Ficlet: Gossamer Illusions | SPN | Sam/Dean | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: Gossamer Illusions
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 594
Summary: None of this is real. It never is.
Disclaimer: Kripke and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written longhand 2 nights ago, after watching "Houses of the Holy". Was in the mood for a little hope in the darkness. This takes place post 3.16, but ignores spoilers for S4.
Gossamer Illusions
It isn't real. One blink of an eye, and all this goes away. It all crumbles to dust, driven away in the wind, a dream - a fantasy - with no more substance than the light shining into Sam's eyes. Dean doesn't want this to end, disappear like a spirit into the ether. Doesn't want to lose Sam again, lose what little semblance of his life and his humanity he has left. So he reaches for his brother, fingers running gently through soft hair as he seeks out that shy smile Sam has always reserved for him.
The mid-morning light filtering in through the gap in the curtains catches those eyes again, flecks of gold and green set in dark amber. Dean thinks he could drink in the essence of those eyes, capture Sam with a kiss and hold him close, never lose him, never lose this moment, this perfect feeling, this day. Here, just the two of them, together.
But it isn't real.
"Dean?"
Dean feels the calloused pad of Sam's thumb move slowly over his cheek, swiping away an errant tear.
It isn't real.
"Dean, wake up. Talk to me." Sam's voice is honey and mountains, soothing and strong.
Breathing deep, Dean watches the corners of that private smile turn down with concern. The illusion never does that.
"Sammy..." he whispers at last. One blink, and he'll be gone. Again. Just one blink and this disappears.
Sam's eyes keep sparkling with the light, but wrinkle around the edges.
Too soon... Not real... Don't blink...
"Dean. C'mon man, wake up," Sam says again, more forcefully. "I'm right here. You're okay."
Dean feels pulled apart in the middle. Anchored, tethered, drawn away, drowning in the futility of the Pit. Not real. His chest tightens.
"Dean!" Strong hand on his shoulder, fingertips pressing in. Light in those eyes fiery and demanding. Real.
Real.
With a sharp breath in and a jolt of clarifying adrenaline, Sam is real. The garish hotel room, the warm morning light, Dean and Sam, all real. Solid, whole, tangible.
"Sam?" Dean's voice cracks, small and unsure, and that thumb is wiping away more tears.
A weak, relieved laugh. "Yeah. it's me. I'm here." That smile again, soft and sure.
Dean can't help but reach for his brother again, pulling him close and nuzzling into his hair, breathing heavily with his shock. "Sammy, Sammy," he repeats, his mantra from so long spent below.
"It's okay, Dean, I've got you. It was just another nightmare," Sam reassures him, cradling him gently, a large warm hand wrapped around the back of his head. "I've got you."
It takes all of Dean's effort not to sob as the sharp cry of adrenaline begins to ebb, all the anguish, confusion, and ultimately relief tearing through him at once. Not real. It hadn't been real. None of it. Ever. Over and over, they gave Dean what he wanted most in the world, then so casually stole it away from him. Sam. This. Them. He doesn't know how many times, but it felt endless.
Now, here, too many mornings, he's awaken like this. The illusion. Not real. Real. He's not sure how much more if it he can stand.
A warm kiss lands softly on his jaw, and he knows he's shaking.
"I've got you." Strong, anchored, solid, real.
Dean calms slowly, stilling in Sam's arms, breathing more evenly, and part of him wonders how many more days will be like this one.
Not real.
Real.
But he knows, as long as Sam's holding him, as long as the dream fades to this, to reality, to them, it doesn't matter. All that came before, the gossamer illusions and soul-rending agony? It wasn't real.
* * * * *
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 594
Summary: None of this is real. It never is.
Disclaimer: Kripke and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written longhand 2 nights ago, after watching "Houses of the Holy". Was in the mood for a little hope in the darkness. This takes place post 3.16, but ignores spoilers for S4.
Gossamer Illusions
It isn't real. One blink of an eye, and all this goes away. It all crumbles to dust, driven away in the wind, a dream - a fantasy - with no more substance than the light shining into Sam's eyes. Dean doesn't want this to end, disappear like a spirit into the ether. Doesn't want to lose Sam again, lose what little semblance of his life and his humanity he has left. So he reaches for his brother, fingers running gently through soft hair as he seeks out that shy smile Sam has always reserved for him.
The mid-morning light filtering in through the gap in the curtains catches those eyes again, flecks of gold and green set in dark amber. Dean thinks he could drink in the essence of those eyes, capture Sam with a kiss and hold him close, never lose him, never lose this moment, this perfect feeling, this day. Here, just the two of them, together.
But it isn't real.
"Dean?"
Dean feels the calloused pad of Sam's thumb move slowly over his cheek, swiping away an errant tear.
It isn't real.
"Dean, wake up. Talk to me." Sam's voice is honey and mountains, soothing and strong.
Breathing deep, Dean watches the corners of that private smile turn down with concern. The illusion never does that.
"Sammy..." he whispers at last. One blink, and he'll be gone. Again. Just one blink and this disappears.
Sam's eyes keep sparkling with the light, but wrinkle around the edges.
Too soon... Not real... Don't blink...
"Dean. C'mon man, wake up," Sam says again, more forcefully. "I'm right here. You're okay."
Dean feels pulled apart in the middle. Anchored, tethered, drawn away, drowning in the futility of the Pit. Not real. His chest tightens.
"Dean!" Strong hand on his shoulder, fingertips pressing in. Light in those eyes fiery and demanding. Real.
Real.
With a sharp breath in and a jolt of clarifying adrenaline, Sam is real. The garish hotel room, the warm morning light, Dean and Sam, all real. Solid, whole, tangible.
"Sam?" Dean's voice cracks, small and unsure, and that thumb is wiping away more tears.
A weak, relieved laugh. "Yeah. it's me. I'm here." That smile again, soft and sure.
Dean can't help but reach for his brother again, pulling him close and nuzzling into his hair, breathing heavily with his shock. "Sammy, Sammy," he repeats, his mantra from so long spent below.
"It's okay, Dean, I've got you. It was just another nightmare," Sam reassures him, cradling him gently, a large warm hand wrapped around the back of his head. "I've got you."
It takes all of Dean's effort not to sob as the sharp cry of adrenaline begins to ebb, all the anguish, confusion, and ultimately relief tearing through him at once. Not real. It hadn't been real. None of it. Ever. Over and over, they gave Dean what he wanted most in the world, then so casually stole it away from him. Sam. This. Them. He doesn't know how many times, but it felt endless.
Now, here, too many mornings, he's awaken like this. The illusion. Not real. Real. He's not sure how much more if it he can stand.
A warm kiss lands softly on his jaw, and he knows he's shaking.
"I've got you." Strong, anchored, solid, real.
Dean calms slowly, stilling in Sam's arms, breathing more evenly, and part of him wonders how many more days will be like this one.
Not real.
Real.
But he knows, as long as Sam's holding him, as long as the dream fades to this, to reality, to them, it doesn't matter. All that came before, the gossamer illusions and soul-rending agony? It wasn't real.
* * * * *