Variations on a Theme

The White Hallway 4/?

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 22:26:19 GMT

Title: The White Hallway
Chapter: 4
Warning: Slash, wincest, etc. More so in this chapter
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Sam/Dean eventually
Summary: Sam's dreams are no longer deaths foretold, but another beast entirely.

Sam’s mind returned to the mystery surrounding the leather cord. Over the years, he had to replace it several times. Every time he had replaced it, he had purchased one leather lace, cut it in half, and tied it around his wrist. Always the same knot, same wrist. He felt vulnerable without it.

Sam knew he had to tell Dean whether or not he was going back to his other life, the life where monsters were merely figments of over active imaginations, not adversaries. He had to choose between what he was meant to do, and what he yearned for his entire life.

Sam ran his right hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. He flopped back down onto the bed, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, letting neither light nor tear through.

***

Dean walked out of the tiny bathroom in nothing but the towel around his hips. He looked at his brother, fitfully asleep on the bed. After weeks of traveling together, Dean recognized the grimace on Sam’s face as a nightmare. Except this time Sam was calling out his name.

Dean quickly threw on a pair of boxers, and knelt on the ground next to Sam. He couldn’t help trying to listen in. Sam was wrestling with something unseen, calling out his name, and breathing heavily. Dean immediately embraced his brother, holding him close to his damp chest.

***

Sam was back in the same hallway. He saw Dean’s door and the door back to his other life. But further down the hallway was something new, a big thick book. Sam walked up to it, opening the thick tome to the title page, only to find it completely blank.

Sam flipped through the rest of the book, and saw nothing on any page. He then saw a silver dagger next to the book. He picked it up, feeling the reassuring weight of well-crafted weaponry. He could almost hear his father telling him about enchanted objects, almost see Dean’s worried glance, as if they both were watching him.

Sam took a deep breath and held his left arm out in front of his body and over the book. With his right hand, Sam drew the tip of the dagger along his left forearm. It was a shallow cut, but one drop of blood clung to the dagger. Sam watched it slowly gather at the point and then descend onto the book below.

Instantaneously, the book flipped back to the title page. And this time it read “Samuel Winchester.” Sam gasped, and backed away slowly. However, the book only seemed to get closer.

Sam turned the page, and found a detailed list of Dean, an outline of every memory and thought he had ever had about his older brother. Sam struggled for breath as he realized the depth of his actions.

“Dean…” Sam brokenly cried as he read on, reading about Dean’s thoughts, his, and every person he’d come in contact with. “What have I done, Dean?”

***

Sam awoke in Dean’s arms, sobbing. It took only a few seconds to realize that his arm was bleeding.

The White Hallway 3/?

Thu, 26 Jan 2006 05:10:29 GMT

Title: The White Hallway
Chapter: 3
Warning: Slash, wincest, etc. More so in this chapter
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Sam/Dean eventually
Summary: Sam's dreams are no longer deaths foretold, but another beast entirely.

Sam’s eyes were still closed and Dean’s lips felt warm against his. The sheer rightness in Sam’s soul was shattered when Dean shuddered and pulled away.

“I don’t know what just happened, but I’m taking a shower,” Dean quickly said over his shoulder as he strode into the tiny bathroom. The motel had provided the Winchester sons with the only available room, which had only a bathroom and a bed. And the bed, as Sam realized in horror, was a Queen.

Sam’s fingers played with the knot on his cord as he flopped onto the bed on his back. The cord seemed to calm him, which struck a chord in Sam’s mind. However, he didn’t follow that thought, but instead thought about the scene that burned him only moments before.

Dean was always the last person to admit emotional weakness. The perfect hunter, Sam mused. His feelings were more carefully guarded than the keys to his Impala, and that was saying something. Still, regardless of how Dean reacted, the cramped quarters of the latest “bargain” room meant that the bed was the only place to sleep. Neither man would consider a night in the Impala when there were alternatives.

Sam sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up and giving him a disheveled look. He could hear the water running for his brother’s shower. It was in such proximity that he actually could hear Dean.

Curiosity won over prudence, and Sam silently pressed his ear against the thin wall separating the bathroom and the bedroom.

***

Dean’s hands were bracing his weight against the wall as a stream of icy cold water rained down his front. He couldn’t help but to close his eyes and his mind traveled to the person who caused such a state of awareness in his nether regions.

“Sammy…” Dean moaned, knowing that even the coldest water wouldn’t help him. “I do want you.” Dean bit his lip, and with a strangled cry, relieved himself.

