I’m doing. They ain’t got no right to mess with anything at all.”
“So you’re going to do this because you’re pissed at that bastard?”
“Well, for one thing I’m going to do this as a reward for taking that son of a bitch out. I had migraines for days after he intervened.”
Sam would have pointed out how it was John Winchester that had kind of brought it about, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and if Tessa is pissed at the demon, so be it.
“And then is the cross road bitch,” she rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t have that kind of power, cancelling deaths ordering life. It shouldn’t be up to the demons. They can’t mess with my job like that, swatting me away as if I’m some fly. I got a calling. I answer to higher powers. Egotistical little bastards.”
Dean looks at Sam. Sam looks at Dean.
“We won’t be like…worms wriggling next to each other, are we?” Sam asks.
“Or…girls?” Dean asks. “But if you do decide on a girl, could I be a lesbian?”
She rolls her eyes.
“You don’t get it, boys,” she says. “Reincarnation is not an issue of timeline at all.”
She smiles. Then all fades to grey.
.::::.
“There was just this….electricity crackling all over him,” Mary says. John wraps his arm around her shoulders, both holding their sons close. The officer looks at her compassionately.
“Ma’am,” he says, “it’s normal to be shaken up by this. That man broke in your nursery room. God knows what he would have done to your children. From what I can tell, pure self defence. Shouldn’t be a problem. You were just lucky you both woke up in time.”
Mary glances at her husband. John looks away, then kisses the top of Dean’s head.
He still doesn’t know why there was a Colt that looks like the genuine antic thing mixed in his older son’s toys. He’s sure he didn’t get it for him. He doesn’t know why Dean kept having nightmares last week, or why he crawled in the closet of his brother’s nursery room. Dean’s just a toddler. He shouldn’t have been able to…
“Dean,” he whispers when they are in Mike’s guest room. His arms cradle his boy’s weight easily. “What happened? You can tell daddy.”
“Don’t remember, daddy.”
“John…” Mary’s hand holds his. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s over.”
Dean yawns.
“Sleepy,” he mumbles and then his voice eases. He doesn’t have any other nightmare. He’ll never remember.
Some things don’t even change by reincarnation, see. It’s Dean that pulled the trigger again.
.::::.
So, ok. Maybe he had a little help. Little boost from a girl look-alike with the alias of Tessa. Or maybe he remembers a life that didn’t happen yet but did happen for him once upon a time, wherever that is, whenever that is and this is the stuff headaches are made of, so that doesn’t matter now, okay?
I didn’t think so either.
.::::.
So ok. Maybe I lied. This isn’t the story where nobody dies. Somebody did die, but it was the yellow eyed demon and he was technically dead already, so who cares, right? Not like you’re going to hold it against me.
Besides, I told you. Told you it wasn’t a story about ending. It’s more about…beginning.
That somehow starts in Mike’s kitchen the next morning, where little Dean is eating Lucky Charms in big spoonfuls in the happy oblivion of all children and Sammy is burping on his mother’s shoulder and John’s hand is resting against Mary’s thigh.
And it can continue anyway you want to. There’s no happily ever after, or unhappily ever after. There is ever after. That’s the whole point. They get to live. If Sam meets Jess and if Dean works in the garage with his father and if John grows old with Mary… If the events that shape them are different and change them, and if they become totally different characters or if they keep the essential kernel of who we know… That’s up to you.
The important thing is that they live.
The important thing is that this is a story where technically (semantics, pragmatics, linguistics) nobody dies.
And this is a story about faith. Never told you whose faith it was, did I? Cuz I got faith. In who they will be, in who they can be, in who they are, no matter which lifetime they claim.
See? Told you I was no liar.
-The End.
SIDENOTE: There’s no parthenogenesis in any art form, so I’m sure that I’m echoing other writers too, Pratchett aside, except I have no idea who. Oh wait, the whole time line thingy, Pratchett aside, I’m pretty sure I can blame on stealthy ninja kroki_refur. I think she broke my brain. But in a good way.
kroki_refur. I think she broke my brain. But in a good way.Also, if you know any other fics that walk on a similar path, could you please give me their links? I would love you forever.
