Title: So, Get This (AO3) Gifter:citrusjava Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam Word count/Medium: 3500ish Rating: PG-13 Warnings:[read] Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, (Brief) Child Abuse
Summary: Sam never considered telling Dean. There wasn’t coming back from something like that, he knew.
Notes: This is a gift for Pathossam. I hope your winter is happy, and I hope you enjoy this trope-saturated, old-time-y story! Thank you, KnottedString, for being willing to help with this, and for being so awesome kind and lovely, and a good friend! Also I am interested in ur kitty.
Title: There are Ghosts in the Boxes Rating: Gen, Dean+Sam Warnings: [open]vague mentions of past abuse, eating disorders and hurricanes Summary: A hurricane was as good a reason as any to have Dad's stuff shipped from the Tampa storage unit. Note: wanted to write you something for the new season. No spoilers, though (and please don't spoil me).
Also: I might keep writing up to the episode today, if you have prompts you feel like getting fast unbetaed ficlets from me for, send then over and maybe I will write them.
[On the way back from Houston, they stopped as a Gas-n-Sip]On the way back from Houston, they stopped at a Gas 'n' Sip. Sam wanted to change out of his still-damp jeans, Dean wanted a BBQ Payday. Both needed coffee, just black, just to get home. Dean had gone back into a flooded house that morning to try and salvage a woman's photo albums. The bridge of Dean's nose was sunburned, vivid against the Key Lime Pie Twizzler he held between his lips, Toothpick Charlie like. Back in the driver's seat, Dean was swirling his coffee around in its paper cup, trying to get the sugar to melt without going all the way back in for a disposable coffee stirrer. "Gotta get Dad's stuff outta Tampa ".
Sam didn't have a lot of things like that, didn't want his past up on his walls to remember. Had his drawer. Had kept the amulet, of course he did. Come on, of course he did. But that was about it.
It was still in Sam's pocket most of the time now, really. Dean hadn't worn it again, and that was a new pain and an old, comfortable one. Still wanted to have it on him. Still a comfort to carry their connection, and a burden.
A hurricane was as good a reason as any to have Dad's stuff from the Tampa storage unit shipped over. Been putting it off for years. Sam wasn't gonna go get it. But it shouldn't be floating around in a flood, o one needed another inadvertent apocalypse. They'd keep it safe, they had the space for it now. Not like the FBI was still on their asses. It's been years. Last time they visited Jody, she gave him a long look and said that wasn't going to happen.
There probably wasn't anything in that unit Sam wanted around. Most of Dad's treasures were weapons that weren't as good as what they had now, with the bunker's stashes and their friends in all sort of places. The few personal treasures weren't anything Sam wanted around. The doting father who kept Sam's soccer trophy but not Sam himself. Successes but his son. It was an uncomfortable, sort of misplaced love Sam didn't know what to do with. Would have wanted to give away, to give to Dean. Every time Dad had done something like that - Dean seemed hollow for a moment, skin transparent like he hadn't eaten in days. Then Dean would punch Sam's shoulder and call Sam a geek, and the world started up again. Dean always wanted to give Sam the better things in their life. Sam should have this, in Dean's mind, because Dean wanted it so badly.
Sam didn't want it. Didn't want the way it made Dean look, didn't want the way it made Sam feel. Didn't want this fake validation, warm around his guts like unwanted hands. Hated having not being able to protest, to Dad, to Dean - because officially, none of it happened. Didn't want that role. Didn't want Dad taking one of Sam's happy memories as his own. Being part of a team, this once not being the new boy - was twisted into a memory of helpless rage, every time Sam saw that trophy. Didn't want it in his house, didn't want any of Dad's memories there. But if they didn't keep them, who would?
Dean left Sam to go through the boxes without Dean, and Sam let him. Wasn't sure what memories they would bring up in Dean, or what flashback. Sam preferred to just do it himself, he'd be fine.
Dean was making burgers - both intended to say thank you, and sorry, and to enable Dean to hide out in the kitchen till Sam was done.
