fic fragment: thus endeth the fluff
They sleep in the tent head-to-toe, like when they bed down in the car; at some point while Sam was hiking, Dean turned his pile of tangled bedding into an actual bedroll. It’ll be a mess again long before Sam wakes up, but the effort is appreciated. He doesn’t say so, though - at least not in so many words. But he laughs at Dean’s jokes about the two New Jersey hunters, and the statisticians, and the fire at the circus - even though that one causes a faint twinge of remembered grief, as is always true when he’s reminded of Jess.
Dean falls asleep first, breaths settling into a slow sigh that blends with the crickets into something a lullaby; Sam’s out not five minutes after Dean.
He’s awoken while it’s still dark by Dean smacking the bottom of his feet. “C’mon, Sam, get up.”
“I’m up,” he lies, automatically tucking the sheets and blankets closer around him. But Dean starts pinching at each toe systematically, and that’s enough for turn Sam into an irate, flailing ball of limbs, tumbling out of the tent in pursuit of a laughing Dean. And he’s willing and ready to throw down in a full-on wrestling match, pulse drumming with the injustice of Dean’s unprovoked attack - until Dean snags a surprisingly gentle hand in his hair and turns his face up to the sky.
It’s just in time for a streak of light to cut across, leaving Sam wondering his eyes are functioning properly. “Make a wish, Pinocchio,” Dean says, mocking and fond. He lets go of Sam’s hair, hooks his arm over Sam’s shoulder instead.
“Don’t need to.” They wind up lying catty-corner to each other, Dean’s head slotted into the crook of Sam’s neck; the touch warms Sam immeasurably, a small shield to ward off the pre-dawn chill. “We haven’t done this is a while,” he says after his tenth shooting star.
“Just want to get home mostly, I guess, after hunts. It’s different when you’re going to some place and not just away from.”
Maybe someday I'll polish this little 3-part thing into a real fic, but regardless, I hope you guys enjoyed it. ;)
Dean falls asleep first, breaths settling into a slow sigh that blends with the crickets into something a lullaby; Sam’s out not five minutes after Dean.
He’s awoken while it’s still dark by Dean smacking the bottom of his feet. “C’mon, Sam, get up.”
“I’m up,” he lies, automatically tucking the sheets and blankets closer around him. But Dean starts pinching at each toe systematically, and that’s enough for turn Sam into an irate, flailing ball of limbs, tumbling out of the tent in pursuit of a laughing Dean. And he’s willing and ready to throw down in a full-on wrestling match, pulse drumming with the injustice of Dean’s unprovoked attack - until Dean snags a surprisingly gentle hand in his hair and turns his face up to the sky.
It’s just in time for a streak of light to cut across, leaving Sam wondering his eyes are functioning properly. “Make a wish, Pinocchio,” Dean says, mocking and fond. He lets go of Sam’s hair, hooks his arm over Sam’s shoulder instead.
“Don’t need to.” They wind up lying catty-corner to each other, Dean’s head slotted into the crook of Sam’s neck; the touch warms Sam immeasurably, a small shield to ward off the pre-dawn chill. “We haven’t done this is a while,” he says after his tenth shooting star.
“Just want to get home mostly, I guess, after hunts. It’s different when you’re going to some place and not just away from.”
Maybe someday I'll polish this little 3-part thing into a real fic, but regardless, I hope you guys enjoyed it. ;)