I Dreamed Of Flying
Title: I Dreamed Of Flying
Rating/Warning: PG
Wordcount: 1,156
Spoilers: None
By: kellifer_fic
Category: Crossover - SPN/Heroes (Dean/Peter, implied Dean/Sam, Peter/Nathan)
Notes: Thanks to my beta superfox. Set Stanford era.
“You’re a big brother, aren’t you?”
Dean was watching the slight man before him pulling on a shirt, feeling a pang of disappointment when the gentle curve of spine disappeared from view, but jerked upright when he was asked the question.
“Why do you think that?”
“Just…” The man turns, his lopsided mouth offering a wary grin and Dean thinks, Peter Petrelli, gotta love alliteration. “Nothing. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“No, I mean yeah, I am, but…” Dean waves a hand in the air, a helpless gesture that he stops with a fist clamped and thumped onto the bed in front of him. “I haven’t… he’s not so… little anymore.” Dean finishes, biting his lip when he recognises how damn wistful he sounds.
Peter stills. He has one leg in and one leg out of his jeans but he manages to look completely composed despite this when he levels his gaze at Dean and cocks his head, looking like he’s trying to puzzle something out. He brings a hand up to his too-long bangs to push them out of the way and Dean tenses.
“Is that why…?” he starts to ask, but must see Dean’s fist clench again in the sheets and his shoulders hunch up because he changes tack. “I can’t ever seem to do anything casual,” he huffs instead with a wry little laugh and Dean relaxes, scrubbing a hand through his own hair.
“Why are you asking about my brother?” Dean asks, sliding out of the other side of the motel bed and pulling his own underwear and a t-shirt on. He’s bent over, looking for his jeans underneath the bed when he feels arms come around his waist and a chest plaster to his back.
“I’m making this weird, aren’t I?” Peter asks, half amused and half forlorn. Dean wonders why he can’t seem to do casual these days either. He used to be so good at it.
Men he thinks with a derisive snort and wonders how many women would think this poetic justice.
He stands up, Peter moving with him and turns in the circle of Peter’s arms. He reaches forward to tuck an errant strand of Peter’s hair behind his ear but curls his fingers at the last moment and runs his knuckle along Peter’s cheek instead.
“That’s okay. I’m used to weird,” he says. Peter’s face falls as if Dean has said exactly the wrong thing and he steps away, arms coming up to curl around his own chest. He’d stepped out of the one leg of his jeans when he came around to Dean’s side of the bed, but he retreats to them again and pulls them up with a decisive yank.
“I just keep wondering if it’s okay to be with someone, because you miss someone else,” he says as he pockets his keys and the crumpled ten dollar bill that was sitting under them. Dean noted that he didn’t have a wallet. He’d worried at first that he’d maybe picked up a hooker inadvertently, but Peter hadn’t mentioned money and honestly, Dean had been a little too drunk to really give that much of a damn.
He says, “Sure,” with a half-shrug because it’s what he believes and also what he thinks Peter wants to be told. He wonders if all pretty guys with too-long hair automatically come with inner turmoil attached or maybe he just has a weird kind of magnet-like attraction for them. “You got a big brother?” he asks, just for something to say and doesn’t expect the line of tension that Peter’s back becomes.
“Yeah,” he says in a tone that’s loaded and Dean wonders just what he’s gotten himself into with this guy and if going out the window in just his boxers is an option because he still can’t locate his damn jeans.
“You just…” Peter turns, half his face obscured in shadow because the only light in the room is a sickly orange lamp. “You held me like you were used to it… like you missed it.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, a dozen flip remarks surfacing but skating away before he can latch onto them properly. He wants to be glib but it seems he can’t do that anymore either.
“He hasn’t been my little brother since he was about fifteen. Son of a bitch towers over and outweighs me. Hell, I could probably wear his hand-me-downs.”
“He’ll always need you to look out for him,” Peter says. “I know I…” Peter’s hands are at his hair again, one thumb dragging the long wing of darkness out of his eyes. “Just trust me. He’ll try to push you away but you shouldn’t let him.”
“He did one better than that. He left,” Dean says, half-wondering if he should sprinkle himself with some holy water because he’s not sure why he’s confessing everything to a stranger.
“Go get him back,” Peter says, snapping his watch on his wrist and looking at it quickly. “He’ll hate you for about a month but he’ll get over it.”
“He’s gone to school,” Dean says, lowering himself to the bed again. He was going to leave and offer Peter to keep the room for the night but Peter seems to have one foot out the door already.
“Then go to him. Eat your pride, man. You’re suffering.”
“Suffering?” Dean snorts, looking away because Peter is cutting too close to the bone. “Hell, it’s nice to have that little jerk out from underneath my feet.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Peter sighs, raising an eyebrow. He looks around the room for a minute while shrugging on his jacket and finally locates the motel stationary and a pen. He scrawls something on it and hands it to Dean. “If you’re ever back this way…” he says and leaves it open. Dean sees there is a number scrawled on the paper, underneath a large ‘P’.
“You should be a shrink,” Dean says, following Peter to the door.
“I’m going to be a nurse,” Peter smiles and slips out the door, not looking back.
Dean sees there is a message on his phone when he flops back on the bed. He flicks it open and drops it to his ear. As soon as the automated voice tells him that he has one new message and what time it was left, there’s silence and Dean can’t really explain how he knows this is Sam. He’s wondering if his brother has called and left nothing but dead air when Sam finally huffs a breath and then another before he starts talking.
“Dean, it’s me. I know we haven’t spoken in a while man but I… it’s weird. I had this dream and I’m not sure why it made me think of you but… well, I dreamed of flying.”