Sam went through boxes gray with dust, sticky-damp, like the hands 10 year old. Artifacts, this to contain, things to read up on. Notes for tens of unsolved cases, wait for an apparition on the Christmas of 2010, open a book to this pages in the 2017 eclipse. Sam pursed his lips. Old books, those could go in the library, Sam refused to be squeamish.
Dean seemed glad Sam had kept it. Sam sort of understood Dean not wanting to be that old person he was. If that was why. Always a fluttering unsecured to his assertion. If that was w hy.
Silver Bullets. First aid supplies. Spare ammo. Some knives. Tear gas grenades. Would have just dumped it all at Goodwill - let someone else sort through it.
Sam was opening another box, when Dean started calling for him to go eat.
This cardboard wasn't falling apart like Dean's tape box. The masking tape dusty, but not transparent strips of it rustling off the boxes, leaving behind lines of brown dried glue. Cheetos logo, not Crispy Critters and Smurfees. There were old newspapers in there, at first he though they were used as packing material, then he assumed they were for an old case. A pile of beer cans - no, a line of - a wreath of - Dad kept... OK. Some air fresheners. A gas station bag. It was something at the edge of obvious, something he should know. Something he told himself to forget, not to forget. The papers were from 1991, the funny papers. Dean was at the door, talking about fries, and buns, and would Sammy get his pretty buns over already cause Dean was hungry. A mostly empty bottle or Castillo. Busty Asian Beauties. Christmas wrapping paper. A Sapphire Barbie.
Sam looked up Dean's face, years of feeding peeled off, eyes wide skittering across the boxes. Sam wanted to say - "he was an abusive fuck, we both know it". Or "he was always closer with you, trusted you like you were a part of him. Only reason he could love me was he saw me as a different person". Or even "me, I love you, isn't that enough? Why won't you love me back?".
But Dean's eyes were already on the doll in Sam's arms, horrified but soft. "Aww, Sammy and his Barbie! Don't you let that unrealistic figure mess you up, Sammy - you are pretty just the way you are".
And they were wrestling in the wrapping paper and the room was theirs again.
Full of Grace: I know I could love you much better than this :'-( Also every lyric of the title song
Title: Wish You Were Here Gifter:citrusjava Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam Word count: 3000 Rating: NC-17 Warnings:[read]Angst, angst, angst. Pining. Dub-con. Ableist notions. Background mentions of spoilers up to 12x07, rape, torture, self harm, self sacrifice. Mentions of canon character death, mourning. Fic-spoiling warning: [read]hurt no comfort. Be warned. A/N: Beta by the awesome tipsykitty, who was so wonderful, kind and encouraging, who made things much better. Any remaining mistakes are just mine! A/N: side note about my writing experience
A/N2: This is for amypond45, who asked for Winchester angst, as part of spn_j2_xmas. I really hope you enjoy it, and have a wonderful winter!
Summary: Dean hasn’t died, not permanently. Still right there at the Bunker.
Title: Took my chances on a big jet place Pairing: >Dean & Sam Words: 850 Warnings: [read]recreational drug and alcohol use, brief mention of sex work Spoilers: small spoiler for 11x19
Summary: It was probably oregano anyway
Dean feels around the cooler for his last beer. It's warm and damp, but it's not like he's wearing a top hat either. Tried to get all the dust and mud off his clothes before touching Baby, but even stripped half naked he's dragging some forest onto her leather. He pats the seat, swipes the filth away with a gentle thumb. Gonna give her a nice tuneup when they're outta there, he promises her, himself.
Five days he hasn't seen a living soul, or a dead one for that matter, trail's cold, and he's getting twitchy in all that nothin. Dad's in Colorado, looking into reports of localizes hurricanes, coming out of nowhere, going nowhere, plenty of eyewitnesses but no blip on the meteorological radar. Dean hasn't heard from him since he left. Tells himself it's the reception in the forest, but he knows it's crystal.
He thumbs the phone, good five bars of reception.
Drinks his beer.
