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SPNFF: Just One Year
Title: Just One Year
Word count: 671, give or take
Summary: Lisa felt like she had lost something, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t seem to find it.
Warnings: Post-“Let It Bleed.” Spoiler warnings are in effect.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, though I wouldn’t mind sitting down and having a chat with the writers and actors.
A/N: Some of you might have already read this, as I forgot to lock my draft when I posted to my LJ. D’oh! Hope you enjoy it the second time around. :-)
A/N 2: They must have had me in mind when they titled the ep “Let It Bleed.” Just rip out my heart, why doncha, Jensen? Guh!
A/N The Third: I don't usually do this, because I guess I figure that people know which songs I get my titles from. But as I was stumbling around for a title for this one, I ran across this song, and I thought the lyrics were a very good fit. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.
Just One Year
There were no two ways about it—the garage needed to be cleaned.
It wasn’t like the clutter was totally insurmountable after the move to Battle Creek (and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out the bit of restlessness that prompted that), but Lisa felt like she had lost something, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t seem to find it. Whatever it was (and she really wished she could figure out what it was she needed to lay her hands on), it had to be in the garage. She couldn’t find it anywhere in the house.
Standing amid the boxes, she scanned the area, trying to figure out where to start. With a sigh, she stepped up to the shelves on one side of the garage and started pulling down and opening boxes. Boxes of clothes that should probably be sorted through. Christmas ornaments. Halloween decorations. Sports equipment—baseball glove, shin guards, soccer cleats that Ben was fast outgrowing.
On the other side, boxes of old books that could be put in a garage sale. Pushing her hair out of her face, Lisa frowned. A lot of them had Latin titles. At least, she thought it was Latin. It looked like Latin. She briefly wondered why those would be in her garage, and what she should do with them. Take them to a second-hand bookstore, maybe. Donate them to Goodwill. She sat a moment. Between the clothes and the sporting equipment and the books, perhaps a garage sale was in order.
Lawn and garden equipment lined the wall, and there was a tool box sitting on the floor. She remembered taking a bunch of very nice tools and a tool cabinet to a pawn shop before the move . . . her previous move? Before this one? Maybe? . . . but this was just the size of a tackle box. Opening it, she found basic tools required for small home repairs—hammer, screwdriver, nails, picture hangers and wire, pliers, a wrench.
The shelves held motor oil and shop rags and other maintenance supplies, things you’d expect to find in a garage. A canvas coat smelling of sawdust and sweat was folded up on the shelf as well.
Lisa sighed, ready to give up, when her eyes fell upon a beat-up wooden chest tucked away in a corner. The black paint was chipped in places, and she had no recollection of this coming with her in the move. It must have been left behind by the previous owners, but she didn’t recall it being in the garage when she and Ben arrived, either. Definitely something for the garage sale. Or maybe the antique shop. She knelt down and opened it.
The hinges squeaked, and she got a whiff of a strong, pungent odor. Gun oil, she thought, but she had no idea how she knew that.
Inside the chest, she found an old dark brown coat. She ghosted her fingers gently over the supple leather. It was worn with age and use. Vintage, definitely. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was large, with broad shoulders. The man who wore this would have to be tall, muscular. She fingered the lapel, the buttons, reached into the pockets and found packets of salt. Holding it to her nose, she breathed in the scent of gun oil and smoke and sweat and whiskey. She closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye she saw hazel green eyes. Full lips. A strong jaw, sporting a slight stubble.
Her chest ached, and her stomach knotted with fear and uncertainty, a sadness that what she sought was lost. But stronger than the fear was the ache in her heart—longing for someone and a need to protect the owner of the jacket. And covering it all was a love she couldn’t explain.
Smoothing her hand over the jacket one last time, she carefully folded it and returned it to the chest, and closed the lid.
The garage sale would have to wait.
~finis
Word count: 671, give or take
Summary: Lisa felt like she had lost something, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t seem to find it.
Warnings: Post-“Let It Bleed.” Spoiler warnings are in effect.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, though I wouldn’t mind sitting down and having a chat with the writers and actors.
A/N: Some of you might have already read this, as I forgot to lock my draft when I posted to my LJ. D’oh! Hope you enjoy it the second time around. :-)
A/N 2: They must have had me in mind when they titled the ep “Let It Bleed.” Just rip out my heart, why doncha, Jensen? Guh!
A/N The Third: I don't usually do this, because I guess I figure that people know which songs I get my titles from. But as I was stumbling around for a title for this one, I ran across this song, and I thought the lyrics were a very good fit. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.
