My gift is late Em, but it's here now!
For
emiliglia: I am sorry I am 3 days late! I know you had a big week, I hope you’ll like this!
The fic came from an idea generated by one of my secret postcard. I'll re-post it below.
Title: Moment of mercy
Pairing: General fic, Dean and Sam, John is there too. no Wincest, pre-serie, about 1 900 words.
Summary: Dean would like to enjoy a quiet afternoon. But Sam seems ready to ruin it.
A/N: A zillion kisses to the marvellous
keyweegirlie for an ultra fast beta ♥
"Moment of mercy"
Dean was sprawled on the couch, his bare feet propped up on the arm and
eating sunflower seeds. The game on TV wasn't holding his attention for more
than 5 minutes at a time, and he'd be flipping channels if it wasn't for
Dad who seemed to be interested in it. Shifting to avoid a spring
poking at his back, he was musing on how furnished apartments always seemed
to feature horrors from the seventies. Seriously. How could it be that
at one point, someone was thrilled to buy something with orange and
brown flowers? He'd seen at least 5 exactly like it over the years.
The white and green plaid love seat was not much better. And even less
comfortable, explaining why he'd hogged the couch. Sam was slouched on
the floor with various books and papers around him and on the love
seat, limbs at awkward angles and with a deep frown on his face. Probably
calculus. Dean had to finally admit during the trimester that he couldn't help
him anymore and it had been a blow, not that he had let it show. He
didn't look at Sammy for too long, knowing how short tempered he'd been
lately in a true teenager fashion, taking everything to be a provocation,
even concern. Dean thought he sure as hell never had been like that,
ever. Had he?
After another lame play, Dean took a swing out of his beer and just
marveled at the calm in the room. The three of them, being as close to
normal as the Winchesters could be. Normal for them, he had to admit, since
Dad was currently sharpening big-ass hunting knifes and machetes on the
kitchen table just behind him until they cut like razors, the sound
regular and precise singing in the room. He closed his eyes and his moment
of grace was disturbed by an exasperated sigh. From the corner of his
eye, Dean observed Sam and it didn't seem to be about the math problem.
It was pretty clear by the setting of his jaw on each stroke on the
stone that Sam had problem focusing on his work and was blaming the sounds
Dad made for it. Ah crap. Here it was coming again. Trust Sam for never
just letting things be when they were good enough.
Before Sam said anything, and it would be sooner rather than later
judging by the bitch face he was currently composing, Dean threw a
sunflower seed, aiming for the books behind his brother. He pretends to be
focused on the TV when Sam turned towards him with squinted eyes. Dean
nonchalantly took another sip out of his bottle, trying the best he could
to not grin around the nozzle. Sam went back to his book but didn't seem
to pay anymore attention to Dad and his sharpening, but was instead
watching him. Diversion successful.
The quiet moment was shattered though, and Dean found himself beginning
to buzz with contained energy. They hadn't seen any action for 3 weeks
now, and while Sam studied and Dad researched, he'd just lazed around
apart from his afternoon run. The guns were clean, the supplies all
tucked up, the knives were being taken care of and the respite had allowed
him to heal up to the last scratch and bruise. There was something very
unsettling to that, weirdly. Considering his options for entertainment,
he decided for the easiest: annoying Sammy. Hey, the moment was
shattered anyway.
Dean threw a second sunflower seed, aiming for Sam's head and hitting
him on the cheek. His brother blinked, looking at him in surprise before
scowling.
"Dean! The hell?"
Dean tried for innocent.
"What?"
"Stop it!"
"Stop what?"
Sam huffed, shutting his book closed.
"You know! Stop throwing sunflower seeds at me, dumbass!"
Dad's warning was a low rumble.
"Dean."
Dean sighed and straightened up.
"All right. I'll stop."
Sam looked at him suspiciously, probably because he had let it go that easily.
"What's wrong with you?"
Dean sighed again and got up, starting to stretch and bounce a little.
That was it, he needed some exercise, some sparring. He asked his Dad.
"Need something to do. C'mon Dad, come here. I bet I can do that arm
lock thingy I saw in that Segal movie."