***

Sam’s mind was reeling. He had always wondered about his brother, and now knew the truth. They both felt that pull, that indescribable bond between them that even now, they could only symbolize with the leather cording.

***

In their youth, their father would not allow them on hunting trips until they had earned a black belt in the local martial art form. Dean had being tagging along for a few years before Sam was allowed along. Sam was excited, but Dean was nervous for his younger brother, wary of the dangers the trips held. On that trip, Sam was attacked by a poltergeist. Dean immediately tried to save his brother, but was tripped by the same thing that attacked Sam. Their father quickly eradicated the poltergeist, and set about bandaging the two youngsters. Dean had a bit of string in his hand.

“What’s that, Dean?” John Winchester had asked.

“It’s my shoelace,” Dean said without taking his eyes off of the two scraps of leather in his palm.

John Winchester had merely shrugged, and finished bandaging Dean up. He left quickly, leaving the two brothers in silence.

They looked at each other and both boys embraced, tears mingling as they pressed their cheeks together.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it, Sammy,” Dean sobbed, clinging on to his younger brother. Sam was sobbing too much to speak, and the boys held on for a few more minutes before Dean pulled away.

“Sammy. My shoelace was broken exactly in half. I want you to wear you half, and I’ll wear mine. That way, we’ll always be together. I’ll protect you Sammy,” Dean swore as he knotted the lace around his brother’s wrist.

Sam took the other half, and with shaking hands, tied it to Dean’s wrist.

Unbeknownst to any Winchester, a pool of light surrounded the boys as they held on to each other.

***

Dean composed himself, and turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower, stopping only momentarily to towel off his upper body before slinging it around his hips and knotting it.

Dean stood in the cramped bathroom staring at his refection in the clouded mirror. Both reflection and actual Dean were unreadable.

***

A/N: End of chapter 3. Let me know what you think. Updates will be soon, I promise.

The White Hallway 2/?

Wed, 25 Jan 2006 03:40:13 GMT

Title: The White Hallway
Chapter: 2
Warning: Slash, wincest, etc. You no like, you no read.
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Sam/Dean eventually
Summary: Sam's dreams are no longer deaths foretold, but another beast entirely.

Dean was glaring at Sam, as if he were somehow to blame for this new “attack.” Sam knew that this had to potential to be Dean's biggest fear: going from being the hunter to being hunted. All Sam had to do was decide whether or not to divulge the contents of his dream to his brother. Chances are that he'll be snarkier than usual to make up for the fear showing plainly in his face.

“What did you do to me, Sam? Cast a magic spell?” Dean's sneer was almost as razor-sharp as the pointed look directed at Sam. Icy blue eyes locked with mossy green until Sam lowered his eyes. Dean had proven that he trusted Sam when it came down to the wire, but this was more personal.

Dean grabbed Sam’s left arm and used his left hand to capture Sam’s chin, and guide the younger man’s gaze back onto his. “You know how this happened. I can feel it.” Dean lowered his left hand, but Sam kept his eyes trained on Dean’s.

***

Sam felt himself slide back into a dream state. He knew he was in the hallway, but he couldn’t see. “Dean!” Sam called out, throwing his hands out frantically. He groped in front of him, and he felt a wall. Keeping his left hand on the wall, he walked forward, slowly, sliding each foot in front of himself, trying to feel for a trap.

Sam could feel his heart pounding in his ears, the heady rush of adrenaline threatened to consume him entirely. Still, Sam floundered ahead, until he felt the doorframe.

… Left to Dean… right to normalcy…

Sam slid down to his knees, tears slowly creeping out of his eyes, tracing blind wet paths down his face, mocking him and encouraging him.

Sam rose up slowly, took a deep breath, and chose the door on the left, the only door that felt right.

***

With his eyes still closed, Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean on the lips.

***

A/N: End of chapter 2, more to come soon.

Carpe Diem

Fri, 06 Jan 2006 21:14:21 GMT

I seized the day, and the day escaped. Now my day has gone, maybe another will replace it. But with my luck, it'll be just as horrible as the last one.

I suffer from a terminal case of hope. Hope that maybe tomorrow will bring an end to all this hurt, the hope that I can trust someone again. That all my waiting will not be in vain and that I will be able to have that one person who understands.

Carpe Diem, my ass. I can help everyone except for myself. And that's how it always is, isn't it?

Another day, another night

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 04:33:54 GMT

It's all cold and frosty outside, warm and cozy in my house, but I still feel the chill. It gets so cold that I wonder whether or not I was supposed to be born in the winter.