He could step right out of the world, no blip. He might not even notice if he did.
Calls information, asks for the number of one Robert Singer. Listens to his voice, unsure for a moment, that he still knows how to talk with anyone. There is a lot of empty in the forest.
Information hangs up. Shoulda kept the number of the girl with the cowboy boots from the bar last year. Or the chat line card someone stuck on his windshield wiper.
He's asleep by the time his phone rings. The tinny cellphone notes of Brown Eyed Girl. Hasn't played it in almost two years, and Dean's heart is beating hard before he's awake, before he registers the sound.
"Sammy? You ok?"
"Dean?" The voice sounds small and distant.
There's some rustling, then Sam swallows.
"What's going on?"
"Dean, did you ever- The parties you went to, did you never- The girls you-"
Dean's mind is racing. Halloween haunted house come to life? College succubus? Pregnant college succubus?"
"Sam, spit it out!"
Sam's voice goes meeker. "Did you ever try-"
Orgies? A girl's underwear on?
"Did you ever try smoking?"
Dean sputters. "Sammy!"
"Like - weed?"
"You smoke now?" California takes Dean's geek baby brother, it should have the decency to give him back the way it got him.
"Dean" Sam's voice is part way between annoyed and pleading. "I don't know if - if it feels right".
"What's it feel like?"
"I just - I - I - wanna puke and throw up, and" Sam's breathing gets sharp, and Dean can't hear if it's fear or tears. Dean knows shit about getting high, but he knows his brother, and he knows his Mick Jagger Mars Bar lore.
"Listen, Sammy, you got anything with sugar on you?"
"No, but it's fine, Dean, I'm fine".
"the hell you are. Listen, Sammy" Dean does Dad voice, like there's no doubt in the world. "You're stoned, you're paranoid, that's all. You don't gotta fight it, you're golden. All you gotta do is ride this out. Will be over in an hour".
Sam swallows. "What if it was - you know, what if there was something in it?"
Dean's thinking about the same lines, but that's not comin out of his mouth. "Dude, you're not in Em City, you're in college, it was probably overpriced oregano. You jonesing for pizza?"
Sam snorts, but he's still breathing wrong. "Dean, there was - in the paper - about someone like you, missing and I know it wasn't you because - but his picture looked a little - and I started thinking what if you or Dad - and I - you are missing and I - this guy Don had a joint and I - I just didn't want to think about it"
"Woah, woah, Sammy" Dean says, quiet. "Didn't go missing". I didn't go missing. "'m right here, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I know" Sam tries to sound grown up, and only misses by a few years. Like Dean's voice sounded in his ears when that spirit had Dean by the throat, and Dad was bleeding out - grown up and messed up and scared. "Just you're not here, and I just, I didn't want - if something wasn't gonna be ok with you - or - me - I didn't want to never - just wanted to I wanted to-"
"'s alright"
Sam's breathing a bit better now, and Dean's chest unclenches. "So what, you're embracing the ways of the locals? Flowers in your hair?"
Dean can hear the weak smile in Sam's voice. "You'd love it. They put broccoli on their pizza".
Dean makes the expected a disgusted voice, like it's a normal conversation, like they still know how to talk with each other proper.
"It's better than fried spam for breakfast".
"It's good enough for Commander Sheers, it's good enough for me".
"Commander Sheers never ate fried spam".
"You're high".
Sam laughs.
Dean tries for more.
"Little Sammy, a space cowboy, riding shotgun on the Great Red Shark!"
"You're such an ass" Sam's voice is warm, and he sounds ok, sounds regular.
"Rock on gold dust woman! Don’t Step on the Grass, Sam"
"Dean" Sam asks, like there's too much space in his world too, too many miles of room.
Title: Sam and Dean's Ghostly Adventures Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: PG-13? Words: 705 Warnings and tags: [Spoiler (click to open)]Show level violence/hurt, casefic sort of, crack, unbetaed, poor research on my part
Summary: Sam fights ghosts to save Dean
"Dean!" Sam screamed as the ghost slammed his brother against the wall.