Just One Year
There were no two ways about it—the garage needed to be cleaned.
It wasn’t like the clutter was totally insurmountable after the move to Battle Creek (and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out the bit of restlessness that prompted that), but Lisa felt like she had lost something, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t seem to find it. Whatever it was (and she really wished she could figure out what it was she needed to lay her hands on), it had to be in the garage. She couldn’t find it anywhere in the house.
Standing amid the boxes, she scanned the area, trying to figure out where to start. With a sigh, she stepped up to the shelves on one side of the garage and started pulling down and opening boxes. Boxes of clothes that should probably be sorted through. Christmas ornaments. Halloween decorations. Sports equipment—baseball glove, shin guards, soccer cleats that Ben was fast outgrowing.
On the other side, boxes of old books that could be put in a garage sale. Pushing her hair out of her face, Lisa frowned. A lot of them had Latin titles. At least, she thought it was Latin. It looked like Latin. She briefly wondered why those would be in her garage, and what she should do with them. Take them to a second-hand bookstore, maybe. Donate them to Goodwill. She sat a moment. Between the clothes and the sporting equipment and the books, perhaps a garage sale was in order.
Lawn and garden equipment lined the wall, and there was a tool box sitting on the floor. She remembered taking a bunch of very nice tools and a tool cabinet to a pawn shop before the move . . . her previous move? Before this one? Maybe? . . . but this was just the size of a tackle box. Opening it, she found basic tools required for small home repairs—hammer, screwdriver, nails, picture hangers and wire, pliers, a wrench.
The shelves held motor oil and shop rags and other maintenance supplies, things you’d expect to find in a garage. A canvas coat smelling of sawdust and sweat was folded up on the shelf as well.
Lisa sighed, ready to give up, when her eyes fell upon a beat-up wooden chest tucked away in a corner. The black paint was chipped in places, and she had no recollection of this coming with her in the move. It must have been left behind by the previous owners, but she didn’t recall it being in the garage when she and Ben arrived, either. Definitely something for the garage sale. Or maybe the antique shop. She knelt down and opened it.
The hinges squeaked, and she got a whiff of a strong, pungent odor. Gun oil, she thought, but she had no idea how she knew that.
Inside the chest, she found an old dark brown coat. She ghosted her fingers gently over the supple leather. It was worn with age and use. Vintage, definitely. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was large, with broad shoulders. The man who wore this would have to be tall, muscular. She fingered the lapel, the buttons, reached into the pockets and found packets of salt. Holding it to her nose, she breathed in the scent of gun oil and smoke and sweat and whiskey. She closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye she saw hazel green eyes. Full lips. A strong jaw, sporting a slight stubble.
Her chest ached, and her stomach knotted with fear and uncertainty, a sadness that what she sought was lost. But stronger than the fear was the ache in her heart—longing for someone and a need to protect the owner of the jacket. And covering it all was a love she couldn’t explain.
Smoothing her hand over the jacket one last time, she carefully folded it and returned it to the chest, and closed the lid.
The garage sale would have to wait.
~finis
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*hands tissue*
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Also, thank you for adding the bit about the random move; I was trying to figure out how a mind-wipe was going to save her from Crowley (since the King of Hell doesn't really care if she knows why he's cutting her up, so long as DEAN knows why it's happening).
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Interesting read on the random move! I actually hadn't intended it to be an additional move, but rather the move that she and Dean made (or one she made within the course of the season). But then, my memory regarding such things is about as scrambled as Lisa's is now, so yay for memory-scrambled ambiguity! \o/
Because you're absolutely right about Lisa and Ben still being a point of vulnerability for Dean.
Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.
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Which confuses me; Dean is a guy who can come up with taking a shot of Phoenix Ash with a whiskey chaser to kill Mommy Dearest on the fly…but he leave an enormous gaping hole in his plan to protect Lisa and Ben. I guess it could be argued that he wasn’t thinking straight, that the opportunity to ask Cas for (another) favor was so last-minute that he got his wires crossed…
But…uh…
*looks perplexed*
*shrug*
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I think that "protecting" Lisa and Ben--from the things that go bump in the night, anyway--was not part of his purpose. He was protecting them from trauma and from memories: memories of being possessed, of having a demon cast doubt on one's place in one's mother's life, from being in love with him and from missing him.
And this request definitely was made in the heat of the moment. He saw two of the people he loves the most suffering, and the only way he could think of to fix it was to make them forget. Not a well-thought-out plan, but a very Dean thing to do.
