comment fic - Sam/Dean, J2 Drabble-a-thon
Feb. 17th, 2010 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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littleone87's Sam/Dean, J2 Drabble a thon:
Posting here since it was a bit too long to fit in a comment over there.
Title: ...and a time for peace.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1145
Note: Forlittleone87's prompt of Sam/Dean, Time. What-if set after whatever final battle, no real spoilers. Schmoopy.
Summary: The morning after.
*****
He came to laying on hard-packed, gravelly dirt, his cheek pressed against a puddle of something cool and tacky. The metallic tang in his mouth was a clue that it wasn't something as mundane as drool, and his stomach lurched, making him gag, before the lack of that taste (dark-sulfur-fire-shadow-fear-hate) registered. Normal blood. Sad how comforting and reassuring the taste of normal blood could be.
He struggled to push himself up, palms shoving against cracked, desert-dry earth (Hadn't there been grass...?), as hands grasped at him, clutching and shoving at him to flip him over. Instinctively, he tried to flinch away, until frantic-edged words penetrated the fog in his head.
"..-am? Sam! C'mon, c'mon, I know you're awake." The hands patted up his torso, pressed warm against his face, wiping the damp stickiness from the one side of his chin and jaw. "Rise and freaking shine already, princess."
It took a couple of tries, but the synapses between his brain and tongue finally started working again. "Dean?" he croaked.
Somehow Dean understood it wasn't a question of his identity, but a mix of What the hell? How the hell? You're kidding me.... "Yeah, I know. I know. It's done. It's fucking over." It was the sound of awe in Dean's voice that most of all finally enabled Sam to pry his heavy eyes open.
His brother's face was close but blurred in the dimness of early dawn, features sharpening only a little as Sam blinked to clear his sight and tried to focus. Then he frowned as he saw how absolutely beat to shit Dean was--bruising vivid over his face, the remnants of a bloodied nose and split lip, and when Sam peered closer, a flush to his skin that almost looked like...sunburn? (Come to think of it, his own skin had that dry, tight, too-warm feeling to it that seemed to indicate he had that same sort of maybe-sunburn, too.) "You okay?" Sam reached up, hands running over Dean's chest and shoulders to check for who knew what sort of injuries before he lightly batted Sam's hands away.
"Dumbass. At least let's get your giant ass off the ground before you worry about that sort of thing."
"We stop the apocalypse and all you can think about is ass. My ass," he mumbled, hearing Dean snort in response. The world rocked and wobbled as the combination of Sam pushing and Dean pulling got Sam unsteadily on his feet, though in the end Sam couldn't tell who was leaning on whom more after. We stop the apocalypse.... Sam felt his mind hiccup and freeze to hear himself say those words, as the impact of their meaning truly hit, and he had to make a conscious effort to mentally set them aside. Later. He'd freak out and go catatonic or something like that later. Dean was now. He twisted against Dean's grip on his coat shoulder to try to pat his brother down again, but Dean shrugged him off, somehow managing to turn the gesture into pulling Sam's arm over his shoulders as Sam swayed, blinking against dizziness. "Dean--"
"I'm fine." He cut Sam off before Sam even started to vocalize a protest. "I'll live." Dean blinked, suddenly barking an almost giddy-sounding laugh. "I'll live. Jesus. Holy shit." And then he was grinning, wide and bright, even despite the bruises and split, swollen lip, and Sam couldn't help but grin back. Sam shifted his balance as he felt himself sway again, and when Dean turned to support Sam's weight more, Sam used the momentum to pull Dean into a tight, clutching hug. And Dean didn't bat him away, didn't shrug him off, just held on in return.
Eventually the sky started to blush and brighten, and the morning sun crept up past the horizon. They let go of each other without saying anything, but only as far as to go back to how they'd been before, with Sam's arm over Dean's shoulders and Dean's other hand pressing, steadying and warm and there, against Sam's back. Sam gazed out over an endless expanse of blasted-bare, dry earth. There'd been a grassy acreage and a farm's fields full of scorched-into-dirt sigils and crop circle-like runes. Now, there was...nothing--except for people. Survivors. The land around them was a wasteland, but there were other people there that had come to the final fight, still alive after, pulling themselves to their feet, and Sam felt laughter bubbling up, and joy and something like hysteria but better. Suddenly he was having to blink hard, tears trickling down his face despite himself.
