"Everything"
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Category: Slash - very mild Wincest
Word Count: 320
Spoilers: None
Summary: Thoughts in the moment before.
Notes: Two weeks in the fandom, and I’m already going to The Special Hell. At least it will be the PG section.
Generic warning on all of my fics: A minority of my stories contain character death. For artistic reasons, I prefer not to disclose it in the headers. If you will not read a story unless you know whether one of the Winchester brothers dies, click here for the spoiler.
~~~~~
If he lowered his head, it would mean nothing. If he lifted it, it would mean everything.
Nothing had started it. Another dingy motel room, a fresh set of wounds to be dressed. The hands on his shoulder were deft and cool, the touch of a forehead against his an old ritual of comfort. But something sparked when one hand drew him closer, something electric charged the air as it had never before. If he broke the circuit, nothing would change. If he completed it, everything would.
The face above him-an older mirror of his own-had grown more careworn in the space of an hour. This was how they aged now, not with the passing of weeks and months, but in the minutes of stanching a gush of blood, the seconds of deflecting a blade, the single skipped heartbeat when one saw the other fall. Age was nothing to them. Time was everything, and they had lost a little more.
The hand was unmoving and patient. The moment was inevitable, but the choice his alone. What could it change, in the end? After all the resentment and the bitterness, the anger and the hatred, the steadfast trust and the unwavering love, what could the touch of lips or joining of bodies mean? Nothing. Everything.
Beyond this room, it was wrong, shocking, sinful. Once he thought the same, but no more. Too deep in the shadows and both long since dead, they were as insubstantial to the world as the spirits they hunted: solid only as a weight in a hospital bed, named only as an alias on a booking sheet. Their greatest hope was that they would die together, their greatest fear that one would be left behind.
What were they to the world? Nothing.
What were they to each other? Everything.
He raised his lips to his brother’s.
~~~~~
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed, all my fic can be found here.
Rating: PG
Category: Slash - very mild Wincest
Word Count: 320
Spoilers: None
Summary: Thoughts in the moment before.
Notes: Two weeks in the fandom, and I’m already going to The Special Hell. At least it will be the PG section.
Generic warning on all of my fics: A minority of my stories contain character death. For artistic reasons, I prefer not to disclose it in the headers. If you will not read a story unless you know whether one of the Winchester brothers dies, click here for the spoiler.
~~~~~
If he lowered his head, it would mean nothing. If he lifted it, it would mean everything.
Nothing had started it. Another dingy motel room, a fresh set of wounds to be dressed. The hands on his shoulder were deft and cool, the touch of a forehead against his an old ritual of comfort. But something sparked when one hand drew him closer, something electric charged the air as it had never before. If he broke the circuit, nothing would change. If he completed it, everything would.
The face above him-an older mirror of his own-had grown more careworn in the space of an hour. This was how they aged now, not with the passing of weeks and months, but in the minutes of stanching a gush of blood, the seconds of deflecting a blade, the single skipped heartbeat when one saw the other fall. Age was nothing to them. Time was everything, and they had lost a little more.
The hand was unmoving and patient. The moment was inevitable, but the choice his alone. What could it change, in the end? After all the resentment and the bitterness, the anger and the hatred, the steadfast trust and the unwavering love, what could the touch of lips or joining of bodies mean? Nothing. Everything.
Beyond this room, it was wrong, shocking, sinful. Once he thought the same, but no more. Too deep in the shadows and both long since dead, they were as insubstantial to the world as the spirits they hunted: solid only as a weight in a hospital bed, named only as an alias on a booking sheet. Their greatest hope was that they would die together, their greatest fear that one would be left behind.
What were they to the world? Nothing.
What were they to each other? Everything.
He raised his lips to his brother’s.
~~~~~
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed, all my fic can be found here.