SPN FIC - All for a Sandcastle
He's been dreaming, about a sunny day on the beach a long time ago.
But where they are now... any dream can be a nightmare.
CHARACTERS: Dean (thinking about Sam)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 200 words
ALL FOR A SANDCASTLE
By Carol Davis
California, he thinks. It was California, in the summer, and the sun was shining.
Warm breeze blowing.
Sandcastle.
That’s it: they had red plastic buckets and sifters and shovels from the dollar store, or maybe from somebody’s yard sale, and he was out on the beach in the sun, building the best sandcastle EVER. Turrets and moats and a drawbridge. If it’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing well - that’s what he believed, because Dad told him it was true - so he dug and scooped and sculpted and it was AWESOME.
He poured water.
Filled the moat.
Done, he thought, and it was just right. Done well.
Then he looked up, put his shovel down, and Sammy was no longer there, sitting on the towel next to Dad. Dad was asleep, fast asleep on his stomach with his head on his arm and Sammy was… was…
He can barely breathe as he flings himself up into a sit, all remnants of sleep blown away as if a gale’s just roared through his room.
No beach now.
No sandcastle.
But it’s happening all over again. Sammy’s walking away from him, leaving him behind, headed toward a goal only Sam can see.
* * * * *
(Inspired by this, by artist Steve Hanks)
But where they are now... any dream can be a nightmare.
CHARACTERS: Dean (thinking about Sam)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 200 words
ALL FOR A SANDCASTLE
By Carol Davis
California, he thinks. It was California, in the summer, and the sun was shining.
Warm breeze blowing.
Sandcastle.
That’s it: they had red plastic buckets and sifters and shovels from the dollar store, or maybe from somebody’s yard sale, and he was out on the beach in the sun, building the best sandcastle EVER. Turrets and moats and a drawbridge. If it’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing well - that’s what he believed, because Dad told him it was true - so he dug and scooped and sculpted and it was AWESOME.
He poured water.
Filled the moat.
Done, he thought, and it was just right. Done well.
Then he looked up, put his shovel down, and Sammy was no longer there, sitting on the towel next to Dad. Dad was asleep, fast asleep on his stomach with his head on his arm and Sammy was… was…
He can barely breathe as he flings himself up into a sit, all remnants of sleep blown away as if a gale’s just roared through his room.
No beach now.
No sandcastle.
But it’s happening all over again. Sammy’s walking away from him, leaving him behind, headed toward a goal only Sam can see.
* * * * *
(Inspired by this, by artist Steve Hanks)