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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Salt and Burn
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R (for character death)
Word Count: 1494
Summary: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marishna’s Death ficathon. Prompt: Hanging. Sam and Dean investigate a strange town, with dire consequences.
A/Ns & Warnings: So, there is character death here, though that should be no surprise, considering the reasons for telling the story. Fairly heavy on the angst. Spoilers through Houses of the Holy, though mostly subtle.
The town itself should have been a warning. It was two paved streets and miles of dirt road with little houses that looked like something out of history books. If that wasn’t enough, there was the history of the place, the way so little was known about it outside the immediate area, except for the random tales of supernatural happenings…happenings that randomly just stopped.
Dean had a bad feeling right from the start. But, Sam was sure there was something going on there. And Dean was tired of the arguing, so he went along. The main highway leading out there wandered through hilly terrain, skirting the edges of cliffs and canyons, sheer drop offs that made Dean nervous.
The people were nice enough, friendly but not forward. It was clear they did not want the Winchester boys hanging around. And that was before they found them in the woods with candles and sigils, in the middle of a séance.
They ran, split up, back to the car.
Only when Dean got there, Sam wasn’t there.
Damn.
He hadn’t taken three steps when the blow to his head knocked him to his knees.
Damn.
He’d come to in a little cell; stone walls, dirt floors, iron bars…that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1700s. He was still groaning when they shoved Sam into the cell beside his.
“You look like shit.”
Sam managed a weak smile before sliding down the bars and cradling his head in his hands. “Yeah, you too.”
“What’s going on?”
Sam couldn’t even muster a smile. “I’m on trial. For witchcraft.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was. It isn’t going so well.”
“What do you mean?” Dean took the two steps to cross the cell to the bars that separated him from his brother. “Not well?”
Sam shook his head. “It’s…they did something to me…I can’t answer them right…I…can’t lie.”
“What do you mean you can’t lie?”
“He is under the compulsion of the truth, as you shall also be when it is your turn.” A voice came out of the shadows, followed by the appearance of a short, stout man. “It is our way of ensuring a just outcome.”
“And who are you?” Dean asked.
“Your brother’s counsel. Your’s as well. But you are not the issue. Your brother indicates he is the one with all the power, that you merely protect him. The court will not hold you accountable for your brother’s crimes.”
“What crimes? For Christ’s sake, we came here to help you people.”
“Dean…don’t…it isn’t worth it.” Sam said, sounding defeated. “They’ve already made up their minds.”
“Obviously, the primary charge is of witchcraft. We’ve dealt with witches before, of course. We are not unfamiliar with supernatural goings on. We don’t suffer outsiders who meddle with out affairs either.”
The man moved slightly closer to Sam’s cell. “May I offer you something for the pain? Perhaps something to help you sleep? Tomorrow the court will return it’s verdict and we must be well rested, whatever the outcome.”
Sam muttered a rejection, his head pressed forward into his knees. The little man nodded. “Rest well then, Mister Winchester. I’ll be by for you in the morning.”
Dean waited until he heard a door close, then squatted, putting his hands through the bars to touch Sam. “Come on. Let’s figure a way out of here.”
“There is no way out, Dean. I already tried.”
He didn’t like the tone in Sam’s voice, like he’d given up. “Sam?”
Sam’s head came up and he turned. “Dean…just…” He sighed. “I think they’re going to hang me.”
It was so matter of fact, so calm. “No. Sam. We just have to talk our way through this. We’ve been in worse places.”
“Maybe they’re right…we have used black magic Dean…made deals with demons…those aren’t exactly marks of good people.”
“They’re using magic too Sam. You heard him.” Dean was angry now. Sam could pull this emo shit when they were gone from here, but right now it was just getting in the way. “Snap out of it, whatever the hell it is, and help me.”
Sam stood slowly. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. I promise.” There was blood dripping from Sam’s nose. He wiped at it and smiled faintly. “Damn. I can’t even lie to you.”
