Supernatural Fic: Yesterday, and Days Before

[xaara]

Title: Yesterday, and Days Before
Author: xaara
Rating: G, gen
Timeline: pre-series & pilot
Characters: Dean, Sam
Summary: He’s not going to write a book.
Notes: This was originally written for my little sister’s birthday. When I pulled it out to give to her, it decided it was incomplete and would not be ignored. So here you go, miliani_2000. A few days late, but for you just the same. With love.


Yesterday, and Days Before

The cabin is a squat thing, ethereal smell of dog and mildew in the back rooms. Crane flies stumble gangly-legged against the lights outside. Dean swats at something that buzzes past his ear, shivering at the disturbance of cool air against his neck.

Sam’s swimming in the lake again. His strokes carry him past where Dean can hear the splash. Sometimes, he goes out for hours while Dean watches, eyes for nothing but the bunch and flex of summer-dark skin. When the late afternoon sun stretches his finger-shadows into threads that twine with the woods, Dean calls his brother home, book of Apache mythology open and unread on his lap.

Dad’s gone, out on some errand with Caleb. Told them to stay put until he got back. Dean wants nothing more than to get the fuck out of this state, head east maybe. Back to where he can feel the rumble of the ocean in his chest. Would do him good to drive a few days, coy resistance of the gas pedal underfoot, the road whispering truth in ancient languages Dean has always understood.

He’s not going to write a book. Sam’s told him he should, given him a leather-bound journal that lives carefully tucked in the bottom of Dean’s duffel, blank. Almost blank. Across the first page, scrawled in blue: Dean’s phone number. He’d intended to give it to a friend with good weapons connections, but hesitated, wrote the number on a long-pocketed receipt instead. It felt wrong, somehow, to tear the page out. Like interrupting a story before it began.

Thousands of miles later, the ink on that first page still reads Dean W., still tells a half-story that no one else could decipher. The rest of the page is smooth and just off-white. One corner of the cover has been creased and dogeared. He’s sure Sam has forgotten giving it.

“Hey,” Sam says, climbing the shore, toweling his hair. “Come on, you’ve been reading that thing for days. Not like you’re getting any further along.”

“I’m reading it,” Dean says. He closes the book, marking his page with a hand tucked against the fold of the spine. The ink rises like a fingerprint against the thin skin at his wrist.

Sam shrugs, already past. “Whatever,” he says. “We got anything to eat?”

There’s a moment when Dean wants to tell Sam about the journal. Wants to say, it’s always been you, little brother. If I wrote my story, it would be pages and pages of you.

Sam comes back out of the house, bread and knife in one hand, jar of peanut butter in the other. “You eat all the rest of the apples?” he asks.

“No,” says Dean. “I left you some.”

--

He’s wondered, on occasion, how he would begin.

My name is Dean Winchester, and I hunt things that you’ve never heard of.

Bleeding on the backseat, wound not so deep but ragged and hurts like fuck and Sam’s face over him blinking on and off as they pass streetlamps. Flash. Dean, don’t do this, Dean. Flash. I’m sorry, I didn’t—flash—I didn’t mean, I’m not—flash—no, Dean, stay awake stay awake.

My name is Dean Winchester, and all of my scars have stories that begin and end after midnight.

“Your brother’s gone,” Dad says, and Dean thinks, no.

“I thought that might happen eventually,” he says around the bile at the back of his throat. Each word burns.

Dad looks down at his hands, twists his wedding band from his finger. It’s the first time Dean’s ever seen the ring off. The skin it covers looks strange without the protection of gold. White and sickly. Surrender. “Stanford, huh?”

Dean swallows, forces a, “Yeah.”

“Damn good school.” Quiet. “He’s always been a smart kid.”

“Yeah.”

Silence, for a moment. “There’s something lupine killing people in Nevada,” Dad says finally. “Maybe we. Fuck, I don’t know.” He rubs a thumb over the ring before sliding it back in place.

“Okay,” says Dean. “Okay.”

My name is Dean Winchester, and when I was four years old, I carried my brother from a burning house. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done.

--

Sam won’t talk to him. Won’t talk to anyone, won’t do anything but sit or pace.

“Sammy,” Dean tries again. Receives a glare for his efforts. The muscle between his shoulders aches like it’s been knotted for days. His eyelids still scrape smoke-rough when he blinks.

