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trans_92009-06-27 10:52 pm
thenameissam.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92009-06-27 10:52 pm
Entry tags:
'Till I Collapse [Closed] [R for Language]
The meeting of the 'yeerk council' had done nothing to soothe Sam's tempered. To the contrary, it had left him even more pissed off than he'd been before. He didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, how they couldn't agree with him. How could they be ok with that thing staying, alive, on the ship? How could they, after everything they had all been through? After everything they'd been put through?
And, so, it was because of this, this sense of betrayal, that Sam is back in the sensoriums working out his frustration on a punching bag. With Stacy currently refusing to allow him to proceed past level 5 in her sparring programs, he is left with a gymnasium program--complete with a boxing ring--and the various facilities it had to offer. He needed to vent and this seemed--to him--to be the healthiest way of doing it.
Therefore, he stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, one positioned slightly behind the other, while he beat the large red bag in front of him. Launching fast, sharp jabs and periodically kicking it, Sam unleashed everything he'd been taught by his father upon his stuffed opponent. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his mop of hair laying plastered to the side of his head, and served as evidence of just how long he'd been in there.
And, so, it was because of this, this sense of betrayal, that Sam is back in the sensoriums working out his frustration on a punching bag. With Stacy currently refusing to allow him to proceed past level 5 in her sparring programs, he is left with a gymnasium program--complete with a boxing ring--and the various facilities it had to offer. He needed to vent and this seemed--to him--to be the healthiest way of doing it.
Therefore, he stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, one positioned slightly behind the other, while he beat the large red bag in front of him. Launching fast, sharp jabs and periodically kicking it, Sam unleashed everything he'd been taught by his father upon his stuffed opponent. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his mop of hair laying plastered to the side of his head, and served as evidence of just how long he'd been in there.
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Today isn't any different, and Dean's heading toward the sensoriums so he can lose himself in a strip club when he finds it already occupied. By Sam. Who looks like he's beating the crap out of that bag for a reason and not out of pure boredom.
Dean steps inside, and leans against the wall, watching his little brother with a furrowed brow.
"Hey, kiddo, why the aggression?" Dean finally asks, eyebrow raised.
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"What aggression?" Sam said, right before punching the bag three more times, accompanied with a swift kick that sent it swinging violently.
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"It's a punching bag, Dean. That's what it's for."
Punch-Punch. Punch. Punch-Punch-Punch.
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"Uh huh. Fine, whatever, don't tell me what's up. I can take a hint." Dean rolls his eyes. "Just don't explode at me later."
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"Huh? You wanna sit down with a pint of ice cream and a Sandra Bullock movie and listen to me talk about everything that's bothering me? What the hell you gonna do? Hold my hand and tell me it'll get better? You gonna fix it for me?
"Well, you know what, you can't fix everything, Dean."
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Dean sits through that calmly, having expected it. While he hadn't exactly expected that level of rage, he knows that whatever's bothering Sam has been eating at him, and Dean has no right to start shouting back.
"I can't fix everything, Sammy, but I can help. Something in that big brain of yours is hurting you, and last time I checked, I'm supposed to be watching out for you so things like that don't happen," Dean says, voice as calm as his demeanor.
"Scream at me all you want, Sasquatch, but that's not gonna fix the problem."
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"Yeah, you're damn right somethin' in my brain is hurting. It's the fucking bullet that went through it, that's what. The fucking bullet and that goddamn leech they got locked up down in the medbay," Sam shouted. "The one everyone keeps saying we have to let live."
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"They got a reason for keeping it alive?" Dean asks, and yeah, he's gonna be siding with Sam on this one. Thing is evil. Needs to be killed.
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He turned quickly and fired off another set of strikes to the punching bag. "And now they've convinced the others that they're right. I can't even get the MacManuses, Kate, or Tim or anyone else to back me up. And the funny thing is, aside from you, those people are ones I thought would have my back on this. I thought they'd back me up. After everything that those goddamn things did, I thought that they'd..."
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Dean moves forward again and stops next to Sam, hands in the pockets of his plantsuit.
"I dunno what they did exactly. Nobody's really told me the details. But based on what I have heard, the thing's a parasite. It's like a demon. Infestation's the same thing as possession."
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Sam, unfortunately, has been on the receiving end of both possession and infestation, so he knows just how similar one is to the other. "You have no idea what that thing did to me," he said, there was a telling crack in his voice, a break in his anger and rage. Giving the bag one last punch, Sam wandered over to a bench and sank down onto it and buried his face in his hands.
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"... I'd have an idea if you told me, Sammy." Dean says quietly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans forward.
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"They used me. They got in there and they took over and I couldn't stop 'em. I tried and I fought but I couldn't win. I did what they wanted me to do. I said what they wanted me to say. And all I could do is watch. It's like watching a movie, only it's not just a movie because you can hear your own voice but it's not you speaking, and you see your hands doing things, these awful, inhuman things but it's not you doing them. And you're screaming at the screen hoping, begging, that someone will hear you. But no one ever does."
