Into the Light of Morning
Title: Into the Light of Morning
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word Count: 940
Summary: Sam wishes he could stay, but the world doesn't stop turning, not even for the Winchesters.
The clearing looks the same as it has for the past ten years; the tall grass brushes against Sam's calves and an ancient cottonwood tree stands at the center reaching for the sky, it's canopy casting shadows on the moonlit ground. The entire area remains undisturbed, unchanged except for the grass crushed beneath tire tracks in the dirt, stopping beneath the tree where a car and her driver lie in wait.
Sam grins, letting the sound of grass crunching beneath his feet announce his arrival. Dean glances over, and even in the darkness, Sam can see his blinding smile.
They don't say hello; they don't hug, either. Some rules between them haven't changed, even while everything else has.
Dean steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, and Sam immediately begins categorizing the changes in Dean’s appearance. Lines of gray streak his temples. The laugh lines around his eyes are deeper, more prominent than during their last meeting, though his eyes brighten with that same mischievousness and warmth that Sam associates with home.
Sam doesn't mention any of this to Dean, though. Instead, he sits on the hood of the Impala, one leg perched on the bumper.
"Nice night," Sam says glancing up at the stars, bright and visible beyond the leaves above their head. He slides his hand against the familiar, sleek metal of the Impala's frame.
Dean leans back against the car, crossing his legs at the ankles. "It was raining an hour ago," he says, raising his eyebrow accusingly.
Sam fights back a smirk but still feels the corner of lips sliding upwards against his will. "What? I didn't do anything."
"Yeah, yeah.” Dean grabs two beers from the cooler at their feet, handing one to Sam. Chuckling, Sam takes the bottle, popping the cap and taking a long, slow drink. He sinks into the familiarity of the moment, allowing the rest of the world to fall away.
"How's Lisa?" Sam asks; he shoves down the ache in his chest when Dean smiles fondly.
"Good. She opened up her own yoga studio." Dean wiggles his eyebrows and Sam rolls his eyes. His brother, at times, can be thoroughly predictable.
And sometimes, he catches Sam completely off guard. "Ben got married a few months ago," Dean says, aiming for nonchalant, but his lips thin, turning down slightly and giving him away.
"What?" Sam stares incredulously. When Dean's expression doesn't change, he shakes his head. "To that girl - what's her name? Tana?"
"Tanya, and yes. On their spring break. In Vegas." Sam barks a laugh. "Thought Lisa was going to murder him with the power of her stare alone." Dean pauses, his hand frozen mid-air, halfway to his open mouth. He shoots Sam a sidelong glance.
Sam doesn't call him on the irony. They never discuss the past or mention Sam's job. Dean doesn't want to know.
"So... I'm guessing Ben survived?" Sam asks, hoping to relieve some of the tension.
Dean's shoulders relax slowly, and he exhales, finishing the rest of his beer in a single gulp. "Barely."
Sam snorts, but still feels Dean's imbalance, a string pulled too tight between them. He clears his throat, changing the subject completely as Dean bends down to grab another beer. "Ever find that part for the 64 Mustang?"
"Yeah, months ago. Dude, where the hell have you been?"
Sam jolts backwards and stares; Dean raises both of his eyebrows, entirely at ease.
He sighs, rolling his eyes. "You're hilarious. Jerk," Sam mutters around the rim of his beer bottle.
"I know. Bitch." Sam elbows him lightly. He laughs and Sam pretends, just for a moment, that this is any other average, ordinary day.
Then, the sun begins to rise, light tickling the horizon, and Sam feels Dean gradually tensing again beside him, his muscles tightening almost painfully as he holds his beer bottle in a white-knuckled grip.
Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, but Dean doesn't look up as Sam rises, dropping his empty bottle to the ground. He wishes he could stay, but the world doesn't stop turning, not even for the Winchesters.
Dean stands, scrubbing his palms against his thighs. "Time to go?" He doesn't look at Sam.
Sam nods. "Yeah."
They never say goodbye. Sam makes a point to never look back, but this time - just like every other time before - Dean calls him back.
"Sam." Sam turns slowly; Dean opens his mouth, lips working around the words caught in his throat. He clenches his hands into fists at his side and glances down at his shoes.
One night. That's all the time Sam is allowed with his brother, a few precious hours in a year together while the rest of the world sleeps on, ignorant to the sacrifice two brothers made to save them. Sam cherishes every moment because one day, Dean will go somewhere that Sam cannot follow and even these few hours will be gone.
Dean raises his eyes to meet Sam's gaze, exhausted and full of sorrow, and all Sam wants is to stay, to never leave Dean's side. To take the weight off of his brother's shoulders if only for a while.
He knows that isn't an option. Hell is an inescapable prison, even for it's king.
"Same time next year?" Dean asks; he always does.
Sam smiles as best he can, already feeling the pull under his skin, electricity skidding through his muscles and across his bones.
