(no subject)
abyss
Supernatural
Dean; PG
235 words
A/N: for j_daffodil in the not!fic meme. Obviously, it turned into a fic. Well, a ficlet, if we're splitting hairs.
He always knows exactly how far he is from Stanford; the distance in miles, in inches on his faded map, between him and Sam. Tecumsah, Oklahoma is 1,644 miles; Pocatello, Idaho is 836. He lets himself get as close as Modesto (96 miles), and once, right after Sam left, and then Dad left, as far as Bethlehem, PA (2,897) before he started back the way he came.
It doesn’t take him long to figure out that his internal compass points West.
*
In the mornings Dean drinks his coffee (always either too strong or too weak in these towns; the novelty of a truly good cup of coffee can make him stay an extra night if he's got nowhere to be) and gets back on the road before the sun's burned off the morning fog, when everything's still colorless and grey, and he tells himself that watching the sun come up in his rearview is different than always driving into the sunset.
*
Breaking in was easy (No deadbolt, Sammy? Tsk tsk), and the fighting was nothing more than muscle memory and reflex (Dean had always been faster, but Sam, since that summer he shot up three inches in as many months, was stronger), the familiar dull smack of skin-on-skin.
This is what's hard, standing in front of his kid brother for the first time in two years, and the distance has never seemed greater.
Supernatural
Dean; PG
235 words
A/N: for j_daffodil in the not!fic meme. Obviously, it turned into a fic. Well, a ficlet, if we're splitting hairs.
He always knows exactly how far he is from Stanford; the distance in miles, in inches on his faded map, between him and Sam. Tecumsah, Oklahoma is 1,644 miles; Pocatello, Idaho is 836. He lets himself get as close as Modesto (96 miles), and once, right after Sam left, and then Dad left, as far as Bethlehem, PA (2,897) before he started back the way he came.
It doesn’t take him long to figure out that his internal compass points West.
*
In the mornings Dean drinks his coffee (always either too strong or too weak in these towns; the novelty of a truly good cup of coffee can make him stay an extra night if he's got nowhere to be) and gets back on the road before the sun's burned off the morning fog, when everything's still colorless and grey, and he tells himself that watching the sun come up in his rearview is different than always driving into the sunset.
*
Breaking in was easy (No deadbolt, Sammy? Tsk tsk), and the fighting was nothing more than muscle memory and reflex (Dean had always been faster, but Sam, since that summer he shot up three inches in as many months, was stronger), the familiar dull smack of skin-on-skin.
This is what's hard, standing in front of his kid brother for the first time in two years, and the distance has never seemed greater.