Small Things (Sam & Dean, G)
Title: Small Things
Author: gentlezombie
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Genre: Gen (or pre-slash if you want to take it that way)
Rating: G
Word count: 920
Summary: They do not kiss, and hugs are reserved for near-death experiences. But it wasn’t always like that.
Disclaimer: Not true, not my playground, etc.
A/N: Written for the spnkink_meme prompt: Dean/Sam, brotherly innocent kisses. Basically them kissing on the lips without it being sexual. Could be for 'goodnight', to comfort, when Dean drops Sam off at school. John could know about it and try to break them of it. Sam's friends at school think it's weird. Pre-slash, if you want. But try to make it gen, if that's possible. Now I'm itching to write a Stanford-era sequel to this...
Small Things
John Winchester’s not prone to displays of emotion, and hugs and kisses for his boys are few and far between. Dean remembers how mom used to kiss him, a small peck on his forehead or his lips or the back of his head. He remembers it made him feel all warm and light and safe. Mom isn’t around anymore, but he wants Sam to feel like that too.
He knows it’s harder for Sammy, who knows that the monsters under the bed are real and hungry, and that’s why he has to try more. So he kisses Sam when they go to bed, or when he’s hurt his knee, or when Dean has to leave for school, or for no particular reason at all. Sam picks it up from him, kisses him when he’s made dinner, lands a disgusting, sloppy kiss somewhere near his chin when he’s missed him.
It becomes another one of their habits, as ingrained as the drawing of protective circles or the salting of doorframes and windows. They keep doing it as the years go by and towns change, complications rise, scars accumulate.
When Dean turns sixteen, he kisses his little brother on the forehead in the parking lot, and the whistles and stares of the other kids catch him by surprise. A couple of girls giggle, whispering how cute that is, and Sam shrugs with the brand of philosophical cynicism specially reserved for Dean’s flings. Dean winks at him, “You make me look good, Sammy”, and Sam gets on tiptoes to swat the back of his head, because his big brother is such a jerk. It’s them, it’s normal, and they head off to school like any other day.
Dean’s sprawling on the couch when Sam’s finished washing the dishes, flicking through the channels. He’s taking up all of the space so Sam flops down on top of him, bony knee catching Dean’s side as he settles down. He pecks a kiss on Dean’s mouth, rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean grumbles but does not attempt to throw him off.
The ringing of the phone wakes them up an hour later. It’s dark already, but dad isn’t home yet, so Dean pads sleepily over the floor. Sam’s looking at him and sees his brother’s expression change, his jaw tense, as he listens. “Yes. Thank you for calling me. I will talk with them”. Dean’s words are oddly formal, his voice deeper than usual. Sam’s pretty sure that’s deliberate.
“Was it someone from school?” he asks as Dean returns to the couch and resumes his place against Sam’s back. “Nah, just a wrong number”, says Dean, even though his words on the phone contradict that. Sam knows that Dean just played dad for whoever was calling, and Dean knows that he knows, so there’s no need for explanations. Dean got them out of some kind of trouble. That’s good enough for Sam. “Kay then”, he yawns and falls asleep again. They are both glad to leave the town at the end of the week.
“Cut it out”, John tells them.
They’re all shaken and irritable after a hunt gone wrong, Sam and Dean slumped against each other at the back of the Impala. Dean’s got a bump a size of an apple on the back of his head. Sam’s knuckles are bleeding from defending his passed out brother before dad could get there with a shotgun.
Dean glares at his dad through the rear-view mirror. In a rare bout of defiance, he kisses the back of Sam’s hand, pressing a kiss to each of the bruised knuckles.
“Cut it out, I said”, John growls, “people will start to get the wrong idea”.
He sees his boys look at each other, the puzzlement, the sudden dawning of understanding, the way they shift away from each other. There’s confusion on Sam’s face, hurt betrayal on Dean’s. John chooses to ignore that. He shakes his head. They hadn’t been aware, hadn’t done anything wrong, but it’s time for them to grow up. To be their own persons. In the end, everyone’s alone.
They know an order when they hear one. Their normal changes, becomes something less. Dean relies on bravado and avoids chick-flick moments like the plague. Sam reverts to teenage sullenness. The ugly suspicion seems to cling to them like strands of sticky spider-web. It spoils casual touches, makes it hard to meet the eye. Soon no-touching becomes no-talking. John knows his boys are drifting apart, and he tells himself it’s for the best. They do not kiss, and hugs are reserved for near-death experiences.
Over the years though, John starts to wonder. He sees the yearning, the need for closeness they are not aware of themselves, and he wonders if he did the right thing. He only wanted his boys to grow up normal, grow up good. It was such a small thing.
But in the charged distance of the years, things have transformed, grown larger unspoken. They have both been holding back for a long time, and the tension is building as they day by day clash and collide, clinging to the illusion of independence and individuality. When either of them breaks, he has no idea what form the explosion will take.
Will it be angry words cutting deep, severing last of the ties? It could be a desperate hug, or an innocent kiss on the mouth, like Dean used to kiss good night and Sam thank you. Or it could be something else entirely.
