Over The Rainbow
Mar. 22nd, 2006 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mellaithwenTitle: Over The Rainbow
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nope. Sam POV from the very beginning
Summary: Sam writes down his thoughts.
Uh hey? Okay I admit it, I suck at diaries, I've never kept one, and the only one I've read is dad's, so forgive any lame-ness, then again, I'm talking to paper, that's gotta be pretty lame, right? I mean, I'm telling an old tree my thoughts and feelings, instead of sharing it with a human being who can reply. Even if it is with the usual defence-mechanism humour that drives me insane...
I’m surprised at myself, for a while now Dean’s been telling me to deal with my messed up head, and I’ve been shrugging him off or being a complete ass-hole and I know he’s just looking out for me, but he sure as hell knows how to be over-bearing, you know? The protector, the big brother, he’s good at it, I’ll give him that, but I don’t like being protected all the time. It actually kinda sucks to be the damsel in distress.
He says I have the hair for it, I hit him, but he hits me back, I called him a jerk, he called me a bitch and grinned, and I couldn’t help but grin in return. It’s kinda weird how we show affection; I think Dr Phil would have a field day with that. Especially since Dean apparently watches Oprah...
He’s looking at me, I’m in the car, and I’m balancing paper on the dashboard, its this crappy little notepad I found in the back, and he tries to read, but he has to drive, and my arms hiding it, I can see him, his eyes kinda try to look and he cranes his neck, but all he’s gonna see is a my messiest writing, upside-down, and he really should be looking at the road. “Dean!” a truck beeps its giant horn and he’s learnt his lesson, he’s stopped trying to look. He probably thinks he’ll just steal it later, but I won’t let him. Maybe I’ll just rip it into pieces or hell, burn it, let the fire take it along with everything else.
Metallica on the radio, sometimes it varies, you know AC/DC, Rolling Stones, but uh, most of the time it’s Metallica, I think Dean knows I prefer the others more, and just does it to spite me, he’s an ass. A complete ass, and most of the time, I don’t wanna listen to the lyrics because the songs make my head hurt. That’s something Jess taught me to do, you know to read into songs, to see more than just a good tune.
Have you ever heard this song, it’s uh, it’s by Isreal Kamakawiwo'ole, try saying that when you’re drunk. But this song, it’s a cover; of Somewhere Over The Rainbow it’s something Jess introduced me to. We were just sitting around, you know, watching TV, and this show came on, and I can’t even remember what it was, but there was this really sad scene, and Jess was crying through it, and it was playing in the background. And it’s like this I don’t know, it’s a cover of the Wizard of Oz song, but it kinda meshes with another song. Anyway, Jess couldn’t believe I could just sit there and not get sad, and I didn’t understand why she found it so sad. And she told me to find the lyrics, and she told me, it wasn’t so much the scene, as the meaning behind the scene on TV, and I’m thinking she’s reading into things too much, but I don’t dare say it, I’m not a hypocrite, or at least, I try not to be. So she says, to look it up on my trusty laptop, she told me to read them, to really read them, and then to listen to it again.
So I look it up, and it takes a while but I found the lyrics, and Jess was behind me the entire time, watching me read. And she told me, to imagine this place, you know really great place, and she told me to imagine the saddest moment of my life. And I looked her like, ‘Why?’ and she just said that that’s what she felt when she heard it. You know this sadness, over whatever she was seeing, and how whenever she heard that song, she’d always cry, because it reminded her of whatever sad thing she’d seen going along with it.
She said to imagine something personal with every line, and I still didn’t get why she was making all this effort, ‘cause I knew I wasn’t gonna cry. So she turns to me, and she says she doesn’t want to see me cry, she just wants me to understand.