Today was the sort of day that made me want to go back to vacation. The first two blocks were sorta lazy, but immediately Paris decided that we were going to do Calc or die trying. And we jumped in, and most of the class was drowning in the ocean that is AP Calc. And it was a tad too painful to watch.

And in Band we switched around the seating plan. Talk about random. Just, everyone move about the room so that eventually we might get 1% increase in output. Or something like that,

It's January. And only 2 snow days. Here's to hoping.

Risky Business

Fri, 05 Aug 2005 03:55:10 GMT

"Looking foward and not behind"
-Life of My Own, 3 Doors Down

A quote from a song by 3 Doors Down. That song always makes me want to throw caution to the wind, close my eyes, and let the pieces fall as they may. To risk everything on a whim, to try to catch that feeling that flits away through my open outstretched fingers.

Someone told me that I need to live my own life. To live, and not be lived. And I trust that, just not myself.

Fear-Be-Gone

Tue, 08 Mar 2005 03:58:11 GMT

I feel... relieved...

Yes, that's the word. Words are always my forte, you know, the right one for the right spot...

But still, here I am, debating with myself about words, and feelings, and love, and friendship.

Abstract nouns that sometimes seem more concrete than the concrete nouns. Dog... chair...

Love. Friendship. Hatred. Passion.

Words that consume, that detach and reform at will.

...

Good fortune

Tue, 09 Nov 2004 02:24:23 GMT

Today has been the greatest day...

First, Salazar, the evil tryant of Chemistry resigned. On Friday. After our class... And this means... STICKERS!!!

Next on the happy list of Harmony, my father was called up and asked to go on a job interview for Wednesday. I'm so glad... It's almost as if today didn't really exist... just pretended.

We lost a member of the DI team today... and it's a sad loss.

But in VICA, we made cookies... although we forgot to squish a few... But they were all uncooked inside, and made a pretty good lunch. Those cookies sold like edible gold... it's a tiny bit amusing to be inside the "clubhouse"...

Coach Bus Fun!

Thu, 28 Oct 2004 01:59:55 GMT

The math meet was so much fun. Not so much the math part, but the singing, and guacamole doritos, and of course, the sadistic mauling of each other in the sake of fun.

Officially we were "discussing the threat of communism and how to defeat it", but really we were learning how to punch, and my left shoulder was a temporary punching bag. But at least I'm a hazard in Ultimate Rock Paper Scissors.

So... I'm becoming the relationship counseling service. It's sort of fun... except when they keep on calling all the time. Well... I've diverted a disaster which would other wise render countless people without entrails...

Well... let's just say that without fighting around... I'd have nothing to talk about...

We got third, in case you cared. But in OAA, it's not the rank, it's how much junk food you can consume before exploding.

And the moon. It's eclipsing. It's so pretty. I love full moons, and especially when the moon casts everything in a silvery light...

Cinematic!

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 00:51:02 GMT

French project over Justin's house. We had a lot of fun with the zoom button on the tripod...

So, I was the "poor" person wearing a trash bag, and my "role" was to cook the dinner, and answer the silly questions the little prince, Justin, asks me. Instead of questons, I screamed, he flicked food all over us ["what is this?" "a whisk"], and, of course, the phone rang.

But it'll be worth it, with 7 minutes of film, and 40 minutes of a blooper reel.

Because we all know that we watch these movies for their blooper reel.

Mon, 11 Oct 2004 03:05:34 GMT

It's been a hectic weekend. So many band events, so much emotions, so much energy.

I'm zapped. You could basically do anything I could muster up the energy needed to do anything about it.

It's a bit weird, being that I'm so tired, and I'm doing my best to stay out of bed.

For by sleeping, there comes dawn.

Monday, oh monday. How I wish I never got the courage, yet I'll never know.

Trust... It's so difficult, telling little secrets, seeing what happens with each installment. It's almost as if people recruit individuals into their inner sanctums.

What walls do I have left? Is it possible that I was able to rebuild, remodel, refigure? I cannot fathom the idiocies set forth by the world apply to something as personal as my very being.

I feel empty, gone, invisible.

Would I be missed if gone, or do I never allow time to find out?

So... band. Too much. It's really getting to the OMFG I'm dying part. And it is only the first competition.

I love band... but it gets so lonely...

Band-pires

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 01:26:06 GMT

Another freezing day spent in the cold holding on to a cold metal instrument. We like the dark, we like the close quarters.

We are the band-pires, to feed not on blood, but the music, the life-blood of our lifestyles.

We do not eat, we feed, feed on the dissonance, the chords, the drill, the sound.