He grimaced and grabbed at the bars. “Shit. Dean.” He grabbed Sam through the bars and held on to him.
“Come on Sam. Don’t give up on me.”
“Not…just don’t know how else to fight it.” Sam got his feet under him again and Dean loosened his hold a little. “They made a joke about having to raise the gallows.” Sam leaned his head against the bars.
“Don’t.” Dean’s voice was dark, warning. He let go of Sam and started testing the bars.
“Dean…they’re solid. You won’t get out.”
“We have to try.”
Sam watched him try for hours, until Dean had exhausted himself and slumped down to the floor, his back against the bars and Sam. “At least you won’t have to do it.” Sam said quietly.
“Do what?” Dean asked.
“Kill me.” Sam whispered.
Time crawled past them. “Dean, promise me something?”
“No.”
Sam chuckled. “Just don’t blame yourself, okay.”
“Who the fuck else should I blame, Sam?”
“I’m the one who wanted to come here. Just…go on…live your life.”
“What life, Sam? I’m wanted by the FBI, I’ve lost Dad…if I lose you too…what would be the point?”
They were quiet for a long time. “Remember that cabin near Reno?” Sam asked. The sun was coming up outside. “Where I tried to learn to ski? You carried me all the way back up the hill after I hurt myself.”
Dean chuckled. “I remember it was only a sprain, but you kept insisting it was broken.”
“You never did stop carrying me.” Dean felt Sam shifting around, standing. He slowly did the same. “Thank you, Dean. You’ve been the best big brother I could ever have.”
“No.” Dean said, stepping back from the bars. “No. This is not goodbye. I won’t let you.”
There were tears in Sam’s eyes. “I don’t think you have a choice. I love you Dean. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at being a good brother.”
“No. Sam.” The outer door was opening again and Dean could feel the panic swelling. The little man was back, a hat in his hands.
“The court has returned its verdict.”
“Sam.” Dean was reaching for him, even as Sam’s cell door was opened. “Fight, Sam…come on.”
“Your brother has been convicted of witchcraft, and will be hanged. His conviction frees you, Mr. Winchester. So, unless you care to join him…”
“Dean.” Sam ducked his head and stepped out of the cell. “Let me go. It’s the only way. They’ll let you free…you can go…you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” There were other men there now, securing Sam’s hands behind him.
Dean shook his head. This couldn’t be real. Any minute now he was going to wake up. “Sam! Sam!” Dean prowled the tiny cell. Impotent rage filled him until he heard the sound of a strong voice drifting in on the spring breeze.
“Samuel Winchester, you have confessed to and have been convicted of the crime of witchcraft and sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”
There was a dull sound, like wood on wood. And silence. Dean waited, listening…but there was nothing. He turned toward the door. “Sam?” But he knew. In the stillness, he knew. And he waited.
When they finally came, they didn’t speak, only opened the door to his cell and let him out. Dean stuttered to a stop at the sight, tears burning down his face. “Sam.” He took a few steps toward him, but they held him back. “He’s my brother. Please, let me…take his body. I need…to…”
It hit him then and he fell to his knees, vomiting into the grass. Sam was dead. Dean was alone. “Have to burn…Please.” He could hear himself talking, watching dully as they cut Sam down from the gallows…following them to where the Impala waited.
Sam was dead. Dean was alone. He didn’t know how to be alone. Never could stand the quiet. With Sam’s body in the back seat, Dean dug around in the trunk, climbing into the Impala with a canister of salt. Only one way for this to end. Salt and burn.
Dean opened the canister and tossed a fair amount into the back seat, over his brother, then sprinkled it over his lap, onto his clothes. The Impala roared to life, and he slammed the radio on as loud as it would go, pulling out of that little town
He took the first curve on two wheels, building up speed. At the second, he closed his eyes and took his hands off the wheel. “Never letting you go, little brother.”
