SPN FIC - Nesting
Dean's got a room of his own, at last. It needs a little fine-tuning, but finally... it's just right.
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 400 words
NESTING
By Carol Davis
One by one, as the weeks go by, Dean moves the weapons from his room into what he's taken to calling "the armory."
They're a better fit there, really.
Humming, nowhere near the right key - according to Sam, at least; he sounds perfectly fine to himself - he spackles and sands the holes in his bedroom wall that were left by the hooks he hung the weapons on, then repaints the room a light, fresh color. After the paint has dried, he hangs his "un-birthday" gift from Sam: a trio of movie posters in bright brass-tone frames. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Porky's II. And as a nod to a shared experience, Hell Hazers II. They look good, he thinks when they're in place, one on each wall, except for the wall at the head of his bed. Years of experience with poltergeists (and a strange, completely random earthquake) have taught him not to hang anything over the head of the bed. The bunker's safe from poltergeists, of course, but what's to say a good-sized quake will never hit central Kansas?
"That big one," he tells Sam. "In eighteen-hundred-something? That wasn't far from here."
"You mean New Madrid?" Sam asks.
"Yeah."
Sam ponders the point for a moment, then nods.
"Besides," Dean muses, arms folded across his chest, "I figured I'd hang 'em where I can see 'em. Can't see anything that's hanging over my head."
Sam snorts softly at that, probably because it's true. A whole shit-ton of things have hung over their heads over the years - sometimes several things at once - unseen until it was too late. A brass-framed movie poster is probably the least of it all.
"You like them?" Sam asks quietly. "The posters."
"Yeah."
Dean doesn't bother saying If I didn't like them, I wouldn't have hung them up.
Sam looks around, taking in as much of the place as he can see without moving his body. "Do you -" he says, then stops.
"What?"
"This place. It's - I mean - there's no windows."
"And that's a problem?"
"It could be."
"A lot of things could be," Dean replies. "It's safe here. We've got what we need."
"Do we?" Sam asks.
It's Dean's turn to look around, to take in the fresh, clean walls, his memory foam bed, his posters, his record player and his stack of old LPs.
His brother.
"Yeah," he says softly. "We do."
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 400 words
NESTING
By Carol Davis
One by one, as the weeks go by, Dean moves the weapons from his room into what he's taken to calling "the armory."
They're a better fit there, really.
Humming, nowhere near the right key - according to Sam, at least; he sounds perfectly fine to himself - he spackles and sands the holes in his bedroom wall that were left by the hooks he hung the weapons on, then repaints the room a light, fresh color. After the paint has dried, he hangs his "un-birthday" gift from Sam: a trio of movie posters in bright brass-tone frames. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Porky's II. And as a nod to a shared experience, Hell Hazers II. They look good, he thinks when they're in place, one on each wall, except for the wall at the head of his bed. Years of experience with poltergeists (and a strange, completely random earthquake) have taught him not to hang anything over the head of the bed. The bunker's safe from poltergeists, of course, but what's to say a good-sized quake will never hit central Kansas?
"That big one," he tells Sam. "In eighteen-hundred-something? That wasn't far from here."
"You mean New Madrid?" Sam asks.
"Yeah."
Sam ponders the point for a moment, then nods.
"Besides," Dean muses, arms folded across his chest, "I figured I'd hang 'em where I can see 'em. Can't see anything that's hanging over my head."
Sam snorts softly at that, probably because it's true. A whole shit-ton of things have hung over their heads over the years - sometimes several things at once - unseen until it was too late. A brass-framed movie poster is probably the least of it all.
"You like them?" Sam asks quietly. "The posters."
"Yeah."
Dean doesn't bother saying If I didn't like them, I wouldn't have hung them up.
Sam looks around, taking in as much of the place as he can see without moving his body. "Do you -" he says, then stops.
"What?"
"This place. It's - I mean - there's no windows."
"And that's a problem?"
"It could be."
"A lot of things could be," Dean replies. "It's safe here. We've got what we need."
"Do we?" Sam asks.
It's Dean's turn to look around, to take in the fresh, clean walls, his memory foam bed, his posters, his record player and his stack of old LPs.
His brother.
"Yeah," he says softly. "We do."
* * * * *