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Feb. 18th, 2009 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elderwittyFandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,458 this chapter/11,124 total
Warnings: Mentions of past violence. Violence. Discussion of a suicide. Shifting POV.
Spoilers: None
Pairings/characters: No pairings. Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC. Gen.
Summary: Not your usual after hunt occurrence.
Chapter One http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7079.h
Chapter Two http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7278.h
Chapter Three http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7471.h
The Gift
Chapter Four
Sam’s gawping at me. Whatever, I’m not sure why I told her either. Does it matter? Hm? Oh, food, yeah, but first things first. She’s making plans to head for home and tuna when she spots my sneer. Tuna casserole is not real food. “Or steak.” And justifying it with shower talk, which is only right. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever smelled in my life, by far, but it doesn’t belong in bed. “Baked potatoes?” I ask, just before I close the door, so I don’t see her grin but I can hear it as she asks how many.
Business finished, I open up just in time to hear her call Sam the best mom ever. She almost comes out of her skin when the door slams against the wall, she spins around so fast. She’s only startled until I growl, “What did you say?”, then confusion creeps in.
“I was just messing around with Sammy.” God, how I hate that whiny defensive tone. I know she can see it, too, ‘cause now she’s scared, especially when I start toward her.
Sam takes a step forward, “Hey,” hands up, palms out and fingers spread, always the ambassador. I see recognition in her, fighting with disbelief, then shifting into horror as I draw back… “DEAN!” Sam sounds as freaked out as I feel. What the hell is going on? “I’m out,” grabbing my coat and going.
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Holy Crap! I’d scream if I could catch my breath. I expect to see a car coming through the wall, but it’s…Dean, driving the doorknob into the drywall and asking what I just said. Should I be worried? “Just messing with Sammy,” and that was NOT the right answer and YES, I should be scared, he’s heading this way.
I hear Sammy, “Hey,” placating, but I’m not taking my eyes off the psycho in front of me. I haven’t seen anyone this mad since…ohmygoditcan’tbe. How? Everything freezes and I’m in the past, trapped and hearing, “Dean!” from a continent away. Now he’s just him and now he’s gone, but I still can’t move or breathe until Sammy sits down next to me. I grab him for sanity and, I mean, I clutch at him like a drowning sailor. “Mom.” Watching the door in case he comes back.
“What?”
“That? Was my mom. He was my mom. How can that be?’
“Has she done this before, controlled someone like this? Do you know where she practices? An altar or...”
“What? No. She died twenty years ago.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Uh, what? Twenty years ago, what do you think?” One of us is losing our mind. Please, please let it be me.
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This is bad.
Dean’s looking at her like she just keyed the Impala. What’s it matter what we were talking about? Oh, “Hey,” let’s just calm down now. What the…he’s not going to…he wouldn’t hit….
“DEAN!” A harsh crack of sound, as loud and sharp as I can make it. As he lowers his hand and straightens up, I can see confusion and remorse, but still a lot of anger. He looks at Lee for a moment with no change of expression, then grabs his jacket and leaves. I can’t even chase after him to see if it’s just lack of sleep and coffee making him so short-tempered. The weapons duffle is sitting in the corner and I’m not leaving a civilian alone with it.
She’s not moving and I think she’s not-breathing again. The Dean I just saw disturbed me, and I trust him with my life. Softly, so as not to scare her further, “Lee.” No response. Again, sidling closer and reaching out. Nothing. I sit beside her on the bed and gasp when she grabs my arm, sensible nails digging in almost enough to draw blood.
“Mom,” the merest whisper, never looking away from the forest green door’s evacuation plan placard.
“What?”
“My mom. He was my mom. How can that be?”
It’s suddenly clear. The accusations and lost friendships, Dean’s mood swings, everything. Her mother has been controlling all of them, all this time. We just have to figure out how and stop her.
And – she’s been dead twenty years. That complicates things. ‘Cause, ‘Hey, Lee, we need to go salt and burn your mom’s corpse’ probably isn’t going to go over too well right now. Yeah, I’ll hold off on that for a bit.
She’s freaking out, and why not? First thing is calm her down and get her fingernails out of my arm. “Lee,” but all her focus is still on the door. Working my fingers under hers, “Lee, you’re digging in a little. It’s OK, you can let go now.” She’s not hearing me and I’m not sure what she’s seeing, but I doubt it’s the door her eyes are fixed on. She doesn’t seem to notice when I finally pry her hand off, just curls it into a fist at her side.
“Lee, I need to ask you some questions.” I try to turn her to face me but she pulls away to keep watch on the door. “Lee.” Again, same result. Okay, if gently won’t work. I grasp her chin and exert firm pressure. “Lee, do you doubt that I can make you look at me?” She says nothing, but stops resisting. “Thank you. I need you to help me figure out how your mom is doing this.” Nothing. “Lee, we can help you stop all this if you just trust me.” Her focus shifts to something beside my left ear, shutting me out of the equation while she considers.
“Ask your questions,” eyes flitting back to mine with absolutely no trust in them.
“How did your mom die?”
“Killed herself.” No emotion, just stating a fact.
“How?”
“Car, in the garage.” Never looking away, not blinking. Daring me to…I don’t know what.
“Did she have a history of mental illness?”
“No,” quickly, but then a flicker of uncertainty, “Not diagnosed, anyway…. maybe. I don’t know.”
“What about your dad?” She goes totally still and I feel her withdraw without moving a muscle.
“He left.” Her complete lack of inflection lets me know just how deeply that cut.
“Because of how she…?”
Shaking her head, “Long before - long time ago.”
“How did she handle it?”
“A little bit of Miss Havisham.”
I give her an eyebrow, “And that doesn’t constitute mental illness?”
“No, you don’t understand; this is the South. People are allowed to be eccentric, ‘specially if it’s just one thing.”
“What one thing?”
Hesitantly, “She’d…buy him stuff. Suits. Birthday gifts, anniversary presents. Sometimes… she’d…go out to dinner with him.”
Both eyebrows now, “By herself?”
“By herself.”
“And people would play along, like he was there with her?”
Nod and a shrug, “They were….being kind.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t the worst thing they could have done.”
“I know,” shaking her head. “But she didn’t want to hear it. Especially from one voice of reason in a whole town of playin’ along. So I disagreed and she…” her eyes slip closed and a wave of pain flashes across her face, “disapproved.”
“How?”
Haunted eyes suddenly boring into mine, “Strongly.”
“I’m sorry, Lee. But I need to know, how exactly?” hating it, but knowing the necessity.
“Why does it matter? She’s been gone twenty years…what possible difference could it make?” I don’t say anything - there’s nothing to say. We both know she’s going to tell me. This is just giving herself time to get used to the idea.
Finally, sighing, “Lock me in my room. Talk to me through the door. How I didn’t understand, would never understand what it’s like. To have someone so perfect – best friend and love all in one. How I’d never find that, never have anybody like she had him.” A slight, bitter laugh. “Of course, I always had to point out that she didn’t have him – he left and all she had was me.” A deep breath and an audible swallow, “Which made her furious.”
She‘s staring out into the distance again, with what looks like regret, “Which was my intention exactly.” A brief bout of the not-breathing, which I now get is her way of holding onto her composure. Twice she opens her mouth and twice has to close it again before she manages to rasp out, “So, when she’d say I was such a horrible person that I’d never have any of it, it was sorta partially my fault.”
“Lee, no. It wasn’t.” No reaction – I’m not even sure she heard me.
“And when she set the house on fire and left, she blamed that on me, too.”
Chapter Five http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/8104.html