God, what had happened? He couldn't even remember. Sam wiped the dampness surreptitiously from his face, trying to recall, but there was nothing. Nothing about Lucifer or Michael or angels or demons, just...just a sort of vague impression of...something bright, a moment of the most brilliant light, and for some reason the phrase "My children, with whom I am well pleased." whispered through his thoughts. And instead of an apocalyptic battle, Sam for some reason at that moment remembered the way his dad had looked at him once when he was proud of something Sam had done, a warm smile, a firm hand grasping his shoulder. Huh.
Sam looked at Dean, whose gaze was far-off, faint lines between his eyebrows as if he, too, were struggling to find memories that really weren't there. Dean shook his head slightly, coming back to himself. "So...what now?" His eyes when he looked back at Sam were so vibrantly, vividly green that Sam felt himself swallowing hard against emotion once again. Oh, god...Dean was alive. He was alive. They'd both made it. Somewhere far off in the distance, a bell tolled, its ringing echoing again and again into the morning quiet, and Sam leaned down just enough to press his lips carefully against Dean's.
"Yeah," Dean whispered against his mouth. "Yeah, okay." Dean's hand against his back pressed Sam closer and he felt rather than heard Dean breathe his name--then they were kissing harder, in spite of their injuries, in spite of the other survivors not that far off; maybe because there were survivors there, themselves included. For once, who gave a fuck about keeping things hidden. All that mattered was that they were alive.
Eventually, there would be regrouping with the rest of the survivors nearby. And eventually, there could be sleep, a hot shower, food and alcohol (because Dean was still alive to be Dean), time alone to fuck each other joyously senseless like they hadn't thought would happen again, and maybe they'd even pick some random direction and drive off into the sunset just to see where they'd end up next. But for now, there was just this, because for the first time in what seemed like forever, they had all the freaking time in the world they could want.
*****
littleone87's Sam/Dean, J2 Drabble a thon:Posting here since it was a bit too long to fit in a comment over there.
Title: ...and a time for peace.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1145
Note: For
littleone87's prompt of Sam/Dean, Time. What-if set after whatever final battle, no real spoilers. Schmoopy. Summary: The morning after.
*****
He came to laying on hard-packed, gravelly dirt, his cheek pressed against a puddle of something cool and tacky. The metallic tang in his mouth was a clue that it wasn't something as mundane as drool, and his stomach lurched, making him gag, before the lack of that taste (dark-sulfur-fire-shadow-fear-hate) registered. Normal blood. Sad how comforting and reassuring the taste of normal blood could be.
He struggled to push himself up, palms shoving against cracked, desert-dry earth (Hadn't there been grass...?), as hands grasped at him, clutching and shoving at him to flip him over. Instinctively, he tried to flinch away, until frantic-edged words penetrated the fog in his head.
"..-am? Sam! C'mon, c'mon, I know you're awake." The hands patted up his torso, pressed warm against his face, wiping the damp stickiness from the one side of his chin and jaw. "Rise and freaking shine already, princess."
It took a couple of tries, but the synapses between his brain and tongue finally started working again. "Dean?" he croaked.
Somehow Dean understood it wasn't a question of his identity, but a mix of What the hell? How the hell? You're kidding me.... "Yeah, I know. I know. It's done. It's fucking over." It was the sound of awe in Dean's voice that most of all finally enabled Sam to pry his heavy eyes open.
His brother's face was close but blurred in the dimness of early dawn, features sharpening only a little as Sam blinked to clear his sight and tried to focus. Then he frowned as he saw how absolutely beat to shit Dean was--bruising vivid over his face, the remnants of a bloodied nose and split lip, and when Sam peered closer, a flush to his skin that almost looked like...sunburn? (Come to think of it, his own skin had that dry, tight, too-warm feeling to it that seemed to indicate he had that same sort of maybe-sunburn, too.) "You okay?" Sam reached up, hands running over Dean's chest and shoulders to check for who knew what sort of injuries before he lightly batted Sam's hands away.
"Dumbass. At least let's get your giant ass off the ground before you worry about that sort of thing."
