Fic: Dark Horse
Sep. 25th, 2019 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Dark Horse
Genre: Gen, character study
Characters: Sam Winchester
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 512
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: A brief exploration of what Sam experienced when he had visions.
Warnings/tags: Kind of a prose poem
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Psychic!Sam square (season 2). Inspired mostly by a re-watch of S2E5 "Simon Said" (hence the sprained wrist) but hopefully applies well across the board for Sam's visions. I kind of struggled with this one but I hope I came up with something worth reading for anyone who'd like to give it a shot.
Read on AO3
***
The visions that come at night are a descending fog. He does not sense them beforehand, but when he falls into bed, sleep hits him like a sledgehammer. His rest is dreamless and empty until the vision creeps in at the edges, gathering slowly. He is not aware of it until it until it is fully formed, and then it is everywhere, blanketing his mind in sound and image and emotion. It does not relent until he gasps awake, heart jackhammering against his ribs as though it is trying to escape.
The visions that come when he is awake are beams of light shot into his brain, splitting his head with pain in their insistence. There is never any warning. He is at their mercy. He is gone from wherever he was an instant before, consumed by the death he sees, blind and deaf to everything around him. Sometimes he falls to the ground and does not realize it until he’s come out of the vision. When he’s lucky, his brother is there to catch him. When he’s not – well, that’s how wrists get sprained. He is glad that nothing worse has happened. Yet.
When he is in them, the visions feel more real than reality. Colors too bright, sounds too loud, emotion too sharp. In flashes he feels the pain of the dying. He feels their wounds and he feels their surprise, their despair. This is not knowledge that he wants. This is not knowledge that anyone should have. But it is his, and he cannot stop it. He feels as though it is driving a wedge between himself and his brother. Between himself and the rest of humanity. He is something more than human, or perhaps less than human. Sub-human. Freak. These are the words that the figures in his nightmares whisper to him. His deepest fear, his deepest shame.
He does his best to drive back these voices. This is what the yellow-eyed demon wants from him. It wants him to give up. It wants him to give in. It wants him to see the fear in his brother’s eyes and believe that he will become a murderer. A monster. The yellow-eyed demon wants him to think that these things are inevitable.
With all his rage, he refuses. His memories are two decades and more of wanting only to be normal. Well, he knows now that true normality is probably not in the cards for him. Even if he gave up hunting, even if the visions disappeared and never returned, he would never be normal. Not with his history. Not with what he’s seen. But he can refuse to become an evil thing, truly corrupted. He can use his visions to try and help people. He can read books and drink beers with his brother and watch the sunlight on the trees as the Impala eats up mile after endless mile of highway. He can make his own normal, in his own freaky life. Visions and all. He can be Sam Winchester, and he can choose what that means.
Genre: Gen, character study
Characters: Sam Winchester
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 512
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: A brief exploration of what Sam experienced when he had visions.
Warnings/tags: Kind of a prose poem
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Psychic!Sam square (season 2). Inspired mostly by a re-watch of S2E5 "Simon Said" (hence the sprained wrist) but hopefully applies well across the board for Sam's visions. I kind of struggled with this one but I hope I came up with something worth reading for anyone who'd like to give it a shot.
Read on AO3
***
The visions that come at night are a descending fog. He does not sense them beforehand, but when he falls into bed, sleep hits him like a sledgehammer. His rest is dreamless and empty until the vision creeps in at the edges, gathering slowly. He is not aware of it until it until it is fully formed, and then it is everywhere, blanketing his mind in sound and image and emotion. It does not relent until he gasps awake, heart jackhammering against his ribs as though it is trying to escape.
The visions that come when he is awake are beams of light shot into his brain, splitting his head with pain in their insistence. There is never any warning. He is at their mercy. He is gone from wherever he was an instant before, consumed by the death he sees, blind and deaf to everything around him. Sometimes he falls to the ground and does not realize it until he’s come out of the vision. When he’s lucky, his brother is there to catch him. When he’s not – well, that’s how wrists get sprained. He is glad that nothing worse has happened. Yet.
When he is in them, the visions feel more real than reality. Colors too bright, sounds too loud, emotion too sharp. In flashes he feels the pain of the dying. He feels their wounds and he feels their surprise, their despair. This is not knowledge that he wants. This is not knowledge that anyone should have. But it is his, and he cannot stop it. He feels as though it is driving a wedge between himself and his brother. Between himself and the rest of humanity. He is something more than human, or perhaps less than human. Sub-human. Freak. These are the words that the figures in his nightmares whisper to him. His deepest fear, his deepest shame.
He does his best to drive back these voices. This is what the yellow-eyed demon wants from him. It wants him to give up. It wants him to give in. It wants him to see the fear in his brother’s eyes and believe that he will become a murderer. A monster. The yellow-eyed demon wants him to think that these things are inevitable.
With all his rage, he refuses. His memories are two decades and more of wanting only to be normal. Well, he knows now that true normality is probably not in the cards for him. Even if he gave up hunting, even if the visions disappeared and never returned, he would never be normal. Not with his history. Not with what he’s seen. But he can refuse to become an evil thing, truly corrupted. He can use his visions to try and help people. He can read books and drink beers with his brother and watch the sunlight on the trees as the Impala eats up mile after endless mile of highway. He can make his own normal, in his own freaky life. Visions and all. He can be Sam Winchester, and he can choose what that means.
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Date: 2019-09-25 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-09-26 02:17 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting. :)