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no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 08:03 pm (UTC)omg! this is amazing! i love the tone and TESSA and spooky foggy reincarnation! and dean wants to be a lesbian! hee!
*twirls you*
oh babe, you're writing is just stellar. gorgeous. and dean *still* kills the demon and saves sam. *adores*
thank you SO MUCH for this.
*more flailing*
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Date: 2007-06-28 10:52 am (UTC)And yeah, the narrating tone...I don't know where that came from. Experimenting in style is fun though.
*twirls along*
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Date: 2007-06-27 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 09:00 pm (UTC)On a bit of a side note (can still be read as gushing though!), the whole "already dead" parts kind of reminded of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Just this sort of, "Uh, where are we, what happened?" deal. It's one of my favourites reads, ever, so it's definitely a compliment. :)
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Date: 2007-06-28 10:54 am (UTC)I haven't read Rosencrantz etc. I know it was made into a movie (which I didn't watch) but boy, now I think I should read it. Thanks for the tip!!!
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Date: 2007-06-27 09:03 pm (UTC)The best opening lines, the best finale, like, ever.
Reality is kind of like cake, lots of layers, and if you’re lucky, you’ll taste the good ones.
This, on the other hand, cracked me up.
Thank you so much for writing this. I'm so happy that stories like this exist.
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Date: 2007-06-28 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 10:51 pm (UTC)This was fantastic! How did you manage it with only being able to type for an hour a day? Also:
Not like you’re going to hold it against me.
Definitly not!
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:03 am (UTC)And, honestly? I wrote this story yesterday in a three hour continuous stint (so ok, I kinda broke my one hour rule, cuz I am better now.) The story started with one sentence "This is a story where nobody dies" and suddenly I started typing and my mind was filling in the blanks as I was writing. No plotting out, no thinking, no revising, no stopping. One go. The only other time I think I've had this whole epiphany thing going was with the De Soir Code and I'm telling you, the feeling of it is like...I don't know. Like you're riding a wave. *shutting up now*
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Date: 2007-06-28 02:29 am (UTC)Very neat!
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 03:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 11:15 am (UTC)So come here, let us rest for a while, us of the broken brains. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 03:25 am (UTC)Favorite lines:
“Dude, I feel like that hot chick in Silent Hill,” Dean says. Sam looks at him.
“Gee, Dean, it’s never too late to come out of the closet.”
LOL!
“And life would have been really good knowing that my brother is somewhere in hell while I’m still alive, oh yeah, Dean, I’m sure that would have worked out great.”
*g* Great dialogue.
“Or…girls?” Dean asks. “But if you do decide on a girl, could I be a lesbian?”
LOL! Oh, Dean. You amuse me so.
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:24 am (UTC)I'm happy you enjoyed it!
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Date: 2007-06-28 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 11:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 04:33 am (UTC)Made of awesome!
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 04:46 am (UTC)Sorry for continued totally brief comments... Still struggling with paperdom. Rewarded myself with your fic and so glad I did.
Though *is embarrassed* I'm clearly going to have to look up "parthenogenesis" because my brain is not big enough to hold that word. My lovely Oxford 10e will help me tomorrow.
Did I mention really damn cool? Yes. You are that.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 11:22 am (UTC)(In case you haven't checked out yet, parthenogenesis is virgin birth. In this case, just a way to say that in art everything has been done before or is based on something else. [and hey, I only knew the word cuz it's Greek. :) )]
Also? We are both cool. But you know what else is cool? Boots. No, really. I have not forgotten. You better have fun tonight, girl, or else. *giggle, hug*
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Date: 2007-06-28 08:33 am (UTC)I loved all the detail, but this bit in particular hooked my interest and kept me going:
The world seems faded, wrapped up in flimsy fog, as if everything’s been photoshopped with the dodge tool.