John laughed and continued working on a machete.
"Don't get yourself in something you can't finish Son."
"I'll take ya."
Sam said with confidence, to Dean's surprise. Dean started to grin,
stretching with a purpose now.
"Want your ass whooped, squirt? Sure! C'mon."
Usually Sam had to be forced into training. He took every occasion to
complain they were not at a military school and other lame-ass excuses like
that. Clearly, he was ready for a break in the monotony too. Sam
gathered his papers and stuff, and went to put them on the dresser while Dean
cleared the beer bottle. Sam came back and started stretching his
ape-like arms over his head, rolling his head.
"In case you didn't notice, jerk, I'm as tall as you now."
Sam said with a wide smile. And look at that. He was right. Sam had had a
growth spurt lately, that was clear by the huge amounts of food he
inhaled all day, but his habit of staying slouched all the time had covered
how much he'd gained.
"Maybe, but you don't know what to do with those disproportionate limbs
of yours, Sammy."
Sam clenched his jaw, taking it as the challenge it was.
"I'm gonna make you cry uncle." He growled. Dean smirked. This was
going to be so much fun!
Dean pulled his black Led Zeppelin t-shirt off and tossed it in a
corner. It was his favorite and no way was he giving any opportunity for Sam
to "accidentally" rip it. For no reason at all, because he usually wore
a bazillion layers, Sam did the same. Or maybe there was a reason.
Raising his eyebrows, Dean took in the more defined abs and the fact that
somehow Sammy had gone from skinny to very lean but wiry.
"Well, well, well. Someone's been working out in secret, huh? Girls dig
it, I'm sure."
Sam blushed a bit.
"Shut up Dean. Keep your breath."
He was being unusually cocky and Dean loved it. They started circling
each other, slightly crouched, hand up. Dean's blood was rushing through
his veins and it felt great. He stepped forward to test the waters and
was rewarded with a hard blow to the shoulder before he stepped back.
Sam really meant business and Dean's grin widened.
"Oh yeah. It's been a while. Show me what you got, bitch!"
Sam was the epitome of concentration at the moment, cold, analytical,
following every little move and feints Dean made.
"Come and get it."
Dad had not stopped sharpening the machete, but somehow the rhythm had
increased a bit, providing a metronome tempo for their little dance.
Dean launched forward and cuffed Sam on the right ear, but he had to go
through two sharp jabs in the process. Seems Sam was beginning to learn how
to use his unusual reach after all. Knowing Sam would have an advantage using
hands, Dean decided to go for ju-jitsu where he would have weight and
strength on his side.
Even since the shtriga all those years ago, Dean had never let Sam win
even a single fight out of principle. Sammy had to be strong, he had to
be the best to be able to hold his own if something or someone attacked
him. There was no point in being soft with something that could be a
matter of life or death. He made sure never to humiliate him, well not
too much, but Sam knew it: no mercy. And he respected Dean for it too,
even if he got frustrated as hell sometimes. Dad never commented, but he
got it too. Heck, only twice had Dean been able to beat him.
Dean lurched forward and grabbed Sam by the midsection, throwing them
both towards the couch that broke the fall before they ended on the
floor. Sam lost his breath on impact but quickly rolled them so was on top,
trying to pin Dean down. He was not quick enough though, and Dean
wiggled and seized him sideways, using his legs as leverage to get out. Sam
was getting real strong and he was fighting dirty as they wrestled for
control for a few long minutes, grunting and twisting, reading the moves of
the other like only opponents knowing each other so well could do.
Dean knew that he could tire Sam out, and wait for the breach where he
would give the last blow and win this. But Sam had fire in his eyes, he
was confident, totally into it, loving it because he sensed there was
not much difference left between the two of them in strength and
technique. He was actually really good too, good enough to beat almost anyone, Dean
realized. It distracted him and he suddenly found himself face down as Sam
straddled his back. He just had to twist right now to get out, before Sam
had his full weight down, but on some impulse he consciously waited 2
seconds too long. And by result found himself truly trapped, as Sam's
large hand clamped on his wrist with an iron grip, twisting his arm hard
into an unforgiving lock. Dean bucked and tried to move but pain shot
through his shoulder, Sam's heaving mixing with his own in the now quiet
apartment.