Title: Salt and Burn
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: R (for character death)
Word Count: 1494
Summary: For
marishna’s Death ficathon. Prompt: Hanging. Sam and Dean investigate a strange town, with dire consequences.A/Ns & Warnings: So, there is character death here, though that should be no surprise, considering the reasons for telling the story. Fairly heavy on the angst. Spoilers through Houses of the Holy, though mostly subtle.
The town itself should have been a warning. It was two paved streets and miles of dirt road with little houses that looked like something out of history books. If that wasn’t enough, there was the history of the place, the way so little was known about it outside the immediate area, except for the random tales of supernatural happenings…happenings that randomly just stopped.
Dean had a bad feeling right from the start. But, Sam was sure there was something going on there. And Dean was tired of the arguing, so he went along. The main highway leading out there wandered through hilly terrain, skirting the edges of cliffs and canyons, sheer drop offs that made Dean nervous.
The people were nice enough, friendly but not forward. It was clear they did not want the Winchester boys hanging around. And that was before they found them in the woods with candles and sigils, in the middle of a séance.
They ran, split up, back to the car.
Only when Dean got there, Sam wasn’t there.
Damn.
He hadn’t taken three steps when the blow to his head knocked him to his knees.
Damn.
He’d come to in a little cell; stone walls, dirt floors, iron bars…that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1700s. He was still groaning when they shoved Sam into the cell beside his.
“You look like shit.”
Sam managed a weak smile before sliding down the bars and cradling his head in his hands. “Yeah, you too.”
“What’s going on?”
Sam couldn’t even muster a smile. “I’m on trial. For witchcraft.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was. It isn’t going so well.”
“What do you mean?” Dean took the two steps to cross the cell to the bars that separated him from his brother. “Not well?”
Sam shook his head. “It’s…they did something to me…I can’t answer them right…I…can’t lie.”
“What do you mean you can’t lie?”
“He is under the compulsion of the truth, as you shall also be when it is your turn.” A voice came out of the shadows, followed by the appearance of a short, stout man. “It is our way of ensuring a just outcome.”
“And who are you?” Dean asked.
“Your brother’s counsel. Your’s as well. But you are not the issue. Your brother indicates he is the one with all the power, that you merely protect him. The court will not hold you accountable for your brother’s crimes.”
“What crimes? For Christ’s sake, we came here to help you people.”
“Dean…don’t…it isn’t worth it.” Sam said, sounding defeated. “They’ve already made up their minds.”
“Obviously, the primary charge is of witchcraft. We’ve dealt with witches before, of course. We are not unfamiliar with supernatural goings on. We don’t suffer outsiders who meddle with out affairs either.”
The man moved slightly closer to Sam’s cell. “May I offer you something for the pain? Perhaps something to help you sleep? Tomorrow the court will return it’s verdict and we must be well rested, whatever the outcome.”
Sam muttered a rejection, his head pressed forward into his knees. The little man nodded. “Rest well then, Mister Winchester. I’ll be by for you in the morning.”
Dean waited until he heard a door close, then squatted, putting his hands through the bars to touch Sam. “Come on. Let’s figure a way out of here.”
“There is no way out, Dean. I already tried.”
He didn’t like the tone in Sam’s voice, like he’d given up. “Sam?”
Sam’s head came up and he turned. “Dean…just…” He sighed. “I think they’re going to hang me.”
It was so matter of fact, so calm. “No. Sam. We just have to talk our way through this. We’ve been in worse places.”
“Maybe they’re right…we have used black magic Dean…made deals with demons…those aren’t exactly marks of good people.”
“They’re using magic too Sam. You heard him.” Dean was angry now. Sam could pull this emo shit when they were gone from here, but right now it was just getting in the way. “Snap out of it, whatever the hell it is, and help me.”
Sam stood slowly. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. I promise.” There was blood dripping from Sam’s nose. He wiped at it and smiled faintly. “Damn. I can’t even lie to you.”