"Behind you!" Dean called, a flash of bloody teeth. Sam ducked and rolled out of the way, just missing the killing touch of another ghost. Fuck, fuck. There were now two on him, three. A pac.
Sam dashed through the dark house's angled corridors, frantically searching. They stepped right into it, no investigation, no EMF reader - the second they were inside the house, they wre running for their lives.
The entire house was thrumming with sirens, Sam couldn't say whether they were intended to warn them or against them. All he could see was Dean's face, Dean being erased from existence, done.
Nothing worked against these ghosts. As Sam ran - a flicker of memory, maybe something Dad said when they were kids, said to Dean - - the ghosts are tied to orbs. Nothing would work, no salt, no iron - nothing unless he managed to find the orb.
Behind him he could hea r furniture crashing, the thud of a body - hitting the floor, flesh, reverberating through Sam's legs. Knee against the floor, then the body. Sam wished, not for the first time he'd never gotten clean. Not if the price was losing Dean again. Not again. Couldn't live through that again, not again. Wouldn't get a dog next time, wouldn't ever stop.
He put the bitterness into running, the desperation. He was a tiny bit faster than the ghosts, and that margin was the only hope he and Dean had. Sam took a sharp turn at a run - to find himself in a small passage - and from its other side, was approaching a ghost. There was nowhere to run, nothing left.
Then Sam realized, between him and the other side of the passage, there it was - a glowing round orb. If only he could reach it before the ghosts touched him, he could buy them some time. Could buy Dean some time to run outside - but Dean wouldn't, not unless Sam was there to make him.
Sam flung himself at the orb and crashed into the approaching ghost midair. The orb was gone. In a moment suspended in time, world took a breath, and the ghost exploded and shriveled into nothing but its burning eyes. Sam rounded on the ghosts behind him, perusing them down the corridors, back to Dean. The ghosts fled before Sam, frozen to Sam's touch and melting under it. Sam would have been terrified at his power had it not been for the ache in his chest, Dean -
The power of the orb was pulsing through him, he could hear his own steps remaking the house on his way to Dean.
Something in this new knowledge made Sam stop in his track. Something - in the house. He would need something.
Wouldn't be able to help Dean without it.
A space opened up before him, the way they walked in, but different. And casually set there, waiting - the gift of life. Small red fruit in the dark light.
Maybe ghost fruit. It could be a mistake. But could also be the only thing that could help.
Sam grabbed it and sprinted to Dean, back to Dean.
Vanquished the last ghost, pulling it off of Dean without thought. "Dean! Dean" Sam grabbed for a pulse, a gleam of recognition in Dean's eyes.
Dean's body was pliable, warm in Sam's arms, but here was no reaction, no echo of Sam's erratic breaths.
"Dean, please, Dean" Sam was whispering, "please".
Nothing.
Sam pushed the fruit between Dean's lips, its skin breaking against Dean's teeth, red. A breeze rose around them, sun-ripened tart and sweet, sticky hands at the back seat, Dean's lips at night in summer. The tips of Sam's fingers at the dip of Dean's neck as Dean's eyes blinked back, wide, and Dean's heart was beating again.
"Sammy", Dean looked up at him, bare to the quick, then Dean was smiling, "Sammy", he was removing the cherry pit from his lips, "You know I can tie a knot in one of these babies with only my tongue?"
"Dean", Sam was on him, damp faces soft under stubble, under rifts and years, fruit lingering on their tongues, between their grins.
"Thanks for giving me your cherry, Sammy" Dean was mumbling into Sam's hair.
Why couldn't it have been a watermelon.
Notes: [and nitpicking]I don't know why Pacman. I'm sad, wanted to write something silly. Also it turns out that while (probably?) the version I played for research gave me an extra life for that cherry, it changes from version to version and that is not even an official possibility? so - yeah, sorry to purists.
