SPN: I Know You Think that Hands are Made for Pulling Us Through
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Jimmy, Dean
Referenced characters: Sam, Castiel, Amelia, Claire
Pairings: None
Contains: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: After everything's over, Jimmy's just used up. For
feywood, for getting up on time.
Notes: The title is obscenely long, I know. It's a quote from Karine Polwart's song Daisy, which just seemed to go with Jimmy in this fic. There are no spoilers for S5 of SPN, because I haven't seen most of it.
feywood requested Dean/Jimmy: this is more like gen, or pre-slash if you want it to be.
Jimmy Novak opens the door cautiously. It doesn't matter how sure he is of Castiel's gratitude and protection, angels seem a long way away now he's living in this particular neighbourhood. And of course, it is trouble that he opens his door to, but it's trouble in the form of Dean Winchester, and after all these months, Jimmy is grateful. Dean clears his throat awkwardly, shuffles his feet. "Thought you'd be back with the wife," he says, gruffly. "Went there first."
"Things didn't work out," Jimmy says, with a resignation that should have taken a long time to come to. Should've. His eyes go past Dean to the car. "Is... Sam with you?"
"Things didn't work out," Dean says, but there's no resignation in his tone.
"Wanna come in?" Jimmy asks. It's a stupid question -- makes him think of old vampire stories or something, where you have to invite the evil presence into your house yourself. But there's nothing for Dean to destroy, nothing left at all, so Jimmy might as well let him in.
---
Dean didn't stay the first time, but he comes back -- quirks a tired grin at Jimmy, the third or fourth time, and says, "Like a bad penny." Jimmy doesn't say anything. He figures the way he lets Dean in says pretty much everything. He's good at letting things in, letting things use him. That's about it.
---
"Look, man, you're killin' me," Dean says, quietly. Jimmy blinks and turns to look at him.
"What?"
"This. This moping. Cas'd be mad at you."
Jimmy flinches. He tries not to think about Cas, if he's honest. The one area of life he didn't fail -- gave his body up to an angel, saved his daughter, prevented the apocalypse -- and it just destroyed so much else, his marriage and his relationship with his kid and his faith. All shattered now.
"Seriously," Dean says, as if he isn't the crown prince of self-flagellation. "You need to feel worthwhile again, I'll show you fuckin' worthwhile."
Jimmy kind of wonders when Dean picked up mindreading. His resistance is shit these days, anyway. "Fine."
"We'd better get you some weapons of your own. You can have Sam's seat, though."
Jimmy has a sneaking suspicion he isn't going to go back to that crappy little apartment again. He doesn't much care. He doesn't take anything but the clothes on his back. Dean doesn't comment on that, though Jimmy knows it can't be lost on him.
---
Dean starts to ask for a room with two beds, at the motel, flinches and stops, and then looks at Jimmy and shakes his head and reiterates the original request. It sounds as if it only sticks in his throat a little. Jimmy feels odd, following him into the rented room, knowing that he's walking where Sam should be walking, knowing that when Dean takes the bed nearer the door, it's a habit picked up from years of looking after his brother.
He watches Dean get drunk, that night, nursing his single beer all through it, until long after it's actually bearable to drink. He wants to help, somehow -- the desire is distant, but it's there. He doesn't know what Sam would say, though, and even if he did, that'd probably be the wrong thing to say.
---
"Jimmy!" Dean catches hold of his shoulder, squeezes hard. "Hello in there? Jimmy!"
It takes a moment for Dean's voice to break through the haze, and then Jimmy looks up. There's blood on the knife in his hand. "Dean," he says, quietly. There's a tremble in his voice. "I... saved them."
"Yeah," Dean says, and squeezes his shoulder again. "Yeah, you did. Welcome to... well, guess I can't call it the family business anymore." He smiles wryly. "Novak and Winchester Ltd, monster hunters extraordinaire."
"I saved them," Jimmy says again, full of wonder. Dean's face softens too, and this time he just nods.
---
Dean used to cry out in his sleep a lot. Still does, sometimes, but less now. Jimmy used to lie awake and listen to him, and wonder how he might reach out, and never act. Sometimes he half-framed a prayer, hoping that Castiel would come and in burning righteousness make everything okay. But he never dared ask, and now he kinda wonders which outcome he was more afraid of.
Now he just listens to Dean's breathing, slow and steady, somewhere just beside him. Jimmy closes his eyes. He clenches and unclenches his fists, slowly. Nobody uses these hands but him. Nothing can guide them but him. He thinks maybe he's used to that now. When Dean stirs in his sleep, when he cries out low and desperate, Jimmy moves over and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders, presses him down into the bed, uses his hands to hold him together and bring him awake, bring him out of it.
