SPN FIC: That Thing Dean Does
Sep. 9th, 2012 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarotgalI'm not really happy with this one, and normally that means I wouldn't post it... but I'd kind of like some feedback in case people have suggestions.I think I went wrong with Sam's reactions (I think he turned out a wee bit more Autistic than OCD? Or maybe a combination of the two). But, yeah, feedback?
Title: That Thing Dean Does
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G is for Gen
Disclaimer: I make no money because these are not my characters.
Summary: You know. That thing.
Notes: Sort of a weechester prequel to R is for Reassurance with OCD!Sam. I’m not sure it does what I’d intended for it to do, but the more I play with it, the worse I make it. So I’m just going to walk away from it right now.
From the time they threw their bags in the car to the time they hit the highway going 70, Sam Winchester didn’t stop crying. And whether it was the constant tears or the panic he felt over something he couldn’t explain, the kid was starting to hyperventilate.
And Dean was starting to worry. “Calm down, Sam,” he begged. But telling Sam to calm down when he was worked up never worked.
Sam was curled up against the door, hand poised over the handle. He knew better than to open the door when they were driving at this speed—or driving at all, for that matter. But Sam wasn’t exactly in his right mind. Tears streamed down his face and his crying was almost keening now. “Gotta go back,” he said over and over like a mantra between sobs.
Dean sighed. “We can’t go back.”
Sam howled. His face grew red. Usually he could control himself better than this when little things went wrong or when they suddenly had to pick up and leave some place they’d settled into. It made him uneasy and sometimes he was a little distant. But he’d never cried like this before. “We’ve gotta go back!” He slammed his hand against the car door to punctuate his statement.
John Winchester glanced into his rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Dean shook his head. “It’s Sam. He’s upset about leaving. I think he’s… I think he’s going to have one of those panic attacks.”
John to himself swore, though not softly enough. His voice was gruff, edged with annoyance. “Can’t you do that thing, Dean? That thing you do to calm him down? I’m trying to drive here.”
Sam’s hand was tight on the doorknob again. His tears soaked the collar of his t-shirt. ‘That thing’ was worth a shot. “Sam… Sam, c’mere.” Dean held his arm out. Sam looked out the window of the Impala, as though the outside were a whole lot more appealing than the inside. “Sammy. C’mere.” Risking Sam flipping out on him, Dean reached over and tugged Sam’s arm.
Sam screeched and pulled away, flailing and hitting Dean to let him go. “No, no, no, no!” He insisted, flattening himself against the side of the car.
Dean tried again, reaching out to grab Sam with a tight grip he usually reserved for the handle of his knife.
Sam howled again, and John winced at the sound as it filled up the car. “Dean!” he said again, sharply, warningly.
Starting to panic himself, Dean managed to pull a struggling Sam to him until Sam’s head was on his lap and Sam was curled against him. His fingertips were light as they passed through Sam’s hair, applying just a bit of pressure to his scalp. He stroked again and again, and finally Sam began to quiet down. “That’s good,” Dean reassured him, his ears ringing as the volume level in the car dropped. “It’s going to be okay now.”
“No.” Sam snuffled, rubbed his face into Dean’s thigh, wiping his face dry. “We’ve gotta go back.”
Resigning himself to damp pants if it meant Sammy not working himself up into a panic, Dean replied, “I know, but we can’t, Sammy. The cops were getting too suspicious. They can’t find out about what Dad does. They don’t believe in ghosts and monsters. They won’t understand.”
Sam’s breath hitched and Dean could feel Sam start to shake again. “That’s… why… we have… to go… back.” He wiped his nose against Dean’s thigh. “Left… left…” He hiccupped, coughed.
Dean felt bad for the kid, he really did. So often, Sam went to pieces over what seemed like nothing at all to them. This time, it seemed there was an actual reason for him to get all worked up. “What’d you leave? One of your books? Your favorite shirt? Whatever it is, I’ll replace it.”
Sam shook his head and hiccupped. “Can’t.”
Dean tried to speak soothingly, tried to reassure him. “Sure I can. I can do anything. It’ll be all right.”
A tear trickled down Sam’s face, tickling his nose, making it wrinkle. “No… it won’t…” And then he spoke the words that turned Dean cold with fear. “Dad… Dad left… his wallet.”