"Gotcha."
Sam muttered through clenched teeth, but his voice was full of glee
none the less. He still needed all of his strength to keep Dean still.
"Fuck."
"Want me to let you go Dean? Just say uncle."
Dean tried to kick and use his other arm but no luck, it just generated
more pain. The son of a bitch was enjoying this way too much.
"No fucking way. Get off me."
"Nu-huh."
Dad's voice was amused.
"It's only fair that you admit defeat Dean."
Dean craned his neck and was mortified to see that Dad had been
observing them silently, both arms resting on the couch's back. Shit. What had
he thought, letting Sam win in front of a witness? He closed his eyes
and sighed, letting himself go limp under Sam.
"Okay, Okay. You were lucky. You win." He conceded at last.
Sam let him go and sprang up at that, whooping in delight, both hands
in the air.
"Oh yes! Oh fuck yes!"
Dean grunted, rolling onto his back and rubbing his shoulder. He scowled
in his brother's direction, although seeing Sam smiling like that was
contagious. Sam turned to Dad, still visibly shaking from the adrenaline
boost
"You see that Dad? You see? I so owned his ass!"
Dad clapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile.
"Good job Son."
Sam literally started to beam at that, still bouncing here and there,
laughing like they had not heard him laugh in so long. Dean groaned,
thinking he'd never hear the end of it. Ever. But it made warmth spread
through him to see Sammy happy like that, and for that alone it was
worth it. Dad came over and offered Dean a hand before hauling him up.
When Dean looked up, afraid to see some disappointment in his eyes, Dad
was still smiling and he winked at him. He knew, he had seen the
hesitation even if Sam had not noticed. And he approved it seems.
Made Dean wonder if he had beat Dad twice for real, after all.
The End.
and here is the postcard!
and probably that one too
nah. it was really the one before. but I really like the 2nd one, so it's self indulgence =D
emiliglia: I am sorry I am 3 days late! I know you had a big week, I hope you’ll like this!
The fic came from an idea generated by one of my secret postcard. I'll re-post it below.
Title: Moment of mercy
Pairing: General fic, Dean and Sam, John is there too. no Wincest, pre-serie, about 1 900 words.
Summary: Dean would like to enjoy a quiet afternoon. But Sam seems ready to ruin it.
A/N: A zillion kisses to the marvellous
keyweegirlie for an ultra fast beta ♥
"Moment of mercy"
Dean was sprawled on the couch, his bare feet propped up on the arm and
eating sunflower seeds. The game on TV wasn't holding his attention for more
than 5 minutes at a time, and he'd be flipping channels if it wasn't for
Dad who seemed to be interested in it. Shifting to avoid a spring
poking at his back, he was musing on how furnished apartments always seemed
to feature horrors from the seventies. Seriously. How could it be that
at one point, someone was thrilled to buy something with orange and
brown flowers? He'd seen at least 5 exactly like it over the years.
The white and green plaid love seat was not much better. And even less
comfortable, explaining why he'd hogged the couch. Sam was slouched on
the floor with various books and papers around him and on the love
seat, limbs at awkward angles and with a deep frown on his face. Probably
calculus. Dean had to finally admit during the trimester that he couldn't help
him anymore and it had been a blow, not that he had let it show. He
didn't look at Sammy for too long, knowing how short tempered he'd been
lately in a true teenager fashion, taking everything to be a provocation,
even concern. Dean thought he sure as hell never had been like that,
ever. Had he?
After another lame play, Dean took a swing out of his beer and just
marveled at the calm in the room. The three of them, being as close to
normal as the Winchesters could be. Normal for them, he had to admit, since
Dad was currently sharpening big-ass hunting knifes and machetes on the
kitchen table just behind him until they cut like razors, the sound
regular and precise singing in the room. He closed his eyes and his moment
of grace was disturbed by an exasperated sigh. From the corner of his
eye, Dean observed Sam and it didn't seem to be about the math problem.
