056. spn/oth: i should have known you were gonna drift away.
title. i should have known you were gonna drift away.
fandom. supernatural/one tree hill.
pairings/characters. sam winchester. brooke davis. (sam/brooke, lucas/brooke).
warnings. spn. late season three. oth. season five.
disclaimer. not mine.
words. 293.
rating. pg.
for. choco_cherries. (prompt: run.)
summary. she stays - but it’s not how he thinks.
notes. (unbeta’d.) feedback is ♥.
She stays.
But it’s not how he thinks.
She moves, constantly, running from demons invulnerable to rock salt and Latin chants, invulnerable to the depths of a fiery hell where blood is held captive in a spider’s web. Even the moments where she’s a statue, frozen, asleep beside him, she’s moving, her legs continuously running from faces and voices he can’t describe.
“Brooke,” he says, lines crease his face more permanently now, the youth of classic rock printed on cassette tapes has vanished into a box, lost in a wardrobe where every crevice is filled with shoes. Rundown motels morph into a little apartment, lined with slick wooden panels and smooth paint lines trimmed neatly with photo frames of broken glass.
“Not now,” she sketches lines on paper, dresses, belts and blank faces; the counter is littered with erasers, shavings and paper scraps.
He sighs, her pencil scratches furiously and she groans, rubber attacks lead, “You’ve got to stop.”
“Can’t,” she draws heatedly, dark lines look odd in comparison to smooth ones, “I’ve got to get this done.”
He approaches her, hand sliding along the counter’s edge, “Finish it off later.”
Pencil pauses above paper, “Sam.”
“It’s not going anywhere,” he breathes through a smile, his hand slides slowly towards her arm, pencil shavings and bits of eraser fumble underneath his fingers.
She licks her lips, pencil falls flat between her fingers; there’s a falter in her step, “I’ve believed that one before.”
Stilled pencils move quietly, weight is lifted as light lines press against the paper in a gentle kiss and a little town along a river flashes as a reflection on the counter.
Demons sink heavily onto her shoulders, into his mind, and his hand stills seconds away from her elbow.
fandom. supernatural/one tree hill.
pairings/characters. sam winchester. brooke davis. (sam/brooke, lucas/brooke).
warnings. spn. late season three. oth. season five.
disclaimer. not mine.
words. 293.
rating. pg.
for. choco_cherries. (prompt: run.)
summary. she stays - but it’s not how he thinks.
notes. (unbeta’d.) feedback is ♥.
She stays.
But it’s not how he thinks.
She moves, constantly, running from demons invulnerable to rock salt and Latin chants, invulnerable to the depths of a fiery hell where blood is held captive in a spider’s web. Even the moments where she’s a statue, frozen, asleep beside him, she’s moving, her legs continuously running from faces and voices he can’t describe.
“Brooke,” he says, lines crease his face more permanently now, the youth of classic rock printed on cassette tapes has vanished into a box, lost in a wardrobe where every crevice is filled with shoes. Rundown motels morph into a little apartment, lined with slick wooden panels and smooth paint lines trimmed neatly with photo frames of broken glass.
“Not now,” she sketches lines on paper, dresses, belts and blank faces; the counter is littered with erasers, shavings and paper scraps.
He sighs, her pencil scratches furiously and she groans, rubber attacks lead, “You’ve got to stop.”
“Can’t,” she draws heatedly, dark lines look odd in comparison to smooth ones, “I’ve got to get this done.”
He approaches her, hand sliding along the counter’s edge, “Finish it off later.”
Pencil pauses above paper, “Sam.”
“It’s not going anywhere,” he breathes through a smile, his hand slides slowly towards her arm, pencil shavings and bits of eraser fumble underneath his fingers.
She licks her lips, pencil falls flat between her fingers; there’s a falter in her step, “I’ve believed that one before.”
Stilled pencils move quietly, weight is lifted as light lines press against the paper in a gentle kiss and a little town along a river flashes as a reflection on the counter.
Demons sink heavily onto her shoulders, into his mind, and his hand stills seconds away from her elbow.