This is all we have, he wants to say, all we’ve ever had. He flexes his fingers. Clenches them into a fist, watching the play of tendons across the back of his hand. “Come on, man, they’re—”

“There wasn’t enough of her to fill a casket,” Sam says. “She was. And there wasn’t even. In the end.”

Palms open on Sam’s shoulders, now. Shoulders warm and wide as a fresh-turned field. Death in preparation for something new, something uncurling towards the sun.

“She didn’t know,” Sam whispers. “I never told her.”

Dean thinks about a blank journal. Stories he can never tell between the pages. Stories that should be written in blood and sweat, in silver and moonlight. “It’s okay,” he says, murmurs as Sam shatters around him. Into him.

My name is Dean Winchester, he writes later that night, watching Sam sleep for the first time in days.

He sets down the pen and tucks the journal back away. We made it, he thinks. Crosses his arms and slouches in the chair, eyes never leaving his brother. The room is uncomfortable, chilly. Dean pulls himself in more tightly, sucks in a breath and holds it.

Little sounds: ventilation whirring, an insomniac next door, cricket giving it a last go outside the window. The rush of Sam’s breathing, rustle and creak as he shifts. Dean leans forward, listening. Imagines, in the darkness, that he can hear Sam’s heartbeat, the movement of the blood they share. He places a hand in the center of Sam’s chest, feels the steady, living thrum of his brother beneath.

Retreats, pulls his hand back to himself and snugs it against his side. Looks at his bag, at the corner of the journal half-hidden beneath a roll of flannel. Not tonight, he thinks. But maybe. Soon.

Comments

[northface11.livejournal.com]

I'm dashing off to class--late, now--but I wanted to say I liked this a lot. The quiet, contemplative nature of it. And, of course: If I wrote my story, it would be pages and pages of you.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

I hope you made it to class. :)

[bluesbell.livejournal.com]

I was also going to say "quiet and contemplative". Quiet and powerful. I like this very much, all the details and ...the movement of the blood they share.

One of the reasons I like your style is that you show instead of telling. For instance, the simple exchange about apples says so much more than a whole paragraph describing Dean's feelings. And that in a story of this length, the lines have such weight and you handle it well, you make them count.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :)

I'm terrible with Dean. I don't know why. I'm, like, afraid of him, I think largely because he reminds me of someone I could have been, given his circumstances. Sam has a level of self-determination and self-sufficiency that I've definitely never had; he had a direction (Stanford) that I can't imagine forging for myself. Somehow, that makes Sam's POV easier for me to write, less personal. *shrug*

You most likely did not want to know all that. However! It did initially have a point, that point being that I'm glad things like the apple conversation came through and were not lost in my neurosis. :P

[smilla02.livejournal.com]

So stunningly beautiful! The quiet pace and the mood you've set, I like it very much. Your Dean so conscious of himself and who he is. Your words dragged me into your world right from the first line. Such beautiful words, too.
I had copied and pasted many lines, but this one won in the end:

My name is Dean Winchester, and all of my scars have stories that begin and end after midnight.

it hits me so much, I can't even properly say why.

Thank you very much for sharing :)

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading, and that line was a particular favorite of mine.

So glad this worked for you, as I've recently seen your Dean rec'd by quite a few writers I respect highly. And I will be off to read all about him as soon as I get a spare, quiet moment. :)

[smilla02.livejournal.com]

Aw, that's so kind of you, letting me know :) I honestly think flipmontigirl was too generous to me, I'm so new at writing Dean and Sam that I think of these first tries as experiments that came out only half-well.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

My name is Dean Winchester, and all of my scars have stories that begin and end after midnight.

I loved this line. The rest of the fic too, in its silence and pensive mood, and poetic phrases, but that line just got me. Made me sigh and clenched my heart.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

I was initially concerned that that line might be melodramatic, but since I've seen quite a few people pick it out, I'm beginning to relax about it. ;)

Thank you for reading and replying.

