Ficlet - Keepsake (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)
Generally, I don't really enjoy writing for past seasons, but I love seeing so many other people write a story for each season, so here goes. Set during Faith.
Keepsake
Sam/Dean, 380 words
"Listen," Dean says. In the dark, his voice is a surprise, though Sam spotted the second, hours ago, when he tipped from asleep to awake. "After, go back to school, okay?"
"Shut the fuck up." Sam means it to be every bit as harsh as it comes out; probably meant for a little more, actually. "I'll kill you myself if you keep this up."
"Sammy, come on." Dean is gentle where Sam can't be, and that's almost worse than anything. Sam listens to him rustle around, and when he looks over, Dean's sitting up. Sam thinks he's shivering, though it's not cold. "You can be better than what we gave you. Just - don't be like Dad, Sammy. Please."
All the times Sam's wanted Dean to say something half as critical of their father, and now he offers it, right when it's the last thing Sam can stand to hear. Typical fucking Dean. Typical fucking Dean, and Sam can't lose him. Sam won't lose him.
"You never listen," Sam says, and he goes to him, sinks down on the bed beside him, hands already reaching out.
"You can't kill me," Dean says, trying for and actually finding a smile. "Even like this I could take you."
"You struggle on your best day," Sam says. To his surprise, he's smiling, too, and he cups a hand around Dean's head, tugs him down. It's easy like this, here in the dark. Dean's hair is soft beneath Sam's hand; his lips are cracked and dry against his mouth. Dean's hands come up between them, pressing against his chest. Not pushing away, Sam thinks, never that.
"It's okay," Sam says. Because it is. He'll find something to make Dean better, and they'll put this away again, back where they've buried it all these years. But just in case, Sam's got to have this last thing - the only thing - Dean's never been willing to give him. Dean can't be gone with parts of him Sam never knew.
The thought leaves him shaking, but Dean's here, warm and breathing beneath his fingers, and he steadies Sam like he always does. "It's okay," Sam says again, and he feels Dean give in, even before he opens his mouth, sucks greedily on Sam's tongue, before his hands curl in Sam's shirt, and he's tugging him in and in and in.
Keepsake
Sam/Dean, 380 words
"Listen," Dean says. In the dark, his voice is a surprise, though Sam spotted the second, hours ago, when he tipped from asleep to awake. "After, go back to school, okay?"
"Shut the fuck up." Sam means it to be every bit as harsh as it comes out; probably meant for a little more, actually. "I'll kill you myself if you keep this up."
"Sammy, come on." Dean is gentle where Sam can't be, and that's almost worse than anything. Sam listens to him rustle around, and when he looks over, Dean's sitting up. Sam thinks he's shivering, though it's not cold. "You can be better than what we gave you. Just - don't be like Dad, Sammy. Please."
All the times Sam's wanted Dean to say something half as critical of their father, and now he offers it, right when it's the last thing Sam can stand to hear. Typical fucking Dean. Typical fucking Dean, and Sam can't lose him. Sam won't lose him.
"You never listen," Sam says, and he goes to him, sinks down on the bed beside him, hands already reaching out.
"You can't kill me," Dean says, trying for and actually finding a smile. "Even like this I could take you."
"You struggle on your best day," Sam says. To his surprise, he's smiling, too, and he cups a hand around Dean's head, tugs him down. It's easy like this, here in the dark. Dean's hair is soft beneath Sam's hand; his lips are cracked and dry against his mouth. Dean's hands come up between them, pressing against his chest. Not pushing away, Sam thinks, never that.
"It's okay," Sam says. Because it is. He'll find something to make Dean better, and they'll put this away again, back where they've buried it all these years. But just in case, Sam's got to have this last thing - the only thing - Dean's never been willing to give him. Dean can't be gone with parts of him Sam never knew.
The thought leaves him shaking, but Dean's here, warm and breathing beneath his fingers, and he steadies Sam like he always does. "It's okay," Sam says again, and he feels Dean give in, even before he opens his mouth, sucks greedily on Sam's tongue, before his hands curl in Sam's shirt, and he's tugging him in and in and in.