He paused, massaging his temples in an effort to massage away the ache beginning to grow in his head. "And they just mock you. They use everything they can to break you. Nothing is sacred. Dad, Jessica, Madison, you, everyone we've helped, everyone we've tried to help and failed, every demon, every ghost, every... They used it all. And I couldn't do anything. They made me lie. They made me attack people, Dean. I almost killed Brainy and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't get free, I couldn't cry for help, I couldn't do anything except watch.
"They turned me into a monster and I couldn't do a goddamned thing about it. How the hell am I supposed to get over that? How am I supposed to be ok with keeping one of them alive knowing what they did, what they can do?"
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The expression on Sam's face makes Dean even angrier at the Yeerks, and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down, closing his eyes briefly. And finally, he answers.
"... I can't say I know how it feels 'cause I've never been through it. But it must've been hell," Dean starts, looking Sam straight in the eye. "It wasn't you, Sam. You're not the monster in this. The fucking slug needs to die. But not you."
He lifts a hand, and grabs Sam's shoulder, trying to be comforting.
"... You're not a monster, kiddo. And that thing's gonna die, even if I gotta do it myself."
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Sam shook his head. "I wanted to," he said, lowering his head in shame. "You have no idea how much I wanted to. It's like being a prisoner in your own body. I couldn't do anything. I fought and I fought and I fought and I couldn't beat it. I fought so hard and all I got for it was it laughing at me. Finally I just wanted it over. I just wanted it to end. I didn't think I could take any more. It was the same thing over and over and over again. Never ending. One day after another after another after another. I just wanted it over. And when that thing...when he...when he point my gun at me, when he put it up against my head...
"I couldn't help it. I felt relieved. I was glad, happy, that it was over, it was gonna stop. I wanted to die, Dean. And there are days, now, still, that I wish I had."
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"Don't." Dean says sharply, pulling at Sam's shoulder to make him look at Dean. "Don't say that. I swear to God, Sam, don't even think about it."
His expression's hard for a long moment, but it softens into something more concerned. He doesn't even know what to say.
"... Just don't say that, Sammy."
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"I can't help it. I just keep thinking that maybe I wasn't supposed to be saved, maybe Brainy wasn't supposed to help me. Maybe I was supposed to die because I was too weak, because I wasn't strong enough to stop them, or because I didn't fight hard enough or..."
Sam's eyes are watering and tears are slowly beginning to trickle down.
"I have to keep pushing myself just to keep from thinking about it. Those things took everything, every memory I have, every feeling I've ever had, everyone I've ever cared about and they ruined it. Everything that was private and personal, they took it from me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I was too weak.
"And now they've got that thing and they want to keep it and I don't know if I can do it. I keep looking over my shoulder. I can't sleep. I keep wondering what if it happens again. What if it gets inside my head again. What if it tries it again."
He pauses.
"I can't go through that again, Dean. I just...I can't. There are a lot of things I can take but...I can't stay here knowing that thing is on board. That it might get the chance to do it all over again. Especially now that you're on board and would be the first person it'd go after if it got inside me.
"But no one else here seems to get it. They all think I'm crazy."
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And Dean doesn't know what to do about the tears, either, other than keep his hand on Sam's shoulder and keep himself open, let Sam get this all out.
"It's not gonna happen again. I'm not gonna let it." Dean assures Sam, even though he knows it probably won't help. He thinks its more the fact that he's willing that makes it sincere. "You're not crazy. You've got good reasons, they just aren't seeing 'em."
Dean pauses, and tries to think of what he can do.
"I can kill it. Lemme know where it is and I'll go do it. The others can blame me if they wanna, I don't give a crap."
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"No," Sam said after a few moments of silence, drying his eyes with the sleeve of his plantsuit. "I can't let you do that. Not yet. The others want a trial then they can have it. But I don't care what the jury says, I'm not letting that thing stay on ship alive."
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"Then after the trial. You can help."
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Sam gave a resolute nod. "Then we kill it. Just like everything else we hunt."
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A long pause, and then Dean glances at Sam.
"Are you holding up alright?" Dean asks, and by the way he says it, he's implying now, as in after Sam had let it out.
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"Yeah, maybe, I guess," he answered with a weak nod. "But I'll feel a hell of a lot better once that thing is dead and gone and can't hurt anybody else."
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"... Bet I could beat you at hitting the punching bag." Dean announces, the first thing popping up in his mind coming straight out.
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"No you can't," Sam scoffed.
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Yeah? And? I'm taller," Sam countered. "And I can lift more than you."
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"Just 'cause you're a Sasquatch doesn't mean you can lift more than me."
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"No, the fact that I can lift more than you means that I can lift more than you."
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"Shut up and get your ass over here and prove it then."
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