RE: FILL: part 2runedgirlFebruary 4 2020, 02:39:53 UTC
By the time he was in third grade, Sam was doing it as a joke. Dean started punching him the arm instead of hugging him by the time Sam was in middle school, but Sam still caught glimpses of them in Dean’s duffle every now and then. When Dean was in high school, he got plenty of cards from the girls he took out, but when he came home he still tackled Sam demanding “where’s my card, bitch” until Sam turned it over, both of them laughing. It became a contest to see how inappropriately romantic the card could be, and Dean would make a face and go “ewwww” but even the one that you opened and it played that awful song from Titanic made it into his duffle for a few days at least.
Once or twice, Dean even reciprocated, offering Sam the half-eaten heart of a slaughtered zombie creature with a coy “Be my Valentine?” on a February 13th hunt. His brother was a dick like that.
Sam found himself smiling despite himself. He had no idea where Dean and Dad were, or where to send a card even if he wanted to. Probably best that the tradition stopped, since Sam couldn’t say with certainty that he hadn’t meant exactly what a few of those most recent inappropriate cards said. It was part of why he’d been determined to leave. There were times, too, when he wasn’t sure that Dean hadn’t felt the same way.
Sam shook his head. That was wishful thinking. Sam wasn’t sure Dean would even want to hear from him now.
The door swung open and Nate burst in, flushed and slightly inebriated.
“Dude, they had beer at the student center party?” George asked from the top bunk.
“Nah, I stopped by somebody else’s room on my way back, door was open.”
Nate threw his backpack on the bed and pulled a few papers from it. “That Maria girl really has it bad for you,” he said, tossing a few more cards up to George.
Sam rolled his eyes where George couldn’t see him.
“Oh, and this was in your mailbox, Winchester. Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
He tossed Sam a card.
“Probably just got put in the wrong mailbox,” Sam said to George’s inquisitive look as he hung over the side of the top bunk again.
‘Open it!” George insisted.
Sam sighed, turned it over to look at the front. His heart pounded double time at his name in the familiar scrawl.
“No way,” he whispered, completely forgetting his curious roommates. He ripped open the envelope and drew out the card, throat going dry. Unfolded the pink construction paper heart with his name in red crayon on the front with trembling fingers. When he turned it over, there were two words written there: Be mine?
RE: FILL: part 2riykuFebruary 5 2020, 02:20:04 UTC
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*deep breath*
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
this is beautiful. immediate and a little hurty and put such a big smile on my face.
this: He tries not to think of Dean too often. It only makes his absence harder. oh sam's angsty, angsty heart. yesssss.
i love the image of sam, kinda quiet and mourning his brother despite himself, mourning their traditions, as his dorm mates joke and have fun around him.
then be mine, in nostalgic red crayon. perfect. of course dean would come through. sam's brother always comes through. thank you so much for writing this. i adore it so, so much. ♥
Once or twice, Dean even reciprocated, offering Sam the half-eaten heart of a slaughtered zombie creature with a coy “Be my Valentine?” on a February 13th hunt. His brother was a dick like that.
Sam found himself smiling despite himself. He had no idea where Dean and Dad were, or where to send a card even if he wanted to. Probably best that the tradition stopped, since Sam couldn’t say with certainty that he hadn’t meant exactly what a few of those most recent inappropriate cards said. It was part of why he’d been determined to leave. There were times, too, when he wasn’t sure that Dean hadn’t felt the same way.
Sam shook his head. That was wishful thinking. Sam wasn’t sure Dean would even want to hear from him now.
The door swung open and Nate burst in, flushed and slightly inebriated.
“Dude, they had beer at the student center party?” George asked from the top bunk.
“Nah, I stopped by somebody else’s room on my way back, door was open.”
Nate threw his backpack on the bed and pulled a few papers from it. “That Maria girl really has it bad for you,” he said, tossing a few more cards up to George.
Sam rolled his eyes where George couldn’t see him.
“Oh, and this was in your mailbox, Winchester. Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
He tossed Sam a card.
“Probably just got put in the wrong mailbox,” Sam said to George’s inquisitive look as he hung over the side of the top bunk again.
‘Open it!” George insisted.
Sam sighed, turned it over to look at the front. His heart pounded double time at his name in the familiar scrawl.
“No way,” he whispered, completely forgetting his curious roommates. He ripped open the envelope and drew out the card, throat going dry. Unfolded the pink construction paper heart with his name in red crayon on the front with trembling fingers. When he turned it over, there were two words written there: Be mine?
Sam picked up the phone.
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Dean tackling Sam and asking "where's my card, Bitch?" is so very DEAN I laughed out loud.
AND THEN, then you went and wincested my heart into oblivion with all the angsty Stanford feels and the last three sentences.
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(*quietly rends my garments in agony*)
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*deep breath*
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
this is beautiful. immediate and a little hurty and put such a big smile on my face.
this: He tries not to think of Dean too often. It only makes his absence harder. oh sam's angsty, angsty heart. yesssss.
i love the image of sam, kinda quiet and mourning his brother despite himself, mourning their traditions, as his dorm mates joke and have fun around him.
then be mine, in nostalgic red crayon. perfect. of course dean would come through. sam's brother always comes through. thank you so much for writing this. i adore it so, so much. ♥
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💗😍
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