fic: Love my life
title: Love my life
pairing: Sam/Dean
words: 1k
summary: Sam and Dean love hunting again.
a/n: named after the movie Love My Life, without having anything to do with it. for maraceles.
warnings: 1) This is part actual plagiarism, you shall see. 2) WIP, of a sort.
Sam loved his life suddenly, one day, as he wrestled an orange cone from where it had gotten lodged in the undercarriage. About time.
Dean rapped the steel of the door with two knuckles. "Told you not to swerve like that." He was pacing the same ten feet, and Sam was sitting there on hot asphalt, reaching under the car.
"There was a rabbit," he explained again, yanking the cone with his entire weight behind it, relying on force rather than dexterity. "You can't just run over a rabbit."
"Lesser of two evils."
"Besides, what was a cone doing way out here?"
When it suddenly came free, a spray of gravel kicked up along with a plume of roadside dirt. Sam coughed and should have been annoyed. Hell, at some point the whole situation would have seemed infuriating: how they were held up in the pre-storm, heat hanging heavy under an eerie sky with nothing around them but cornfield for miles. Lately, though, they'd both been almost guilty pleased about everything, like there was an energy running liquid just beneath the surface. Had been since the alpaca.
"What are we doing, man?" Dean got a t-shirt from the back, handing it to Sam to wipe his face with. "Out in the middle of nowhere, you taking out your latent anger on road blocks--"
"I didn't mean to."
"--and here I am, just trying to get from point A to point B without ending up as collateral due to letting a psycho drive."
"Shut the hell up," Sam laughed. He grabbed Dean's pant leg to pull himself to standing.
"Out of the goodness of my heart," Dean said, as he hopped around to get his leg out of Sam's grasp.
"Bike gang of demons," Sam said. "You think they're following us?"
"We lost them about a hundred miles ago."
"We'll see, I guess." He moved towards the passenger side.
"Let's get gone, then." Dean smacked Sam on the chest as he passed (He shook out his hand after, minimally and when he thought Sam wouldn't see.) and grabbed the keys from the roof.
"I swear," Sam said. "You sound more and more like a hick each day, but it's not like you're picking it up anywhere."
"Like I said, Sammy: Middle o' nowhere."
They drove. They both stared out the windows. Sam let his mind wander.
He considered journaling, taking a pen to Three Pines Motor Lodge stationary and transposing everything, because losing a year of your life made you feel stupid. It was like duh, you should have seen this one coming and known to record every detail of your day-to-day like it was precious, back up your memories somewhere external.
What it came down to was that he should have paid more attention during Memento. Instead, he'd spent the entire film thinking about how the plot was good, yeah? But how rolling Dean under him on the tacky motel comforter would be better, how licking at his mouth might lead to the slow of Dean's hands pressing him all over the place.
Sam had been twenty-four then, and years later he was still exercising self-control on that count, which, by the way, fucking blew, and he wished sometimes he could tell someone about it, just to get a little credit, because Sam was not big on self-restraint. He kicked down doors, jumped fences, and researched the shit out of anything he didn't know. He hacked. Keeping this to himself was against his nature, and adding a second do-not-touch sign on a trove of memories, right inside his own head...well.
Maybe that's what had him running high. He had the world, his soul, and the calm knowledge that it was now either/or, one untouchable or the other that was going to implode. Something had to give, and it was going to be soon.
They'd made it deep into corn country when Sam jerked out of his stupor. He'd seen vague movement in the distance, that's how constant the scenery had been till now.
"Did a...did a cow just run out of that barn?"
"Cows do that."
"No, just, pull over. I wanted to stretch my legs anyway."
Storm clouds were blue and nimbus overhead, Dean made some comment as they slowed about not seeing a storm like this in years, isn't that right Sam?, and Sam couldn't respond for certain, one way or the other. They parked next to the cow, which was mooing in a baleful sort of way.
They trudged towards the gaping double doors, none too interested and far too happy. The rain started pouring down, cold, and they made it under the overhang. Sam said he'd shove Dean into a hay bale if he didn't stop getting that song stuck in his head, and Dean basically took him up on that by humming even louder.
