[Fic] Progression: Part 1 (Sebastian)
Nov. 30th, 2008 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Progression
Fandom: Supernatural/Babylon 5
Characters: Sam Winchester, Sebastian
Word Count: 1,430
Rating: PG. Ish.
Summary: The four central questions, in the correct progression, and Sam's respective answers.
The gray-walled room in Storage Unit 19 was nothing remarkable. Empty of artifacts, personal items, even shelving or boxes. There was no sign of the man who had told him to come here, the old man with a walking stick looking like Godfather Drosselmeyer's understudy. Castiel had said he could help. Sam didn't know how anyone was going to help, right now. Sam already wished he was back in his warm bed with Dean's lumpy form on the bed opposite.
"Hello?"
There was a sound from the hallway. Faint, at first, but he heard it eventually and his hand went towards the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, knees dropping him into a ready if slight crouch. It didn't sound like a threat, which didn't mean it wasn't one. The sound was a carefully measured set of footsteps. A man with a walking stick. Step, step-tak. Step, step-tak.
Sam's eyebrows crept upwards. The melodrama was spilling off of the man and leaking across the floor.
Somewhat more unsettling and less dramatic was the self-assurance with which he moved. As though he owned all the melodrama he was exuding, as though it was properly his and appropriate to who he was. The last few people Sam had met who had walked like that had been bad news, in a major way. As the man walked into one of the circles of light Sam realized he had straightened up and let his hand drop back to his side, shoulders squared, the way he might face his father. That was even more unsettling.
The man -- Sebastian, Castiel had said his name was -- tossed something at him. Sam caught it out of instinct and before realizing that that might not be the wisest of ideas; there were any number of artifacts that could be activated by touch. But when he uncurled his fingers it was only an amulet. A design he didn't recognize and couldn't decipher without his books or his laptop, but still only an amulet. It didn't prick his hand or feel warm or heavy. It just lay there. He looked at it, then over at the man.
"Put it on."
Sam did, blinking.
"The amulet is made for you. You can remove it at any time, but if you do so, you admit your error and will stand before the angels, the demon, and your brother as inadequate for the task ahead. Do you understand?"
Sam's jaw clenched, but he answered. The man smiled. The amulet slipped over his head and around his neck easily, resting over the flannel shirt and over the t-shirt underneath. Over his heart, steadying and slowing in its rhythm.
The man, Sebastian, began to walk. Slow, in circles, his pace steady even with, Sam realized, the intrusion of the walking stick. Maybe it was just an affectation. Maybe it was a hidden weapon? Like a sword-cane. He was watching Sebastian so intently that he almost missed the question.
"Who are you?"
"... I'm Sam Winchester."
His mouth had shaped the last syllable when the pain hit. With a crackling and a sizzling that reminded him of electricity, centered over his chest, and a sharp crack as the walking stick his the concrete floor of the storage room. Not hard, not worse than being knocked across the room by a demon, but it hurt. It really hurt.
"Unacceptable answer." Not shouted, simply stated above the slight ringing in his ears. "I already know your name."
"Then why did you ask," Sam muttered, but he made it quiet enough that the man didn't hear.
"Who are you?"
Sam straightened from the crouch the jolt of electricity had knocked him into and glared. "I'm Sam..." Zot. Only it wasn't a zot. It was pain, sharp and clutching and compressing his heart until he could feel the strain on his chest. The man's voice continued, as dispassionate as before, a rebuking schoolteacher to an unruly student. Dean had always been the unruly student. This wasn't fair.
"If you repeat an unacceptable answer, the penalty will be increased. Who are you?"
This was just confusing. He didn't know what the man wanted. What kind of an answer he was supposed to give. "I'm... I'm a hunter..."
"Unacceptable!" Pain. Either lighter than before or the fact that he was still catching his breath seemed to make it worse, but he couldn't tell which. "That is merely your job, what you do when you choose to do anything at all, the purpose you claim guides your actions. Who are you?"
He could feel his eyes going hot. He wondered for a second if his eyes were going black. What did it feel like when your eyes went black, when you were a demon? "According to your boss," Sam snarked, catching his breath. "I'm the 'boy with the demon bl--'"
"Unacceptable!"
Sam's knees hit the concrete and the jolt it sent into his kneecaps was nothing compared to the crushing weight on his chest. His heart was beating out a frantic tattoo, it was hard to breathe. For a moment his head was swimming and all he could do was kneel there, head down, hands on the cold surface of the floor. Collect himself. Remember how to breathe, meditation, something like that. Remember how to make his limbs work and rip that amulet off and
( you will stand before your brother as inadequate for the task ahead )
The hell he would. Ruby had done something similar, not that it had hurt this much. Learning how to use his powers had hurt almost this much. He could live with a little pain.