He thinks that maybe everything might be going to be alright, after all.
Main characters: Jimmy, Dean
Referenced characters: Sam, Castiel, Amelia, Claire
Pairings: None
Contains: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: After everything's over, Jimmy's just used up. For
feywood, for getting up on time.
Notes: The title is obscenely long, I know. It's a quote from Karine Polwart's song Daisy, which just seemed to go with Jimmy in this fic. There are no spoilers for S5 of SPN, because I haven't seen most of it.
feywood requested Dean/Jimmy: this is more like gen, or pre-slash if you want it to be.
Jimmy Novak opens the door cautiously. It doesn't matter how sure he is of Castiel's gratitude and protection, angels seem a long way away now he's living in this particular neighbourhood. And of course, it is trouble that he opens his door to, but it's trouble in the form of Dean Winchester, and after all these months, Jimmy is grateful. Dean clears his throat awkwardly, shuffles his feet. "Thought you'd be back with the wife," he says, gruffly. "Went there first."
"Things didn't work out," Jimmy says, with a resignation that should have taken a long time to come to. Should've. His eyes go past Dean to the car. "Is... Sam with you?"
"Things didn't work out," Dean says, but there's no resignation in his tone.
"Wanna come in?" Jimmy asks. It's a stupid question -- makes him think of old vampire stories or something, where you have to invite the evil presence into your house yourself. But there's nothing for Dean to destroy, nothing left at all, so Jimmy might as well let him in.
---
Dean didn't stay the first time, but he comes back -- quirks a tired grin at Jimmy, the third or fourth time, and says, "Like a bad penny." Jimmy doesn't say anything. He figures the way he lets Dean in says pretty much everything. He's good at letting things in, letting things use him. That's about it.
---
"Look, man, you're killin' me," Dean says, quietly. Jimmy blinks and turns to look at him.
"What?"
"This. This moping. Cas'd be mad at you."
Jimmy flinches. He tries not to think about Cas, if he's honest. The one area of life he didn't fail -- gave his body up to an angel, saved his daughter, prevented the apocalypse -- and it just destroyed so much else, his marriage and his relationship with his kid and his faith. All shattered now.
"Seriously," Dean says, as if he isn't the crown prince of self-flagellation. "You need to feel worthwhile again, I'll show you fuckin' worthwhile."
Jimmy kind of wonders when Dean picked up mindreading. His resistance is shit these days, anyway. "Fine."
"We'd better get you some weapons of your own. You can have Sam's seat, though."
Jimmy has a sneaking suspicion he isn't going to go back to that crappy little apartment again. He doesn't much care. He doesn't take anything but the clothes on his back. Dean doesn't comment on that, though Jimmy knows it can't be lost on him.
---
Dean starts to ask for a room with two beds, at the motel, flinches and stops, and then looks at Jimmy and shakes his head and reiterates the original request. It sounds as if it only sticks in his throat a little. Jimmy feels odd, following him into the rented room, knowing that he's walking where Sam should be walking, knowing that when Dean takes the bed nearer the door, it's a habit picked up from years of looking after his brother.
He watches Dean get drunk, that night, nursing his single beer all through it, until long after it's actually bearable to drink. He wants to help, somehow -- the desire is distant, but it's there. He doesn't know what Sam would say, though, and even if he did, that'd probably be the wrong thing to say.
---
"Jimmy!" Dean catches hold of his shoulder, squeezes hard. "Hello in there? Jimmy!"
It takes a moment for Dean's voice to break through the haze, and then Jimmy looks up. There's blood on the knife in his hand. "Dean," he says, quietly. There's a tremble in his voice. "I... saved them."
"Yeah," Dean says, and squeezes his shoulder again. "Yeah, you did. Welcome to... well, guess I can't call it the family business anymore." He smiles wryly. "Novak and Winchester Ltd, monster hunters extraordinaire."
"I saved them," Jimmy says again, full of wonder. Dean's face softens too, and this time he just nods.
---
Dean used to cry out in his sleep a lot. Still does, sometimes, but less now. Jimmy used to lie awake and listen to him, and wonder how he might reach out, and never act. Sometimes he half-framed a prayer, hoping that Castiel would come and in burning righteousness make everything okay. But he never dared ask, and now he kinda wonders which outcome he was more afraid of.
Now he just listens to Dean's breathing, slow and steady, somewhere just beside him. Jimmy closes his eyes. He clenches and unclenches his fists, slowly. Nobody uses these hands but him. Nothing can guide them but him. He thinks maybe he's used to that now. When Dean stirs in his sleep, when he cries out low and desperate, Jimmy moves over and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders, presses him down into the bed, uses his hands to hold him together and bring him awake, bring him out of it.
He thinks that maybe everything might be going to be alright, after all.