Ficlet: A Different Kind of Life | SPN | Sam/Dean | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: A Different Kind of Life
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 680
Summary: In an AU future, some years down the road, Dean contemplates a 'normal' life for him and Sam.
Disclaimer: I don't know who owns SPN yet, but it sure as heck ain't me. O_o
Author's Notes: Felt like fic, so I wrote this on the fly. Somewhat inspired by season 1, which I'm still catching up on, and by my own mess. :p And whaddya know? It's my first actual SPN fic. Go me! Oh, and we'll be returning to request ficlets tomorrow. :)
A Different Kind of Life
There was a time when Dean wouldn't have thought twice about their life. The hunting, the never staying in the same place for long, living out of motels and eating in little hole-in-the-wall diners. Making enough money to get by on with credit card scams, playing poker, and hustling pool. Killing all the evil shit they could get their hands on. It was necessary; they had a job to do, and there was only one way to do it. Hell, for a long time, he'd openly preached to Sammy that this way was the only way for them, that a 'normal' life, well, that just wasn't going to happen. And for a long time, he'd believed his diatribe just as much as Sam did.
Lately... lately he'd been wondering. Living this way for a decade had left them both pretty scarred, in a lot of ways he'd rather not think about. Then there was the fact they they didn't exactly fit the mold of 'brothers' anymore, not for a good number of years, anyway. Hard to be normal when you and your brother shared the same bed and were closer to each other than even two married people should ever be. So Dean wondered if maybe he hadn't had a hand in ruining what chances they might have ever had to live any kind of a normal life. He didn't know anymore whether they could have or not. Didn't know when the hunting had become so routine that it didn't even register as either a necessity or a choice anymore.
What he did know was that even if he had wanted something different for their lives, he probably couldn't have made it happen. Sure, Sam could have gone back to Stanford any damn time he'd wanted, after a point, but he hadn't. That didn't stop Dean from knowing Sam had longed for normalcy every day of their lives. Not having - and Dean hated to admit this, even to himself - not having an education of his own meant that there was no real way he could ever give Sam that simple, perfect life. Knowing how to make money under the table wasn't exactly a respectable mode of living for someone wanting to move into the suburbs. And knowing how to take down a dozen different kinds of evil didn't exactly prepare you for manicuring a lawn or baking blueberry pie in a frilly apron. Nope, no Ward or June Cleaver here.
Wondering what it would be like to not have to hit a laundromat once a week, Dean took another swig of his beer and tried to pay attention to the new case Sam had dug up for them to go check out. "Uh-huh. Yeah," he nodded absently as Sam pointed out several details of an article on his laptop's screen.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
"Hmm?"
"You haven't heard a word I've said for the last five minutes, have you?" His brother's eyes were full of worry, as they always were where Dean was concerned.
Without missing a beat, he dissembled, "Yeah, course I have. Possible werewolf outside of Tulsa. We'll make it there by Tuesday if we leave first thing tomorrow."
Sam shook his head. "Vengeful spirit in Toledo, Dean."
"Damn. I was this close," he smirked.
"You sure you're okay?"
A smaller smile as he looked away. "Yeah, just having a mental chick-flick moment," he admitted bitterly. He never could hide what he was thinking from his brother.
Leaning across the bed, Sam wrapped a hand around the back of Dean's neck and kissed him on the forehead. "Well, cut it out. Everything's fine. And you know I wouldn't have it any other way. We are each other's 'home'."
Dean let out a halfhearted laugh. "Get out of my head."
"Make me."
"Bitch."
Sam's amused, loving smile was enough to make Dean forget, if only for a while, the things he'd been contemplating. "Jerk."
* * * * *
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 680
Summary: In an AU future, some years down the road, Dean contemplates a 'normal' life for him and Sam.
Disclaimer: I don't know who owns SPN yet, but it sure as heck ain't me. O_o
Author's Notes: Felt like fic, so I wrote this on the fly. Somewhat inspired by season 1, which I'm still catching up on, and by my own mess. :p And whaddya know? It's my first actual SPN fic. Go me! Oh, and we'll be returning to request ficlets tomorrow. :)
A Different Kind of Life
There was a time when Dean wouldn't have thought twice about their life. The hunting, the never staying in the same place for long, living out of motels and eating in little hole-in-the-wall diners. Making enough money to get by on with credit card scams, playing poker, and hustling pool. Killing all the evil shit they could get their hands on. It was necessary; they had a job to do, and there was only one way to do it. Hell, for a long time, he'd openly preached to Sammy that this way was the only way for them, that a 'normal' life, well, that just wasn't going to happen. And for a long time, he'd believed his diatribe just as much as Sam did.
Lately... lately he'd been wondering. Living this way for a decade had left them both pretty scarred, in a lot of ways he'd rather not think about. Then there was the fact they they didn't exactly fit the mold of 'brothers' anymore, not for a good number of years, anyway. Hard to be normal when you and your brother shared the same bed and were closer to each other than even two married people should ever be. So Dean wondered if maybe he hadn't had a hand in ruining what chances they might have ever had to live any kind of a normal life. He didn't know anymore whether they could have or not. Didn't know when the hunting had become so routine that it didn't even register as either a necessity or a choice anymore.
What he did know was that even if he had wanted something different for their lives, he probably couldn't have made it happen. Sure, Sam could have gone back to Stanford any damn time he'd wanted, after a point, but he hadn't. That didn't stop Dean from knowing Sam had longed for normalcy every day of their lives. Not having - and Dean hated to admit this, even to himself - not having an education of his own meant that there was no real way he could ever give Sam that simple, perfect life. Knowing how to make money under the table wasn't exactly a respectable mode of living for someone wanting to move into the suburbs. And knowing how to take down a dozen different kinds of evil didn't exactly prepare you for manicuring a lawn or baking blueberry pie in a frilly apron. Nope, no Ward or June Cleaver here.
Wondering what it would be like to not have to hit a laundromat once a week, Dean took another swig of his beer and tried to pay attention to the new case Sam had dug up for them to go check out. "Uh-huh. Yeah," he nodded absently as Sam pointed out several details of an article on his laptop's screen.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
"Hmm?"
"You haven't heard a word I've said for the last five minutes, have you?" His brother's eyes were full of worry, as they always were where Dean was concerned.
Without missing a beat, he dissembled, "Yeah, course I have. Possible werewolf outside of Tulsa. We'll make it there by Tuesday if we leave first thing tomorrow."
Sam shook his head. "Vengeful spirit in Toledo, Dean."
"Damn. I was this close," he smirked.
"You sure you're okay?"
A smaller smile as he looked away. "Yeah, just having a mental chick-flick moment," he admitted bitterly. He never could hide what he was thinking from his brother.
Leaning across the bed, Sam wrapped a hand around the back of Dean's neck and kissed him on the forehead. "Well, cut it out. Everything's fine. And you know I wouldn't have it any other way. We are each other's 'home'."
Dean let out a halfhearted laugh. "Get out of my head."
"Make me."
"Bitch."
Sam's amused, loving smile was enough to make Dean forget, if only for a while, the things he'd been contemplating. "Jerk."
* * * * *