Gift for umbralillium
God I must've written over a dozen drabbles before I finally decided on this one. It's Sam and Dean, could be seen as Wincest, could be seen as just brothers. It's Sam missing Papa as much as we miss him.
Um, post AHBL2.
Sam hated dreams. Not because they sometimes came true, but because most of the time, they didn't.
He dreamed that his dad had begged him not to go to Stanford, and he'd stayed. They'd slowly worked out a compromise, Sam taking online courses through a community college near Lawrence, and then travelling, hunting with Dean and his dad. He'd never had to see the pained, haunted look on Dean's face as the bus had pulled him away from them.
He dreamed that they'd stayed together after Chicago, that Sam and him had rebuilt the trust they'd lost all those years apart. Dean had been happy, so happy, and his smile had spread through the three of them like a wildfire.
He dreamed that his dad had fought past the possession before it had hurt Dean. Sam had knocked him out and, with Dean's help, had performed the exorcism. They'd shot at the demon as it had fled, and had listened to it shriek as it had disappeared forever.
He dreamed that Dean had gotten better on his own in the hospital, that his dad hadn't had to make the deal. They'd fixed the Impala and had taken their time winding around the country, letting Dean heal in the back with Sam. His dad driving, like he had when they were kids, relaxed and almost smiling, Dean a heavy but welcome weight on his shoulder.
When he woke up, reality set in, too harsh, too fast. His dad was dead. Wasn't coming back. Gone forever, and Sam wasn't going to get a chance to see him again.
Warm arms circled him from behind, holding him close. “I miss him too,” Dean's soft voice said in his ear. “I know, Sammy.”
Sam closed his eyes tight and found Dean's hands, clenching them tightly. Dean gave them a squeeze, before shifting to settle behind him.
Dad was gone. Dean was right. Dad wasn't coming back, and it made him tear up to think about a world without a dad. His dad. The dreams were wrong there.
But he still had Dean, and that part the dreams had gotten right. Those parts were real. Dean smiling, Dean happy, Dean holding him tight, Dean leaning against him.
It wasn't three against the world now, just two, but Sam was certain wherever his dad had wound up after the devil's gate had opened that he was watching and smiling.
~Nebula
Um, post AHBL2.
Sam hated dreams. Not because they sometimes came true, but because most of the time, they didn't.
He dreamed that his dad had begged him not to go to Stanford, and he'd stayed. They'd slowly worked out a compromise, Sam taking online courses through a community college near Lawrence, and then travelling, hunting with Dean and his dad. He'd never had to see the pained, haunted look on Dean's face as the bus had pulled him away from them.
He dreamed that they'd stayed together after Chicago, that Sam and him had rebuilt the trust they'd lost all those years apart. Dean had been happy, so happy, and his smile had spread through the three of them like a wildfire.
He dreamed that his dad had fought past the possession before it had hurt Dean. Sam had knocked him out and, with Dean's help, had performed the exorcism. They'd shot at the demon as it had fled, and had listened to it shriek as it had disappeared forever.
He dreamed that Dean had gotten better on his own in the hospital, that his dad hadn't had to make the deal. They'd fixed the Impala and had taken their time winding around the country, letting Dean heal in the back with Sam. His dad driving, like he had when they were kids, relaxed and almost smiling, Dean a heavy but welcome weight on his shoulder.
When he woke up, reality set in, too harsh, too fast. His dad was dead. Wasn't coming back. Gone forever, and Sam wasn't going to get a chance to see him again.
Warm arms circled him from behind, holding him close. “I miss him too,” Dean's soft voice said in his ear. “I know, Sammy.”
Sam closed his eyes tight and found Dean's hands, clenching them tightly. Dean gave them a squeeze, before shifting to settle behind him.
Dad was gone. Dean was right. Dad wasn't coming back, and it made him tear up to think about a world without a dad. His dad. The dreams were wrong there.
But he still had Dean, and that part the dreams had gotten right. Those parts were real. Dean smiling, Dean happy, Dean holding him tight, Dean leaning against him.
It wasn't three against the world now, just two, but Sam was certain wherever his dad had wound up after the devil's gate had opened that he was watching and smiling.
~Nebula