Let Your Heart Be Light
Title: Let Your Heart Be Light
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1k
Pairing: Gen, pre-wincest
Warning: off-screen character death, angst, homeless children
Summary: They lost their father to the fangs of a naga; now, Sam and Dean only have each other.
It had been a long, hard winter.
Dean had thought he’d be able to dodge the cold by grabbing Sam and heading south as soon as the leaves started actually falling off the trees and the nights were cold regardless of how tightly he’d bundled Sam and himself in their sleeping bags.
He’d hated leaving Richmond. There’d been a lot of work within short walking distance to the little apartment he’d been able to scrounge up the rent for, and he’d been able to walk Sam to school everyday since he’d be able to make it to his first job--a cashier at a grocery--on time. He didn’t know if he’d be able to pull those things off wherever they ended up next.
Not to mention that moving had meant having to scrounge up money for eating on the road--and contributing to gas sometimes, while they were hitchhiking. It had taken almost every penny Dean had been saving in the empty pickle jar stuffed into his duffel, but he’d managed to get to Texas.
Nobody bothered to tell him that Texas was having its coldest winter in almost a century this year.
They were in Houston at the moment, thankfully, and that meant that everyone and everything was stacked right on top of each other, even moreso than in Richmond. He had thought he’d be able to find some new jobs pretty quickly and maybe would be able save up enough to put a down payment on another apartment.
In the meantime, he and Sam were living out of their sleeping bags until Dean could figure out a new place for them to stay in.
Tonight, they were crashing in the garden shed of someone who lived near the school Dean had had Sam transferred into.
“Dean,” Sam muttered against his neck, mouth trembling, freezing fingers clenched tightly beneath Dean’s jacket and shirt. “Dean, it’s cold.”
Dean pulled Sam closer, wrapping the sleeping bags a little tighter around them both. “I know, Sammy. We’ll find somewhere else soon.”
This wasn’t fair. Sam was just a kid, barely into double digits. He shouldn’t have to be freezing his ass off with Dean in somebody’s stupid warehouse. It was Christmas Eve, for Christ’s sake. Sam should be in a house with a Christmas tree and a fireplace and tinsel or something. He should have a new Nintendo and more books than he could even imagine having waiting for him tomorrow morning.
More than that, Sam deserved a family that could give him a roof over his head. When Dad had been alive, at least they’d had motel rooms, filthy and smelly though they occasionally were. There’d always at least been a space heater.
Instead, all Sam had to look forward to was a “new” coat and backpack that Dean had picked up from the Goodwill a few days ago, both hidden behind some guy’s lawnmower and bags of leftover fertilizer. Dean had contemplated breaking into someone’s house and raiding the parents’ closets for gifts, but he knew Sam would figure it out and be upset about it, goodie two shoes that he was.
“Okay,” Sam said after a moment. “Maybe... maybe somewhere closer to school than last time? It was a really long walk in the morning...”
Dean sighed. “You know that whole area is going to be expensive. Even if I transfer you to a school in the slums. Those apartments go at premium rates.”
“I know,” Sam said softly, a little wistful, and it made Dean’s stomach drop.
Dean closed his eyes against the sick feeling rolling in his belly, running a comforting hand through Sam’s hair. “I’ll figure something out, okay?”
Sam nodded. “Don’t kill yourself trying.” He tucked his face into Dean’s neck. “I know you’ll find a new job soon.”
Dean’s hand found Sam’s hair, and he ruffled through it gently, fingers scritching against Sam’s scalp. Sam’s hair was greasy. It was getting harder and harder to find a hose that hadn’t been covered up so they could wash up. In weather this cold, it didn’t tend to matter anyway, because the cold kept the smell from getting too bad. But, of course, that didn’t stop the grease from building up. Dean wished Sam would just let him buzz his hair off so it wasn’t so obvious, but he was just so damn attached to it.
He ran his fingers through it, wondering if maybe some of that dry shampoo he’d seen at Walmart the last time he’d made a grocery run would help. He’d almost slipped it into his backpack with the rest of the stuff he’d picked up, but, once again, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Sam. It was bad enough that he had to lie about having enough money leftover from getting here to buy them food; there was no way he was going to get away with lying about buying a luxury item like shampoo.
Dean’s fingers kept twisting in Sam’s hair, massaging gently, and his hand ran up and down Sam’s spine, trying to warm him up with that friction. After a while, Sam’s shivering slowed, his breath coming in warm, even puffs against Dean’s skin.
Dean’s hand stilled, curling into the fabric of Sam’s shirt and holding him tight. In the past couple of years, Dean had lost everything. His father was gone at the fangs of a naga. The Impala had had to be sold in a particularly bad rough patch, and his jacket--his father’s jacket--had followed suite a few months later.
All he had left was his amulet, the clothes on his back and Sam.
