vampireifurita (vampireifurita) wrote,


Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.


7 a.m., the alarm goes off. The bed creaks as she moves to get up. She reaches over to turn off the alarm before leaning over to kiss his forehead. Slipping out from under the covers, she stands beside the bed and slips on her slippers. Her feet thud softly on the carpet as she walks on the carpet and leaves the room. His eyes open.

8 a.m., he finally rolls onto his side, sick of staring at the ceiling. It’s only been four hours since he fell into fitful sleep. His eyes are starting to hurt from their lack of rest. He gazes at her side of the bed, and wonders, not for the first time, what he’s doing here.

8:15 she returns to get dressed. She stops next to him and tentatively places her hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t react. She slips away and into her clothes for the day.

“I’ll see you later,” she tells him as she steps out for the day.

8:30 is when he finally exits the bed. He stumbles down the hall and into the bathroom. He takes care of business and turns on the shower. The water is scalding when he enters and he marvels at the feeling of seared skin. Life starts to return to his limbs. His head starts to clear of the early morning fog, and he almost feels alive when he steps out of the bathroom twenty minutes later.

At nine he eats his breakfast on the steps of the house, looking at the bustle of the neighbors. He marvels at their simple lives and wishes on some level that his life were as simple as theirs. It’s at this time that he realizes that his life is as simple as theirs now. It strikes him like a wrecking ball, as it does every morning since the day he arrived.

Shaking off the shell shocked feeling; he brings his dishes back into the house. It only takes a few minutes to clean them and then he is back outside.

He enters the code into the garage to open the door. For a moment he just stares at her, his baby. Covered, and slightly dusted, she sits like a statue, a memoriam to days gone by. She is the only thing that he can still look at without breaking down, the only thing that has truly been his that has never left him. He doesn’t go to her though; he makes his way around her to the shelves of gardening tools. He picks up a hoe and a shovel and exits the garage, leaving it open to breathe.

He makes his way to the backyard, careful to avoid the mud puddle he hasn’t gotten around to fixing yet. The flower beds have been his major concern as of late. The flowers had been overrun by weeds when he had first gotten here. The tulips had been smothered by tall grass, the roses swallowed by ground cover, and the rest had been dying. It was a strange thing for him to have gotten attached to, but the flower beds had been quite the refuge. The work was hard and the rewards were something worth reaping. The neighbors had already given him compliments on the job he had done, and it had only been a few weeks.

The rose bushes were thriving, the tulips were in full bloom, and everything else he had planted had

taken to the soil in ways he hadn’t even imagined. There were lilies, foxglove, daisies, sweet clover, orchids, pansies and impatiens. Every day he watered them and fertilized them and checked that there were no weeds growing through the mulch he had put down.

Today he was going to turn the soil in the bed at the back of the house, along the fence. Since he didn’t have a rote tiller of his own, he was going to take the time to turn the soil with a pitch fork. It would be hard work, loosening the soil, and tedious, but he had nothing better to do with his time. It would be mindlessly tiresome work, and he appreciated that kind of work nowadays. It was soothing to be able to just let his hands work and not have his brain think about what was going on. In a way it was like meditation. It soothed his frayed nerves.

By noon he had managed to loosen the soil all around the fence and had started to pull out the grass that had invaded the flower bed. He had had to get the wheel barrel for all the grass and weeds he had pulled. He dragged himself with his sore and muddy hands through the back door to the kitchen. It took ten minutes to get his hands to a suitable clean before he sat down for some lunch.

The sandwich he made had all the freshest ingredients that could be bought from a store: tomatoes, ham, turkey, lettuce, mayo, and salami. The chips were his favorite kind. Even the soda was top notch, but it all tasted like wood shavings. Every bite made him cringe and every swallow left the taste of death in his mouth. He finished his sandwich with a smile and set off to work again.

Four o’clock saw the entirety of the bed along the fence cleared of grasses and weeds. He sat on the edge of the patio, pleased with the progress he had made. Sweaty, dirty and tired, he laid back and looked up at the blue sky. Clouds rolled overhead and he could only imagine what the weather would bring. Slowly he got to his feet and made his way into the house.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and into her bedroom. All the clothes he had in the world were contained in a single drawer. In the closet there were hanging clothes that were much too big for him. He made sure that they were kept in the best condition, even if he hadn’t washed them yet. He made his way to the closet and grabbed a shirt before doubling back to his lonely drawer to grab some pants. Slipping into the bathroom he turned on the shower. This time he kept the water at a soothing warm temperature. This shower was less about waking up and more about getting clean. He took his time scrubbing his dirty skin and cleaning out his hair. He took his time, content to while away the minutes under the soothing spray of water, in no hurry to step outside of this sanctuary.