Now, not that I think Dean was taking the following part into consideration, but I think we as the audience should. Lisa (and Ben) knew how to protect against demons. She knew about salting doors and windows, and she knew about having a devil's trap under the rug in front of the front door. Yet the demons still got in. Which tells me that even though she had the knowledge, Lisa wasn't utilizing it. So is wiping memories of how to protect oneself all that different from having the knowledge and not using it?
I get why Dean did what he did, and it hurts my heart for him. At the same time, the part that bothers me is that he took from Lisa memories of what she called "the best year of my life." In that regard, I've gotta agree with Sam on the topic.
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Ahhhhh….OK. I can see that, although it does seem to hamstring them at the same time. The next time the Big Bad shows up they won’t have a clue how to defend themselves either.
“Not a well-thought-out plan, but a very Dean thing to do.”
With you on that.
“Lisa (and Ben) knew how to protect against demons….Lisa wasn't utilizing it. So is wiping memories of how to protect oneself all that different from having the knowledge and not using it?”
But…don’t you think she’d be more likely to use that knowledge if she also knew she and her kid had been nabbed and damaged once already? She may have been able to delude herself that breaking up with Dean would get her ‘out of the life’ before, but not anymore; or rather, not anymore if she still remembered the consequences of not taking precautions.
Although, let’s be honest: if Crowley wanted to get to them, he’d get to them.
“I get why Dean did what he did, and it hurts my heart for him. At the same time, the part that bothers me is that he took from Lisa memories of what she called "the best year of my life." In that regard, I've gotta agree with Sam on the topic.”
*nods in agreement*
I hate to say it, but the other aspect of this is the impression that one is never really able to live an apple pie life again after having rubbed up against the certain knowledge of paranormal forces. You look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you - you know each other. That awareness has both power and danger for hunters and hunted. While I think it is certainly possible that Dean was trying to ‘reset’ Ben and Lisa in some way, all I can think is that she is going to get home to a dead boyfriend, a wrecked house, and a shotgun in her closet.
What would freak you out more – knowing why, or not knowing?
Then again, Lisa and Ben didn’t get that choice.
*sad sigh*
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There's so much storytelling potential that we can play with.
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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It appears Musey's in agreement with you, and she's not ready to let this go yet. So there might be more coming.
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*sniff*
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I'm wondering how swiss-cheesed Lisa's memory is, and if find things around the house (oh, like pictures, for example) will bring things spilling back, or send her on a quest to figure out who this guy is or whatever.
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I have many thoughts about the jacket and what it represents, and why it actually makes sense to me, storywise, that we haven't seen it this season. But yes, I do think it's still lurking somewhere, tucked away.
(Oh, I know we've seen the last of it because it was stolen from a photo shoot, but as far as the story is concerned, it's still tucked safely away.)
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It kinda hurts my heart.
And yes, people can be incredibly rude. I imagine Jensen would have liked to have taken the jacket home with him after the series wraps.
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I'm glad I inspired you. :-)
I had a brief moment of debate as to whether or not I should post this to a gen community. I come from a time in fandom when there were only two categories of fic: gen and slash. That's it. Everything else (het, romance, etc.) was either a subcategory or warned for in the warnings. So I tend to think of everything I write as gen. I also figured I've posted other Lisa stuff in the comm, so here it is. :-)
Thanks for reading, and for taking the time to comment!
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I've never gotten the people who hate a ship. It's all fiction, for crying out loud -- even the canon. There is plenty of room for canon, fanon, what-ifs and AUs. Dan't let the haters (in any fandom) prevent you from posting stories you've labored over. After all, we never know how many fans are quietly searching for fic about their favorite ship and not finding it.
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Well, I've posted this and my other fics to
Thanks for reading and for taking the time to comment! Glad to see you.
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*blush* In my fervor to get you to keep posting, I dorgot to tell you how great I thought your story was. I can well imagine Lisa having ghostly whispers and images in the back of her mind and in her dreams. The Great Wall of Sam couldn't keep his memories from seeping through.
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I'm delighted it works for you. :-) Thank you!
And oh, honey. Lisa totally knew in her heart that she should have recognized Dean. When he came to see her after the memory wipe, she looked like she was anticipating something--almost hopeful. Then disappointed when he told her he was the one who ran into her with his car. Cas might have wiped Dean from her memory, but he couldn't wipe Dean from her heart.
(Also, I find it very interesting that after the mind wipe, Lisa was propped up by pillows in green pillowcases--a color you never see in hospital linens. Green like Dean's eyes. Green like Dean's shirt. Yeah . . . that wasn't an accident.)
Thanks so much for commenting!
edited for annoying spelling error.
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Yes. Perfect.
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Glad you like it.