fic: kinda like the end of the world -spn - gen
My weekend was crazy busy, and it doesn't look like I'll be getting a break anytime soon. I'm stalled on the Frank/Gerard not!big bang, and the Spencer/Brendon thing I've been working on. I just realized that if I go to the Blink/FOB/Patd show in Omaha, that I'll miss my 2nd day of classes in the fall, so now I'm pretty sure I'm going to Chicago instead. Hopefully. Fingers crossed. When the hell do tickets go on sale again?
Anyway, in spite of all of this lameassery, I have, IDK, SPN, something.
title: Kinda Like the End of the World
fandom: Supernatural
summary: Five ways the world didn't end.
disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. If they were, they would totally hug more
notes: Five drabbles, completely random and not connected. Lots and tons of thanks to luzdeestrellas for doing the beta gig, yet again, even when she wants to stab me in the eye.
i.
Sam dreams about sunshine, when he closes his eyes. It's been too long without any real sleep, and every time he blinks it's like waking up in the dark all over again.
The screaming stopped three full rotations of the little hand on his watch ago, but that moves differently than before. Means something different now. He counts days by the number of times he's whole when his eyes open.
It's happened forty-two times now, counting this one.
It's Tuesday all over again, he thinks, and calls out for Dean.
"Ready, Sammy?" the demon asks, and gives him Dean's smile.
ii.
Ruby walks into the room, and Dean starts humming The Prodigy, because passive-aggression is the Winchester way of dealing with family disagreements. He still takes the cheeseburger she holds out.
Sam twists his wrist, and it twinges, so he does it again.
Ruby's sleeve is ripped, and there's a cut that goes from her elbow to the tip of her middle finger. Her breathing is short, shallow; it rattles around in a collapsed lung sort of way.
The blood is gonna draw the others toward them, and Sam knows everything she's said is a lie.
She won't be walking out.
iii.
There's no one else on the road. Lots of cars, but no people. Not anymore.
When Sam was twelve, they spent a long weekend following a river in Montana looking for a werewolf pack that'd been chopping down on cattle and campers. It was cold, and miserable, and effective.
It's sunset, and Sam can almost pretend that's the only reason everything is washed in red.
Demons followed the highways, and there aren't any yellow lines to follow now.
This trail's lukewarm, so he keeps driving. The song on the stereo says, "Luck runs out." And he can't stop missing Dean.
iv.
It's not so much after as it is during, when Sam says, "Dean," and Dean laughs, high-pitched and nervous, with his hand fisted into the shoulder of Sam's jacket, and says, "Sammy, listen-"
"We need to-" Sam says, and Dean nods, pulls Sam in by his jacket and surprise, and nearly knocks them both off balance with the force of his hug.
"Go," Dean says, finally, pushing Sam away like he'd been forced into it. His fingers are shaking, and he's got Ruby's knife clutched tight in his hand. "Go," he repeats, pushing again, "I'm right behind you."
v.
"This is a misunderstanding, Officer Barbrady." Dean says, when the lock clicks into place. "No need for shackles."
The Sheriff sniffs, loudly, tongues his chewing tobacco, and says, "Son, we found you boys with four bodies, and the murder weapon in hand-"
"Well, say it like that, anything sounds bad," Dean says, scoffing.
The Sheriff sniffs again, tries to hitch his pants up past the three inch overhang of belly, and leaves.
Dean laughs, bumps Sam's shoulder when he turns to look at him. "Come on, Sammy," he says, grinning wide, "it's not like it's the end of the world."
Anyway, in spite of all of this lameassery, I have, IDK, SPN, something.
title: Kinda Like the End of the World
fandom: Supernatural
summary: Five ways the world didn't end.
disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. If they were, they would totally hug more
notes: Five drabbles, completely random and not connected. Lots and tons of thanks to luzdeestrellas for doing the beta gig, yet again, even when she wants to stab me in the eye.
i.
Sam dreams about sunshine, when he closes his eyes. It's been too long without any real sleep, and every time he blinks it's like waking up in the dark all over again.
The screaming stopped three full rotations of the little hand on his watch ago, but that moves differently than before. Means something different now. He counts days by the number of times he's whole when his eyes open.
It's happened forty-two times now, counting this one.
It's Tuesday all over again, he thinks, and calls out for Dean.
"Ready, Sammy?" the demon asks, and gives him Dean's smile.
ii.
Ruby walks into the room, and Dean starts humming The Prodigy, because passive-aggression is the Winchester way of dealing with family disagreements. He still takes the cheeseburger she holds out.
Sam twists his wrist, and it twinges, so he does it again.
Ruby's sleeve is ripped, and there's a cut that goes from her elbow to the tip of her middle finger. Her breathing is short, shallow; it rattles around in a collapsed lung sort of way.
The blood is gonna draw the others toward them, and Sam knows everything she's said is a lie.
She won't be walking out.
iii.
There's no one else on the road. Lots of cars, but no people. Not anymore.
When Sam was twelve, they spent a long weekend following a river in Montana looking for a werewolf pack that'd been chopping down on cattle and campers. It was cold, and miserable, and effective.
It's sunset, and Sam can almost pretend that's the only reason everything is washed in red.
Demons followed the highways, and there aren't any yellow lines to follow now.
This trail's lukewarm, so he keeps driving. The song on the stereo says, "Luck runs out." And he can't stop missing Dean.
iv.
It's not so much after as it is during, when Sam says, "Dean," and Dean laughs, high-pitched and nervous, with his hand fisted into the shoulder of Sam's jacket, and says, "Sammy, listen-"
"We need to-" Sam says, and Dean nods, pulls Sam in by his jacket and surprise, and nearly knocks them both off balance with the force of his hug.
"Go," Dean says, finally, pushing Sam away like he'd been forced into it. His fingers are shaking, and he's got Ruby's knife clutched tight in his hand. "Go," he repeats, pushing again, "I'm right behind you."
v.
"This is a misunderstanding, Officer Barbrady." Dean says, when the lock clicks into place. "No need for shackles."
The Sheriff sniffs, loudly, tongues his chewing tobacco, and says, "Son, we found you boys with four bodies, and the murder weapon in hand-"
"Well, say it like that, anything sounds bad," Dean says, scoffing.
The Sheriff sniffs again, tries to hitch his pants up past the three inch overhang of belly, and leaves.
Dean laughs, bumps Sam's shoulder when he turns to look at him. "Come on, Sammy," he says, grinning wide, "it's not like it's the end of the world."