spn Ficlets for s1 and s2
My spn ficlets celebrating the eight seasons so far are inspired by the Midwinter prompt collection at day by drabble , f ound here under the Midwinter Prompts tag. If you need prompts these are pretty cool for Sam and Dean! Let me know if you are inspired. :)
SPN FICLET for S1: " Longing"
It seemed to Dean that he had always been longing for Sam.
Even when, stronger than any four-year-old should need to be, he'd gathered Sam up and run with him from the wreckage of their childhood, Dean had longed for Sam. There was something somehow too real about Sam's earthy needs as a big, growing baby. He needed his mother (so did Dean and they weren't ever going to get her). He needed food and diapers and a safe place to sleep. (Even then, even then, John had relied on Dean to help him provide Sam with all the things every baby needs.) Dean was not much out of babyhood himself, and he could hardly comprehend it: his baby brother had become his responsibility before most children even understand the concept of responsibility.
So how could Dean long for Sam, when his brother was right there? He longed for more than Sam's mere presence. He wanted Sam not just near him, but with him. He needed Sam to acknowledge the enormity of the bonds that linked them together. They were more than just brothers - Dean had gone far beyond brotherly love, dedicating his life to meeting Sam's needs. They were more than Hunting partners -- Sam was a reluctant Hunter, but still, they Hunted together with almost psychic efficiency.
Dean had always known their bond was so much deeper than brotherhood or partnership. Why was it so hard for Sam to understand?
Really, Dean knew it was too much. It was better for him to try to be contented with whatever Sam could give.
But every so often, Dean broke down. His pride in the Hunt hung loose and left him unfulfilled. His taste for food, liquor, women, or even the heady roar of rock songs and the Impala's wheels eating road, left him restless and hollow.
He yearned for more. He tried not to. He knew it was wrong -- it would eat him up, poison what they'd managed to piece back together.
Still, Dean couldn't help but dream, and in dreams he was weak, and his yearnings took shape, and Sam's smile was soft and real and full of affection; Sam's arm lay heavy across Dean's shoulders; Sam whispered to Dean all his admiration for Dean's ingenuity, his skill, and the way they fought together, side by side, to get the Hunting done.
Dean could dream, even when he told himself he shouldn't, that Sam wouldn't ask him what he wanted for himself, because Sam would know. Sam wouldn't dream of going back to school, going his own way. Sam would dream, like Dean did, that they would be together, bound together by family or love or whatever it was between them. And there would always be another Hunt, and Dean and Sam would work it side by side, collapsing into easy companionship with the triumph of a job well done singing in their veins.
That was all Dean wanted, wasn't it? After all he'd given, was that so much to ask?
It was a longing, that was all. Dean tucked it away and shoved it down and concentrated on the road, the Hunt, the long progress of days and nights that tied Sam closer and closer. Dean refused to think of any footsteps that might ever lead away, any sunset at the end of their never-ending journey. Only the details mattered: diners, monsters, rock salt, silver, matchbooks dropped into open graves, gravel parking lots, dim hotel rooms, the clink of shared beers, weariness subsiding into even righteous breaths, peaceful when all was said and done.
--- from Midwinter prompts 10 crackle, 11 long, 19 a photo of footsteps leading across snow into sunset, and 29 And you, little son come safely home Riding the tail of the wind. May you always come this safely home In winter, fire and snow. --"Fire, Snow, and Carnevale" by Macdara Woods
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SPN FICLET for S2: "the Axe poised to Fall"
Dean can see it, hear himself saying it, like a prophecy, the worst kind of nightmare:
If I didn't know you, I would want to Hunt you.
He can see those words, hanging like breath in frigid air. He hasn't said them yet, but somehow, despite the knife they are in his heart, his brother's heart, he knows he will, in some terrible future, when Sam has become what he is becoming.
Now, all he can do is catch his brother's giant body as it falls, felled by something unnatural, supernatural, monstrous. He never wanted this: never wanted the jump on a Hunt, the psychic lead that might save lives. There's one life he needs to save, and the rest are just gravy -- the one is his brother, his Sammy. No one else matters, no one else will ever matter this much.
He feels his vocation like an executioner's axe, poised above the neck of his own brother.
It will not end that way. He will never, ever, let it end that way, with Sammy dead -- not if there is anything he can do about it.
There's just one thing he knows. He knows what he is supposed to do.