"Yeah, Dean. Same time next year," he says quietly, walking backwards until the sight of his brother standing beside the Impala in the warm light of morning fades away.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word Count: 940
Summary: Sam wishes he could stay, but the world doesn't stop turning, not even for the Winchesters.
The clearing looks the same as it has for the past ten years; the tall grass brushes against Sam's calves and an ancient cottonwood tree stands at the center reaching for the sky, it's canopy casting shadows on the moonlit ground. The entire area remains undisturbed, unchanged except for the grass crushed beneath tire tracks in the dirt, stopping beneath the tree where a car and her driver lie in wait.
Sam grins, letting the sound of grass crunching beneath his feet announce his arrival. Dean glances over, and even in the darkness, Sam can see his blinding smile.
They don't say hello; they don't hug, either. Some rules between them haven't changed, even while everything else has.
Dean steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, and Sam immediately begins categorizing the changes in Dean’s appearance. Lines of gray streak his temples. The laugh lines around his eyes are deeper, more prominent than during their last meeting, though his eyes brighten with that same mischievousness and warmth that Sam associates with home.
Sam doesn't mention any of this to Dean, though. Instead, he sits on the hood of the Impala, one leg perched on the bumper.
"Nice night," Sam says glancing up at the stars, bright and visible beyond the leaves above their head. He slides his hand against the familiar, sleek metal of the Impala's frame.
Dean leans back against the car, crossing his legs at the ankles. "It was raining an hour ago," he says, raising his eyebrow accusingly.
Sam fights back a smirk but still feels the corner of lips sliding upwards against his will. "What? I didn't do anything."
"Yeah, yeah.” Dean grabs two beers from the cooler at their feet, handing one to Sam. Chuckling, Sam takes the bottle, popping the cap and taking a long, slow drink. He sinks into the familiarity of the moment, allowing the rest of the world to fall away.
"How's Lisa?" Sam asks; he shoves down the ache in his chest when Dean smiles fondly.
"Good. She opened up her own yoga studio." Dean wiggles his eyebrows and Sam rolls his eyes. His brother, at times, can be thoroughly predictable.
And sometimes, he catches Sam completely off guard. "Ben got married a few months ago," Dean says, aiming for nonchalant, but his lips thin, turning down slightly and giving him away.
"What?" Sam stares incredulously. When Dean's expression doesn't change, he shakes his head. "To that girl - what's her name? Tana?"
"Tanya, and yes. On their spring break. In Vegas." Sam barks a laugh. "Thought Lisa was going to murder him with the power of her stare alone." Dean pauses, his hand frozen mid-air, halfway to his open mouth. He shoots Sam a sidelong glance.
Sam doesn't call him on the irony. They never discuss the past or mention Sam's job. Dean doesn't want to know.
"So... I'm guessing Ben survived?" Sam asks, hoping to relieve some of the tension.
Dean's shoulders relax slowly, and he exhales, finishing the rest of his beer in a single gulp. "Barely."
Sam snorts, but still feels Dean's imbalance, a string pulled too tight between them. He clears his throat, changing the subject completely as Dean bends down to grab another beer. "Ever find that part for the 64 Mustang?"
"Yeah, months ago. Dude, where the hell have you been?"
Sam jolts backwards and stares; Dean raises both of his eyebrows, entirely at ease.
He sighs, rolling his eyes. "You're hilarious. Jerk," Sam mutters around the rim of his beer bottle.
"I know. Bitch." Sam elbows him lightly. He laughs and Sam pretends, just for a moment, that this is any other average, ordinary day.
Then, the sun begins to rise, light tickling the horizon, and Sam feels Dean gradually tensing again beside him, his muscles tightening almost painfully as he holds his beer bottle in a white-knuckled grip.
Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, but Dean doesn't look up as Sam rises, dropping his empty bottle to the ground. He wishes he could stay, but the world doesn't stop turning, not even for the Winchesters.
Dean stands, scrubbing his palms against his thighs. "Time to go?" He doesn't look at Sam.
Sam nods. "Yeah."
They never say goodbye. Sam makes a point to never look back, but this time - just like every other time before - Dean calls him back.
"Sam." Sam turns slowly; Dean opens his mouth, lips working around the words caught in his throat. He clenches his hands into fists at his side and glances down at his shoes.
One night. That's all the time Sam is allowed with his brother, a few precious hours in a year together while the rest of the world sleeps on, ignorant to the sacrifice two brothers made to save them. Sam cherishes every moment because one day, Dean will go somewhere that Sam cannot follow and even these few hours will be gone.
Dean raises his eyes to meet Sam's gaze, exhausted and full of sorrow, and all Sam wants is to stay, to never leave Dean's side. To take the weight off of his brother's shoulders if only for a while.
He knows that isn't an option. Hell is an inescapable prison, even for it's king.
"Same time next year?" Dean asks; he always does.
Sam smiles as best he can, already feeling the pull under his skin, electricity skidding through his muscles and across his bones.
"Yeah, Dean. Same time next year," he says quietly, walking backwards until the sight of his brother standing beside the Impala in the warm light of morning fades away.