fic: every road takes us farther from home
every road takes us farther from home
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; 350 words
Once a sinner, always a sinner.
For auroraprimavera. I know this probably isn't the most cheerful thing in the world, but I thought it might help. Also, I have no idea why I'm suddenly unable to write in season six.
~*~
Sam tries to touch Dean a month after he claws himself out of the ground, but Dean flinches, backs away. Sam thinks maybe Dean wants to take it slow, tries his hand on Dean's arm instead of his knee, but he recoils again. Dean says things like no, we can't, and I've changed; we can't do this anymore, Sammy. Sam doesn't understand it, even though he tries to, tries to make himself think like Dean and get in Dean's head, but he can't. So he lives with it, even though it feels like his insides are slowly being torn apart.
There used to be lots of casual touches between them: the not-quite-gentle slap on Sam's face every morning that woke him up, the brush or bump of their knees while Dean drove, a pat on the back every now and then, but there's none of that now. He tries to comfort Sam, even though Dean's the one that needs it, but his words fall short-he's never been good with them. Dean makes small talk on the road: we could really use a break from this, huh? and gonna stop soon, I'm getting hungry and turn that shit off; The Shins are such posers. Don't desecrate my baby with them.
A few miles past the exit, after they've driven on the bumpy dirt road, there's a stoplight, but the intersection is empty. Out of habit, Sam puts his hand on Dean's thigh, turns his head, kisses him on the mouth, long and soft and wanting, but then Dean pushes him away. "I said no. Jesus." There's a face Sam makes (his puppy dog face), and Dean claims it never works on him, but it does, and Sam widens his eyes, looking sad and hurt, but Dean just licks his lips and speeds through the green light. Hell's hardened him, made him different; once a sinner, always a sinner, and he shouldn't have reason to stop now, but maybe he's right. Maybe this is who Dean is now: cold and detached; no longer good at giving comfort and hope.
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; 350 words
Once a sinner, always a sinner.
For auroraprimavera. I know this probably isn't the most cheerful thing in the world, but I thought it might help. Also, I have no idea why I'm suddenly unable to write in season six.
~*~
Sam tries to touch Dean a month after he claws himself out of the ground, but Dean flinches, backs away. Sam thinks maybe Dean wants to take it slow, tries his hand on Dean's arm instead of his knee, but he recoils again. Dean says things like no, we can't, and I've changed; we can't do this anymore, Sammy. Sam doesn't understand it, even though he tries to, tries to make himself think like Dean and get in Dean's head, but he can't. So he lives with it, even though it feels like his insides are slowly being torn apart.
There used to be lots of casual touches between them: the not-quite-gentle slap on Sam's face every morning that woke him up, the brush or bump of their knees while Dean drove, a pat on the back every now and then, but there's none of that now. He tries to comfort Sam, even though Dean's the one that needs it, but his words fall short-he's never been good with them. Dean makes small talk on the road: we could really use a break from this, huh? and gonna stop soon, I'm getting hungry and turn that shit off; The Shins are such posers. Don't desecrate my baby with them.
A few miles past the exit, after they've driven on the bumpy dirt road, there's a stoplight, but the intersection is empty. Out of habit, Sam puts his hand on Dean's thigh, turns his head, kisses him on the mouth, long and soft and wanting, but then Dean pushes him away. "I said no. Jesus." There's a face Sam makes (his puppy dog face), and Dean claims it never works on him, but it does, and Sam widens his eyes, looking sad and hurt, but Dean just licks his lips and speeds through the green light. Hell's hardened him, made him different; once a sinner, always a sinner, and he shouldn't have reason to stop now, but maybe he's right. Maybe this is who Dean is now: cold and detached; no longer good at giving comfort and hope.