Rating/Warning: PG
Wordcount: 1,156
Spoilers: None
By: kellifer_fic
Category: Crossover - SPN/Heroes (Dean/Peter, implied Dean/Sam, Peter/Nathan)
Notes: Thanks to my beta superfox. Set Stanford era.
“You’re a big brother, aren’t you?”
Dean was watching the slight man before him pulling on a shirt, feeling a pang of disappointment when the gentle curve of spine disappeared from view, but jerked upright when he was asked the question.
“Why do you think that?”
“Just…” The man turns, his lopsided mouth offering a wary grin and Dean thinks, Peter Petrelli, gotta love alliteration. “Nothing. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“No, I mean yeah, I am, but…” Dean waves a hand in the air, a helpless gesture that he stops with a fist clamped and thumped onto the bed in front of him. “I haven’t… he’s not so… little anymore.” Dean finishes, biting his lip when he recognises how damn wistful he sounds.
Peter stills. He has one leg in and one leg out of his jeans but he manages to look completely composed despite this when he levels his gaze at Dean and cocks his head, looking like he’s trying to puzzle something out. He brings a hand up to his too-long bangs to push them out of the way and Dean tenses.
“Is that why…?” he starts to ask, but must see Dean’s fist clench again in the sheets and his shoulders hunch up because he changes tack. “I can’t ever seem to do anything casual,” he huffs instead with a wry little laugh and Dean relaxes, scrubbing a hand through his own hair.
“Why are you asking about my brother?” Dean asks, sliding out of the other side of the motel bed and pulling his own underwear and a t-shirt on. He’s bent over, looking for his jeans underneath the bed when he feels arms come around his waist and a chest plaster to his back.
“I’m making this weird, aren’t I?” Peter asks, half amused and half forlorn. Dean wonders why he can’t seem to do casual these days either. He used to be so good at it.
Men he thinks with a derisive snort and wonders how many women would think this poetic justice.
He stands up, Peter moving with him and turns in the circle of Peter’s arms. He reaches forward to tuck an errant strand of Peter’s hair behind his ear but curls his fingers at the last moment and runs his knuckle along Peter’s cheek instead.
“That’s okay. I’m used to weird,” he says. Peter’s face falls as if Dean has said exactly the wrong thing and he steps away, arms coming up to curl around his own chest. He’d stepped out of the one leg of his jeans when he came around to Dean’s side of the bed, but he retreats to them again and pulls them up with a decisive yank.
“I just keep wondering if it’s okay to be with someone, because you miss someone else,” he says as he pockets his keys and the crumpled ten dollar bill that was sitting under them. Dean noted that he didn’t have a wallet. He’d worried at first that he’d maybe picked up a hooker inadvertently, but Peter hadn’t mentioned money and honestly, Dean had been a little too drunk to really give that much of a damn.
He says, “Sure,” with a half-shrug because it’s what he believes and also what he thinks Peter wants to be told. He wonders if all pretty guys with too-long hair automatically come with inner turmoil attached or maybe he just has a weird kind of magnet-like attraction for them. “You got a big brother?” he asks, just for something to say and doesn’t expect the line of tension that Peter’s back becomes.
“Yeah,” he says in a tone that’s loaded and Dean wonders just what he’s gotten himself into with this guy and if going out the window in just his boxers is an option because he still can’t locate his damn jeans.
“You just…” Peter turns, half his face obscured in shadow because the only light in the room is a sickly orange lamp. “You held me like you were used to it… like you missed it.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, a dozen flip remarks surfacing but skating away before he can latch onto them properly. He wants to be glib but it seems he can’t do that anymore either.
“He hasn’t been my little brother since he was about fifteen. Son of a bitch towers over and outweighs me. Hell, I could probably wear his hand-me-downs.”
“He’ll always need you to look out for him,” Peter says. “I know I…” Peter’s hands are at his hair again, one thumb dragging the long wing of darkness out of his eyes. “Just trust me. He’ll try to push you away but you shouldn’t let him.”
“He did one better than that. He left,” Dean says, half-wondering if he should sprinkle himself with some holy water because he’s not sure why he’s confessing everything to a stranger.
“Go get him back,” Peter says, snapping his watch on his wrist and looking at it quickly. “He’ll hate you for about a month but he’ll get over it.”
“He’s gone to school,” Dean says, lowering himself to the bed again. He was going to leave and offer Peter to keep the room for the night but Peter seems to have one foot out the door already.
“Then go to him. Eat your pride, man. You’re suffering.”
“Suffering?” Dean snorts, looking away because Peter is cutting too close to the bone. “Hell, it’s nice to have that little jerk out from underneath my feet.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Peter sighs, raising an eyebrow. He looks around the room for a minute while shrugging on his jacket and finally locates the motel stationary and a pen. He scrawls something on it and hands it to Dean. “If you’re ever back this way…” he says and leaves it open. Dean sees there is a number scrawled on the paper, underneath a large ‘P’.
“You should be a shrink,” Dean says, following Peter to the door.
“I’m going to be a nurse,” Peter smiles and slips out the door, not looking back.
Dean sees there is a message on his phone when he flops back on the bed. He flicks it open and drops it to his ear. As soon as the automated voice tells him that he has one new message and what time it was left, there’s silence and Dean can’t really explain how he knows this is Sam. He’s wondering if his brother has called and left nothing but dead air when Sam finally huffs a breath and then another before he starts talking.
“Dean, it’s me. I know we haven’t spoken in a while man but I… it’s weird. I had this dream and I’m not sure why it made me think of you but… well, I dreamed of flying.”