Okay, I amend. I'm even too long winded to write a story contained within a thousand words. So now I'm working to between 1-3,000. Haha, who am I kidding :') But writing prompts is amazingly fun, and considerably addictive.
I think I forgot to specify in my last note. But i do not own Supernatural, nor make any profit beyond my own enjoyment.
So this one features some Dark!Sam (or so i've seen people write it). I always thought his and Ruby's relationship was complex, on some levels like two lovers, on others like a student and teacher, and then on others like a mother and her infant, so i tried to capture the convoluted nature of it.
Set during the four months (earth time) that Dean was in hell.
I was one of those people who honestly thought Ruby was good deep down. Stupid right? :') and then the last episode of season 4, bam! Genuine suprise. Anyway, I've wittered on enough. Hope you enjoy.
2. Control
He pushed past the barrier, forcing his will outwards in an ever expanding field.
It required precision and intense focus: teasing into elasticity something which was confined by natural constitution. It also demanded rigorous discipline and stamina to alter life's molecular structure; imposing upon cells and particles alike, to imbue or else become effected by a surge of psychokinetic energy, which possessed all the timidity of a punch. It necessitated much longer than three weeks to learn how to satisfactorily harness. And yet, here he was.
The half-starved flames swaying listlessly in the wasted hearth provided the only source of illumination in the deplorable shell of a house. A world as vapid as himself. Not even the presence of stars could be accounted for in the oppressive sky, visible through the deteriorated beams. A new moon was waxing. It's beginning always the darkest portion of the cycle.
A little removed from the seat of action, and wreathed in shadow, Ruby watched him hungrily. A master overseeing the culminate efforts of her dark protégée, a mother watching over her child with perverse nurture, as Sam strived for his first successful exorcism. There was something of sadistic satisfaction in her demeanour.
And silhouetted against the sanguine glow, convulsing intermittently, hands and feet bound to the limbs of an iron-framed chair, and encircled by a memory constructed devils trap, sat the demon he was endeavouring to vanquish; wearing the meat suit of a chiropractor.
Sam pushed harder and further, infusing a greater proportion of raw power into the foray than he had ever previously dared, more than was advisable – reckless as to losing himself along the way. He was already encroaching upon his limit, but yet his herculean effort was rendering no effect, the son of a bitch still laughed unperturbed: a wet, gurgling, chocking cackle.
"Is that all you've got, chosen one? How disappointing." His eyes watched Sam intently, even in their gaze managing infuriating insubordination.
A motion from behind forewarned him that Ruby was about to intercede, as she had done on four occasions previous when exhaustion finally incapacitated him. He threw up a hand to stay her though she remained outside of his reach.
"No!" he barked through gritted teeth. This was his fight, and he was not defeated yet.
She complied.
Sam's features twisted into a feral snarl of incredulity and blood lust, and he only pushed harder; forcing his physical and psychic strength to their furthest region of extremity. He would not be deprived of victory. Not this time.
Ruby watched him with sagacious devotion, impressed by his violent persistence and level of endurance. They were something new. Improvement was undeniable, even within the last 48 hours alone, but they were yet a long way from ready. Sam still abstained and resisted, until instinct drove what conscience forebode, and that was what made him weak; flabby. He refused to embrace the pivotal element key to harnessing his abilities, and until such a time his rate of progression was and would remain limited. That humanitarian spirit and noble compassion had proved more formidable to suppress than she had initially anticipated, even in the wake of Dean's damnation and a whole load of self-loathing. Altruism made her sick.
Sam's breathing degenerated into ragged gasps, his intake of oxygen insufficient to its purpose; chest heaving with the effort. Every muscle in his body spasmed and contracted systematically, burning and quivering while the inordinate accumulation of lactic acid slowly poisoned his system. And still he would not surrender.
Perspiration leaked from every pore, worsening his physical condition by means of rapid dehydration. His loose fitting shirt was long since saturated and clung uncomfortably to his skin; a paroxysm of hot and cold undulations, which raked his frame with alternate shivers. His head throbbed so severely that with each subsequent pulsation his vision momentarily oscillated, persistently darkening around the edges, until he was rendered almost blind by the effects of crippling fatigue. A warm, metallic scented liquid gushed across the planes of his lips – dripped off his chin, indicating that more than one blood vessel had been perforated with the strain.