John’s not entirely sure he wants to know.
Author: gentlezombie
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Genre: Gen (or pre-slash if you want to take it that way)
Rating: G
Word count: 920
Summary: They do not kiss, and hugs are reserved for near-death experiences. But it wasn’t always like that.
Disclaimer: Not true, not my playground, etc.
A/N: Written for the spnkink_meme prompt: Dean/Sam, brotherly innocent kisses. Basically them kissing on the lips without it being sexual. Could be for 'goodnight', to comfort, when Dean drops Sam off at school. John could know about it and try to break them of it. Sam's friends at school think it's weird. Pre-slash, if you want. But try to make it gen, if that's possible. Now I'm itching to write a Stanford-era sequel to this...
Small Things
John Winchester’s not prone to displays of emotion, and hugs and kisses for his boys are few and far between. Dean remembers how mom used to kiss him, a small peck on his forehead or his lips or the back of his head. He remembers it made him feel all warm and light and safe. Mom isn’t around anymore, but he wants Sam to feel like that too.
He knows it’s harder for Sammy, who knows that the monsters under the bed are real and hungry, and that’s why he has to try more. So he kisses Sam when they go to bed, or when he’s hurt his knee, or when Dean has to leave for school, or for no particular reason at all. Sam picks it up from him, kisses him when he’s made dinner, lands a disgusting, sloppy kiss somewhere near his chin when he’s missed him.
It becomes another one of their habits, as ingrained as the drawing of protective circles or the salting of doorframes and windows. They keep doing it as the years go by and towns change, complications rise, scars accumulate.
When Dean turns sixteen, he kisses his little brother on the forehead in the parking lot, and the whistles and stares of the other kids catch him by surprise. A couple of girls giggle, whispering how cute that is, and Sam shrugs with the brand of philosophical cynicism specially reserved for Dean’s flings. Dean winks at him, “You make me look good, Sammy”, and Sam gets on tiptoes to swat the back of his head, because his big brother is such a jerk. It’s them, it’s normal, and they head off to school like any other day.
Dean’s sprawling on the couch when Sam’s finished washing the dishes, flicking through the channels. He’s taking up all of the space so Sam flops down on top of him, bony knee catching Dean’s side as he settles down. He pecks a kiss on Dean’s mouth, rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean grumbles but does not attempt to throw him off.
The ringing of the phone wakes them up an hour later. It’s dark already, but dad isn’t home yet, so Dean pads sleepily over the floor. Sam’s looking at him and sees his brother’s expression change, his jaw tense, as he listens. “Yes. Thank you for calling me. I will talk with them”. Dean’s words are oddly formal, his voice deeper than usual. Sam’s pretty sure that’s deliberate.
“Was it someone from school?” he asks as Dean returns to the couch and resumes his place against Sam’s back. “Nah, just a wrong number”, says Dean, even though his words on the phone contradict that. Sam knows that Dean just played dad for whoever was calling, and Dean knows that he knows, so there’s no need for explanations. Dean got them out of some kind of trouble. That’s good enough for Sam. “Kay then”, he yawns and falls asleep again. They are both glad to leave the town at the end of the week.
“Cut it out”, John tells them.
They’re all shaken and irritable after a hunt gone wrong, Sam and Dean slumped against each other at the back of the Impala. Dean’s got a bump a size of an apple on the back of his head. Sam’s knuckles are bleeding from defending his passed out brother before dad could get there with a shotgun.
Dean glares at his dad through the rear-view mirror. In a rare bout of defiance, he kisses the back of Sam’s hand, pressing a kiss to each of the bruised knuckles.
“Cut it out, I said”, John growls, “people will start to get the wrong idea”.
He sees his boys look at each other, the puzzlement, the sudden dawning of understanding, the way they shift away from each other. There’s confusion on Sam’s face, hurt betrayal on Dean’s. John chooses to ignore that. He shakes his head. They hadn’t been aware, hadn’t done anything wrong, but it’s time for them to grow up. To be their own persons. In the end, everyone’s alone.
They know an order when they hear one. Their normal changes, becomes something less. Dean relies on bravado and avoids chick-flick moments like the plague. Sam reverts to teenage sullenness. The ugly suspicion seems to cling to them like strands of sticky spider-web. It spoils casual touches, makes it hard to meet the eye. Soon no-touching becomes no-talking. John knows his boys are drifting apart, and he tells himself it’s for the best. They do not kiss, and hugs are reserved for near-death experiences.
Over the years though, John starts to wonder. He sees the yearning, the need for closeness they are not aware of themselves, and he wonders if he did the right thing. He only wanted his boys to grow up normal, grow up good. It was such a small thing.
But in the charged distance of the years, things have transformed, grown larger unspoken. They have both been holding back for a long time, and the tension is building as they day by day clash and collide, clinging to the illusion of independence and individuality. When either of them breaks, he has no idea what form the explosion will take.
Will it be angry words cutting deep, severing last of the ties? It could be a desperate hug, or an innocent kiss on the mouth, like Dean used to kiss good night and Sam thank you. Or it could be something else entirely.
John’s not entirely sure he wants to know.