1. I'm not really sure what this is, though I suspect it wasn't anything; just me having the fic equivalent of coffee with Sam, post-10x09.
He wonders how long a time this has been coming.
Sam knows the signs, though it's been some time now and it's difficult to know what they're pointing toward--were they warnings? Transitions? Or merely signs of life. He knows what it is when Dean starts losing tracks of the lies he isn't quite telling, but certainly has done nothing to dispel. He has a handle on the situation that is waiting for him when he finds Dean laughing like an idiot at a clip on YouTube, when he is already inescapably exhausted at 9AM, when the best he can muster when a friend calls is a half-wave and when he seems to have forgotten that Castiel is their friend; they want to see Cas and they miss Cas and they will always do for him what he has done for them, because they are in love with Cas. They've tortured for Cas. They were asked to torture an angel. Why wouldn't they help Cas track down his scared, lost girl?
Mind your pronouns, Sam, says his mind, the way it would sometimes when he was young, when to the world they were a pair and nothing else and Sam had been old enough to fear that.
Sam is older now, almost ten years older than perhaps he should have ever been, and mostly he is afraid of losing his brother. In the past, he's been afraid of being swallowed, or of being damned. Of not living up to his potential, of wasting his life, or of losing it. He's been afraid of living up to his potential. And he's been afraid of floating, like a husk, down a current that cannot be stopped.
Sometimes when he wakes up he wonders if there are enough pieces of him to make it through the day--if there is enough to satisfy the reality of him. Has he done enough, or said enough, or thought enough, or been enough of himself that he'd recognize the script on playback? Maybe when you're a wanted criminal that's not who you want to be. But for a federal case, he and Dean seem to slip too easily from notice; they are the center of a universe that's already blown its eye for centers. And deep cover or not, Sam wants to be Sam. He doesn't want to be king, or God, or even egregia cum laude. He wants to be Sam.
He is afraid of losing his brother.
[Dean shedding sense. forgetting what he'd told sam, or being unable to think silently. disappearing slowly. heightened urgency when sam asks if he wants alone time with his grilled cheese and dean answers, too quickly and too blandly, here, watch this. (sam watches dean.)] <--- no, I have no idea what this note is supposed to mean, either.
2. In this one, Castiel is explaining why it's inadvisable for a human to be brought back to life too many times (because it fucks with your human fabric and things get weird really fast after a certain point). I can't remember why he was explaining this, but it probably wasn't for body horror fic purposes. Looking at it now, I'd totally use it for body horror fic purposes.
"The--" Castiel pauses, and thinks about it. He finds a plain but serviceable metaphor. "The threads of you--the human threads. They tear and fray."
"Explains a lot," says Dean.
"How so?" asks Castiel. Sam looks like he'd like to know, too; but it's less an expression of intrigue than one of studied corroboration. Fact checking.
Dean jerks his head in Sam's direction. "Me and him've been through the wash a few times now. Hell, you said it yourself--it just gets worse. What are you even saving, you know?"
Then, like a comedian who sees he's unnerved his audience, he adds, "But hey. Here we are."
3. No idea where this was going either: In the year after the Fall, Dean perfects an emotional autopilot that puts even Ezekiel to shame.
4. On second thought, these might just be general character statements: Dean has fewer reasons than usual to believe he's gonna die today, but it's not encouraging.
5. And the fic equivalent of taking post-Purgatory Dean out for coffee...
He'd forgotten what it was like to be moved by hunger. Not starvation, or craving, but just-woke-up-kinda-hungry hunger. He's lying slack and he has to take stock of all his muscles before he can educate them into movement. Like a slack puppet. He feels almost as though he needs to pull his eyelids up with his fingers. He doesn't remember where the bathroom is, never mind that it's a motel room and there's only so many places it could be. He turns around. Walks. He tweaks the faucet. Then again, and again. Incrementally until water flows out. Right, that's it. It takes him so long to shave that Sam actually takes his razor away from him, because he can't figure out what's wrong and he doesn't like it. God knows why Sam handed him a gun right after.
The thing they're hunting, whatever it is, is dead inside seven minutes. Dean couldn't tell you what he did; it was thoughtless. Pure reflex.
6. Again, absolutely no idea what this is, but I guess it was some kind of Sam-centric horror fic.
Flash of Meg's teeth. She's rising from the water like a leviathan, but not the kind they know already; she is something new, foreign, liquid. He can't see her eyes, obscured as they are by shadow, or hair, or artistic license. Sharp cutaway. A field of grass. Small white flowers that run into white fabric, become the hem of Mary's (mommy's) favorite dress. Then the hallway from The Shining. Sam always thought Kubrick had gone a little tacky with that, but he shields his eyes and flinches away from the surge nonetheless. Then silence. A scream of silence.
7. This one is the most perplexing, though. Like, what the actual fuck? XP Is Dean seriously comparing Hell flashbacks to finding a lost sock?
how it feels to have hell returned to him, like a sock in the dryer
...LIKE A SOCK IN THE DRYER.
A SOCK IN THE DRYER----!
Do you have any trash day text you'd like to share/purge?? IT'S A FIRE SALE, EVERYTHING MUST GO.