He knew he was flailing. If he maintained the same influx of energy his strength would be spent in little over a minute, ten seconds if he defected all inhibition and threw every last sliver of strength and vitality into the foray, discounting resultant comatose. Naturally he chose the latter option, venturing further and deeper than should have been humanly possible. The world roared and thrashed around him like some rabid animal, or maybe that was just the blood coursing through his veins, combusting at an accelerated level.
The demons laugher ceased abruptly, its sound lost to asphyxiation, which was no less noisome. He began to convulse more definitively, pitching forwards, mouth rigid in a pose of expulsion. He gagged and coughed productively until tendrils of black smoke forced their way unwillingly from his body.
Sam momentarily exulted; he was was doing it! … And then his strength failed. The demon retreated back inside the chiropractors body, no less disdainful for his close encounter.
Out of spite alone Sam wanted to send the bastard screaming back to the bowls of hell, and he had no qualms concerning means. A month ago he could have done it too, as easy as breathing. Latin had always come naturally to him, and the intricate phonetics of the appropriate exorcism were once as familiar as his name. But not now. Now he couldn't even remember a word. He had severed all connections with that life the day Dean … No!
The floor rushed up to meet him where he stood, and he was helpless to its brutality, weak as a kitten and about as threatening. He half lay, panting and willing himself to remain conscious, wasn't he permitted some dignity at least?
The laughter suffered inception again, somehow just that much more grating. Ridicule. Belittlement. Arrogance.
"Come on, Sam! Are you even trying? That was pathetic!"
Ruby had moved to occupy the no-man's land separating her charge from the demon. A black figure against the flames. Her stance was ambiguous; dominating, certainly, but also protective. The writing tongues refracted off the iridescent contours of the quint knife she guarded. The demon grew subdued in her presence.
Sam gazed up at her through unfocused eyes, knowing not which of the three undulating figures had spoken. He cradled his head mournfully, feeling like it had been cleft in two by the novice strokes of a blunt axe.
"Gimme a break Ruby," he spat indignantly. Unbelievable!
Dizzied by even the smallest motion, he stumbled to his feet and procured two heavy duty painkillers, washing them down with copious swallows of brandy. A year ago he couldn't stomach the stuff, now he drank it as if it was mothers milk. A necessity, not a luxury. He could not face the day sober, nor the clarity of thought and memory it entailed.
He knew Dean would never have wanted this for him, but Dean was gone, and Sam had to keep on fighting; captain in a war which was lost before it started. He had to be better than himself: had to be Dean – powerful, undeniable, sacrificing. So he drank the demon blood, expended the force of his mind and suffered the hangover, because it was the only way he could ensure his revenge. Ruby taught him that much.
Addiction was a broad spectrum that spilled into every facet of life like a toxin.
Full of self loathing, he threw the bottle violently against the wall where it shattered with a sharp note, spilling its sticky resin onto the floor. His fingers brutally tore at his unwashed hair. Ruby watched him carefully.
"Sure, we'll take it easy for a few days," her tone was coddling, but there was an edge to it also, "order in some French fries, maybe visit a day spar." She moved towards him now. "Meanwhile Lilith continues to break seals, getting stronger and stronger all the time."
"Damn it, Ruby, I know!" Sam wheeled round to face her, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. There was something in her stoic, unriled expression which disarmed him; a harsh kind of pacifism.
She moved closer to him, until he could taste her scent upon the air. It almost drove him mad with desire. He shifted uncomfortably, rolling his neck.
"You're the only one who can do this, Sam. You have a responsibility ..."
"Responsibility," he scoffed. What, a responsibility to the entire world? That was rich. What was the world and civilization to him, when both had been instruments in his brothers destruction, when both had drove him to despair?
He was a good man, though that conviction had been sorely tested over the last six months, and even now, when his world knew nothing but forsake and darkness, he endeavoured to save them and theirs. By pulling out demons, he gave innocent people their lives back: a mercy that the grand scale of war didn't often afford. Even now it remained his ruling compulsion: the more people he saved, the more he could change his destiny.
