SPN drabbles - Restless - PG13
A few drabbles for the supernatural100 prompt insomnia
TITLE: Restless
RATING:PG13
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, John and Pastor Jim
DISCLAIMER: I'm only playing.
NOTES: 4 x 100 word drabbles. Spoilers for Season 1 Pilot, Something Wicked and Season 2 - Playthings
1
Jesus, he’s wrecked.
They’re overbooked, probably a good thing. Nothing like word of mouth to build their customer base, Mike says. John supposes he’s right, but he’s worked late six nights straight, only just got home in time to tell the boys goodnight.
Mary doesn’t complain, but he decides to get home earlier tomorrow, maybe toss a football around with Dean.
He’s exhausted, but wired too, not ready to sleep yet. Damn electrical storms.
Mary kisses him lightly, tells him not to be too late. He nods, flips through the channels idly.
“I’m right behind you, honey,” he tells her.
2
He squeezes his eyes shut, sees the after-image of the radio alarm dancing green squiggles across the inside of his eyelids.
He opens his eyes again, sneaks a look across the bed at his brother. Dean’s usually better at faking sleep than him, but tonight he sucks just as much as Sam.
“Dean.”
There’s a loud, loaded silence from the other side of the bed.
“You think he’s gonna be okay?”
“C’mere.” Dean reaches out, pulls Sam close against him. “He’s okay. Pastor Jim said he was out of surgery.” Dean pets him gently. “Now go to sleep, Sammy.”
3
It’s so cold the tip of his nose is numb. He thinks he’ll have to get the stove in the kitchen going before the boys are up.
There’s a soft creak, and he knows he’s too late. He guesses it’s Dean again, Sammy was sleeping like the dead when John dropped them off last night.
He gets up, sees Dean hunched by the door of the guest bedroom, the too-big rifle resting across his knees. The barrel gleams in the half-light, and there are bruise-dark circles under Dean’s eyes.
Jim lifts the rifle carefully and guides Dean back to bed again.
4
Sam sleeps like the dead.
Always has done. Sprawled out wherever he was dumped, limbs loose, flopping at odd, unexpected angles. No matter how uncomfortable, Sam would crash like a freakin’ corpse.
He’s quiet now; only sign of life is the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against the sagging mattress. A thin sheen of sweat on his pale face, the scent of whisky and licorice on his breath.
Should never have told him. That’s what he gets for disobeying orders. Dad said not to tell.
Sam sleeps like the dead, for Dean’s just promised to kill him.
TITLE: Restless
RATING:PG13
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, John and Pastor Jim
DISCLAIMER: I'm only playing.
NOTES: 4 x 100 word drabbles. Spoilers for Season 1 Pilot, Something Wicked and Season 2 - Playthings
1
Jesus, he’s wrecked.
They’re overbooked, probably a good thing. Nothing like word of mouth to build their customer base, Mike says. John supposes he’s right, but he’s worked late six nights straight, only just got home in time to tell the boys goodnight.
Mary doesn’t complain, but he decides to get home earlier tomorrow, maybe toss a football around with Dean.
He’s exhausted, but wired too, not ready to sleep yet. Damn electrical storms.
Mary kisses him lightly, tells him not to be too late. He nods, flips through the channels idly.
“I’m right behind you, honey,” he tells her.
2
He squeezes his eyes shut, sees the after-image of the radio alarm dancing green squiggles across the inside of his eyelids.
He opens his eyes again, sneaks a look across the bed at his brother. Dean’s usually better at faking sleep than him, but tonight he sucks just as much as Sam.
“Dean.”
There’s a loud, loaded silence from the other side of the bed.
“You think he’s gonna be okay?”
“C’mere.” Dean reaches out, pulls Sam close against him. “He’s okay. Pastor Jim said he was out of surgery.” Dean pets him gently. “Now go to sleep, Sammy.”
3
It’s so cold the tip of his nose is numb. He thinks he’ll have to get the stove in the kitchen going before the boys are up.
There’s a soft creak, and he knows he’s too late. He guesses it’s Dean again, Sammy was sleeping like the dead when John dropped them off last night.
He gets up, sees Dean hunched by the door of the guest bedroom, the too-big rifle resting across his knees. The barrel gleams in the half-light, and there are bruise-dark circles under Dean’s eyes.
Jim lifts the rifle carefully and guides Dean back to bed again.
4
Sam sleeps like the dead.
Always has done. Sprawled out wherever he was dumped, limbs loose, flopping at odd, unexpected angles. No matter how uncomfortable, Sam would crash like a freakin’ corpse.
He’s quiet now; only sign of life is the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against the sagging mattress. A thin sheen of sweat on his pale face, the scent of whisky and licorice on his breath.
Should never have told him. That’s what he gets for disobeying orders. Dad said not to tell.
Sam sleeps like the dead, for Dean’s just promised to kill him.