--- from Midwinter prompts 16 steam, 22 dormant, and 17 photo of axe buried in log with pile of firewood.
SPN FICLET for S1: " Longing"
It seemed to Dean that he had always been longing for Sam.
Even when, stronger than any four-year-old should need to be, he'd gathered Sam up and run with him from the wreckage of their childhood, Dean had longed for Sam. There was something somehow too real about Sam's earthy needs as a big, growing baby. He needed his mother (so did Dean and they weren't ever going to get her). He needed food and diapers and a safe place to sleep. (Even then, even then, John had relied on Dean to help him provide Sam with all the things every baby needs.) Dean was not much out of babyhood himself, and he could hardly comprehend it: his baby brother had become his responsibility before most children even understand the concept of responsibility.
So how could Dean long for Sam, when his brother was right there? He longed for more than Sam's mere presence. He wanted Sam not just near him, but with him. He needed Sam to acknowledge the enormity of the bonds that linked them together. They were more than just brothers - Dean had gone far beyond brotherly love, dedicating his life to meeting Sam's needs. They were more than Hunting partners -- Sam was a reluctant Hunter, but still, they Hunted together with almost psychic efficiency.
Dean had always known their bond was so much deeper than brotherhood or partnership. Why was it so hard for Sam to understand?
Really, Dean knew it was too much. It was better for him to try to be contented with whatever Sam could give.
But every so often, Dean broke down. His pride in the Hunt hung loose and left him unfulfilled. His taste for food, liquor, women, or even the heady roar of rock songs and the Impala's wheels eating road, left him restless and hollow.
He yearned for more. He tried not to. He knew it was wrong -- it would eat him up, poison what they'd managed to piece back together.
Still, Dean couldn't help but dream, and in dreams he was weak, and his yearnings took shape, and Sam's smile was soft and real and full of affection; Sam's arm lay heavy across Dean's shoulders; Sam whispered to Dean all his admiration for Dean's ingenuity, his skill, and the way they fought together, side by side, to get the Hunting done.
Dean could dream, even when he told himself he shouldn't, that Sam wouldn't ask him what he wanted for himself, because Sam would know. Sam wouldn't dream of going back to school, going his own way. Sam would dream, like Dean did, that they would be together, bound together by family or love or whatever it was between them. And there would always be another Hunt, and Dean and Sam would work it side by side, collapsing into easy companionship with the triumph of a job well done singing in their veins.
That was all Dean wanted, wasn't it? After all he'd given, was that so much to ask?
It was a longing, that was all. Dean tucked it away and shoved it down and concentrated on the road, the Hunt, the long progress of days and nights that tied Sam closer and closer. Dean refused to think of any footsteps that might ever lead away, any sunset at the end of their never-ending journey. Only the details mattered: diners, monsters, rock salt, silver, matchbooks dropped into open graves, gravel parking lots, dim hotel rooms, the clink of shared beers, weariness subsiding into even righteous breaths, peaceful when all was said and done.
--- from Midwinter prompts 10 crackle, 11 long, 19 a photo of footsteps leading across snow into sunset, and 29 And you, little son come safely home Riding the tail of the wind. May you always come this safely home In winter, fire and snow. --"Fire, Snow, and Carnevale" by Macdara Woods
=====
SPN FICLET for S2: "the Axe poised to Fall"
Dean can see it, hear himself saying it, like a prophecy, the worst kind of nightmare:
If I didn't know you, I would want to Hunt you.
He can see those words, hanging like breath in frigid air. He hasn't said them yet, but somehow, despite the knife they are in his heart, his brother's heart, he knows he will, in some terrible future, when Sam has become what he is becoming.
Now, all he can do is catch his brother's giant body as it falls, felled by something unnatural, supernatural, monstrous. He never wanted this: never wanted the jump on a Hunt, the psychic lead that might save lives. There's one life he needs to save, and the rest are just gravy -- the one is his brother, his Sammy. No one else matters, no one else will ever matter this much.
He feels his vocation like an executioner's axe, poised above the neck of his own brother.
It will not end that way. He will never, ever, let it end that way, with Sammy dead -- not if there is anything he can do about it.
There's just one thing he knows. He knows what he is supposed to do.
--- from Midwinter prompts 16 steam, 22 dormant, and 17 photo of axe buried in log with pile of firewood.