Rating: soft R Pairing(s): [read]Sam/Lucifer, Sam/Dean Spoilers: up to and including 11x14 Warnings: [read]ptsd, past rape, not exactly comfort in your h/c, self loathing, shame[also-note but kind of a warning]also - this can be read as very anti Dean. I don't exactly men it that way, it's a story of a moment, not the whole picture. But if that bothers you - be warned. Summary: At least Lucifer was never the only monster living in Sam's head.
Had Dean not been in trouble that moment, 'gotta save Dean', to carry him through that moment....
Lucifer.
There.
In Sam again. Touching him, making him scream.
Felt like the end of everything. No point fighting anymore, never was.
Distraction from the stark dread and hopelessness, had him reaching into his pants.
Coming is better than that. Self loathing means there is at least someone there. Anything is better. Disgust. It should be disgust. Shame. Being like this - being turned on by this, he'd mostly forgiven himself that. Been turned on by worse.
But he deserved no forgiveness for being Lucifer's bitch.
Ten seconds around him topside and Lucifer in him again.
It wasn't even compulsion - he might recognize compulsion, might be able to work with it. This was not even that.
A moment around him and Sam was offering his soul to him, take it, take it, please.
It was like Stanford, like Sam could fight it. It wasn't even compulsion. The world would rearrange itself to make things right. Nothing about Sam mattered but who he was made for.
Self loathing added an edge, sticky on his hand.
What if Dean called through Sam's door, came in. What if Dean held Sam’s face, held Sam through it. What if Dean kissed Sam and told him he was worth living. Was Dean’s. Again, like he once used to ....
Sam curled around the thought, around his bunched up blanket.
He had always, every moment of his life, been a bit more Dean's.
Title: Beautiful on the Inside Pairing: Anna/Ruby Rating: R Words: about 1000 Warnings: [read]Vessel sex, true form sex, unnegotiated kink, mild: blood play, unsafe kink, verbal humiliation, self harm, drug use, careless mention of past breach of body autonomy.... weird things.... Unbetaed
Note: This is for the beloved and wonderful balder12 - hope you like it, BB!
Summary : Ruby isn't naked, like Anna. She's wearing her meatsuit, the way Anna likes
Anna is milk and honey, plains and horizon. Ruby floats in her, hair silking, slipping, slithering around her, caressing her shoulders. Ruby isn't naked, like Anna. She's wearing her meatsuit, the way Anna likes. It makes her feel gorgeous and and naughty dressing up for Anna, knowing how much Anna wants it. Angels and their fetishes, she knows. But Anna's so pure, it makes kinks interesting again.
Ruby walks around the rim of Anna, ground meeting to support the arch of her foot, hold the curve of her toe. Ruby picks up speed, and her steps echo in the land, or maybe the sounds are Anna's delight. The banks are pooling liquid, Ruby's prints filling, softening, and Ruby stumbles through it, Anna pleasantly slippery between her toes. She makes a quick sprint, smiling, and jumps, crash-slides across it, picking up speed, laughs slick and sweet and filthy. Lands on Anna's bank, covered in Anna, hair sticking to her grin, feet dipping in the lake.
"I'm just gonna lie here and make my fragile human form quiver" she informs. American English, authentic, almost the real deal. It makes Anna squirm. Ruby knows Anna is listening, but can't reply, if she doesn't want to break Ruby's vessel. Just has to stay quiet and gentle under Ruby. It makes Ruby squirm. Anna would stay quiet even if she didn't worry about the meatsuit's well being, would never want to break this. You need to be pretty dedicated to your kink for fetish tourism, and Anna's remade her life around it, just to live among humans.
"You can't get this body off, Anna" Ruby says. Sweet heavenly colonialist. Ruby likes this body for being soft, comfortable and hers alone, after hell. It is extremely useful, too. Anna likes this body for being exotic. "You're too foreign, you're not human, can't even communicate".
Ruby dips her arm up to the elbow in Anna. Non just Anna's juices, but Anna herself, sentient, as Ruby uses her to slick herself.
