Zombification 2: Back to Life (Back to Reality), (Sam/Dean, PG13)
Take one zombie prompt. Write bleak end of days fic. Take second zombie prompt. Write... fluffy Wincest.
*headdesk.*
Variety is good?
Title: Back to Life (Back to Reality?)
Author: Brutti ma buoni
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Length: 1100
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: none - generically sometime during canon
Warnings: as per the pairing, fraternal incest
Prompt: 028. Any fandom/Original -- Any characters -- Zombification can be reversed. The tough part is convincing the living that an ex-zombie is truly alive.
Summary: Dean is back. Now all he has to do is fix the important stuff. Which, inevitably, starts with Sam.
Dean's eyes are open. He can see. That's new. That hasn't been Dean lately. He has existed, but he has not been. That guy that said I think therefore I am - he would totally have agreed that Dean wasn't was for a while.
"D-dean?" Sam's voice is shaky. "Dean, can you hear me?"
Dean swallows. His mouth tastes like ass. (Worse than ass. Dean has licked asses before, and enjoyed it, when it's the right girl. Or guy. Do not let that be the first thing he says to Sam now that he's back.)
"Sam?" He voice is blurred, but it's there. He's not talking about rimming. It's all good.
Sam's eyes fill. He's too much Winchester to let the tears fall. But there's a world of relief there, unspoken.
"Man," says Dean, struggling for normality. "That was… seriously, some of the weirdest shit I have ever experienced."
"You could feel it?" And Sam is on his feet, over by the bed, right in Dean's face. There's a kiss that isn't, quite, and Dean knows, stomach-pit-deep, that Sam's rolled back from that edge where they had fetched up before this happened. Fuck. Took them long enough to admit it was a real thing, a needful thing. And now, all on account of zombification, apparently it's off again. Even though Sam's up in Dean's face, and glad he's back, and concerned, and all that shit. Dammit.
This is what brought Dean back. The way that Sam always brings him back. What Dean held onto as his liferaft when he felt the power of the zombie slacken, with whatever mojo Sam was pulling. This was the thing - yeah, weird, unnatural, incesty and wrong, blah blah, but it was enough to pull Dean back from voodoo hell, and that kind of speaks to Dean's sense of what is really right and wrong in life. Now, apparently, that is off the table.
So. Getting over the zombie thing is only the first part of Dean's plan for the next days. Convincing Sam he's okay, and getting him back would be part two. And it's the zombie thing that is freaking out Sam. So.
"Yeah, but I was kind of numb. It's all fuzzy. How long was I gone? Coupla days?" He tries to sound authentically muzzy and confused, because it's better than fake. It was eleven days, precisely. He knows that well. Each night, he'd been sent on a quest by his master, ranging from takeout to mass murder (which: yay. More images of Dean Winchester doing crime are doubtless now circulating the police departments of the continental USA. Though the murderees in this case were a bunch of child kidnappers, so Dean feels broadly okay with having been used for that part). Each day he had lain, immobile, within a body that no longer obeyed him, and that's the part whose memory sends a shudder through his gut when he lights upon it, however briefly. "Guess you killed the zombie master?" He tries to make it a "Yay Sammy!" moment. Which, you know, it really is. Zombie masters killed alone aren't exactly easy takedowns.
Sam just looks sad. "Yes. I had to- Dean, it was just a kid, but he had you, and he had others, and-" He now looks sick. This is not getting Dean laid. Nor cheering Sam up. Not getting them back to something more meaningful than cheerful and laid, which is secretly what Dean wants out of this situation. He tries not to remember the squishing of the guts of the child kidnappers, pulping under his freakishly strong, invulnerable fingers. Zombification is in Dean's past. Sam is in his future.
He reaches out. "Sammy? Thank you." Sam's face softens. Sometimes, it's just the simple stuff you should say. There's hugging. Hugging is good. Hugging sometimes leads a bit speedily to other forms of touching, so long as you don't let it get too brotherly. And Dean is not feeling brotherly, just about now.