[zillah-fic.livejournal.com]

I really like this. I love all his imagined first lines, especially. And like others have said, very quiet. Things like the short passage where he's bleeding in the back seat are really well-served by the quiet in a short piece like this - they pack a lot of punch into a few keenly drawn images. Nicely done.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

In my "real" writing, I'm mostly a poet, and I've been trying to bring more of the poem's ability to manipulate language into the necessarily less flexible arena of prose. It's been fun, even if it sometimes runs away with me. *g*

Thank you very much.

[tabaqui]

Oh, that's just lovely.
My name is Dean Winchester, and when I was four years old, I carried my brother from a burning house. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done.

That hurts my heart, in good and bad ways. Just...he's so much *more* than that. But it's the defining moment of his life...

And the last bits - shared blood, his hand on Sam's chest, and 'soon'...
Lovely, lovely stuff.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

I'm really intrigued by how much Dean defines himself based on the people around him, most importantly his family. I'd like to see him in a long-term romantic relationship (yes, with someone other than Sam ;) ) just to see how that would work. I dunno. Anyway.

Thank you.

[harrigan.livejournal.com]

reading this is like watching someone you cherish sleeping, listening to the soft whispered breaths, feeling your heart tug.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

That is quite possibly the loveliest piece of feedback I have ever received. I. Just. Thank you. :)

[vesuvianite.livejournal.com]

Very nice. And definitely worth a second read, which I am about to do. =)

[vesuvianite.livejournal.com]

And now I'm back. Wanted to mention some favorite phrases:

coy resistance of the gas pedal underfoot

It felt wrong, somehow, to tear the page out. Like interrupting a story before it began.

“Damn good school.” Quiet. “He’s always been a smart kid.”

I like this. That John doesn't rant and rave (at least, not here), but acknowledges his son's choice and capabilities.

And I like the journal starting out with "My name is Dean Winchester."

[xaara.livejournal.com]

I love the fanon that Dean drove Sam to the bus stop and let him go after Sam and John got into the "don't ever come back" fight, but I'm sort of equally in love with the idea that Sam left when Dean was out somewhere, unable to say goodbye. And I also think that much of the conflict between Sam and John arose from John's terror that something might happen to his son.

Thanks. I'm glad it stood up to a second read-through. :)

[light-the-sky76.livejournal.com]

My name is Dean Winchester, and all of my scars have stories that begin and end after midnight.

Pretty.

Very nice, thank you.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :)

[iamstealthyone.livejournal.com]

Really, really well written. There’s lovely rhythm to this piece, and I really like how you tie together Dean’s inability to tell his story with Sam never telling Jess his own story. And Dean supporting Sam as Sam grieves is so, so nicely done.

Favorite lines:

When the late afternoon sun stretches his finger-shadows into threads that twine with the woods

Lovely description.

It felt wrong, somehow, to tear the page out. Like interrupting a story before it began.

Ooh, I like that analogy.

There’s a moment when Dean wants to tell Sam about the journal. Wants to say, it’s always been you, little brother. If I wrote my story, it would be pages and pages of you.

Oh, Dean. So, so, so true.

My name is Dean Winchester, and all of my scars have stories that begin and end after midnight.

Such a lovely turn of phrase, and it really captures a lot about his life in just a few words.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

As always, your feedback makes me smile and bounce a little on my seat. They're never really going to be able to tell their stories, these boys, never really going to fit in anywhere, no matter what sorts of relationships they form.

Thank you.

[iamzulma.livejournal.com]

Gawd, I LOVE this. Dean's quiet aching, and how he always knew Sam would leave.

This line?
There's a moment when Dean wants to tell Sam about the journal. Wants to say, it's always been you, little brother. If I wrote my story, it would be pages and pages of you.
I think I stopped breathing because this REALLY hurt. *sigh*

As always, so lovely, Carmen. ;)

[xaara.livejournal.com]

He almost always knows Sam better than Sam knows himself, loves Sam better than Sam loves himself, and will always, always see Sam as the most important person in the world.

Thank you. *g*

[quellefromage.livejournal.com]

Oh, that was beautiful. The scars line was one of the best descriptions of Dean I've ever read. Perfect.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thanks--I'm glad it worked for you.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Oh, I am basically inarticulate in the face of how beautiful this is, and how moving and true.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

While I, in turn, am basically inarticulate in the face of how giddy your simple comment made me. :) Thank you.

[miliani-2000.livejournal.com]

I love you. Seriously. This was amazing. And the fact that it was for me?