In the front seat, John leaned to the side to slide a hand into his back pocket. Then he swore and swerved into the right lane to catch the next highway exit.
Title: That Thing Dean Does
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G is for Gen
Disclaimer: I make no money because these are not my characters.
Summary: You know. That thing.
Notes: Sort of a weechester prequel to R is for Reassurance with OCD!Sam. I’m not sure it does what I’d intended for it to do, but the more I play with it, the worse I make it. So I’m just going to walk away from it right now.
From the time they threw their bags in the car to the time they hit the highway going 70, Sam Winchester didn’t stop crying. And whether it was the constant tears or the panic he felt over something he couldn’t explain, the kid was starting to hyperventilate.
And Dean was starting to worry. “Calm down, Sam,” he begged. But telling Sam to calm down when he was worked up never worked.
Sam was curled up against the door, hand poised over the handle. He knew better than to open the door when they were driving at this speed—or driving at all, for that matter. But Sam wasn’t exactly in his right mind. Tears streamed down his face and his crying was almost keening now. “Gotta go back,” he said over and over like a mantra between sobs.
Dean sighed. “We can’t go back.”
Sam howled. His face grew red. Usually he could control himself better than this when little things went wrong or when they suddenly had to pick up and leave some place they’d settled into. It made him uneasy and sometimes he was a little distant. But he’d never cried like this before. “We’ve gotta go back!” He slammed his hand against the car door to punctuate his statement.
John Winchester glanced into his rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Dean shook his head. “It’s Sam. He’s upset about leaving. I think he’s… I think he’s going to have one of those panic attacks.”
John to himself swore, though not softly enough. His voice was gruff, edged with annoyance. “Can’t you do that thing, Dean? That thing you do to calm him down? I’m trying to drive here.”
Sam’s hand was tight on the doorknob again. His tears soaked the collar of his t-shirt. ‘That thing’ was worth a shot. “Sam… Sam, c’mere.” Dean held his arm out. Sam looked out the window of the Impala, as though the outside were a whole lot more appealing than the inside. “Sammy. C’mere.” Risking Sam flipping out on him, Dean reached over and tugged Sam’s arm.
Sam screeched and pulled away, flailing and hitting Dean to let him go. “No, no, no, no!” He insisted, flattening himself against the side of the car.
Dean tried again, reaching out to grab Sam with a tight grip he usually reserved for the handle of his knife.
Sam howled again, and John winced at the sound as it filled up the car. “Dean!” he said again, sharply, warningly.
Starting to panic himself, Dean managed to pull a struggling Sam to him until Sam’s head was on his lap and Sam was curled against him. His fingertips were light as they passed through Sam’s hair, applying just a bit of pressure to his scalp. He stroked again and again, and finally Sam began to quiet down. “That’s good,” Dean reassured him, his ears ringing as the volume level in the car dropped. “It’s going to be okay now.”
“No.” Sam snuffled, rubbed his face into Dean’s thigh, wiping his face dry. “We’ve gotta go back.”
Resigning himself to damp pants if it meant Sammy not working himself up into a panic, Dean replied, “I know, but we can’t, Sammy. The cops were getting too suspicious. They can’t find out about what Dad does. They don’t believe in ghosts and monsters. They won’t understand.”
Sam’s breath hitched and Dean could feel Sam start to shake again. “That’s… why… we have… to go… back.” He wiped his nose against Dean’s thigh. “Left… left…” He hiccupped, coughed.
Dean felt bad for the kid, he really did. So often, Sam went to pieces over what seemed like nothing at all to them. This time, it seemed there was an actual reason for him to get all worked up. “What’d you leave? One of your books? Your favorite shirt? Whatever it is, I’ll replace it.”
Sam shook his head and hiccupped. “Can’t.”
Dean tried to speak soothingly, tried to reassure him. “Sure I can. I can do anything. It’ll be all right.”
A tear trickled down Sam’s face, tickling his nose, making it wrinkle. “No… it won’t…” And then he spoke the words that turned Dean cold with fear. “Dad… Dad left… his wallet.”
In the front seat, John leaned to the side to slide a hand into his back pocket. Then he swore and swerved into the right lane to catch the next highway exit.