Sebastian was kneeling beside him, watching. Not smiling, which was good, Sam didn't think he would have stood for that and probably punched the old bastard right in the face, but watching. "What a sad thing you are," he murmured.
No. Sam was going to punch him in the face.
The other man stood before he could recover enough to do so and began walking a slow circle around him again as Sam pulled himself up to his knees and stared. "Unable to answer even such a simple question without falling back on names, references, allegations, and what other people call you. Have you nothing of your own? Nothing that is not taken from your father, your lover, your brother?"
"You leave my brother the hell out of this..." Sam snarled, managing to pull himself up to his feet again. Breathing easier, muscles responsive. Better.
"And how could I? When he is such an integral part of your life? The car you drove is his. The mission you gave up your life for is his. Every skill you ever learned was his before."
Sam's fingers flexed, though he didn't think he could make it in a rush across the space between them, not yet. Give it another few minutes and he would. He wanted to bash the man's head against the wall till the blood ran down, but he'd settle for knocking him out and getting the hell out of there.
"Look at you. Your brother's belligerence, his arrogance. His anger. Have you nothing of your own? No drive, no needs, no goal apart from what he gives you, no strength apart from his, no heart or courage or compassion but what your brother brings you to? How can you believe you could ever save your brother when you haven't the fairest idea who you are?"
His fingers curled, but not into fists. Opened again and hung loose at his sides. He wasn't trying to save Dean, Dean was already saved, right? Except protesting, even to himself, that he wasn't trying to save his brother was like shouting against the wind. Dean was in pain. Dean was in trouble, broken. He knew that. He could see it even if neither of them would say it out loud, and, yes, he was trying to save Dean.
And now he was being told it was futile.
Sam glared at the man, fleeing to the back of his mind and taking refuge in the remembrance that this was some guy he didn't know, who couldn't possibly know him or his brother (never mind how accurate he'd been so far) and who couldn't possibly know anything that was going on (except that the angels had sent him) and was quite possibly evil (except that Castiel had sent Sam to him). He could save his brother, they'd always saved each other before. He could help his brother. He would.
Dean...
Fandom: Supernatural/Babylon 5
Characters: Sam Winchester, Sebastian
Word Count: 1,430
Rating: PG. Ish.
Summary: The four central questions, in the correct progression, and Sam's respective answers.
The gray-walled room in Storage Unit 19 was nothing remarkable. Empty of artifacts, personal items, even shelving or boxes. There was no sign of the man who had told him to come here, the old man with a walking stick looking like Godfather Drosselmeyer's understudy. Castiel had said he could help. Sam didn't know how anyone was going to help, right now. Sam already wished he was back in his warm bed with Dean's lumpy form on the bed opposite.
"Hello?"
There was a sound from the hallway. Faint, at first, but he heard it eventually and his hand went towards the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, knees dropping him into a ready if slight crouch. It didn't sound like a threat, which didn't mean it wasn't one. The sound was a carefully measured set of footsteps. A man with a walking stick. Step, step-tak. Step, step-tak.
Sam's eyebrows crept upwards. The melodrama was spilling off of the man and leaking across the floor.
Somewhat more unsettling and less dramatic was the self-assurance with which he moved. As though he owned all the melodrama he was exuding, as though it was properly his and appropriate to who he was. The last few people Sam had met who had walked like that had been bad news, in a major way. As the man walked into one of the circles of light Sam realized he had straightened up and let his hand drop back to his side, shoulders squared, the way he might face his father. That was even more unsettling.
The man -- Sebastian, Castiel had said his name was -- tossed something at him. Sam caught it out of instinct and before realizing that that might not be the wisest of ideas; there were any number of artifacts that could be activated by touch. But when he uncurled his fingers it was only an amulet. A design he didn't recognize and couldn't decipher without his books or his laptop, but still only an amulet. It didn't prick his hand or feel warm or heavy. It just lay there. He looked at it, then over at the man.
"Put it on."
Sam did, blinking.
"The amulet is made for you. You can remove it at any time, but if you do so, you admit your error and will stand before the angels, the demon, and your brother as inadequate for the task ahead. Do you understand?"
Sam's jaw clenched, but he answered. The man smiled. The amulet slipped over his head and around his neck easily, resting over the flannel shirt and over the t-shirt underneath. Over his heart, steadying and slowing in its rhythm.
