[30 in 09/10] Morning This Mild

Sep 30, 2010 19:20

thanks to maerhys47, the last piece of the month is s/d. autumn, can't find their way out, h/c [errr, ish] -- i am light on the s/d but i am warming up to it okay! this is an experiment okay!

this has been a long month with lots [and lots] of writing. results-recap-tally and october goals to come. also some songs for deirdre_c. also i have comments & flist to catch up on, fic to beta, and shit to plan. good god yall.

morning this mild
s/d; somewhere mid-series, unspecified
pg13 for themes
700 words
sam and dean make it through a night in the woods, completely unprepared.



A lake, a beach, a chorus of bugs, a clutch of red-leafed trees, and two Winchesters in the dirt without bedrolls, sitting back to back on a wet slab of granite, curves of their skulls fitting into one another. Sam’s hair is keeping Dean’s ears warm. They lean against one another, slipping in and out of sleep. Dean too annoyed to drift off, Sam too uncomfortable.

Sam wants to build something, create a cover to crawl under, have something besides this EMS jacket to hold his body heat, but he knows Dean won’t go for it. Lazy, tired, and would die before lying down next to Sam.

(Because this has happened before: Dean slept in a tree and left Sam under a pile of groundcover to shiver himself to sleep after Sam got too chilled and too handsy.)

The Winchesters have had long nights, but this one leaves every quarter-hour open for scrutiny: have the clouds moved at all? Has the moon slid further on? Is it still getting darker, or has it started getting lighter? Every time Dean shifts, Sam wakes, and every time Sam’s head starts to droop, Dean shifts. Perpetual drifting, calming, jogging a thought, jerking awake. They’re exhausted.

When Sam blinks out of the hours of half-stupor, he’s slumped on his side knees to his chest with Dean draped over his back, sleeping soundly. He squints out over the lake, sees a bloom of pink diluting the night sky. Gritty, chipped tree trunks separate themselves from a smooth-painted nightscape, hand-sized leaves crumbled-brown, heavy with the season and ready to fall. Light reflects across the lake, mirroring the tree line with perfect symmetry.

His ribs ache and it hurts to breathe; wincing, he stretches out underneath Dean, who murmurs and moves with him, curls against his chest, pushing Sam’s jacket out of the way to lay his cheek against Sam’s warm tee-shirt.

Sam bites his lip, tense until the moment of danger has passed them; settles palms on Dean’s back and moves them in slow, dragging circles. Dean’s got to be awake but he doesn’t move, doesn’t resist, doesn’t call Sam a girl. Lies perfectly still, arms tucked into Sam’s chest, breathing even, limbs pliant.

Dean hums a warning when Sam moves a palm up to cup the back his neck; you’re too close, Dean is saying. Feels too good. I don’t like it. Stop touching me. Sam smiles, curls fingers into the short hair at the nape of Dean’s neck and gives a superficial tug, masking it with a scratch. Feels the full-body shudder rock Dean against his side.

“Quit it,” Dean mumbles.

Sam huffs a soft laugh, lets his fingers rest, dug into Dean’s hair. Dean doesn’t argue beyond that point.

They’re damp from yesterday’s rain showers and this morning’s mist as it thickens over the center of the lake and rolls over them. Sam feels soggy right to his skin. All Dean can think about is the way his socks are hot and wet and stuck to his toes. They’ve waited hours for this morning’s light, and now, bathed in it, warmth building up and beaming down even through a hazy cloud cover, neither moves a muscle. It’s been a long tense night of splitting open the tightly clamped stipulations of their brotherhood, and after all that work, Sam for one is not interested in running from it so quickly. Dean agrees, quietly and with his body language, that the bed they’ve made, for now, is worth lying in.

They lie there together, finally settled. When Dean slides a hand under Sam’s jacket, curls fingers under his shirt and brushes tentative fingertips against his ribs, Sam’s only response is a nudge at Dean’s ear with his nose. Dean takes it as permission, shifts into Sam and lets their legs overlap, smiles privately when Sam presses them ever closer together. He can feel it against his stomach every time Sam breathes.

They fall asleep that way, smiling into warm skin, watching the leaves drift down to touch fingers to the lake. The sky keeps on sizzling against the mist that wraps them up.

fic: spn wincest, [30 in 09/10]

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