So a lot of it, its kinda hard to find something, you know? Other than imagining blue birds flying over a rainbow, which is kinda corny in itself. So the first line, where I actually think of something, is um, “Well I see skies of blue, and I see clouds of white, and the brightness of day…I like the dark, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.” And I figured it was kinda like me, you know? I look around and I see normalcy, and I see normal people, living normal lives, and I remember this intense jealousy I used to feel when I was younger, but now I’m thinking, I’m part of that, but even though I am, and I’m standing here, in the brightness of day, I’m so used to the darkness I’m more comfortable at night, because people can’t see me so well, and they don’t see the look that I’m sad, or they don’t sense the feeling that I don’t belong. They don’t ask if I’m okay, because they’re asleep, and I can’t sleep, because I dream.
And I’m thinking this, and there’s this other line, it’s not listed in the lyrics for this version, uh, ‘cause in the song, he kinda trails away, but in the original lyrics is says, “And the dream that you dare to dream really will come true.” And in this guy’s version, he says, “And the dream that you dare to-why oh why can’t I?” And this is my dream, or it was. Being normal. And I always thought I deserved it, you know, all the crap I went through as a kid, hating hunting, but not being able to escape it. And then this letter came in the post and at the time, it was like of all of my dreams had come true. I had nothing else to worry about, nothing except going to school, and passing grades. Being normal.
Car’s coming to a stop, and I’m still writing, and my head is filled with all this stuff, and I just have to get it down, you know? And Dean’s out of the car, he’s coming around, about to open my door, like I’m some girl he’s trying to impress, or just sneak a peak at what I’m writing-
Normal. There’s that word again, you know, the definition of normal is to me, more of a state of being, you know, and um, well according to google, see I’m now wasting my laptop’s electricity while writing, and it says that it’s ‘conforming with or constituting a norm or standard or level or type or social norm; not abnormal;’ and I figured well yeah, that’s what I’m doing, and the next just made me laugh, um, ‘in accordance with scientific laws’ and nothing we’ve ever hunted has been in accordance with scientific laws, so I guess that proves normal just isn’t for me.
I remember I’d been sitting at the screen for a while now, and, Jess said “Penny for your thoughts.” But I couldn’t, ‘cause I’d seen this other line, and I know it’s getting tedious, and I’m taking like four pages, but, it says “I see friend’s shaking hands, saying “How do you do?” When they’re really saying, I, I love you.” And I’m like that is so my brother. He won’t say anything but his silence speaks volumes. He’s completely into the hunt, and he’s just been in this shell for so long of being the perfect hunter, and that means no emotions, so he doesn’t let himself have any, or at least, he doesn’t let me see any. Which is kind of sad I guess? I mean, I have nightmares, and that’s my subconscious trying to find a way through all the mess, make sense of all the grieving, and when I wake up, Dean’s there. But I don’t know how he deals with it. When I remember what he was like in Lawrence, he was freaked, and he did not wanna be there, but I dragged him along, and sure, we helped Jenny and her family, but, I’m pretty sure we ruined the whole dynamic we had going on.
I told Dean about the dreams, and he wasn’t best pleased. More out of fear I guess, I don’t understand, and I don’t expect him to but I still go to him for answers, and I get pissy when he doesn’t know. And maybe it’s because I kept it from him for so long. When we were kids I used to tell him everything, and then when I was fourteen he kinda stopped saying it back, he was older, he didn’t want to talk so much, and I figured if he wasn’t gonna talk why the hell should I? I remember he still asked me, you know what I was thinking, if I was okay, but it turned into one-word answers, monotone responses, and practically screaming at him to stop calling me Sammy.
I wanted to be older, because that meant I could be like Dean, and Dean dealt with all the crap so in my naïve little mind I figured if I acted like Dean, I could deal with it too. I’m on like the 5th page now, I really have to stop writing. I’ll probably just toss this in the bin, or shove it in the back of my jean pocket, read it in a few weeks and realize I was clearly on the verge of a breakdown to even acknowledge these thoughts, let alone put them to paper.