He gives a shiver, which isn't entirely faked up and has nothing to do with temperature. "You wanna lie down with me for a while?" He pauses. Sam doesn't move. "Please?"
Sam sighs, a little, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed. Dean undertakes a devious manoeuvre that the untrained eye might call a snuggle, and curls in. Not gonna let you go easy, little brother. But Sam is still tense. Dean knows what will do the job of easing that, but- Well, Sam's a verbal guy. Dean's more about the physical, and he's soaking in human warmth, letting it wash away what he doesn't want to talk about. Yet.
Apparently, though, he's gonna have to pay that price. "I need this. Need to know I'm back. Need you here." Sam relaxes, perceptibly. "I know you probably wanna tell everyone, and pull a bunch of researchers off the whatever, and write down how you killed the master, and get onto another case and-" Dean pauses. His voice went kind of wavery there, in the middle, in a way he didn't give it permission. Sam's arm tightens around him, like it's Dean that needs comfort, not Sam that still needs to be pulled out of a funk so he'll show Dean some more physical affection.
Voice under control, Dean resumes. "I, uh, I held on to you. While-" His voice goes again. Weird. He hopes it's not some residual zombie thing on his vocal cords. "While I couldn't move, while he was making me do… whatever-" Keeping that non-specific would be better. "I had to hold on to something, to know I was still there, inside."
Sam's arm is so tight round Dean now that it's kind of constricting. He moves, just a little, so that Dean is closer than before, plastered cheek to knee against Sam. Feeling their different heartbeats move in living syncopation.
Dean's voice is rough now. Fucking zombie aftermath. "It's just you. That's all. That's what I came back for. That's how I came back. So… now I'm back, you gotta let me in, Sammy. Okay?"
Sam doesn’t say a word, just flips up the bedcover around them, and brushes his lips over Dean's, open-mouthed and sharing breath, like it should be. They lie, for a bit, swapping air and being alive, and sentient, and together, till it's pretty much okay again.
Dean doesn’t get laid that night, but he's temporarily all right with that. And in the morning, it's just two horny guys in a shared bed, the way life ought to be.
***
*headdesk.*
Variety is good?
Title: Back to Life (Back to Reality?)
Author: Brutti ma buoni
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Length: 1100
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: none - generically sometime during canon
Warnings: as per the pairing, fraternal incest
Prompt: 028. Any fandom/Original -- Any characters -- Zombification can be reversed. The tough part is convincing the living that an ex-zombie is truly alive.
Summary: Dean is back. Now all he has to do is fix the important stuff. Which, inevitably, starts with Sam.
Dean's eyes are open. He can see. That's new. That hasn't been Dean lately. He has existed, but he has not been. That guy that said I think therefore I am - he would totally have agreed that Dean wasn't was for a while.
"D-dean?" Sam's voice is shaky. "Dean, can you hear me?"
Dean swallows. His mouth tastes like ass. (Worse than ass. Dean has licked asses before, and enjoyed it, when it's the right girl. Or guy. Do not let that be the first thing he says to Sam now that he's back.)
"Sam?" He voice is blurred, but it's there. He's not talking about rimming. It's all good.
Sam's eyes fill. He's too much Winchester to let the tears fall. But there's a world of relief there, unspoken.
"Man," says Dean, struggling for normality. "That was… seriously, some of the weirdest shit I have ever experienced."
"You could feel it?" And Sam is on his feet, over by the bed, right in Dean's face. There's a kiss that isn't, quite, and Dean knows, stomach-pit-deep, that Sam's rolled back from that edge where they had fetched up before this happened. Fuck. Took them long enough to admit it was a real thing, a needful thing. And now, all on account of zombification, apparently it's off again. Even though Sam's up in Dean's face, and glad he's back, and concerned, and all that shit. Dammit.
This is what brought Dean back. The way that Sam always brings him back. What Dean held onto as his liferaft when he felt the power of the zombie slacken, with whatever mojo Sam was pulling. This was the thing - yeah, weird, unnatural, incesty and wrong, blah blah, but it was enough to pull Dean back from voodoo hell, and that kind of speaks to Dean's sense of what is really right and wrong in life. Now, apparently, that is off the table.
