SPN: To Forgive and Forget
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storiesimakeupTitle: To Forgive and Forget
Post Date: November 25, 2005
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Asylum. Dean has issues.
Notes: Thanks as always toandrodaixa for the beta, the title help, and for being super-fabulous and awesome, because she totally is.
To Forgive and Forget
The drive from Rockford was completely silent, which was perfectly fine with Dean. He wasn't quite ready to forgive Sam for trying to kill him.
"I think we need to talk about this," Sam said when they finally stopped for the night.
"Not now," Dean said shortly. He threw his bag on the floor and toed off his shoes, ready to go to bed.
Sam sighed. "I wasn't in my right mind, Dean."
"I said not now, Sam!" Dean snapped. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Just try and get some sleep." He stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed, turning his back to Sam. He fell asleep almost immediately.
"Dean!"
The room was bright as Dean opened his eyes, and Sam was standing over him, shaking his shoulder and shoving the phone in his face. Dean took the phone groggily and put it to his ear.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause, and then, "Dean."
"Dad?" Dean sat up, instantly awake, then, his heart pounding. "Dad? Is that really you?"
"Yeah. I—I'm coming to see you, son. I'll be there in a little while." And then the line went dead.
"Dad? Dad!" Dean looked at the phone, his vision blurring, until Sam gently took it out of his hand.
"Can we talk now?"
"He's—" Dean laughed and shook his head. "He said he's coming to see us."
"Dean." Sam kneeled down in front of him. "I need you to forgive me. I would never hurt you."
"Dad is coming, Sam." Dean stood up and looked around the room, unable to wrap his mind around everything. A series of emotional sucker punches. "I can't talk about this now. I have to take a shower."
"Okay," Sam said quietly. "I'll go get coffee."
Dean nodded without turning around and headed to the bathroom.
Sam wasn't back by the time Dean was done with his shower, which left Dean with nothing to do but pace around the room, his mind blank because he didn't want to think. Not about Dad, or Sam, not about being alone.
It had just occurred to him to wonder how Dad was going to find them when the door opened, and there he was.
John Winchester looked haggard, like he had been through hell, his eyes bloodshot, his expression pained.
There were so many things warring in Dean's mind for his attention, so much noise that he couldn't think. "Sam's not here," he finally said.
If anything, that just made his dad look sadder. "I know, Dean."
"I mean, he's here, he's with me. Just not at the moment."
"Dean—" Dad shook his head a little and walked further into the room. "How have you been, son?"
"Oh, gee, Dad. Life's just been swell." Dean didn't even try to hide his bitterness. "You disappeared, Sam's girlfriend got killed, which, by the way, he blames me for. Went back home for some fun poltergeist action, saw Mom. I assume you didn't get my messages? Then there was the super fun haunted Asylum you sent us to, where Sam tried to shoot me."
Dad winced at the last bit, and it seemed to Dean that there were tears in his eyes. "Dean, you've got to stop this. Please."
"Stop what? Hunting?" Dean was confused.
"Stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault." Dad walked closer, reached out, but didn't actually touch Dean. "They were furies, you were possessed."
Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"Sam."
"Sam will be back soon."
Dad did reach out then, placing his hand on the back of Dean's neck. "Sam is dead, Dean."
Dean jerked away from Dad's touch, the noise in his head getting louder. "What are you talking about? Are you insane?"
Images flashed unbidden through Dean's head.
"Let Sam and me take this one, Dad."
"He's been dead for years."
Eighteen-year-old Sammy, his face just starting to lose its babyish roundness.
"I should never have sent you two to that Asylum alone. Not after what happened in Kansas."
Voices whispering in his mind. The real reason Mom died. It was Sam, it was all connected to him. His mother's death had to be avenged.
"I knew there was something wrong with you. I just didn't know what."
Standing over Sam, the gun he had trained on his baby brother shaking in his hands.
"There's no way you could have fought it. Not on your own."
Sam begging for his life. The gun jerking in Dean's hand, and so much blood.
"I'm sorry, Dean."
"I'm sorry, Sam."
"NO!" Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the horrifying images. It wasn't true. His purpose in life was to protect Sam. "Who are you?"
He opened his eyes, and tried to reach for his gun, to get rid of this thing that was claiming to be his father, but the motel room was gone, replaced by bare, white walls, and Dean couldn't move his arms. "Who are you?!?" he shouted, struggling against whatever was holding him.
"Dean." Dad was crying now. "You've got to forgive yourself, son. Please! So I can take you out of this place. You don't belong here."
"No!" Dean shook his head. "No no no no! Where is Sam?" He looked around. Where were they? Sam wouldn't be able to find him. "Sam! Sammy!"
"Nurse!" Someone called. Then, "I'm sorry, John. We're going to have to sedate him."
"Sam!" Dean shouted again. There was a sharp pain in his neck, and things began to blur. His dad was still there, trying to say something, but his voice was far away, and Dean couldn't understand him.
"Dean."
Dean opened his eyes to see Sam crouched over him. "What time is it?" He sat up and looked over at the clock radio, which read ten-thirty. "Man."
"You were dreaming," Sam said.
"Was I?" Dean shook his head, echoes of something in his mind, but there was too much darkness there that he didn't want to examine.
Sam studied him for a moment, then sighed. "About what happened back there..."
"Sam." Dean reached out, placing his hand on the back of Sam's neck. "You weren't in your right mind back there. You may have meant some of the stuff you said, but I know you would never hurt me."
"You do?" Sam smiled then, a smile like some sort of blessing. "So you forgive me?"