“Dude, I feel like that hot chick in Silent Hill,” Dean says. Sam looks at him.
So evocative - so funny - such a sharp Dean observation. Perfect!
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:27 am (UTC)Plus, I think I liked Tess for some reason. She was weird in an Illyria sort of way.
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Date: 2007-06-28 09:04 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:28 am (UTC)I think Pratchett influenced the reincarnation idea, and quite possibly a bit of the writing style, but there was no other reference of him in this fic. :)
I'm glad you liked it!!!
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Date: 2007-06-28 09:25 am (UTC)This was awesome, my dear. I loved it very much, and hey, it had a happy
endingbeginning! *waves flag* YAY Dean for killing Stan! YAY Tessa for cheating just a tad! YAY Sam for -- well, just YAY Sam because SAM!Also, I loved the boys' voices here, so snarky and loving and Winchester, saying more with what they don't say than what they do (and hugging! Yay!). And the narratorial voice? \o/
...OK, going to duct tape my brain back together now.
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Date: 2007-06-28 11:31 am (UTC)And wheeeeee! I'm glad you liked it! So glad that I'll help you duct tape your brain. And then you can duct tape mine and then we can have CHEESECAKE. Yes.
....
....
Hold still, will you? Dammit, woman.
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Date: 2007-06-28 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 02:39 pm (UTC)Holy crap.
Seasons don’t fear the Reaper, sure, but the Reaper doesn’t give a shit about seasons either.
Oh, this made me laugh like a drain.
You just have to look in his eyes to get cut, that’s how sharp he is.
YES.
And they’re Winchesters and they’re next to each other and they could probably spend another ten twenty thousand fancy millennia sitting just like that and talking. Except, you know. They’re Winchesters.
YES YES OMG YES.
And it can continue anyway you want to. There’s no happily ever after, or unhappily ever after. There is ever after. That’s the whole point. They get to live. If Sam meets Jess and if Dean works in the garage with his father and if John grows old with Mary… If the events that shape them are different and change them, and if they become totally different characters or if they keep the essential kernel of who we know… That’s up to you.
FLAIL FTW!!! \o/ x 1 billion
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Date: 2007-06-28 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 02:57 pm (UTC)I've only started reading Pratchett's books very recently, but I really love it; (I'm reading my ninth now :P) and I can see how you've been influenced by him, but I think you really did you're whole own thing with it and it turned out really cool (this sentence is like.. yeknow, incoherency and all :s)
I'm sure I can quote the whole thing here, but well, since you wrote it, I can just say I love the whole story :)
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Date: 2007-06-28 02:58 pm (UTC)I'm an idiot.
(no subject)
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Date: 2007-06-28 03:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 05:31 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading.
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Date: 2007-06-28 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 05:32 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading.
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Date: 2007-06-28 04:58 pm (UTC)And you are awesome x eleventybillion for writing it.
It's lovely. I love the narrative style, I love that you got their voices, I love that Tessa's pissed enough to stretch her own rules, I love that Dean is the one to pull the trigger, again, or first, or whenever. I love that nobody dies, that Sam goes in to retrieve Dean, because what else could he do? I love that Mary lives, that the YED's shadow never more than edges over the Winchesters, and that Dean's the one who ends it before it begins.
There's nothing about this story that I don't love. Thank you.
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Date: 2007-06-28 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 06:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 10:01 pm (UTC)Some things don’t even change by reincarnation, see. It’s Dean that pulled the trigger again.
You are a freaking genius. It's all I'm sayin'.
This goes to my mems.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 02:38 pm (UTC)And heh! Thank you! I'm glad this fic hit your liking on so many levels. Yeeeei!
and *this* is why I luvs you so *G*
Date: 2007-06-28 10:08 pm (UTC)Re: and *this* is why I luvs you so *G*
Date: 2007-06-29 02:39 pm (UTC)I'm so happy it made you grin! and yes, the side narratives were a joy to write. Just a little bit of self indulgence and self insertion I reckon.