SPN fic: "No Rest At All In Freedom" (Dean/OFC, PG-13)
*SIGH*
Sooo, today is the deadline for spn_dailylife (I think! Perhaps I should check!) And you guys know how I am with deadlines (although, really, I think I have good excuses this time. Traveling! Babies! Cookies!) So I pretty much wrote this... today. I have such a love/hate relationship with fic challenges, it's ridiculous.
So, anyway. I would very much like feedback on this fic. I'm feeling insecure about it. (Um, that doesn't mean the feedback has to be positive, haha. Just try not to make me cry.)
Title: No Rest At All In Freedom
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She thinks, suddenly, that she'll have to make him dinner, and oh, Lord, what is he doing here anyway?
Word Count: 1125
Spoilers: None.
Notes/Warnings: Written for spn_dailylife for the prompt "coffee maker." I love this challenge comm, but I always seem to write weird, kind of crappy fic for it. *facepalm* As before, I kind of like this fic but I don't know that anybody else will. Unbetaed because I ran out of time and for which I apologize. I'm sure emmademarais could have kicked my (literary) ass a thousand times over and made the fic much, much better if I'd asked her to beta this. LOL. Title from Let Him Fly by Patty Griffin.
Disclaimer: I suppose I do own the OFC. Dean's not mine, though. I'm just borrowing him.
It's a month before he shows up again, dirty and unexpected on her front porch. He's limping but he throws her a grin that makes her stammer in the midst of her protests. He apologizes for taking off, almost seems sincere, even, and says his brother dragged him away. Kind of an emergency, he shrugs.
She doesn't ask why he never called.
He takes his boots off gingerly and sets them just inside the door, the way she asked him the second time (not the first, when articles of clothing were scattered through the house and it took ten minutes the next day to find his left boot). His ankle looks swollen under his sock.
"Go sit down," she says. "I'll get you some ice."
"And coffee?" he says, raising his eyebrows expectantly. He looks like a little boy, despite the few days' growth of beard on his face. She looks away and steps towards the kitchen.
"Yeah, okay."
She turns on the coffee maker and opens the freezer for an ice pack. The Girl Scout in her always insists she keep one, but she can't remember the last time it was used. It's sitting there under a bag of artichoke hearts. She thinks, suddenly, that she'll have to make him dinner, and oh, Lord, what is he doing here anyway?
The coffee's half-done. She takes him the ice and settles it carefully on his ankle. He opens his mouth to speak and she stands up, smiling quickly as she walks out of the room. "I'll just get your coffee," she calls back. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him staring at her.
She automatically adds sugar and milk to the coffee before remembering he drinks it black. She stares at the cup for a minute, biting her lip, and pulls sandwich fixings out of the fridge in penance.
He frowns at the coffee but grins at the sandwich, so she thinks it balances out. She took a sip to taste it, anyway, and it's fine. Maybe there's something wrong with his taste buds.
He gives her a smile and takes a bite of the sandwich, chews for a minute, and squints down at his food. "What is this?" he asks, sounding truly curious.
"Baked tofu," she tells him, and he stares at her. His eyes narrow, suspicious.
"Tofu?" He picks at the sandwich, peeling away part of the bread and poking skeptically at the thin slice of tofu. He bends it a little, then breaks off a piece and just looks at it. Finally he looks up at her again. "But you shave your legs," he protests. She can't stop a surprised laugh.
"Eat your damn sandwich and then go take a shower," she says. It occurs to her, in the back of her mind, that she's treating him more like her six-year-old nephew than an ex or... whatever he is. But then, for God's sake, he's playing with his food, so maybe it's justified. "I'll be in the back room. Let me know if you need anything."
"Uh," he starts. He purses his lips, glances at his ankle. "Would you mind just... I left my duffel bag in the car." He transfers his plate to his left hand and tilts his right hip up to dig into his pocket. "You think you could get it? In the back seat. Not in the trunk. It's right there on the seat, you can't miss it."
"Sure," she says, and takes the keys.