"You Can't get this body off" Ruby repeats, ignoring the way this body swells and thumps around her fingers. "But you could get me off". Anna must notice it as well, curved around every dip of her . They are fucking this vessel together, inside and out.
"You're so angelic, Anna. So you know what I've been doing - you know what I like. Everybody in heaven does". Ruby feels around for Anna's blade. No angel would be without one in these days of unrest, regardless of form. It meets her hand. "Did you ever watch me? Ever want to be back down on earth, to taste for yourself?" It's awkward to use a blade this long,but Ruby can deal with weapons. She uses Anna's blade to make a long, shallow cut across her arm. "Did you wonder how angels react to demon blood? What it could do for you?"
The ground quivers, pulls away, sways, Ruby cradled, cupped, held, but her arm untouched.
"Did you stay there alone, wondering whether it could dim th e glare of your grace a bit, the grace they shoved into you? Make you feel more yourself again?" Cuts another thin line, across the curve and dip of her belly. Presses her lips, open mouthed, to her arm, making a show of taking it in, soft, tasting it. She likes the flavor of her blood in this vessel. Adds, offhand - "Or maybe it'll just get you high". she smiles, but it doesn't come out the practiced seductive smile, just the shy dark one that always met her in the mirror unbidden, always too much her own .
She could just turn around and dip her arm into the lake, simple, have her way, done. Instead she slashes a long cut across her chest, slow, slow and deliberate. The world feels like it is leaning in to watch, mesmerized, motionless. The ground istelf holding its breath. Ruby reaches her nipple, blood gems rising on her skin, transparent.
A pause, then the world tilts, Ruby slides into the folds of Anna, blade safely removed, blood smearing, licked off in tingling burns, grace-cold, wild grin against Anna's curves sticking to her smile, warm, her entire world.... Anna's pool is blush, now, Ruby can't say whether it's her own blood mingling with the essence of Anna, or Anna's reaction to it. The water is building a rhythm to it, fast. Ruby's blood flow brings heartbeats.
The whole lake thumps around her. Her breasts shine in the pearly red, slippery, sensual, comical. Ruby experiments, moves an arm through the liquid, fragrant and weirdly heavy, and Anna ripples around her, shivering small waves in the rhythm. She wriggles, splashes and kicks. The lake gasps in surprise, maybe pleasure or pain. Ruby wants Anna to tear this disguise off her already .
Anna tosses her gently out to the water's surface, slick like before, and Ruby slides across it, wind in her face, drying her hair. Tries to imagine the multiple awarenesses of droplets flying, surrounded in crisp air, lake rippling hard, the feeling of Roby's blood seeping in, Anna soaking, covering and beating with Ruby's body, this vessel that Anna loves, what it must be like to sync heartbeats when neither of them really uses blood - not in that way .
Ruby breathes in wonder. Within the heartbeat, red darkening into it's depths, inviting, pumping, swirls a huge whirlpool. Ruby's mouth goes dry at its magnitude, the power running through it . She circles its rim with her momentum, not pulled it. Puts her fingers in the flow. It sucks her fingers with force, and she smiles, breathless. Likes the way people get, on her blood. "Yes" she says, for whatever angelic requirements she doesn't want to have to deal with. The speed of her glide increases, then she is in free air - over the middle of Anna.
Title: Two days from then, around, 07:30 Rating: gen Character(s): Amelia Words: ~700 Warnings: [warnings]slurs, fantasy fire/violence, military canon badness, unbeta'ed Notes: this is for kalliel - this is not the I was supposed to write, I hope it's still a bit enjoyable (though it's ok to say if not!). This is very rough but I'll probably leave it like that - I like it enough to post though it's ok if i am the only one.... Also - I feel like I might have stolen one of the lines here, if you recognize it, please let me know so I can return it home.
Summary: Why Amelia left for Texas
She'd planned it for a long while. Not the sort of planning that's about tickets and movers and dates, the sort of planning where you fantasize for four months about setting fire to your house, and the neighbor's, and running and running forever, and four months in you realize you're ready to go, all you need is your car keys and you run.
