fic: step on a crack
title: step on a crack
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em.
rating: pg
characters: Sam, Dean
word count: 316
postcard prompt: here. all credit goes to its creator.
notes: this isn’t what I wanted to write. at all. but my muse decided to leave me up a creek without a paddle, outboard motor, or even damn swim fins. fifth entry for spn_secretfic. takes place in my Proverbs verse, around 'Home' canonically.
Dean was six the first time he asked Sam about the fire. Sam didn't like talking about it, but he did anyway. Because he figured Dean wasn't really asking about the fire, he was asking about Mom. A mother that, for Dean, only existed in pictures and what their Dad was willing to say. Which wasn't a whole lot.
So Sam told him. About leaning over the crib and kissing him goodnight, about their mother's hand on Dean's forehead.
Sam didn't tell his brother about sitting on the hood of the car and watching their house burn. Or the way he cried when he figured out Mommy wasn't coming back, ever. And he didn't say a word about the nightmares - though at the time, he'd forgotten them.
Dean was nineteen the first time Sam said, 'I have these dreams, and sometimes they come true.' Sam didn't want to talk about it, but he knew he'd freak Dean out more if he didn't explain, at least a little. Not that Dean wasn't scared enough, Sam could see it in the way his brother paced, in the white rim of Dean's eyes, and the tremble in his lip.
So Sam told him. About the woman in their old house, about the way she beat on the windows, and yelled for help. Sam could see his brother calming down with every word; Dean still didn’t want to go back to Lawrence, but there was someone to save. A job to do. Sam figured focusing on that for now, would be better. For both of them.
He still didn't tell Dean about the nightmares he'd had when he was four. Because he remembered them now - the fire. Mom on the ceiling. A man standing over Dean's crib. There was no way in hell he was letting his little brother know about those.
Dad wasn’t going to know either.
-end
also posted at my comm verse17_17.
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em.
rating: pg
characters: Sam, Dean
word count: 316
postcard prompt: here. all credit goes to its creator.
notes: this isn’t what I wanted to write. at all. but my muse decided to leave me up a creek without a paddle, outboard motor, or even damn swim fins. fifth entry for spn_secretfic. takes place in my Proverbs verse, around 'Home' canonically.
Dean was six the first time he asked Sam about the fire. Sam didn't like talking about it, but he did anyway. Because he figured Dean wasn't really asking about the fire, he was asking about Mom. A mother that, for Dean, only existed in pictures and what their Dad was willing to say. Which wasn't a whole lot.
So Sam told him. About leaning over the crib and kissing him goodnight, about their mother's hand on Dean's forehead.
Sam didn't tell his brother about sitting on the hood of the car and watching their house burn. Or the way he cried when he figured out Mommy wasn't coming back, ever. And he didn't say a word about the nightmares - though at the time, he'd forgotten them.
Dean was nineteen the first time Sam said, 'I have these dreams, and sometimes they come true.' Sam didn't want to talk about it, but he knew he'd freak Dean out more if he didn't explain, at least a little. Not that Dean wasn't scared enough, Sam could see it in the way his brother paced, in the white rim of Dean's eyes, and the tremble in his lip.
So Sam told him. About the woman in their old house, about the way she beat on the windows, and yelled for help. Sam could see his brother calming down with every word; Dean still didn’t want to go back to Lawrence, but there was someone to save. A job to do. Sam figured focusing on that for now, would be better. For both of them.
He still didn't tell Dean about the nightmares he'd had when he was four. Because he remembered them now - the fire. Mom on the ceiling. A man standing over Dean's crib. There was no way in hell he was letting his little brother know about those.
Dad wasn’t going to know either.
-end
also posted at my comm verse17_17.