His car is dirtier than it was last time. There's mud splashed on it around the tires and dead bugs stuck in the grill. The bag is right where he said it would be but she glances around for a moment anyway, feeling slightly guilty as she does so. There isn't much to see; fast food bags abound, making her shake her head, and there's a box of tapes on the floor of the passenger seat. She looks at a couple of labels, handwritten in his neat, blocky letters--Metallica, on one, and Ozzy on another. The AC/DC tape has a lightning bolt carefully drawn in place of the slash.
His bag is heavier than it looks, obviously more than just a change of clothes, but she resists the temptation to look inside. She thinks he might be able to see her through the front window anyway.
Inside, she takes his ice and watches him limp into the bathroom. When the door shuts she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
It's odd to have the shower running while she's in the other room, listening to the sounds of another person in her house. He's quiet after the shower shuts off and she almost forgets his presence until the sound of his padding feet reaches her ears from the hallway outside. He stops in the doorway and leans against it, looking at her. He still hasn't shaved.
"You're, uh," she says, and smiles, gesturing. "You're looking a little scruffy there."
He rubs his chin and nods, slowly. "Yeah. You know my dad had a beard for awhile when I was a kid? Always thought I might try it." He tilts his head. "You don't like it?"
She shrugs. "It's fine."
He nods, and they're quiet for a minute. "So what are you doing?" he asks finally.
"Just making a couple of shopping lists. I have some errands to run, actually, so if you want to just hang out in the living room--"
"Or I could come with you?"
She falters. "Oh. Uh. You should probably be staying off your feet, I think..."
"I can stay in the car. It'll be fine."
"Um. Okay. I guess." She stands up, hooking her jacket and purse on one arm, and heads for the doorway, but he doesn't move aside. She stares at him questioningly for a moment before breaking the gaze to look down. His bare feet look pale against the carpet and large next to hers. He closes his hand around her bicep and tugs her a few inches closer.
"Hey," he says, sounding confused. He ducks his head down to catch her eye. "What's wrong? You... You want me to leave?"
She thinks about it, honest-to-God considers it for a minute even though she can tell the hesitation hurts him. His grip loosens with every second until finally he pulls his hand away and starts to turn around.
"Wait," she says. He stops. "I just. Why did you come back?"
He turns around, looks at her carefully. "I said I would," he says, like that explains everything. She thinks maybe he believes it really does.
Sooo, today is the deadline for spn_dailylife (I think! Perhaps I should check!) And you guys know how I am with deadlines (although, really, I think I have good excuses this time. Traveling! Babies! Cookies!) So I pretty much wrote this... today. I have such a love/hate relationship with fic challenges, it's ridiculous.
So, anyway. I would very much like feedback on this fic. I'm feeling insecure about it. (Um, that doesn't mean the feedback has to be positive, haha. Just try not to make me cry.)
Title: No Rest At All In Freedom
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She thinks, suddenly, that she'll have to make him dinner, and oh, Lord, what is he doing here anyway?
Word Count: 1125
Spoilers: None.
Notes/Warnings: Written for spn_dailylife for the prompt "coffee maker." I love this challenge comm, but I always seem to write weird, kind of crappy fic for it. *facepalm* As before, I kind of like this fic but I don't know that anybody else will. Unbetaed because I ran out of time and for which I apologize. I'm sure emmademarais could have kicked my (literary) ass a thousand times over and made the fic much, much better if I'd asked her to beta this. LOL. Title from Let Him Fly by Patty Griffin.
Disclaimer: I suppose I do own the OFC. Dean's not mine, though. I'm just borrowing him.
It's a month before he shows up again, dirty and unexpected on her front porch. He's limping but he throws her a grin that makes her stammer in the midst of her protests. He apologizes for taking off, almost seems sincere, even, and says his brother dragged him away. Kind of an emergency, he shrugs.
She doesn't ask why he never called.
He takes his boots off gingerly and sets them just inside the door, the way she asked him the second time (not the first, when articles of clothing were scattered through the house and it took ten minutes the next day to find his left boot). His ankle looks swollen under his sock.
"Go sit down," she says. "I'll get you some ice."
"And coffee?" he says, raising his eyebrows expectantly. He looks like a little boy, despite the few days' growth of beard on his face. She looks away and steps towards the kitchen.
"Yeah, okay."