When they entered the barn, Dean smiled all open at him, and Sam experienced that second-date-confidence, enough to wonder if he was actually going to be groped against a tractor, not just fantasize about it.
Doors slammed behind them. Laughter boomed from a horse stall, and they whirled in place.
"Got you boys locked in here, the Winchesters." A man emerged, eyes black. "The rest are on their way, you'll nev--"
Dean got in five good hits while Sam came at the demon with the knife. He missed, twice, but broke the man's arm at least. The demon grabbed Dean by the shirt front and tossed him into a corner like a ragdoll.
Sam lasted a bit longer, scuffling with the man in the hay and sawdust. He threw out his shoulder while managing to haul into the demon with a scrap plank of wood. It only slowed him down, of course, but it bought them time.
Then it was over, all two minutes of it. Dean's voice was hoarse from shouted chanting and the farmer lay moaning by the rakes. Sam blinked back into lucidity where he'd collapsed back into the wall.
"Demon was telling the truth," Dean said. He pounded the doors, looked up at the high windows. "Everything's locked."
' Sam shivered as he leaned against the splintered wooden wall of the barn. His shoulder ached from his fight with the demon spawn Mar-Delok and his clothes were soaked from the cold rain which fell outside. He let the knife fall into the dust and turned to his brother.
Dean was shaken up. His chest was heaving with exertion and his shredded shirt was barely clinging to his muscular frame. Sam could see he was hurt.
"Hey. Are you ok?" Sam stepped closer and put his arms around Dean. "We're going to get out of this, they can't keep us here long."
The brothers huddled together in the dark as the sound of the rain drumming on the roof eased their fears of pursuit. Despite the cold outside and the demons who, even now, must be approaching, the warmth of their embrace comforted them.
And then Sam caressed Dean's clavicle.
"This is wrong," said Dean.
"Then I don't want to be right," replied Sam, in a husky voice. '
To be continued, forever, because Chuck called. - 5x01
pairing: Sam/Dean
words: 1k
summary: Sam and Dean love hunting again.
a/n: named after the movie Love My Life, without having anything to do with it. for maraceles.
warnings: 1) This is part actual plagiarism, you shall see. 2) WIP, of a sort.
Sam loved his life suddenly, one day, as he wrestled an orange cone from where it had gotten lodged in the undercarriage. About time.
Dean rapped the steel of the door with two knuckles. "Told you not to swerve like that." He was pacing the same ten feet, and Sam was sitting there on hot asphalt, reaching under the car.
"There was a rabbit," he explained again, yanking the cone with his entire weight behind it, relying on force rather than dexterity. "You can't just run over a rabbit."
"Lesser of two evils."
"Besides, what was a cone doing way out here?"
When it suddenly came free, a spray of gravel kicked up along with a plume of roadside dirt. Sam coughed and should have been annoyed. Hell, at some point the whole situation would have seemed infuriating: how they were held up in the pre-storm, heat hanging heavy under an eerie sky with nothing around them but cornfield for miles. Lately, though, they'd both been almost guilty pleased about everything, like there was an energy running liquid just beneath the surface. Had been since the alpaca.
"What are we doing, man?" Dean got a t-shirt from the back, handing it to Sam to wipe his face with. "Out in the middle of nowhere, you taking out your latent anger on road blocks--"
"I didn't mean to."
"--and here I am, just trying to get from point A to point B without ending up as collateral due to letting a psycho drive."
"Shut the hell up," Sam laughed. He grabbed Dean's pant leg to pull himself to standing.
"Out of the goodness of my heart," Dean said, as he hopped around to get his leg out of Sam's grasp.
"Bike gang of demons," Sam said. "You think they're following us?"
"We lost them about a hundred miles ago."
"We'll see, I guess." He moved towards the passenger side.
"Let's get gone, then." Dean smacked Sam on the chest as he passed (He shook out his hand after, minimally and when he thought Sam wouldn't see.) and grabbed the keys from the roof.
