I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine.

[lithiumlaughter]

Now I know I'm working on larger fic projects -- the one with all my boys, the next segment of the 919 universe, the fic I've owed airo25  for forever -- but I've kind of hit a wall with 'em right now.

Kelly is offering ficlets as presents over at her journal, and it struck me that doing something like that  would not only an awesome way to give little

Comments

[lithiumlaughter]

The habit, as Dean called it, began when Sam left the ‘family business’ and went to go hack it in the so-called real world.
Dad had been furious, Dean would never admit to feeling hurt, and Sam didn’t appear to give a damn as he went on his way leaving what passed for normal in the Winchester family to adjust itself to the new circumstances. Dean picked up the slack and became even more the army of one that Dad demanded he be, and he learned to deal with Dad and the crusade by himself. Life went on.
The habit itself reared its ugly head every time Sam’s birthday rolled around. Now Dean wasn’t a writer - Sammy had always been better at that kind of thing - but each May he would have the weirdest urge to sit down and scribble a letter to his brother on crappy motel stationary.
Every year he would ask himself exactly what he’d write. Every year he would draft a letter out in his head, and every year it always came out sounding pretty much the same.
Sam,
Miss you. Been busy. Sucks not having you around. Still pissed that you left us. Miss you. You better be doing okay or else I’ll kick your ass. You better not be getting soft either or I’ll kick your ass for that too. I may end up kicking your ass just because anyhow. It’s weird without you around. Miss you. Dad’s Dad. We’ve been taking on the usual crap. It’d be better if we had a third set of hands. Miss you.
-Dean
He would never actually get to the point of putting the words to paper and sending them off. They always sounded stupid, and just not right. How could you wish someone the best while wanting to smack them around? You couldn’t. Not without sounding like a colossal douche bag, anyhow, and Dean was all but sure that Sam had slapped him with that label a while ago now. He didn’t need to send dumbass letters that weren’t even very good in the first place to go and prove the point.
So Dean always ended up managing to convince himself that there was no way he’d be able to write what he actually meant, and that it wasn’t as if Sam would want to read anything he’d have to say in the first place.
For the rest of the year, it wouldn’t matter. For a few days at the start of start of each May though, it would matter a hell of a lot as the letter would be drafted out and go profoundly unwritten. It was easier that way. Better. Keeping the ties cut was best for everyone.
Every year though, the letter would begin:
Sam,
Miss you...

[xenokattz]

*loves it & hugs it & cuddles it & squeezes it & calls it Bob*

Thank you SO much! It almost comes full circle with what Dean's going through right now.

[lithiumlaughter]

Well, now that it's been NAMED...:)

You are so very, very welcome. It was tricky to mess around with Dean (I CAN ONLY WISH AND DIRTY I KNOW HUSH), but so interesting. Plus, that Woodpigeon song is FANTASTIC. Thanks for introducing me to it.