She turns on the coffee maker and opens the freezer for an ice pack. The Girl Scout in her always insists she keep one, but she can't remember the last time it was used. It's sitting there under a bag of artichoke hearts. She thinks, suddenly, that she'll have to make him dinner, and oh, Lord, what is he doing here anyway?
The coffee's half-done. She takes him the ice and settles it carefully on his ankle. He opens his mouth to speak and she stands up, smiling quickly as she walks out of the room. "I'll just get your coffee," she calls back. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him staring at her.
She automatically adds sugar and milk to the coffee before remembering he drinks it black. She stares at the cup for a minute, biting her lip, and pulls sandwich fixings out of the fridge in penance.
He frowns at the coffee but grins at the sandwich, so she thinks it balances out. She took a sip to taste it, anyway, and it's fine. Maybe there's something wrong with his taste buds.
He gives her a smile and takes a bite of the sandwich, chews for a minute, and squints down at his food. "What is this?" he asks, sounding truly curious.
"Baked tofu," she tells him, and he stares at her. His eyes narrow, suspicious.
"Tofu?" He picks at the sandwich, peeling away part of the bread and poking skeptically at the thin slice of tofu. He bends it a little, then breaks off a piece and just looks at it. Finally he looks up at her again. "But you shave your legs," he protests. She can't stop a surprised laugh.
"Eat your damn sandwich and then go take a shower," she says. It occurs to her, in the back of her mind, that she's treating him more like her six-year-old nephew than an ex or... whatever he is. But then, for God's sake, he's playing with his food, so maybe it's justified. "I'll be in the back room. Let me know if you need anything."
"Uh," he starts. He purses his lips, glances at his ankle. "Would you mind just... I left my duffel bag in the car." He transfers his plate to his left hand and tilts his right hip up to dig into his pocket. "You think you could get it? In the back seat. Not in the trunk. It's right there on the seat, you can't miss it."
"Sure," she says, and takes the keys.
His car is dirtier than it was last time. There's mud splashed on it around the tires and dead bugs stuck in the grill. The bag is right where he said it would be but she glances around for a moment anyway, feeling slightly guilty as she does so. There isn't much to see; fast food bags abound, making her shake her head, and there's a box of tapes on the floor of the passenger seat. She looks at a couple of labels, handwritten in his neat, blocky letters--Metallica, on one, and Ozzy on another. The AC/DC tape has a lightning bolt carefully drawn in place of the slash.
His bag is heavier than it looks, obviously more than just a change of clothes, but she resists the temptation to look inside. She thinks he might be able to see her through the front window anyway.
Inside, she takes his ice and watches him limp into the bathroom. When the door shuts she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
It's odd to have the shower running while she's in the other room, listening to the sounds of another person in her house. He's quiet after the shower shuts off and she almost forgets his presence until the sound of his padding feet reaches her ears from the hallway outside. He stops in the doorway and leans against it, looking at her. He still hasn't shaved.
"You're, uh," she says, and smiles, gesturing. "You're looking a little scruffy there."
He rubs his chin and nods, slowly. "Yeah. You know my dad had a beard for awhile when I was a kid? Always thought I might try it." He tilts his head. "You don't like it?"
She shrugs. "It's fine."
He nods, and they're quiet for a minute. "So what are you doing?" he asks finally.
"Just making a couple of shopping lists. I have some errands to run, actually, so if you want to just hang out in the living room--"
"Or I could come with you?"
She falters. "Oh. Uh. You should probably be staying off your feet, I think..."
"I can stay in the car. It'll be fine."
"Um. Okay. I guess." She stands up, hooking her jacket and purse on one arm, and heads for the doorway, but he doesn't move aside. She stares at him questioningly for a moment before breaking the gaze to look down. His bare feet look pale against the carpet and large next to hers. He closes his hand around her bicep and tugs her a few inches closer.
"Hey," he says, sounding confused. He ducks his head down to catch her eye. "What's wrong? You... You want me to leave?"
She thinks about it, honest-to-God considers it for a minute even though she can tell the hesitation hurts him. His grip loosens with every second until finally he pulls his hand away and starts to turn around.
"Wait," she says. He stops. "I just. Why did you come back?"
He turns around, looks at her carefully. "I said I would," he says, like that explains everything. She thinks maybe he believes it really does.