(no subject)
TITLE: losing my religion
TITLE: cryabluemoon
PAIRING : Sam/Dean
RATING : g
LENGTH : blah
SUMMARY : spoilers to Houses of Holy
DISCLAIMER : not mine. CW, Kripke, etc.
every whisper of every waking hour, I'm chosing my confessions
He tried to think back. They spent all this time in the car together, and when they weren't in the car together, they were together in motels. When did Sam have time to pray?
Dean noticed it now. Noticed how Sam was watching him, jumpy and a little uncomfortable in his skin whenever he'd close his eyes, or lean his forehead against the window, exhaling slowly. There was a soft mumble under his breath, the large hand and spread fingers reaching out for Dean's wrist. "I'm not praying." Sam's voice was alittle higher than a mumble, still low and quiet, Dean's ears straining to catch it. "Just stop, ok?"
He watched though. Watched Sam's face as he smiled at some complete stranger or the way he seemed to admire the things around him. Dean's fists uncurled and curled under the diner table.
"I'm not at peace." Sam said behind his coffee cup, eyes looking down at Dean's drumming fingers. "It's not like prayer is going to make everything ok in my life. I have still have things that make me mad, things that hurt. There's alot of unanswered questions. I just need to believe."
Dean shook his head, sliding out of the booth, both hands tucking into his leather jacket. He stopped to tell the waitress his brother was going to take care of the bill, and made his way out of the diner door, exhaling sharp cold air when he finally made his way outside.
I thought that I heard you laughing, I thought that I heard you sing
Sam pushed the plate of fries away when Dean left the diner. He'd parked the Impala right in front, and with a great big fake smile told him, he wanted to keep an eye on his baby. Sam had pushed his big brother away, shaking his head like it'd been one of the stupidest things he'd heard. Not once during the meal had Dean looked up from his plate, or even out the window.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the darkly dressed shadow slide into the seat, his forehead resting against the steering wheel. Sam turned to press his forehead against the window, watching Dean straighten up a little, hands folded on the dash, lips moving. They'd spent enough time together by now that he recognized the way Dean's forehead wrinkled, or the whites of his knuckles from clasping his hands together so tightly that it'd be a good idea to sit back, and wait.
He was sure he'd do this on his own. Sam wasn't quite sure when he started that he was doing it right. Was someone supposed to ask for guidance? To know someone is out there, someone dependable and caring was there to take care of them, when he wasn't quite sure they were capable of it themselves? There were so many times he'd held a gun in his hand and thought about taking it to the middle of his chest. Taking his hands to Dean's throat and trying to shake some sense into him.There was the protective twist of his gut, wishing out loud that Dean wasn't in there begging for more money, for women.
"Waitress? I'll take the check."
I think I thought I saw you try
" You know, if you need to talk..." Dean looked up startled at the window, and quickly rolled his eyes. Sam always hated how quickly he slipped from being open, letting his baby brother see every insecurity and hurt and back into the self assured bravado that won him his friends and fans.
"I'm fine, Sam."
The taller man nodded, opening his door as he slid into his seat, dugging the piece of paper from his pocket. "The waitress, uh, Allie?" he held up the slip of paper in his long fingers up to the light, trying to read the smeared pink ink, "She gave you her number. Said to call after five."
"....you were right" Dean pulled the Impala from the parking lot of the diner, noisly making his way onto the road.Sam's eyebrows both rose, tossing the number onto the floor of the car, leaning back into his seat. He rested his forehead against the window, tucking a leg up to his chest.
"Was I?"
"..yeah." Dean nodded, reaching over to turn on the radio, "About that whole listening thing."
"Did you talk to God, Dean?" Sam chuckled, turning to face him, his laughter slowly quieted by the set of his big brother's jaw, the way he swallowed hard. "...sorry."
Dean just shook his head, turning up the radio as they drove away.
TITLE: cryabluemoon
PAIRING : Sam/Dean
RATING : g
LENGTH : blah
SUMMARY : spoilers to Houses of Holy
DISCLAIMER : not mine. CW, Kripke, etc.
every whisper of every waking hour, I'm chosing my confessions
He tried to think back. They spent all this time in the car together, and when they weren't in the car together, they were together in motels. When did Sam have time to pray?
Dean noticed it now. Noticed how Sam was watching him, jumpy and a little uncomfortable in his skin whenever he'd close his eyes, or lean his forehead against the window, exhaling slowly. There was a soft mumble under his breath, the large hand and spread fingers reaching out for Dean's wrist. "I'm not praying." Sam's voice was alittle higher than a mumble, still low and quiet, Dean's ears straining to catch it. "Just stop, ok?"
He watched though. Watched Sam's face as he smiled at some complete stranger or the way he seemed to admire the things around him. Dean's fists uncurled and curled under the diner table.
"I'm not at peace." Sam said behind his coffee cup, eyes looking down at Dean's drumming fingers. "It's not like prayer is going to make everything ok in my life. I have still have things that make me mad, things that hurt. There's alot of unanswered questions. I just need to believe."
Dean shook his head, sliding out of the booth, both hands tucking into his leather jacket. He stopped to tell the waitress his brother was going to take care of the bill, and made his way out of the diner door, exhaling sharp cold air when he finally made his way outside.
I thought that I heard you laughing, I thought that I heard you sing
Sam pushed the plate of fries away when Dean left the diner. He'd parked the Impala right in front, and with a great big fake smile told him, he wanted to keep an eye on his baby. Sam had pushed his big brother away, shaking his head like it'd been one of the stupidest things he'd heard. Not once during the meal had Dean looked up from his plate, or even out the window.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the darkly dressed shadow slide into the seat, his forehead resting against the steering wheel. Sam turned to press his forehead against the window, watching Dean straighten up a little, hands folded on the dash, lips moving. They'd spent enough time together by now that he recognized the way Dean's forehead wrinkled, or the whites of his knuckles from clasping his hands together so tightly that it'd be a good idea to sit back, and wait.
He was sure he'd do this on his own. Sam wasn't quite sure when he started that he was doing it right. Was someone supposed to ask for guidance? To know someone is out there, someone dependable and caring was there to take care of them, when he wasn't quite sure they were capable of it themselves? There were so many times he'd held a gun in his hand and thought about taking it to the middle of his chest. Taking his hands to Dean's throat and trying to shake some sense into him.There was the protective twist of his gut, wishing out loud that Dean wasn't in there begging for more money, for women.
"Waitress? I'll take the check."
I think I thought I saw you try
" You know, if you need to talk..." Dean looked up startled at the window, and quickly rolled his eyes. Sam always hated how quickly he slipped from being open, letting his baby brother see every insecurity and hurt and back into the self assured bravado that won him his friends and fans.
"I'm fine, Sam."
The taller man nodded, opening his door as he slid into his seat, dugging the piece of paper from his pocket. "The waitress, uh, Allie?" he held up the slip of paper in his long fingers up to the light, trying to read the smeared pink ink, "She gave you her number. Said to call after five."
"....you were right" Dean pulled the Impala from the parking lot of the diner, noisly making his way onto the road.Sam's eyebrows both rose, tossing the number onto the floor of the car, leaning back into his seat. He rested his forehead against the window, tucking a leg up to his chest.
"Was I?"
"..yeah." Dean nodded, reaching over to turn on the radio, "About that whole listening thing."
"Did you talk to God, Dean?" Sam chuckled, turning to face him, his laughter slowly quieted by the set of his big brother's jaw, the way he swallowed hard. "...sorry."
Dean just shook his head, turning up the radio as they drove away.