It was the pity she couldn't stand- that was true - but that was only part of it. It was the constant reminder. She'd lost him. He'd left her- just up and left her, no warning. That is- that's a lie- there were a thousand little warnings. In the slant to his tone, in the way his palm felt on her belly. In telling her- I'm unhappy, Amelia, I hate it here.
Everybody was unhappy.
No one left, really left.
Enlisted, like olden days, like she was the woodsmith's daughter and he needed out of an arranged marriage. She'd loved him so simply, before. Can't believe she'd even done something so wholeheartedly. Tried since to talk herself out of naivety, gotta stop, like everybody does . He's not coming back to you, don't let yourself hope for it. Be smart, Amelia, don't be an idiot, please, she begs herself. Still.
She didn't even have time for shock when he left, was still standing there hands wet clutching her dish towel for weeks. Don was off, kisses and hugs and a duffle, because there are not enough roads in the desert and trolleys get trapped in the sands - not even a letter yet and her mind filled with images of that trolley wheel sand-logged, hands still holding her dishtowel and she was coming back home with her paper bag, didn't know how to buy groceries for one, seemed pointless to cook for no one - not even a letter yet and he has no internet still - or he'd have texted her he would have texted her.
Mrs Snyder said hi, rummaging in her mommy bag - Amelia expected words about trash day or porch lights, about painting the front of their house pastel to match the neighborhood plan, and she'd be making those decisions on her own now. Mrs Snyder asked instead about Don, already went over that, didn't want to do it out again. Looks like she might make it a coffee invitation, they'd never gotten along, come have dinner with me and the kids some night, a neighborly patriotic thing that no one would need to follow up on - instead she pulled out a copy of Trauma and Recovery. Squeeze Amelia's arm sympathetically and Amelia's throat clenched with bile. The end of their life. "How bad do you think Don's flight was?" she deadpanned - but Mrs Snyder had left, family matters, offspring making his proud way to the middle of the road, only a moment unsupervised.
Don was missing, and she hated him for putting this unchangeable thing in her life, always, always going to be there, wanted to kick herself in the kneecaps for not knowing, not running on time, for never being this American wife right. The officer at her door barely legal to drink and she wanted to slap him hard and ask whether he was good to his girlfriend, slap him and tell him and America hands off my man you homewrecking slut.
She'd wanted to go to Texas for so long, fantasized about big people and big hearts, all of those families, surely she could find her own. Big dogs jumping of the back of a truck, jumping into the kid's pool like on all those YouTube videos, and she'd finally know the difference between normal BBQ and the real sort she'd never tried.
Once she was there, she was unable to say why she'd found her way to this big empty desert, to this town named after a Muppet.
Then a haunted eyed man hit a dog and messed with her AC, and she wore his shirt, and she needed that book again, and she knew better than hoping, in retrospect.
Title: Longer than the Road Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: PG-13? Words: ~900 Warnings: drinking, passing mention of hentai, very much unbeta'ed Notes: For kalliel, who wanted Winshesters and wind slice of life
Summary: It's been some time since Sam came drinking with Dean
Sam walks next to Dean, jacket and mouth and eyes tight in the wind, rigid and withheld, only his hair raging unleashed. It makes Dean's stomach drop - or it would be funny. Sam isn't angry anymore, hasn't been in ages.
It's one of the good nights . Sam comes with him to the bar. Drinks with Dean, more than a beer or three, and Dean is pretty sure it isn't even to push down something, not more than usual. Dean buys him hunter drinks - Silver Bullet, Rusty Nail, and doesn't tell Sam their names. Sam sticks to his tequila, but he drinks with Dean, and they talk. Sam 's forgetting about his research for longer and longer breaks, Dean's eye absentmindedly following the Windows logo across the screen, calculating pool angles. Dean is not sure what they talk about what anymore, probably some horrible mush he'd rather not remember, but Sam's eyes go softer and Dean's limbs go warm and happy with scotch and company. Sam's cheeks redden, like earlier in the wind, and his eyes go starry like a girl about to enjoy some artistic triple tentacle penetration.