The man, Sebastian, began to walk. Slow, in circles, his pace steady even with, Sam realized, the intrusion of the walking stick. Maybe it was just an affectation. Maybe it was a hidden weapon? Like a sword-cane. He was watching Sebastian so intently that he almost missed the question.
"Who are you?"
"... I'm Sam Winchester."
His mouth had shaped the last syllable when the pain hit. With a crackling and a sizzling that reminded him of electricity, centered over his chest, and a sharp crack as the walking stick his the concrete floor of the storage room. Not hard, not worse than being knocked across the room by a demon, but it hurt. It really hurt.
"Unacceptable answer." Not shouted, simply stated above the slight ringing in his ears. "I already know your name."
"Then why did you ask," Sam muttered, but he made it quiet enough that the man didn't hear.
"Who are you?"
Sam straightened from the crouch the jolt of electricity had knocked him into and glared. "I'm Sam..." Zot. Only it wasn't a zot. It was pain, sharp and clutching and compressing his heart until he could feel the strain on his chest. The man's voice continued, as dispassionate as before, a rebuking schoolteacher to an unruly student. Dean had always been the unruly student. This wasn't fair.
"If you repeat an unacceptable answer, the penalty will be increased. Who are you?"
This was just confusing. He didn't know what the man wanted. What kind of an answer he was supposed to give. "I'm... I'm a hunter..."
"Unacceptable!" Pain. Either lighter than before or the fact that he was still catching his breath seemed to make it worse, but he couldn't tell which. "That is merely your job, what you do when you choose to do anything at all, the purpose you claim guides your actions. Who are you?"
He could feel his eyes going hot. He wondered for a second if his eyes were going black. What did it feel like when your eyes went black, when you were a demon? "According to your boss," Sam snarked, catching his breath. "I'm the 'boy with the demon bl--'"
"Unacceptable!"
Sam's knees hit the concrete and the jolt it sent into his kneecaps was nothing compared to the crushing weight on his chest. His heart was beating out a frantic tattoo, it was hard to breathe. For a moment his head was swimming and all he could do was kneel there, head down, hands on the cold surface of the floor. Collect himself. Remember how to breathe, meditation, something like that. Remember how to make his limbs work and rip that amulet off and
( you will stand before your brother as inadequate for the task ahead )
The hell he would. Ruby had done something similar, not that it had hurt this much. Learning how to use his powers had hurt almost this much. He could live with a little pain.
Sebastian was kneeling beside him, watching. Not smiling, which was good, Sam didn't think he would have stood for that and probably punched the old bastard right in the face, but watching. "What a sad thing you are," he murmured.
No. Sam was going to punch him in the face.
The other man stood before he could recover enough to do so and began walking a slow circle around him again as Sam pulled himself up to his knees and stared. "Unable to answer even such a simple question without falling back on names, references, allegations, and what other people call you. Have you nothing of your own? Nothing that is not taken from your father, your lover, your brother?"
"You leave my brother the hell out of this..." Sam snarled, managing to pull himself up to his feet again. Breathing easier, muscles responsive. Better.
"And how could I? When he is such an integral part of your life? The car you drove is his. The mission you gave up your life for is his. Every skill you ever learned was his before."
Sam's fingers flexed, though he didn't think he could make it in a rush across the space between them, not yet. Give it another few minutes and he would. He wanted to bash the man's head against the wall till the blood ran down, but he'd settle for knocking him out and getting the hell out of there.
"Look at you. Your brother's belligerence, his arrogance. His anger. Have you nothing of your own? No drive, no needs, no goal apart from what he gives you, no strength apart from his, no heart or courage or compassion but what your brother brings you to? How can you believe you could ever save your brother when you haven't the fairest idea who you are?"
His fingers curled, but not into fists. Opened again and hung loose at his sides. He wasn't trying to save Dean, Dean was already saved, right? Except protesting, even to himself, that he wasn't trying to save his brother was like shouting against the wind. Dean was in pain. Dean was in trouble, broken. He knew that. He could see it even if neither of them would say it out loud, and, yes, he was trying to save Dean.
And now he was being told it was futile.
Sam glared at the man, fleeing to the back of his mind and taking refuge in the remembrance that this was some guy he didn't know, who couldn't possibly know him or his brother (never mind how accurate he'd been so far) and who couldn't possibly know anything that was going on (except that the angels had sent him) and was quite possibly evil (except that Castiel had sent Sam to him). He could save his brother, they'd always saved each other before. He could help his brother. He would.
Dean...