SPN ficlet again...
Hope everyone had a nice weekend??? ok, so here it is.
My third ficlet for
spn_secretfic (3 more to go, but will go over the May 1st deadline as I should not be able to do them all today! )
Title: Really pretty sure.
Summary: idea generated by the postcard posted after the fic, in short a picture of old boots with the text "I wouldn't mind being buried in them."
Notes and rating: Gen fic, 437 words, rated G. careful, spoilers for Supernatural 2.19 Fulsom Prison Blues. My first brush ever with canon.
A/N: thank you so much to
keyweegirlie for the beta, once again!!! (lots of ♥) , and if anyone knows the author of the great postcard, I'd love to credit!
Really pretty sure.
Sam looked at him with the best bitchface known to man.
"I just cannot believe we are doing this."
Dean closed his eyes and parked the Impala. He caressed the wheel, his heart squeezing tightly just thinking it could be the last time even with all the "it's bullet a bullet-proof plan Sam!" speeches he'd done in the last week.
"C'mon Sam, we've been over this too many times. You said you were in. So come on and let's roll."
Here it was again. The sigh to end all sighs. Sam sure knew how to be passive aggressive.
"Okay. Give me your ring and your amulet."
Dean almost whipped his neck looking at him.
"The hell?"
Sam rolled his eyes, and talked slow like he was reasoning a 4 year old.
"Dean. When they catch us, they are going to take the jewelery and everything. No way Deacon can get it back without taking any risks for himself. So if you wanna have them back eventually, and if we don't end up locked up for life and you on death row because of this stupid plan, best to leave them in the car."
Fuck. He always was way too smart, that Sammy. As good a reason as any to keep him close.
"Right."
He so rarely took them off, he felt naked once Sam had them stored away in the glove compartment. Dean didn't have much attachment to material things. Of course there was the Impala, but that was special. The closest to home and to real stability that he'd ever known, apart from vague clouded memories of Lawrence that he didn't even know if he made up or not. The ring and amulet were for protection: the amulet from Dad, the ring from Sam. It meant something to him. That was it, really, and it would all wait here in this alley until they got back.
They were 5 steps out towards the Museum of Anthropology when Dean stopped dead in his tracks and ran back to the Impala, opening the trunk and shuffling stuff around.
"Dean?"
"Just a sec!"
He found the shiny shoes under the crossbow, and rapidly undid his booths to put them on.
"You are not serious."
Sam sounded incredulous. Dean scowled.
"Hey. I've had them forever, they are comfortable. And I hate those shoes."
Sam's too long arms shot up in the air.
"I just can't believe that we are related sometimes!"
Dean smirked because the feeling was mutual way too often.
"Whatever. Come on."
He closed the trunk and it sounded like a good bye.
The End.
My third ficlet for
spn_secretfic (3 more to go, but will go over the May 1st deadline as I should not be able to do them all today! )
Title: Really pretty sure.
Summary: idea generated by the postcard posted after the fic, in short a picture of old boots with the text "I wouldn't mind being buried in them."
Notes and rating: Gen fic, 437 words, rated G. careful, spoilers for Supernatural 2.19 Fulsom Prison Blues. My first brush ever with canon.
A/N: thank you so much to
keyweegirlie for the beta, once again!!! (lots of ♥) , and if anyone knows the author of the great postcard, I'd love to credit!
Really pretty sure.
Sam looked at him with the best bitchface known to man.
"I just cannot believe we are doing this."
Dean closed his eyes and parked the Impala. He caressed the wheel, his heart squeezing tightly just thinking it could be the last time even with all the "it's bullet a bullet-proof plan Sam!" speeches he'd done in the last week.
"C'mon Sam, we've been over this too many times. You said you were in. So come on and let's roll."
Here it was again. The sigh to end all sighs. Sam sure knew how to be passive aggressive.
"Okay. Give me your ring and your amulet."
Dean almost whipped his neck looking at him.
"The hell?"
Sam rolled his eyes, and talked slow like he was reasoning a 4 year old.
"Dean. When they catch us, they are going to take the jewelery and everything. No way Deacon can get it back without taking any risks for himself. So if you wanna have them back eventually, and if we don't end up locked up for life and you on death row because of this stupid plan, best to leave them in the car."
Fuck. He always was way too smart, that Sammy. As good a reason as any to keep him close.
"Right."
He so rarely took them off, he felt naked once Sam had them stored away in the glove compartment. Dean didn't have much attachment to material things. Of course there was the Impala, but that was special. The closest to home and to real stability that he'd ever known, apart from vague clouded memories of Lawrence that he didn't even know if he made up or not. The ring and amulet were for protection: the amulet from Dad, the ring from Sam. It meant something to him. That was it, really, and it would all wait here in this alley until they got back.
They were 5 steps out towards the Museum of Anthropology when Dean stopped dead in his tracks and ran back to the Impala, opening the trunk and shuffling stuff around.
"Dean?"
"Just a sec!"
He found the shiny shoes under the crossbow, and rapidly undid his booths to put them on.
"You are not serious."
Sam sounded incredulous. Dean scowled.
"Hey. I've had them forever, they are comfortable. And I hate those shoes."
Sam's too long arms shot up in the air.
"I just can't believe that we are related sometimes!"
Dean smirked because the feeling was mutual way too often.
"Whatever. Come on."
He closed the trunk and it sounded like a good bye.
The End.