And even on nights like this one, where he was so cold he couldn’t feel his toes--which was a small blessing at this point, considering how blistered his feet were in his too small shoes--and his stomach was empty and tomorrow promised to be no different, that was enough.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1k
Pairing: Gen, pre-wincest
Warning: off-screen character death, angst, homeless children
Summary: They lost their father to the fangs of a naga; now, Sam and Dean only have each other.
It had been a long, hard winter.
Dean had thought he’d be able to dodge the cold by grabbing Sam and heading south as soon as the leaves started actually falling off the trees and the nights were cold regardless of how tightly he’d bundled Sam and himself in their sleeping bags.
He’d hated leaving Richmond. There’d been a lot of work within short walking distance to the little apartment he’d been able to scrounge up the rent for, and he’d been able to walk Sam to school everyday since he’d be able to make it to his first job--a cashier at a grocery--on time. He didn’t know if he’d be able to pull those things off wherever they ended up next.
Not to mention that moving had meant having to scrounge up money for eating on the road--and contributing to gas sometimes, while they were hitchhiking. It had taken almost every penny Dean had been saving in the empty pickle jar stuffed into his duffel, but he’d managed to get to Texas.
Nobody bothered to tell him that Texas was having its coldest winter in almost a century this year.
They were in Houston at the moment, thankfully, and that meant that everyone and everything was stacked right on top of each other, even moreso than in Richmond. He had thought he’d be able to find some new jobs pretty quickly and maybe would be able save up enough to put a down payment on another apartment.
In the meantime, he and Sam were living out of their sleeping bags until Dean could figure out a new place for them to stay in.
Tonight, they were crashing in the garden shed of someone who lived near the school Dean had had Sam transferred into.
“Dean,” Sam muttered against his neck, mouth trembling, freezing fingers clenched tightly beneath Dean’s jacket and shirt. “Dean, it’s cold.”
Dean pulled Sam closer, wrapping the sleeping bags a little tighter around them both. “I know, Sammy. We’ll find somewhere else soon.”
This wasn’t fair. Sam was just a kid, barely into double digits. He shouldn’t have to be freezing his ass off with Dean in somebody’s stupid warehouse. It was Christmas Eve, for Christ’s sake. Sam should be in a house with a Christmas tree and a fireplace and tinsel or something. He should have a new Nintendo and more books than he could even imagine having waiting for him tomorrow morning.
More than that, Sam deserved a family that could give him a roof over his head. When Dad had been alive, at least they’d had motel rooms, filthy and smelly though they occasionally were. There’d always at least been a space heater.
Instead, all Sam had to look forward to was a “new” coat and backpack that Dean had picked up from the Goodwill a few days ago, both hidden behind some guy’s lawnmower and bags of leftover fertilizer. Dean had contemplated breaking into someone’s house and raiding the parents’ closets for gifts, but he knew Sam would figure it out and be upset about it, goodie two shoes that he was.
“Okay,” Sam said after a moment. “Maybe... maybe somewhere closer to school than last time? It was a really long walk in the morning...”
Dean sighed. “You know that whole area is going to be expensive. Even if I transfer you to a school in the slums. Those apartments go at premium rates.”
“I know,” Sam said softly, a little wistful, and it made Dean’s stomach drop.
Dean closed his eyes against the sick feeling rolling in his belly, running a comforting hand through Sam’s hair. “I’ll figure something out, okay?”
Sam nodded. “Don’t kill yourself trying.” He tucked his face into Dean’s neck. “I know you’ll find a new job soon.”
Dean’s hand found Sam’s hair, and he ruffled through it gently, fingers scritching against Sam’s scalp. Sam’s hair was greasy. It was getting harder and harder to find a hose that hadn’t been covered up so they could wash up. In weather this cold, it didn’t tend to matter anyway, because the cold kept the smell from getting too bad. But, of course, that didn’t stop the grease from building up. Dean wished Sam would just let him buzz his hair off so it wasn’t so obvious, but he was just so damn attached to it.
He ran his fingers through it, wondering if maybe some of that dry shampoo he’d seen at Walmart the last time he’d made a grocery run would help. He’d almost slipped it into his backpack with the rest of the stuff he’d picked up, but, once again, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Sam. It was bad enough that he had to lie about having enough money leftover from getting here to buy them food; there was no way he was going to get away with lying about buying a luxury item like shampoo.
Dean’s fingers kept twisting in Sam’s hair, massaging gently, and his hand ran up and down Sam’s spine, trying to warm him up with that friction. After a while, Sam’s shivering slowed, his breath coming in warm, even puffs against Dean’s skin.
Dean’s hand stilled, curling into the fabric of Sam’s shirt and holding him tight. In the past couple of years, Dean had lost everything. His father was gone at the fangs of a naga. The Impala had had to be sold in a particularly bad rough patch, and his jacket--his father’s jacket--had followed suite a few months later.
All he had left was his amulet, the clothes on his back and Sam.
And even on nights like this one, where he was so cold he couldn’t feel his toes--which was a small blessing at this point, considering how blistered his feet were in his too small shoes--and his stomach was empty and tomorrow promised to be no different, that was enough.