In The Cold Light Of Morning
Title: In The Cold Light Of Morning
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
WC: 743
Warnings: Wincest? not graphic though, Spoilers up to 5.04
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: Continuation of my 5.04 Coda Everything And Nothing (Is In The Space Between All Things) Dean POV this time. It probably makes more sense to read that one first, though it could possibly also work on it's own.
A/N: Thanks to
kayote_pb_rl for convincing me that it was ok! *smish* Also the title is the title of a Placebo song :)
In The Cold Light Of Morning
It’s another room in another state. The dawn is only just beginning to cast a gentle blush into the darkened sky and everything is quiet except for the occasional low rumble from a car passing by out on the highway. Dean lets his head fall back to rest against the cool wall behind him. The hard edges of the slightly off-kilter chair dig in under his shoulder blades and he shuffles forwards in the seat to get more comfortable.
Dean is already dressed, and ready for another day battling the forces of the apocalypse; he has been getting up earlier and earlier since Sam rejoined him. He knows that every day this week, after he has gone to sleep, Sam has crawled into his bed with him, like he used to when they were young and he had woken from a bad dream. It’s not the same now though; the awareness of Sam being so close fills Dean with a restlessness that won’t dissipate. The thing is that it’s been a long time since he shared a bed with Sam, well over a year in fact, Dean has literally been to hell and back since the last time they climbed into a bed together and shut out the world so that nothing mattered but each other.
In the gloom of the morning, Dean finally lets his gaze travel over Sam, who is still sound asleep, from head to toe. They have barely looked each other in the eye once since Sam folded himself back into the Impala, it’s all been furtive glances and eyes fixed to the floor or the wall or the oncoming horizon. Dean studies Sam’s face, his focus lingering on the wide mouth which was made for smiling, although he hasn’t seen that carefree grin in what feels like a lifetime and the soft strands of hair that fall down to lightly graze his cheekbones.
Dean wants to reach out and touch Sam, the truth is, Dean always wants to touch Sam, but after returning from hell he trained himself not to produce those careless gestures as often. At first it was because Sam wanted contact too much, he always had a hand on him, was always there at his elbow when he turned around and it was just too much for Dean to handle after the fires of hell and the sickness that still roiled in his belly when he thought of what he had done. Dean had pulled away, created spaces between them where previously there were none. Then later, it had been too difficult to undo and they were each being pushed down different paths that had led only to betrayal and disaster. Dean feels empty; he gives so much and tries so hard to be everything that everyone expects him to be, but never seems to get anything back. Sam is trying, Dean knows, to make things better, to make things right, but he can’t help but keep him at a distance, even through Sam’s sadness and resignation, however, Dean doesn’t know any longer whether he’s trying to protect himself or punish himself.
Sam fidgets in his sleep, turns so that the blanket falls from around his shoulders, revealing the anti-possession tattoo that had been concealed beneath it. Dean rubs his fingers over his chest where his own is hidden. When they got them, it had been purely for practical purposes, neither really interested in tattoos unless they had some ritualistic meaning, but in that year which had seemed to be their last year, it had forged a link between them. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. Dean’s fingers move an inch to the right to the void where his amulet is supposed to lie. It’s an odd feeling, being without it and all it symbolizes after so long. He’ll sometimes stop what he’s doing with the overwhelming sensation that he’s lost something, and then he remembers that he has.
The sun is almost up; Dean rises, pushing himself out of the chair. He moves across to the bed, lets his palm trail over the curve of Sam’s hair, he wants to twist his fingers in and never let go. He forces his hand down to the curl of Sam’s bicep where he shakes him firmly. Sam’s eyes snap open, alert in an instant, drawn to where Dean’s hand rests on his arm.
“Dean?”
“Time to get up, Sammy. We gotta make a move.”
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
WC: 743
Warnings: Wincest? not graphic though, Spoilers up to 5.04
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: Continuation of my 5.04 Coda Everything And Nothing (Is In The Space Between All Things) Dean POV this time. It probably makes more sense to read that one first, though it could possibly also work on it's own.
A/N: Thanks to
kayote_pb_rl for convincing me that it was ok! *smish* Also the title is the title of a Placebo song :)
In The Cold Light Of Morning
It’s another room in another state. The dawn is only just beginning to cast a gentle blush into the darkened sky and everything is quiet except for the occasional low rumble from a car passing by out on the highway. Dean lets his head fall back to rest against the cool wall behind him. The hard edges of the slightly off-kilter chair dig in under his shoulder blades and he shuffles forwards in the seat to get more comfortable.
Dean is already dressed, and ready for another day battling the forces of the apocalypse; he has been getting up earlier and earlier since Sam rejoined him. He knows that every day this week, after he has gone to sleep, Sam has crawled into his bed with him, like he used to when they were young and he had woken from a bad dream. It’s not the same now though; the awareness of Sam being so close fills Dean with a restlessness that won’t dissipate. The thing is that it’s been a long time since he shared a bed with Sam, well over a year in fact, Dean has literally been to hell and back since the last time they climbed into a bed together and shut out the world so that nothing mattered but each other.
In the gloom of the morning, Dean finally lets his gaze travel over Sam, who is still sound asleep, from head to toe. They have barely looked each other in the eye once since Sam folded himself back into the Impala, it’s all been furtive glances and eyes fixed to the floor or the wall or the oncoming horizon. Dean studies Sam’s face, his focus lingering on the wide mouth which was made for smiling, although he hasn’t seen that carefree grin in what feels like a lifetime and the soft strands of hair that fall down to lightly graze his cheekbones.
Dean wants to reach out and touch Sam, the truth is, Dean always wants to touch Sam, but after returning from hell he trained himself not to produce those careless gestures as often. At first it was because Sam wanted contact too much, he always had a hand on him, was always there at his elbow when he turned around and it was just too much for Dean to handle after the fires of hell and the sickness that still roiled in his belly when he thought of what he had done. Dean had pulled away, created spaces between them where previously there were none. Then later, it had been too difficult to undo and they were each being pushed down different paths that had led only to betrayal and disaster. Dean feels empty; he gives so much and tries so hard to be everything that everyone expects him to be, but never seems to get anything back. Sam is trying, Dean knows, to make things better, to make things right, but he can’t help but keep him at a distance, even through Sam’s sadness and resignation, however, Dean doesn’t know any longer whether he’s trying to protect himself or punish himself.
Sam fidgets in his sleep, turns so that the blanket falls from around his shoulders, revealing the anti-possession tattoo that had been concealed beneath it. Dean rubs his fingers over his chest where his own is hidden. When they got them, it had been purely for practical purposes, neither really interested in tattoos unless they had some ritualistic meaning, but in that year which had seemed to be their last year, it had forged a link between them. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. Dean’s fingers move an inch to the right to the void where his amulet is supposed to lie. It’s an odd feeling, being without it and all it symbolizes after so long. He’ll sometimes stop what he’s doing with the overwhelming sensation that he’s lost something, and then he remembers that he has.
The sun is almost up; Dean rises, pushing himself out of the chair. He moves across to the bed, lets his palm trail over the curve of Sam’s hair, he wants to twist his fingers in and never let go. He forces his hand down to the curl of Sam’s bicep where he shakes him firmly. Sam’s eyes snap open, alert in an instant, drawn to where Dean’s hand rests on his arm.
“Dean?”
“Time to get up, Sammy. We gotta make a move.”