"I swear," Sam said. "You sound more and more like a hick each day, but it's not like you're picking it up anywhere."
"Like I said, Sammy: Middle o' nowhere."
They drove. They both stared out the windows. Sam let his mind wander.
He considered journaling, taking a pen to Three Pines Motor Lodge stationary and transposing everything, because losing a year of your life made you feel stupid. It was like duh, you should have seen this one coming and known to record every detail of your day-to-day like it was precious, back up your memories somewhere external.
What it came down to was that he should have paid more attention during Memento. Instead, he'd spent the entire film thinking about how the plot was good, yeah? But how rolling Dean under him on the tacky motel comforter would be better, how licking at his mouth might lead to the slow of Dean's hands pressing him all over the place.
Sam had been twenty-four then, and years later he was still exercising self-control on that count, which, by the way, fucking blew, and he wished sometimes he could tell someone about it, just to get a little credit, because Sam was not big on self-restraint. He kicked down doors, jumped fences, and researched the shit out of anything he didn't know. He hacked. Keeping this to himself was against his nature, and adding a second do-not-touch sign on a trove of memories, right inside his own head...well.
Maybe that's what had him running high. He had the world, his soul, and the calm knowledge that it was now either/or, one untouchable or the other that was going to implode. Something had to give, and it was going to be soon.
They'd made it deep into corn country when Sam jerked out of his stupor. He'd seen vague movement in the distance, that's how constant the scenery had been till now.
"Did a...did a cow just run out of that barn?"
"Cows do that."
"No, just, pull over. I wanted to stretch my legs anyway."
Storm clouds were blue and nimbus overhead, Dean made some comment as they slowed about not seeing a storm like this in years, isn't that right Sam?, and Sam couldn't respond for certain, one way or the other. They parked next to the cow, which was mooing in a baleful sort of way.
They trudged towards the gaping double doors, none too interested and far too happy. The rain started pouring down, cold, and they made it under the overhang. Sam said he'd shove Dean into a hay bale if he didn't stop getting that song stuck in his head, and Dean basically took him up on that by humming even louder.
When they entered the barn, Dean smiled all open at him, and Sam experienced that second-date-confidence, enough to wonder if he was actually going to be groped against a tractor, not just fantasize about it.
Doors slammed behind them. Laughter boomed from a horse stall, and they whirled in place.
"Got you boys locked in here, the Winchesters." A man emerged, eyes black. "The rest are on their way, you'll nev--"
Dean got in five good hits while Sam came at the demon with the knife. He missed, twice, but broke the man's arm at least. The demon grabbed Dean by the shirt front and tossed him into a corner like a ragdoll.
Sam lasted a bit longer, scuffling with the man in the hay and sawdust. He threw out his shoulder while managing to haul into the demon with a scrap plank of wood. It only slowed him down, of course, but it bought them time.
Then it was over, all two minutes of it. Dean's voice was hoarse from shouted chanting and the farmer lay moaning by the rakes. Sam blinked back into lucidity where he'd collapsed back into the wall.
"Demon was telling the truth," Dean said. He pounded the doors, looked up at the high windows. "Everything's locked."
' Sam shivered as he leaned against the splintered wooden wall of the barn. His shoulder ached from his fight with the demon spawn Mar-Delok and his clothes were soaked from the cold rain which fell outside. He let the knife fall into the dust and turned to his brother.
Dean was shaken up. His chest was heaving with exertion and his shredded shirt was barely clinging to his muscular frame. Sam could see he was hurt.
"Hey. Are you ok?" Sam stepped closer and put his arms around Dean. "We're going to get out of this, they can't keep us here long."
The brothers huddled together in the dark as the sound of the rain drumming on the roof eased their fears of pursuit. Despite the cold outside and the demons who, even now, must be approaching, the warmth of their embrace comforted them.
And then Sam caressed Dean's clavicle.
"This is wrong," said Dean.
"Then I don't want to be right," replied Sam, in a husky voice. '
To be continued, forever, because Chuck called. - 5x01