Dean orders sandwiches for tomorrow morning, they'll be soggy but food. Jalepinio guacamole makes a good breakfast. The waitress hands Sam the bill and Dean grabs it, ruffled. He leaves her a good tip, though, it's a slow night.
They walk out again, Dean has to put some weight against the door to get it to open, to step out. "Com'on, Sammy" Dean challenges with a smirk. Smething soft that meant to be a smirk.
The street is black gray and Dean loses their napkins in a fluttery flurry. They crash land into a black puddle, and for a moment Sam looks like he'll try to get them out. He lets them go.
Breathing makes the back of Dean's throat itch with dry particles, like the time with Rhonda - sex on the beach should only ever be a drink, sand in bad places, Sammy. But this air is frozen, thunderstorm on the way. The sort of cold that comes with bat outta hell motorbikes an' electric guitar lightning .
Dean feels like he could be lifted by the wind, is tempted to jump, just a little bit, just to find out. his muscles and weapons and heavy jacket, floating, complete with beer and tacos warming his belly. His insides thrill to it, small pulsing excitement like magic, like he hasn't been picked up or tossed around by demons, angels, forces unknown
For a moment it's so cold Dean has trouble breathing, but that doesn't make sense. A torn windsock man vindictive, store signs bangoverhead, and Dean wants to pull Sam to him, under the wing of his jacket, suddenly wary of flapping electricity lines, windborne debris .
Sam's hair is in his eyes again, but they are still shining under there, as he hurries past Dean, wind catching in the open arms of his jacket. Sam's smiling silly and wide, old enough to be boyish like once. Smiling at Dean - shy, but not backing off. Sam doesn't back off from a challenge.
And in a moment Dean runs after him, half lifted by the wind, almost laughing. It's ok, they're just a little drunk. Sam was always faster than him, but they are banging together, Sam's hair lashing, how is Sam always so warm. Sam's belly is soft despite his training, under Dean's frozen hand, and Sam's yelp is almost as pleasant as the sensation of Sam.
Baby's solid and chilly even through Dean's jacket, through the gap under Dean's shirts. Sam's leaning against him long limbed, looking up at Dean - bending to open the door. Sam's eyes reflect the lines of light reflecting off her, even through the layer of dust, through everything . Sam's hair gets in Dean's mouth, and Sam straightens, warmth undulating, belt to collarbone, and Dean's thoughts scatter, flutter, why are they always the idiots with their overshirts open in the storm. Dean wants to close their shirts, close their shirts together, to share heat, buttons and holes and mouths -
They're finally inside, The windshield is covered with dust, leaves caught in the wipers and flapping around outside, looks as if it is so noisy outside. A few sharp raindrops, thin and brilliant across the filthy glass, a mistake to try and clean the windows now anyway, it'd just make a mess and clog his Baby's washer spray jet.
Street lights are hazy in the muddy air, traffic lights brilliant out of focus like fair candy, sweet and bright, strawberry, orange, lime. Sam's breath warms Dean's cheek, like blowing on Sam's fingers long ago, through gloves, without gloves.
He puts the guacamole in the back seat. Digs in the glove compartment for Metallica, something soft to put Sam to sleep. The rain waited for them to be in, bangs on the roof rhythmically, wave after wave with the wind, and Baby's almost shaking too, or maybe dancing .
Dean has the urge to stick his head out in the rain, his naked torso out, to run outside and yell, and maybe howl, like a werewolf or a frat boy douchebag, to crash into streetwater and have Sam collect him.
Doesn't know whether he's brave, scared, or just so tired.
And he's kissing Sam long and sweet, heart pounding up to his throat, as if they've never done it before, as if they've never stopped doing it.
HOMG HELLO!!! :D
How are you? I was literally thinking about you about a week ago. Nice to see you!!
:D
I'm up for a podfic, I think that would be neat. Let's make a deal. :D <3
citrusjava