It was pretty clear by the setting of his jaw on each stroke on the
stone that Sam had problem focusing on his work and was blaming the sounds
Dad made for it. Ah crap. Here it was coming again. Trust Sam for never
just letting things be when they were good enough.
Before Sam said anything, and it would be sooner rather than later
judging by the bitch face he was currently composing, Dean threw a
sunflower seed, aiming for the books behind his brother. He pretends to be
focused on the TV when Sam turned towards him with squinted eyes. Dean
nonchalantly took another sip out of his bottle, trying the best he could
to not grin around the nozzle. Sam went back to his book but didn't seem
to pay anymore attention to Dad and his sharpening, but was instead
watching him. Diversion successful.
The quiet moment was shattered though, and Dean found himself beginning
to buzz with contained energy. They hadn't seen any action for 3 weeks
now, and while Sam studied and Dad researched, he'd just lazed around
apart from his afternoon run. The guns were clean, the supplies all
tucked up, the knives were being taken care of and the respite had allowed
him to heal up to the last scratch and bruise. There was something very
unsettling to that, weirdly. Considering his options for entertainment,
he decided for the easiest: annoying Sammy. Hey, the moment was
shattered anyway.
Dean threw a second sunflower seed, aiming for Sam's head and hitting
him on the cheek. His brother blinked, looking at him in surprise before
scowling.
"Dean! The hell?"
Dean tried for innocent.
"What?"
"Stop it!"
"Stop what?"
Sam huffed, shutting his book closed.
"You know! Stop throwing sunflower seeds at me, dumbass!"
Dad's warning was a low rumble.
"Dean."
Dean sighed and straightened up.
"All right. I'll stop."
Sam looked at him suspiciously, probably because he had let it go that easily.
"What's wrong with you?"
Dean sighed again and got up, starting to stretch and bounce a little.
That was it, he needed some exercise, some sparring. He asked his Dad.
"Need something to do. C'mon Dad, come here. I bet I can do that arm
lock thingy I saw in that Segal movie."
John laughed and continued working on a machete.
"Don't get yourself in something you can't finish Son."
"I'll take ya."
Sam said with confidence, to Dean's surprise. Dean started to grin,
stretching with a purpose now.
"Want your ass whooped, squirt? Sure! C'mon."
Usually Sam had to be forced into training. He took every occasion to
complain they were not at a military school and other lame-ass excuses like
that. Clearly, he was ready for a break in the monotony too. Sam
gathered his papers and stuff, and went to put them on the dresser while Dean
cleared the beer bottle. Sam came back and started stretching his
ape-like arms over his head, rolling his head.
"In case you didn't notice, jerk, I'm as tall as you now."
Sam said with a wide smile. And look at that. He was right. Sam had had a
growth spurt lately, that was clear by the huge amounts of food he
inhaled all day, but his habit of staying slouched all the time had covered
how much he'd gained.
"Maybe, but you don't know what to do with those disproportionate limbs
of yours, Sammy."
Sam clenched his jaw, taking it as the challenge it was.
"I'm gonna make you cry uncle." He growled. Dean smirked. This was
going to be so much fun!
Dean pulled his black Led Zeppelin t-shirt off and tossed it in a
corner. It was his favorite and no way was he giving any opportunity for Sam
to "accidentally" rip it. For no reason at all, because he usually wore
a bazillion layers, Sam did the same. Or maybe there was a reason.
Raising his eyebrows, Dean took in the more defined abs and the fact that
somehow Sammy had gone from skinny to very lean but wiry.
"Well, well, well. Someone's been working out in secret, huh? Girls dig
it, I'm sure."
Sam blushed a bit.
"Shut up Dean. Keep your breath."
He was being unusually cocky and Dean loved it. They started circling
each other, slightly crouched, hand up. Dean's blood was rushing through
his veins and it felt great. He stepped forward to test the waters and
was rewarded with a hard blow to the shoulder before he stepped back.
Sam really meant business and Dean's grin widened.
"Oh yeah. It's been a while. Show me what you got, bitch!"