We are the band, we are a cult, a cult of never-perfect, always practicing, always better musicians. The best can always be better, and to be worse is to die.

We nitpick, we compromise, we are together, yet separate.

Band is our life, because without band, what is life?

March on, dear band-pire. March on to the handwarmers, the gloves, scarves, and black socks.

Roll step, roll step, lift your heel, watch your tone, MUSIC flows and pours forth.

Drink the music, feed, feed, tune, yes yes yes. Be the music, feel, glide, march.

Listen back, always listen. Drum majors, drum line, lines and files, cover cover, dress, make a curve.

Hit your dot, dot the dot, keep the form. FEED on the music, feel, feel, be and play.

Oh notes, rests, hold, fortississino, softer softer, louder. Hit it, higher, partials, breathe, breathe.

Dress and cover, black socks, feel the music, fix the cords, play and feed, feel and march.

Feel, conduct, feed, play.

Band, the band, of band, and for the band.

March on mighty band-pires. March on.

Caffeine, anyone?

Tue, 05 Oct 2004 23:46:58 GMT

I feel strangely uninhibited recently. I'm not as b-tchy as normal, and I'm actually awake in the morning, much to the displeasure to those who carry 5 16 oz. cans of Diet Coke, and peanut butter. You have to admit, picnics are fun...

I hate it when people are mad at me for no overtly apparent reason, like happening to walk by someone without [gasp] realizing it was someone I knew, as opposed to about 2000 other people in the school.

And it's happening a lot more often than it should.

Back to my sugar induced, almost-seemed-like-I'm-high chipper mornings. Well, I got addicted to ingesting enough caffeine to make life about as pretty as it used to be, back in the unfettered days of youth where I was able to be myself and not achingly remodel my personality to fit into a specific little frigging hole.

Ever heard of square peg in a round hole?

And I am not controlling and aggresive normally. It's a covering technique. I learn from the best, and of course I'm a quick study. Controlling means no one messes with you, correct?

Ah, well... I took control of what I needed to take control of. I think.

Well, I can easily fix that, n'est-ce pas?

Flowers

Mon, 04 Oct 2004 01:27:11 GMT

I went to a wake today, where the heady scent of flowers transported me to eighth grade, another wake, and another body. Seeing the deceased [funny, she is my grandmother, but I can't seem to place that lifeless body with the life-filled thing she once was], I couldn't hope but to see her chest moving or something to tell me that she is, indeed, alive.

I wanted her to open her eyes, and to breathe again the air. All I could smell were the heady scent of flowers, the beautiful, poignant, flowers.

I wanted to rip the flowers apart and bring back my grandmother.

But you know what I did? I hugged people, and I saw her dancing in a painting in the hall.

I've never like wakes. Too much sorrow, too much memories.

Mortality

Fri, 01 Oct 2004 00:16:03 GMT

I am reminded of my mortality everytime someone I know of passes on. What if the standard of an "afterlife", be it heaven, hell, reincarnation, or eternal stasis, is entirely untrue.

That bothers me the most. Living each day, only to, one day, not live. Could life be so unpredictable as to give you one chance, forced to relive the same live over and over until one time, you get it right.

But that isn't true. Bad things happen to good people. Not everyone gets what's coming to them. If anyone lived in a different time, different place, would they make the same decisions? Is it all so intricately balanced on the variables?

What bothers me the most is when some people get second, even third, chances and squander them, while others don't even make past the first chance. I want people who are fundmentally horrible, the ones whose moral and ethical code is non-existant, to reap what they sow. A tad vengeful, and horrible in itself. But, just think of it. Why should someone who is a good person suffer while the devil incarnates get rewarded?

It's instances like these where I wish I could make the pain go away.

Home

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 01:51:19 GMT

For the last two days, I was at school longer than I was actually at my home. And it's not like I really need to be, I just am. I just wonder why I don't want to be at home, and why I just seem to lose my sense of self whenever my family is around. It's so... odd. We don't have too many issues, just the normal, run-of-the-mill stubborn/hotheaded/you forgot to put the silverware away thing.

I'm not angsty. I swear. Angst is for people who want attention NOW. I just want answers.

Is that so hard to get?

No one seems to notice very much. Or I just think a lot of things count for more than they should. I don't know. No one will tell me, cowering behind their defenses just waiting for me to come with a barrage of questions to try to find a least one answer for it all.

I'm not trying to crumble your walls. i'm just trying to find a peace for the neverending stream of questions, of worries, of problems, of life.

Life isn't just about living anymore. It's reduced to fighting tooth and nail for what you hope is true.

And if you are wrong... what can you do?