"It's not fair," Ruby agreed. "You're hurting, I know, I see it every day." She touched his wrist, thumb caressing the area surrounding his pulse point. He tore his arm away from her savagely. "And you're angry. But instead of channelling that energy into something constructive, you let it consume you, weaken you – and that's why you fail. Instead, harness it. Use it to drive your will."
"No." His power depended upon control, and anger omitted that very necessity. Renounce that control and he might as well renounce himself.
"I never said this would be easy, Sam, but it'll get better. I promise." She gazed up at him with doleful eyes, and he foolishly believed her sympathy.
"When?" He was tired of failing, tired of his best never being enough. The pain of Dean's loss would never relent, so instead he repressed it, under and myriad of alternate connotations.
"Soon," Ruby soothed, "I know you can do better. I've seen you do better." He could feel the warmth of her breath on the air.
Sam groaned and stumbled away from her, the clumsiness of his movements not entirely born from the persistent pounding of his head, disconcerting as that was. Ruby did not question, just watched him with that same avid and primal hunger.
"I wanna try again," he mumbled with distracted focus, oblivious to her sadistic smile.
The demon was quiet now; suspicious. His eyes darted back and forth between the seductress and her prey. Calculating.
Halting before their captive, Sam closed his eyes and raised his right hand, all the better to channel the energy he was about to unleash. Clearing his mind he located the barrier and began to push against it, extending it outwards. Immediately his weak limbs began to quiver treacherously. One meter, two – he felt sick to his stomach. It was like pushing against a brick wall with nothing more substantial than hope. He delved deeper, seeking the limitless resivour of energy that was eternally at his disposal, only to find that access denied. The barrier solidified, and then rebounded back. Sam's stomach lurched, forcing itself mercilessly up through his throat.
He bolted towards the door, determined to preserve what small shreds of dignity remained to him. Shivering on the steps he vomited painfully, clinging to the railing for support. Brandy; it looked the same coming up as going down, the only difference was the curdled taste. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything solid, surprisingly his liquid diet it didn't make regurgitation any less unpleasant.
He coughed and gagged again, knowing not whether it was overexertion, or the potent mix of painkillers and alcohol which had brought on the bout of sickness. Frankly he didn't care. Didn't care what he was doing to himself nor what he was doing to his body. He only needed to stay alive long enough to vanquish Litith to the furthest regions of hell. Proceeding revenge, he had nothing else to live for, and certain self destructive tendencies would only hasten the inevitable.
Miserable and afraid, he called a single name into the night, the only one who could soothe the nightmare of his life;
"Dean …" it was a moment before he remembered. Dean could never again answer.
"Sam?" Ruby hesitated fractionally in the doorway as he retched one final time. Then she was beside him, running her fingers comfortingly through his hair in a way all too reminiscent of his brother. Just for a second Sam pretended.
"It's okay, Sammy." But pretence only made the reality more raw and uncompromising.
Tears spilled rudely across his cheeks, and their origin was not be found entirely in after effect. He had never truly mourned Dean's death, just buried the pain.
He slumped onto the stairs, supporting his throbbing head in his hands, shivering in the biting night, but too weak to do anything to help himself. Why was it so hard? Never before had any one person wrung so true of the wisdom that: bad things do happen to good people, as Sam Winchester did in those sorry months, which shattered him from the interior out.
He almost expected Ruby to sit beside him, to push her warm body against his own, in a gesture that was too familiar and not enough. No, he wanted it.. But the next time she spoke her tone was unrepentantly harsh and scathing:
"Get some rest, Sam. You're obviously not ready."
She left him sitting alone in the darkness, wondering if his life was spiralling out of control.
As she plunged the knife squarely into their captive's neck, she smiled sagaciously. Piece by piece, Sam's resolve was crumbling. Men were the easiest species on the planet to manipulate – undermine their abilities, offer affront to their masculinity, and before long they were putty.
Sam's control over his abilities grew daily. But he never realized, until it was too late, the extent of control Ruby exercised over him.
Thank you very much for reading.
- One Wish Magic.