& i'll write mine
title: little by little, we’ll make it this far
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
rating: g
warnings: slightly schmoopy fluff
character(s): Sam, Dean
word count: 463
notes: another snippet of everyday life from the on our side verse. title inspired by lucero.
Sam picks up an old tin in Sioux Falls. He’s in the Salvation Army off Cliff Avenue, restocking on t-shirts and jeans for Dean. Nothing fancy, just something for him to run around in that won’t be a loss if Dean covers them in paint or decides to cut the legs off, like his last pair. If Dean were a little kid Sam would call them ‘play clothes,’ but he refuses to think of them that way.
The tin is shoved half-way behind a rickety bookcase, only half visible. Sam jimmies it out, with every intention of setting the thing back on the shelf. The metal’s cool in his hands, sides covered in pictures of birds and flowers, paint a little scratched and a dent in the side.
He remembers one birthday Dean got him something like this, filled with that expensive candy that Sam hates now, but always wanted when he was a little kid. The two of them ate themselves sick on chocolate; he forgets what happened to the box.
Sam rubs a thumb over one of the birds that’s all fantastic red-gold and curling feathers. It reminds him a little of a phoenix. A whole seventy-five cents later, it’s his. All the way to Bobby’s the tin sits on the passenger seat of the Impala; sunlight gleams off its lid.
When he pulls up in the junkyard, Dean’s out front waiting for him, like always; Bobby’s a quiet, watchful presence from the porch. Sam grabs the box and the bags of clothes out of the car, tucks them under his arm. Allows Dean to tug at his sleeves and pull him inside with the promise of Bobby’s spaghetti and garlic bread that Dean made ‘all by himself.’
After supper, Sam calls Dean into their bedroom.
“Brought you something,” he says, and smiles at the surprise on his brother’s face. Sam hands Dean the tin and watches as he traces that same red-gold bird with the tip of his forefinger.
“Thought you might like to put your stuff in it.”
Dean looks at him questioningly. Sam shrugs; he motions at the nightstand where Dean sets up his ‘collection’ every night around Frank and Bob’s aquarium - a tumble of rocks and shells and leaves and feathers. Things that wouldn’t have mattered before, but now Sam notices every time Dean picks something up. The way his fingers curl over a pebble or cradle his find of a four-leaf clover.
Dean glances between his collection and the tin, then smiles big and bright. He holds out his hand - Sam takes it and lets Dean draw him down onto the bedspread. The two of them sit cross-legged as Dean carefully transfers his treasures into his new box, grinning and looking at Sam at every one.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
rating: g
warnings: slightly schmoopy fluff
character(s): Sam, Dean
word count: 463
notes: another snippet of everyday life from the on our side verse. title inspired by lucero.
Sam picks up an old tin in Sioux Falls. He’s in the Salvation Army off Cliff Avenue, restocking on t-shirts and jeans for Dean. Nothing fancy, just something for him to run around in that won’t be a loss if Dean covers them in paint or decides to cut the legs off, like his last pair. If Dean were a little kid Sam would call them ‘play clothes,’ but he refuses to think of them that way.
The tin is shoved half-way behind a rickety bookcase, only half visible. Sam jimmies it out, with every intention of setting the thing back on the shelf. The metal’s cool in his hands, sides covered in pictures of birds and flowers, paint a little scratched and a dent in the side.
He remembers one birthday Dean got him something like this, filled with that expensive candy that Sam hates now, but always wanted when he was a little kid. The two of them ate themselves sick on chocolate; he forgets what happened to the box.
Sam rubs a thumb over one of the birds that’s all fantastic red-gold and curling feathers. It reminds him a little of a phoenix. A whole seventy-five cents later, it’s his. All the way to Bobby’s the tin sits on the passenger seat of the Impala; sunlight gleams off its lid.
When he pulls up in the junkyard, Dean’s out front waiting for him, like always; Bobby’s a quiet, watchful presence from the porch. Sam grabs the box and the bags of clothes out of the car, tucks them under his arm. Allows Dean to tug at his sleeves and pull him inside with the promise of Bobby’s spaghetti and garlic bread that Dean made ‘all by himself.’
After supper, Sam calls Dean into their bedroom.
“Brought you something,” he says, and smiles at the surprise on his brother’s face. Sam hands Dean the tin and watches as he traces that same red-gold bird with the tip of his forefinger.
“Thought you might like to put your stuff in it.”
Dean looks at him questioningly. Sam shrugs; he motions at the nightstand where Dean sets up his ‘collection’ every night around Frank and Bob’s aquarium - a tumble of rocks and shells and leaves and feathers. Things that wouldn’t have mattered before, but now Sam notices every time Dean picks something up. The way his fingers curl over a pebble or cradle his find of a four-leaf clover.
Dean glances between his collection and the tin, then smiles big and bright. He holds out his hand - Sam takes it and lets Dean draw him down onto the bedspread. The two of them sit cross-legged as Dean carefully transfers his treasures into his new box, grinning and looking at Sam at every one.
- end