Sam was the epitome of concentration at the moment, cold, analytical,
following every little move and feints Dean made.
"Come and get it."
Dad had not stopped sharpening the machete, but somehow the rhythm had
increased a bit, providing a metronome tempo for their little dance.
Dean launched forward and cuffed Sam on the right ear, but he had to go
through two sharp jabs in the process. Seems Sam was beginning to learn how
to use his unusual reach after all. Knowing Sam would have an advantage using
hands, Dean decided to go for ju-jitsu where he would have weight and
strength on his side.
Even since the shtriga all those years ago, Dean had never let Sam win
even a single fight out of principle. Sammy had to be strong, he had to
be the best to be able to hold his own if something or someone attacked
him. There was no point in being soft with something that could be a
matter of life or death. He made sure never to humiliate him, well not
too much, but Sam knew it: no mercy. And he respected Dean for it too,
even if he got frustrated as hell sometimes. Dad never commented, but he
got it too. Heck, only twice had Dean been able to beat him.
Dean lurched forward and grabbed Sam by the midsection, throwing them
both towards the couch that broke the fall before they ended on the
floor. Sam lost his breath on impact but quickly rolled them so was on top,
trying to pin Dean down. He was not quick enough though, and Dean
wiggled and seized him sideways, using his legs as leverage to get out. Sam
was getting real strong and he was fighting dirty as they wrestled for
control for a few long minutes, grunting and twisting, reading the moves of
the other like only opponents knowing each other so well could do.
Dean knew that he could tire Sam out, and wait for the breach where he
would give the last blow and win this. But Sam had fire in his eyes, he
was confident, totally into it, loving it because he sensed there was
not much difference left between the two of them in strength and
technique. He was actually really good too, good enough to beat almost anyone, Dean
realized. It distracted him and he suddenly found himself face down as Sam
straddled his back. He just had to twist right now to get out, before Sam
had his full weight down, but on some impulse he consciously waited 2
seconds too long. And by result found himself truly trapped, as Sam's
large hand clamped on his wrist with an iron grip, twisting his arm hard
into an unforgiving lock. Dean bucked and tried to move but pain shot
through his shoulder, Sam's heaving mixing with his own in the now quiet
apartment.
"Gotcha."
Sam muttered through clenched teeth, but his voice was full of glee
none the less. He still needed all of his strength to keep Dean still.
"Fuck."
"Want me to let you go Dean? Just say uncle."
Dean tried to kick and use his other arm but no luck, it just generated
more pain. The son of a bitch was enjoying this way too much.
"No fucking way. Get off me."
"Nu-huh."
Dad's voice was amused.
"It's only fair that you admit defeat Dean."
Dean craned his neck and was mortified to see that Dad had been
observing them silently, both arms resting on the couch's back. Shit. What had
he thought, letting Sam win in front of a witness? He closed his eyes
and sighed, letting himself go limp under Sam.
"Okay, Okay. You were lucky. You win." He conceded at last.
Sam let him go and sprang up at that, whooping in delight, both hands
in the air.
"Oh yes! Oh fuck yes!"
Dean grunted, rolling onto his back and rubbing his shoulder. He scowled
in his brother's direction, although seeing Sam smiling like that was
contagious. Sam turned to Dad, still visibly shaking from the adrenaline
boost
"You see that Dad? You see? I so owned his ass!"
Dad clapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile.
"Good job Son."
Sam literally started to beam at that, still bouncing here and there,
laughing like they had not heard him laugh in so long. Dean groaned,
thinking he'd never hear the end of it. Ever. But it made warmth spread
through him to see Sammy happy like that, and for that alone it was
worth it. Dad came over and offered Dean a hand before hauling him up.
When Dean looked up, afraid to see some disappointment in his eyes, Dad
was still smiling and he winked at him. He knew, he had seen the
hesitation even if Sam had not noticed. And he approved it seems.
Made Dean wonder if he had beat Dad twice for real, after all.
The End.
and here is the postcard!
and probably that one too
nah. it was really the one before. but I really like the 2nd one, so it's self indulgence =D