Supernatural-ficlet for Cep
For the_cephalopod, because I got the most beautiful surprise in the mail yesterday! Thank you hon, it was great inspiration! *hugs*
1. Sam is used to Dad sleeping in the bed closest to the door. It's how it's always been. Dad in that bed, him and Dean sharing the other one. Sometimes, when they stayed in one place for long enough to actually have an apartment, it was Dad on the couch and Sam and Dean sharing the bedroom.
Now, every time they enter a motel room, Dean puts his duffle down on the bed closest to the door without even thinking about it. The first time, Sam wanted to protest, because that was Dad's bed. Then he remembered what he was doing here in the first place and didn't say anything.
He still finds it hard to sleep.
2. Dean knows it's been four years, but he still can't get over how much Sam grew. He was tall when he went off to Stanford, but he was still skinny, all knees and elbows, with his face full of pimples and his bangs shading his eyes. Now, Dean's little brother is a head taller than him and outweighs him by twenty pounds of muscle. Sam is huge, and Dean has to look hard for traces of the teen he used to be. It's there sometimes, the way Sam rolls his eyes, the faces of disapproval when Dean does or says something stupid, the way he hides behind his bangs when he's in one of his pouty moods.
So Dean does his best to draw out those moments. He pulls every stupid prank he can think of, tells every stupid joke he knows, does stupid thing after stupid thing, just to make sure that's still Sam in there and not some stranger he doesn't even know.
3. Sam doesn't remember his mother. He only knows her from stories, from Dean telling him about things she used to do and say. But even Dean's memories are shady, and Dad never spoke about her at all.
Sam's world has always been Dean and Dad (in that order). Mom was just a concept, something Dean and Dad shared but Sam couldn't quite understand.
He does now. He understands why Dad couldn't talk, and why Dean sometimes couldn't shut up about her. He understands what it's like to live with a big hollow place inside you, a place where something precious is missing. Every day he lives is a day without Jess. And maybe Dean understands too, because he listens when Sam needs to talk and he doesn't prod when Sam can't put words on his grief.
4. Dean was raised to take care of his little brother. To look after him, keep him from harm. That's why, when an angry spirit flungs him backwards into a tombstone, he doesn't even feel his ribs crack and the sharp pain where the back of his head hits the stone. He just needs to get up, to get between Sam and the ghost, keep Sam safe.
But his legs doesn't seem to want to hold his weight, and every time he moves his head, the graveyeard spins around him. Dean's stomach is filled with ice, he has no idea where Sam is, he needs to get up and do something.
Then Sam is there, standing tall in front of Dean, shotgun in his hand aiming at the seriously pissed off spirit heading straight for them. The shot rings out, deafeningly loud in the quiet graveyard, and the spirit dissolves into mist and disappears. Dean can only stare.
Sam helps him up, steadies him with huge hands on his arms, careful of his battered ribs. "Let go, I can walk," Dean tries to say, but the words comes out slurred, and he distantly puts another concussion to his collection.
Sam's grip doesn't falter. He just shoots one of his disapproving looks and says, "Dean," with that tone of voice Dean could never refuse.
So Dean stops protesting and lets Sam take care of him.
1. Sam can still feel the heat from the fire when he starts awake, can still see Jess' face, her eyes staring wide open, damning him. When he opens his eyes, he expects to find the motel room in flames and he doesn't dare look at the ceiling in fear of what he will see.
(Dean. Dad. Bellies ripped open, dripping blood, mouths ripped open, screaming.)
But the room is dark. Sam shifts on the bed, feels a warm presence beside him, someone's leg pressed up against his back. He blinks and turns his head. "Dean? What..."
There's a click and Sam hears the muted sound of the television, and then Dean's voice in the darkness. "Shut up and sleep, bitch."
Sam relaxes and buries his head in the pillow again. "Jerk," he mutters with a smile on his face as he falls back asleep. This time, he doesn't dream.
1. Sam is used to Dad sleeping in the bed closest to the door. It's how it's always been. Dad in that bed, him and Dean sharing the other one. Sometimes, when they stayed in one place for long enough to actually have an apartment, it was Dad on the couch and Sam and Dean sharing the bedroom.
Now, every time they enter a motel room, Dean puts his duffle down on the bed closest to the door without even thinking about it. The first time, Sam wanted to protest, because that was Dad's bed. Then he remembered what he was doing here in the first place and didn't say anything.
He still finds it hard to sleep.
2. Dean knows it's been four years, but he still can't get over how much Sam grew. He was tall when he went off to Stanford, but he was still skinny, all knees and elbows, with his face full of pimples and his bangs shading his eyes. Now, Dean's little brother is a head taller than him and outweighs him by twenty pounds of muscle. Sam is huge, and Dean has to look hard for traces of the teen he used to be. It's there sometimes, the way Sam rolls his eyes, the faces of disapproval when Dean does or says something stupid, the way he hides behind his bangs when he's in one of his pouty moods.
So Dean does his best to draw out those moments. He pulls every stupid prank he can think of, tells every stupid joke he knows, does stupid thing after stupid thing, just to make sure that's still Sam in there and not some stranger he doesn't even know.
3. Sam doesn't remember his mother. He only knows her from stories, from Dean telling him about things she used to do and say. But even Dean's memories are shady, and Dad never spoke about her at all.
Sam's world has always been Dean and Dad (in that order). Mom was just a concept, something Dean and Dad shared but Sam couldn't quite understand.
He does now. He understands why Dad couldn't talk, and why Dean sometimes couldn't shut up about her. He understands what it's like to live with a big hollow place inside you, a place where something precious is missing. Every day he lives is a day without Jess. And maybe Dean understands too, because he listens when Sam needs to talk and he doesn't prod when Sam can't put words on his grief.
4. Dean was raised to take care of his little brother. To look after him, keep him from harm. That's why, when an angry spirit flungs him backwards into a tombstone, he doesn't even feel his ribs crack and the sharp pain where the back of his head hits the stone. He just needs to get up, to get between Sam and the ghost, keep Sam safe.
But his legs doesn't seem to want to hold his weight, and every time he moves his head, the graveyeard spins around him. Dean's stomach is filled with ice, he has no idea where Sam is, he needs to get up and do something.
Then Sam is there, standing tall in front of Dean, shotgun in his hand aiming at the seriously pissed off spirit heading straight for them. The shot rings out, deafeningly loud in the quiet graveyard, and the spirit dissolves into mist and disappears. Dean can only stare.
Sam helps him up, steadies him with huge hands on his arms, careful of his battered ribs. "Let go, I can walk," Dean tries to say, but the words comes out slurred, and he distantly puts another concussion to his collection.
Sam's grip doesn't falter. He just shoots one of his disapproving looks and says, "Dean," with that tone of voice Dean could never refuse.
So Dean stops protesting and lets Sam take care of him.
1. Sam can still feel the heat from the fire when he starts awake, can still see Jess' face, her eyes staring wide open, damning him. When he opens his eyes, he expects to find the motel room in flames and he doesn't dare look at the ceiling in fear of what he will see.
(Dean. Dad. Bellies ripped open, dripping blood, mouths ripped open, screaming.)
But the room is dark. Sam shifts on the bed, feels a warm presence beside him, someone's leg pressed up against his back. He blinks and turns his head. "Dean? What..."
There's a click and Sam hears the muted sound of the television, and then Dean's voice in the darkness. "Shut up and sleep, bitch."
Sam relaxes and buries his head in the pillow again. "Jerk," he mutters with a smile on his face as he falls back asleep. This time, he doesn't dream.