"We stop the apocalypse and all you can think about is ass. My ass," he mumbled, hearing Dean snort in response. The world rocked and wobbled as the combination of Sam pushing and Dean pulling got Sam unsteadily on his feet, though in the end Sam couldn't tell who was leaning on whom more after. We stop the apocalypse.... Sam felt his mind hiccup and freeze to hear himself say those words, as the impact of their meaning truly hit, and he had to make a conscious effort to mentally set them aside. Later. He'd freak out and go catatonic or something like that later. Dean was now. He twisted against Dean's grip on his coat shoulder to try to pat his brother down again, but Dean shrugged him off, somehow managing to turn the gesture into pulling Sam's arm over his shoulders as Sam swayed, blinking against dizziness. "Dean--"
"I'm fine." He cut Sam off before Sam even started to vocalize a protest. "I'll live." Dean blinked, suddenly barking an almost giddy-sounding laugh. "I'll live. Jesus. Holy shit." And then he was grinning, wide and bright, even despite the bruises and split, swollen lip, and Sam couldn't help but grin back. Sam shifted his balance as he felt himself sway again, and when Dean turned to support Sam's weight more, Sam used the momentum to pull Dean into a tight, clutching hug. And Dean didn't bat him away, didn't shrug him off, just held on in return.
Eventually the sky started to blush and brighten, and the morning sun crept up past the horizon. They let go of each other without saying anything, but only as far as to go back to how they'd been before, with Sam's arm over Dean's shoulders and Dean's other hand pressing, steadying and warm and there, against Sam's back. Sam gazed out over an endless expanse of blasted-bare, dry earth. There'd been a grassy acreage and a farm's fields full of scorched-into-dirt sigils and crop circle-like runes. Now, there was...nothing--except for people. Survivors. The land around them was a wasteland, but there were other people there that had come to the final fight, still alive after, pulling themselves to their feet, and Sam felt laughter bubbling up, and joy and something like hysteria but better. Suddenly he was having to blink hard, tears trickling down his face despite himself.
God, what had happened? He couldn't even remember. Sam wiped the dampness surreptitiously from his face, trying to recall, but there was nothing. Nothing about Lucifer or Michael or angels or demons, just...just a sort of vague impression of...something bright, a moment of the most brilliant light, and for some reason the phrase "My children, with whom I am well pleased." whispered through his thoughts. And instead of an apocalyptic battle, Sam for some reason at that moment remembered the way his dad had looked at him once when he was proud of something Sam had done, a warm smile, a firm hand grasping his shoulder. Huh.
Sam looked at Dean, whose gaze was far-off, faint lines between his eyebrows as if he, too, were struggling to find memories that really weren't there. Dean shook his head slightly, coming back to himself. "So...what now?" His eyes when he looked back at Sam were so vibrantly, vividly green that Sam felt himself swallowing hard against emotion once again. Oh, god...Dean was alive. He was alive. They'd both made it. Somewhere far off in the distance, a bell tolled, its ringing echoing again and again into the morning quiet, and Sam leaned down just enough to press his lips carefully against Dean's.
"Yeah," Dean whispered against his mouth. "Yeah, okay." Dean's hand against his back pressed Sam closer and he felt rather than heard Dean breathe his name--then they were kissing harder, in spite of their injuries, in spite of the other survivors not that far off; maybe because there were survivors there, themselves included. For once, who gave a fuck about keeping things hidden. All that mattered was that they were alive.
Eventually, there would be regrouping with the rest of the survivors nearby. And eventually, there could be sleep, a hot shower, food and alcohol (because Dean was still alive to be Dean), time alone to fuck each other joyously senseless like they hadn't thought would happen again, and maybe they'd even pick some random direction and drive off into the sunset just to see where they'd end up next. But for now, there was just this, because for the first time in what seemed like forever, they had all the freaking time in the world they could want.
*****
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-17 07:50 am (UTC)This was worded so beautifully and so descriptively. ♥ ♥ ♥ My words are not sufficient enough to tell you how much I loved this. Please tell me you'll write more????
Just amazing....
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-17 08:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-18 07:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-18 09:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-20 03:01 am (UTC)You're right some memes get no participation, so I have been lucky with mine! I am SO ecstatic that people want to prompt and write. :D \o/
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-18 10:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-18 09:23 pm (UTC)