Dean nodded. "Of course I forgive you."
Post Date: November 25, 2005
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Asylum. Dean has issues.
Notes: Thanks as always to
androdaixa for the beta, the title help, and for being super-fabulous and awesome, because she totally is.The drive from Rockford was completely silent, which was perfectly fine with Dean. He wasn't quite ready to forgive Sam for trying to kill him.
"I think we need to talk about this," Sam said when they finally stopped for the night.
"Not now," Dean said shortly. He threw his bag on the floor and toed off his shoes, ready to go to bed.
Sam sighed. "I wasn't in my right mind, Dean."
"I said not now, Sam!" Dean snapped. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Just try and get some sleep." He stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed, turning his back to Sam. He fell asleep almost immediately.
"Dean!"
The room was bright as Dean opened his eyes, and Sam was standing over him, shaking his shoulder and shoving the phone in his face. Dean took the phone groggily and put it to his ear.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause, and then, "Dean."
"Dad?" Dean sat up, instantly awake, then, his heart pounding. "Dad? Is that really you?"
"Yeah. I—I'm coming to see you, son. I'll be there in a little while." And then the line went dead.
"Dad? Dad!" Dean looked at the phone, his vision blurring, until Sam gently took it out of his hand.
"Can we talk now?"
"He's—" Dean laughed and shook his head. "He said he's coming to see us."
"Dean." Sam kneeled down in front of him. "I need you to forgive me. I would never hurt you."
"Dad is coming, Sam." Dean stood up and looked around the room, unable to wrap his mind around everything. A series of emotional sucker punches. "I can't talk about this now. I have to take a shower."
"Okay," Sam said quietly. "I'll go get coffee."
Dean nodded without turning around and headed to the bathroom.
Sam wasn't back by the time Dean was done with his shower, which left Dean with nothing to do but pace around the room, his mind blank because he didn't want to think. Not about Dad, or Sam, not about being alone.
It had just occurred to him to wonder how Dad was going to find them when the door opened, and there he was.
John Winchester looked haggard, like he had been through hell, his eyes bloodshot, his expression pained.
There were so many things warring in Dean's mind for his attention, so much noise that he couldn't think. "Sam's not here," he finally said.
If anything, that just made his dad look sadder. "I know, Dean."
"I mean, he's here, he's with me. Just not at the moment."
"Dean—" Dad shook his head a little and walked further into the room. "How have you been, son?"
"Oh, gee, Dad. Life's just been swell." Dean didn't even try to hide his bitterness. "You disappeared, Sam's girlfriend got killed, which, by the way, he blames me for. Went back home for some fun poltergeist action, saw Mom. I assume you didn't get my messages? Then there was the super fun haunted Asylum you sent us to, where Sam tried to shoot me."
Dad winced at the last bit, and it seemed to Dean that there were tears in his eyes. "Dean, you've got to stop this. Please."
"Stop what? Hunting?" Dean was confused.
"Stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault." Dad walked closer, reached out, but didn't actually touch Dean. "They were furies, you were possessed."
Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"Sam."
"Sam will be back soon."
Dad did reach out then, placing his hand on the back of Dean's neck. "Sam is dead, Dean."
Dean jerked away from Dad's touch, the noise in his head getting louder. "What are you talking about? Are you insane?"
Images flashed unbidden through Dean's head.
"Let Sam and me take this one, Dad."
"He's been dead for years."
Eighteen-year-old Sammy, his face just starting to lose its babyish roundness.
"I should never have sent you two to that Asylum alone. Not after what happened in Kansas."
Voices whispering in his mind. The real reason Mom died. It was Sam, it was all connected to him. His mother's death had to be avenged.
"I knew there was something wrong with you. I just didn't know what."
Standing over Sam, the gun he had trained on his baby brother shaking in his hands.
"There's no way you could have fought it. Not on your own."
Sam begging for his life. The gun jerking in Dean's hand, and so much blood.
"I'm sorry, Dean."
"I'm sorry, Sam."
"NO!" Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the horrifying images. It wasn't true. His purpose in life was to protect Sam. "Who are you?"
He opened his eyes, and tried to reach for his gun, to get rid of this thing that was claiming to be his father, but the motel room was gone, replaced by bare, white walls, and Dean couldn't move his arms. "Who are you?!?" he shouted, struggling against whatever was holding him.
"Dean." Dad was crying now. "You've got to forgive yourself, son. Please! So I can take you out of this place. You don't belong here."
"No!" Dean shook his head. "No no no no! Where is Sam?" He looked around. Where were they? Sam wouldn't be able to find him. "Sam! Sammy!"
"Nurse!" Someone called. Then, "I'm sorry, John. We're going to have to sedate him."
"Sam!" Dean shouted again. There was a sharp pain in his neck, and things began to blur. His dad was still there, trying to say something, but his voice was far away, and Dean couldn't understand him.
"Dean."
Dean opened his eyes to see Sam crouched over him. "What time is it?" He sat up and looked over at the clock radio, which read ten-thirty. "Man."
"You were dreaming," Sam said.
"Was I?" Dean shook his head, echoes of something in his mind, but there was too much darkness there that he didn't want to examine.
Sam studied him for a moment, then sighed. "About what happened back there..."
"Sam." Dean reached out, placing his hand on the back of Sam's neck. "You weren't in your right mind back there. You may have meant some of the stuff you said, but I know you would never hurt me."
"You do?" Sam smiled then, a smile like some sort of blessing. "So you forgive me?"
Dean nodded. "Of course I forgive you."