The door on the first floor slammed open and moments later slammed shut. Sighing, knowing it was time to get out from under the soothing spray, he turned off the water. Stepping onto the bathmat he wrapped a towel around his waist. Wiping off the mirror with the hand towel next to the sink, he gazed at his reflection. There was nothing particularly special he saw in his reflection, no tell tale spark of insanity, no great fear or love, just an empty blankness stared back at him. Quickly he toweled off and pulled on his underwear and pants. He held the shirt in his hands for a moment, taking in the feel of worn flannel before bringing it up to his face to smell the left over scent. He slipped his arms in and buttoned it up.

As he exited the bathroom he deposited his dirty clothes in the hamper by the door. He walked down the hall and down the stairs. Making his way to the kitchen, he could hear her talking to her son.

“Why is he always sad?” the kid asked her and he paused outside of the kitchen, flattening himself against the wall to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with his brother Ben,” she told him in reply. Paper rustled and he heard the refrigerator open and shut.

“He has a brother?” the kid asked, chair scraping on the floor as he sat down.

“Don’t you remember? That really tall guy with the long hair that helped him save you that time?” she prompted another chair grumbling as she sat down.

“Oh yeah, where is he?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but I’m sure he’s the reason Dean’s so out of it.”

“What was his name again?”

“Hey,” he said as he interrupted their conversation, unable to bear if someone mentioned that name in his presence ever again. She gave the kid a look before smiling at him.

“Hey! How’d it go today? You get everything you wanted to get done, done?” she inquired.

“Yeah, pulled out everything around the fence. Gonna put in the cinderblocks tomorrow and fold in the fertilizer,” he said, opening up the fridge. “Chicken okay for dinner?”

“Chicken would be fine Dean,” she told him, standing to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m just going to take a quick shower. Ben, get started on your homework.”

“Whatever,” the kid replied.

“Don’t sass your mother, she’s just looking out for you,” Dean said as he pulled out a cutting board.

“Dude, you’re not my dad,” was all the kid said in return.

“Of course I’m not, but I’m the next best thing. Besides, I’m totally cooler than whatever guy helped your mom conceive you,” he winked at the kid, pulling the chicken out of its wrapping and grabbing his knife.

“I guess, though you’d be a lot cooler if you acted like this all the time, or at least worked a normal job, you know, like normal people.”

Carefully cutting off the fat and slicing the chicken in half, he considered what to say next. “Yeah, well, I’m not quite there yet. At least I’m getting out of the house now, right? I ain’t that creepy guy just staring out the window anymore.”

“Heh, yeah. I suppose you turning into some housewife obsessed with her garden is better than that,” the kid said with a smile. Smiling back, he bent to get a skillet out of the cabinet.

“I’m the best looking housewife on the block, let me tell you kiddo. None of those other ladies have anything on me. I’m hot. I cook, clean and I even keep the yard at Pleasantville perfectness,” he joked. The kid chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say you’re hot, I’d say you’re pretty ugly. At least those other ladies have the figure of a housewife.”

“Ha! I’ve got the body of a freaking god kid. A freaking god.”

The conversation lulled as he fired up the stove and put olive oil in the skillet resting on the burner. Chicken was sautéed, vegetables fried, and rice steamed. The kid finished his homework, she came back down stairs and set the table, and they all sat down to eat together.

The evening was spent on the couch, watching various low-grade shows. She suggested Dr. Sexy, but he said no, he had stopped watching after. She nodded in understanding, though he didn’t think she really understood, and changed the channel.

The kid went to bed at nine, and she followed him up to tuck him in. He lay sprawled across the couch and closed his eyes. Something truly terrible surfaced from his sub-conscious and he blinked awake with a start. Shivering from a non-existent wind, and fearful of an endless hole, he started when she laid her hand on his shoulder. His smile was flat when he turned it on her, and she just frowned and settled in beside him.

“Dean… I wish you would tell me what happened,” she coaxed.

“I can’t. I can’t even think about it. Can we change the subject?” he said, scooting away from her on the couch.

“Sure Dean,” she replied.

It was 10:30 when she finally ascended the stairs. He sat on the couch, unseeing of the program on the television, mindless to everything around him, numb on the inside. Blinking back to reality he frowned at the screen of the television. He wasn’t particularly fond of Nicholas Cage, and he really hated everything with Meg Ryan, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. By the end of the movie he was shuddering with barely contained grief and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. Quickly turning off the TV, he rushed upstairs and crawled into bed fully clothed. He moved to spoon up behind her and was relieved that she didn’t push him away. He was fast asleep moments later.

Chapter 1
Tags: big bang '11, do you want the truth or something beaut, fanfiction, supernatural

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