Jack in the Box - hc_bingo ficlet
Jul. 9th, 2013 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberdreamsUnbeta'd fill for the square unrequited pining for 
hc_bingo
Title: Jack in the Box
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Dean
Prompt: unrequited pining
Medium: Fic
Wordcount: 534
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, tenuous links to the prompt, mention of wincestous longings, no porn
Summary: Stanford era. Dean is good at compartmentalising.
Author's note: Sort of a follow on from my ficlet Oh Bondage.
Stanford era Dean – unrequited pining
Dean lived his life in boxes, of one kind or another.
He drove around in a metal box that was his home from home. Granted, the Impala was a very beautiful metal box, all sleek lines and gleaming chrome, and she purred like a tigress as she ate up America’s lost roads and high roads and all the roads in between, because that’s what the factories in Detroit had made her for. For a man like Dean, and for the miles beneath her wheels.
He hung out in motels where rooms were little more than cubicles with a toilet and a shower tacked on, and he made it interesting by choosing the ones with the biggest egos. From the mangrove themes in Florida to fairground attractions in Maine (he could do that now he was on his own, no Sam to freak out about the creepy clowns), from the UFO themes around Roswell to his own personal favourite, Casa Fred Flintstone, a rock-cut troglodyte motel near the Mesa Verde. Dean’s containers stacked up to form his history.
All of these un-self-imposed life-style choices resulted in an unanticipated side effect inside Dean’s head.
Dean was good at compartmentalising.
It was all about self preservation. Self defence and self control. Just like Daddy taught him from the age of four. He didn’t even know he was doing it.
All the hurty things went into one box – the loneliness, the constant feelings of inadequacy, the fear that Dad would find him unworthy and would abandon him like Sam had done.
All the dirty wrong things went into another – his fierce unspoken sexual attraction to his little brother being top of that pile, always threatening to jump out on its tightly wound spring - together with the need to occasionally visit a BDSM club and find a Dom to administer discipline. The fact that frequently the latter need seemed to arise when he was secretly visiting (Sam would probably call it stalking) said little brother was something Dean was all too happy to leave unexamined, and close the lid on. Tight.
Recently he’d tried to put love in a box too, because that made him weak. Vulnerable. It was all tied up with the hurt, hard to separate really, but he managed it. Tore the love out and shoved it down deep as he could. Cassie had helped him with that, after he’d opened up to her only to have her push him away. Rationally he knew it was only because she was afraid, and maybe if he gave her a little time to absorb the freakish nature of his life, she might come round – but he couldn’t take that chance. Couldn’t face the possibility that she wouldn’t. That she’d reject him again.
So yeah, maybe love was a candidate for the hurty box, but because it was so huge, almost uncontrollable; because Dean was at heart, a passionate man; love got a container all to itself.
And Sam? Sam was in there too – the love Dean had for Sam was the biggest hurt of all. Sam had a container the size of a continent and it still wasn’t big enough to hold him.
hc_bingoTitle: Jack in the Box
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Dean
Prompt: unrequited pining
Medium: Fic
Wordcount: 534
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, tenuous links to the prompt, mention of wincestous longings, no porn
Summary: Stanford era. Dean is good at compartmentalising.
Author's note: Sort of a follow on from my ficlet Oh Bondage.
Stanford era Dean – unrequited pining
Dean lived his life in boxes, of one kind or another.
He drove around in a metal box that was his home from home. Granted, the Impala was a very beautiful metal box, all sleek lines and gleaming chrome, and she purred like a tigress as she ate up America’s lost roads and high roads and all the roads in between, because that’s what the factories in Detroit had made her for. For a man like Dean, and for the miles beneath her wheels.
He hung out in motels where rooms were little more than cubicles with a toilet and a shower tacked on, and he made it interesting by choosing the ones with the biggest egos. From the mangrove themes in Florida to fairground attractions in Maine (he could do that now he was on his own, no Sam to freak out about the creepy clowns), from the UFO themes around Roswell to his own personal favourite, Casa Fred Flintstone, a rock-cut troglodyte motel near the Mesa Verde. Dean’s containers stacked up to form his history.
All of these un-self-imposed life-style choices resulted in an unanticipated side effect inside Dean’s head.
Dean was good at compartmentalising.
It was all about self preservation. Self defence and self control. Just like Daddy taught him from the age of four. He didn’t even know he was doing it.
All the hurty things went into one box – the loneliness, the constant feelings of inadequacy, the fear that Dad would find him unworthy and would abandon him like Sam had done.
All the dirty wrong things went into another – his fierce unspoken sexual attraction to his little brother being top of that pile, always threatening to jump out on its tightly wound spring - together with the need to occasionally visit a BDSM club and find a Dom to administer discipline. The fact that frequently the latter need seemed to arise when he was secretly visiting (Sam would probably call it stalking) said little brother was something Dean was all too happy to leave unexamined, and close the lid on. Tight.
Recently he’d tried to put love in a box too, because that made him weak. Vulnerable. It was all tied up with the hurt, hard to separate really, but he managed it. Tore the love out and shoved it down deep as he could. Cassie had helped him with that, after he’d opened up to her only to have her push him away. Rationally he knew it was only because she was afraid, and maybe if he gave her a little time to absorb the freakish nature of his life, she might come round – but he couldn’t take that chance. Couldn’t face the possibility that she wouldn’t. That she’d reject him again.
So yeah, maybe love was a candidate for the hurty box, but because it was so huge, almost uncontrollable; because Dean was at heart, a passionate man; love got a container all to itself.
And Sam? Sam was in there too – the love Dean had for Sam was the biggest hurt of all. Sam had a container the size of a continent and it still wasn’t big enough to hold him.
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