So. Getting over the zombie thing is only the first part of Dean's plan for the next days. Convincing Sam he's okay, and getting him back would be part two. And it's the zombie thing that is freaking out Sam. So.
"Yeah, but I was kind of numb. It's all fuzzy. How long was I gone? Coupla days?" He tries to sound authentically muzzy and confused, because it's better than fake. It was eleven days, precisely. He knows that well. Each night, he'd been sent on a quest by his master, ranging from takeout to mass murder (which: yay. More images of Dean Winchester doing crime are doubtless now circulating the police departments of the continental USA. Though the murderees in this case were a bunch of child kidnappers, so Dean feels broadly okay with having been used for that part). Each day he had lain, immobile, within a body that no longer obeyed him, and that's the part whose memory sends a shudder through his gut when he lights upon it, however briefly. "Guess you killed the zombie master?" He tries to make it a "Yay Sammy!" moment. Which, you know, it really is. Zombie masters killed alone aren't exactly easy takedowns.
Sam just looks sad. "Yes. I had to- Dean, it was just a kid, but he had you, and he had others, and-" He now looks sick. This is not getting Dean laid. Nor cheering Sam up. Not getting them back to something more meaningful than cheerful and laid, which is secretly what Dean wants out of this situation. He tries not to remember the squishing of the guts of the child kidnappers, pulping under his freakishly strong, invulnerable fingers. Zombification is in Dean's past. Sam is in his future.
He reaches out. "Sammy? Thank you." Sam's face softens. Sometimes, it's just the simple stuff you should say. There's hugging. Hugging is good. Hugging sometimes leads a bit speedily to other forms of touching, so long as you don't let it get too brotherly. And Dean is not feeling brotherly, just about now.
He gives a shiver, which isn't entirely faked up and has nothing to do with temperature. "You wanna lie down with me for a while?" He pauses. Sam doesn't move. "Please?"
Sam sighs, a little, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed. Dean undertakes a devious manoeuvre that the untrained eye might call a snuggle, and curls in. Not gonna let you go easy, little brother. But Sam is still tense. Dean knows what will do the job of easing that, but- Well, Sam's a verbal guy. Dean's more about the physical, and he's soaking in human warmth, letting it wash away what he doesn't want to talk about. Yet.
Apparently, though, he's gonna have to pay that price. "I need this. Need to know I'm back. Need you here." Sam relaxes, perceptibly. "I know you probably wanna tell everyone, and pull a bunch of researchers off the whatever, and write down how you killed the master, and get onto another case and-" Dean pauses. His voice went kind of wavery there, in the middle, in a way he didn't give it permission. Sam's arm tightens around him, like it's Dean that needs comfort, not Sam that still needs to be pulled out of a funk so he'll show Dean some more physical affection.
Voice under control, Dean resumes. "I, uh, I held on to you. While-" His voice goes again. Weird. He hopes it's not some residual zombie thing on his vocal cords. "While I couldn't move, while he was making me do… whatever-" Keeping that non-specific would be better. "I had to hold on to something, to know I was still there, inside."
Sam's arm is so tight round Dean now that it's kind of constricting. He moves, just a little, so that Dean is closer than before, plastered cheek to knee against Sam. Feeling their different heartbeats move in living syncopation.
Dean's voice is rough now. Fucking zombie aftermath. "It's just you. That's all. That's what I came back for. That's how I came back. So… now I'm back, you gotta let me in, Sammy. Okay?"
Sam doesn’t say a word, just flips up the bedcover around them, and brushes his lips over Dean's, open-mouthed and sharing breath, like it should be. They lie, for a bit, swapping air and being alive, and sentient, and together, till it's pretty much okay again.
Dean doesn’t get laid that night, but he's temporarily all right with that. And in the morning, it's just two horny guys in a shared bed, the way life ought to be.
***