I guess dad must have felt like that, I’ve seen Dean read that journal every night, searching for clues, and there aren’t any. I’ve read it once and I can tell that much, but he keeps reading, but me, I feel like I’m invading my dad’s privacy, not that he doesn’t deserve it, but, reading the way he writers, talking about mom. Talking about us, his boys, talking about Dean. There’s this um, passage, I guess you could call it, and it says that
“Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side - or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.”
And I’m reading it and looking at Dad in this whole new light. I think I’m jealous, because he wanted Dean to feel normal, but I don’t remember him ever doing that with me. I’m reading and I’m seeing my brother in this whole new light as well, to go from normalcy and then this. Iguesswe'reeven, he got four years, but he can barely remember them, and I got two years,and they haunt me everyday.I’d never read the journal before now, I mean, I had no reason to, Dad was the go-to guy for info, not the book he scribbled down in, but he left it to us, so yeah, I’ve read it. And Dean keeps reading it. I think he’s sad, he reads it and he must feel something completely different.
To me, it’s like detached, I don’t remember any of it, and I might as well not have been there, but Dean, he remembers the fire, and reading must give him more memories, even if they are disjoined, a part of me wants to be able to ask four year old Dean what he’s protecting me from, ‘cause twenty-seven year old Dean wouldn’t tell me even if he could remember his thoughts from so long ago.
I’ve got the song playing through on my laptop, with some cheap ear-phones I bought at this convenience store, something like $4 and I can hardly hear, even though it’s on full blast, but I get the jist of it, and I’ve heard it so much already, that I know what’s what. I don’t need to hear it, or read the lyrics. I know them. I know the bittersweet ironic hell of hearing this guy talk about heaven, you know, what he sees as heaven, “Where trouble melts like lemon drops, high above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me.” And um then he says, “What a wonderful world.” And I wanna stop the song. Because Jess listened to this song, and I know she’d agree.
She was optimistic, kind, she’d see the world and all its flaws and she’d still love it, and I guess that’s part of the reason I never told her, or thought about telling her, because I didn’t want her to lose that. I didn’t want her to be afraid, I just wanted her to be normal, and because I knew I never would be. I think she’d call me selfish, I think she’d scream, and probably dump me, but then I’d give her time, and she’d think things over, and she’d agree that if I did go back to the hunt, she’d be okay, and she’d look after herself, and one day I’d be back. And then I’d wake up, from the one time, where if Dean asked me what I’d dreamt, and I said “Lollipops and candy-canes.” I’d actually be telling the truth. For once, in my dreary lie of a life.
Dean’s stirring, it’s actually gotten kinda late, he went straight to bed as soon as we got into the room, and I said I’d try some research first, you know, cruise the net, find some Supernatural goings on and we could torch the sucker. I sound like Dean, used to be a time when I’d want that, but I don’t anymore. I want to be Sam, not dad, or Sammy, or Dean. Just Sam. Just me. I think it’s time to rip this up now, I can’t find the lighter, and I don’t want to wake Dean up by switching on the light. Maybe I’ll just keep it until morning, you know shove it in my back pocket. Look at it later on...
But I already know I’m on the verge of a breakdown, the only thing keeping me sane, is the hunt, and Dean. Dean and the hunt, and that’s the hunt for Jessica’s killer as well as Dad, I guess. I need to find a hobby. Maybe this is it, writing my thoughts on a pad of paper, so I can see the shit I churn out if given the chance. I was never this bad in Stanford, I’d work endlessly on getting the right words, taking my time, now, I’m rushing because I don’t wanna forget anything. Ever. Even the bad stuff, because that’s what keeps me going, ever since Dean told me it helped him, to kill as many sons of bitches as he could, and it does help, makes you feel like you did something worth doing. Worth risking it all for. Worth dying for. Does a diary entry need a goodbye? How about a note-pad entry, or a drabble of crap? No? Good, ‘cause I hate them, diaries and goodbyes.
-Fin
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Date: 2006-03-24 07:09 am (UTC)