He grimaced and grabbed at the bars. “Shit. Dean.” He grabbed Sam through the bars and held on to him.
“Come on Sam. Don’t give up on me.”
“Not…just don’t know how else to fight it.” Sam got his feet under him again and Dean loosened his hold a little. “They made a joke about having to raise the gallows.” Sam leaned his head against the bars.
“Don’t.” Dean’s voice was dark, warning. He let go of Sam and started testing the bars.
“Dean…they’re solid. You won’t get out.”
“We have to try.”
Sam watched him try for hours, until Dean had exhausted himself and slumped down to the floor, his back against the bars and Sam. “At least you won’t have to do it.” Sam said quietly.
“Do what?” Dean asked.
“Kill me.” Sam whispered.
Time crawled past them. “Dean, promise me something?”
“No.”
Sam chuckled. “Just don’t blame yourself, okay.”
“Who the fuck else should I blame, Sam?”
“I’m the one who wanted to come here. Just…go on…live your life.”
“What life, Sam? I’m wanted by the FBI, I’ve lost Dad…if I lose you too…what would be the point?”
They were quiet for a long time. “Remember that cabin near Reno?” Sam asked. The sun was coming up outside. “Where I tried to learn to ski? You carried me all the way back up the hill after I hurt myself.”
Dean chuckled. “I remember it was only a sprain, but you kept insisting it was broken.”
“You never did stop carrying me.” Dean felt Sam shifting around, standing. He slowly did the same. “Thank you, Dean. You’ve been the best big brother I could ever have.”
“No.” Dean said, stepping back from the bars. “No. This is not goodbye. I won’t let you.”
There were tears in Sam’s eyes. “I don’t think you have a choice. I love you Dean. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at being a good brother.”
“No. Sam.” The outer door was opening again and Dean could feel the panic swelling. The little man was back, a hat in his hands.
“The court has returned its verdict.”
“Sam.” Dean was reaching for him, even as Sam’s cell door was opened. “Fight, Sam…come on.”
“Your brother has been convicted of witchcraft, and will be hanged. His conviction frees you, Mr. Winchester. So, unless you care to join him…”
“Dean.” Sam ducked his head and stepped out of the cell. “Let me go. It’s the only way. They’ll let you free…you can go…you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” There were other men there now, securing Sam’s hands behind him.
Dean shook his head. This couldn’t be real. Any minute now he was going to wake up. “Sam! Sam!” Dean prowled the tiny cell. Impotent rage filled him until he heard the sound of a strong voice drifting in on the spring breeze.
“Samuel Winchester, you have confessed to and have been convicted of the crime of witchcraft and sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”
There was a dull sound, like wood on wood. And silence. Dean waited, listening…but there was nothing. He turned toward the door. “Sam?” But he knew. In the stillness, he knew. And he waited.
When they finally came, they didn’t speak, only opened the door to his cell and let him out. Dean stuttered to a stop at the sight, tears burning down his face. “Sam.” He took a few steps toward him, but they held him back. “He’s my brother. Please, let me…take his body. I need…to…”
It hit him then and he fell to his knees, vomiting into the grass. Sam was dead. Dean was alone. “Have to burn…Please.” He could hear himself talking, watching dully as they cut Sam down from the gallows…following them to where the Impala waited.
Sam was dead. Dean was alone. He didn’t know how to be alone. Never could stand the quiet. With Sam’s body in the back seat, Dean dug around in the trunk, climbing into the Impala with a canister of salt. Only one way for this to end. Salt and burn.
Dean opened the canister and tossed a fair amount into the back seat, over his brother, then sprinkled it over his lap, onto his clothes. The Impala roared to life, and he slammed the radio on as loud as it would go, pulling out of that little town
He took the first curve on two wheels, building up speed. At the second, he closed his eyes and took his hands off the wheel. “Never letting you go, little brother.”