I am not worthy.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

You are always worthy. Come on, you're related to me, right? ;)

But seriously, I'm so glad you liked it, even though I panicked when about to give it to you and had to completely rewrite. I suck at deadlines, and also at stories that have an emotional weight to them on top of the inherent angst. Because, you know, you're my little sister: nothing but perfection is ever good enough, and nothing is ever perfect. Conundrum.

*hugs* I will see you in May! Or June! I am one with the planning!

[sori1773.livejournal.com]

WOW. This is gorgeous and painful, and every word is sharp and vivid. I just...Dean believing that it's all about Sam and Sam losing Jess and John talking about hunting b/c he really doesn't know what else to do. Perfect in every way.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :)

One of the things I like most about this show, one of the places where I think it really hits the mark, is in making the actions of its characters not only predictable (sometimes not predictable at all) but inevitable. When you look back, given the circumstance and the time and the situation, they do what they have to do.

[lark_ascends]

Absolutely beautiful.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :)

[ellipsisblack.livejournal.com]

This is just a quick not to say that I really liked this fic, and you've been recced at crack_impala. Hope that's okay!

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Of course it's all right; I'm flattered. Thank you for the note and the rec.

[wishforhome.livejournal.com]

This is lovely. Absolutely lovely.

All the possible beginnings to Dean's story are just... my chest aches a little.

Thank you.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and my roommate recommends a little lemon and ginger tea for the chest-ache. ;)

[impalalove]

Wow. I wonder if he even got it published or fully written. Loved it. ♥

[xaara.livejournal.com]

Wouldn't it be an amazing book? I'd read it.

Thank you.

[lunabee34.livejournal.com]

This is so lovely. I really like the notion of Dean trying to invent the narrative of his life and coming up with only Sam. There's something incredibly powerful about that blank page, just waiting to be filled, just waiting to be written--like a promise, or a threat.

He closes the book, marking his page with a hand tucked against the fold of the spine. The ink rises like a fingerprint against his thin skin at his wrist.

Particularly lovely lines.

[xaara.livejournal.com]

like a promise, or a threat

I'm intrigued that you chose those two possibilities, because we've been talking about promises in literary theory class and I'm interested in the interpretation of them. A threat, really, is only a promise with negative or harmful connotations--you can promise to do someone harm, but cannot threaten to do someone good in a non-ironic sense. So maybe the most fundamental of all human interactions is the promise? And the earth was without form, and void. Nothing exists without promise? I dunno. I'll have to think about it more.

And now that I've rambled and gone all theory-geek and quoted the Bible at you (which is not meant to frighten you off, because I'm not a scary Christian and not even really a Christian at all), I will say:

Thank you. :)

[lunabee34.livejournal.com]

And now that I've rambled and gone all theory-geek and quoted the Bible at you (which is not meant to frighten you off, because I'm not a scary Christian and not even really a Christian at all)

Ahahahhaha. You are cute. I squish you.

A threat, really, is only a promise with negative or harmful connotations--you can promise to do someone harm, but cannot threaten to do someone good in a non-ironic sense. So maybe the most fundamental of all human interactions is the promise? And the earth was without form, and void. Nothing exists without promise? I dunno. I'll have to think about it more.

That's very nicely said. And, of course, underlying all that, the prevailing human emotion would have to be hope.

[besquared.livejournal.com]

This is so beautiful. You hooked me by the scond paragraph and made it hard to breathe.

I've noticed a trend in the SPN fandom--in most fandoms--that genfic usually says more about a relationship than a forty-five chapter wincest epic ever could. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the Wincest. Hell, give me good old fashion amnesia fic with a healthy dose of boarding school au and I'm golden! I just wish that more authors would go back to the source material because it's all in canon, instead relying soley on implausible scenarios for the boys to fuck.

Whoa. I just got meta blather all over you. Sorry about that.

To sum up: Lovely. Your papa win made me want to cry. You give good Dean. The End.

[barkley.livejournal.com]

This was lovely.

[destina.livejournal.com]

I loved this, because every life is measured in those tiny pivotal moments, but Dean's even more so - the tiny moments are epic. I loved the connections this draws between John and Dean, and the fact that Sam gave him the journal. And the first page, with his name. Lovely.