Fic: A Prayer Nailed to a Door
Title: A Prayed Nailed to a Door
Author: mummyluvr314
Rating: G
Pairings: Dean/Nick pre-slash, mentions of Nick/Sarah
Summary: When Nick started sleeping with a stuffed unicorn, Dean went perfume shopping. It totally made sense at the time.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo “aromatherapy” square. Fifth installment in my schmoop_bingo ’verse, but each story can be read alone for now. Title is from “Raining on Sunday” by Keith Urban.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the show or anything. Sad day.
Previous Chapters: Wounded, Jaded, Loved, and Hated || Waiting for that Second Chance || The Future Ahead and the Past Behind || Like a Couple of Kids Just Trying to Save Each Other
Nick slept with a stuffed unicorn. At first, Dean was confused. He believed that he had a right to be confused (and maybe a little angry) about the way the older man chose - night after night - to wrap his arms around the grungy animal instead of the very warm body beside him.
But then Dean started thinking about it. Really thinking. The unicorn had made its first appearance the night he’d shown Nick the box of photo’s he’d gotten from the former vessel’s house. It was old and dirty and threadbare. There were nights when Dean stayed awake and listened to Nick sobbing into the purple mane, gasping out his wife’s name between hiccups.
Dean wasn’t a genius, but he knew what was going on. He’d done the same thing, once upon a time. He’d kept the blanket Sam had been wrapped in the night of fire, hidden it under countless motel pillows, and pulled it out when he was feeling particularly frightened. It had smelled like baby and smoke and their mother. If he closed his eyes and breathed deep, he’d been able to pretend she was there, wrapping her arms around him, telling him it was going to be all right.
The blanket had gone in the trash after the shtriga in Fitchburg. It had lost that comforting feel and smell. Years after that, Dean and stolen his dad’s favorite leather jacket and the old habits had started up again.
So, yeah, Dean knew and he understood, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous of the toy. He was just selfish like that. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, though, besides admitting that he might like Nick a little more than was probably acceptable, especially as the older man was still mourning the family he’d lost.
He still felt like he had to do something. Dean was suffering cold and lonely nights on small motel beds, waiting for Nick to nod off so he could oh-so-subtly wrap himself around the older man like a starfish and pretend that it was solely in the name of comfort.
Every once in a while, early in the morning, he’d catch a whiff of the unicorn. It smelled like mothballs and blood and baby and something so achingly familiar that for a moment the aroma floored him. He knew that smell, even masked as it was by the others. He knew it, and in that moment he knew how he cold help, how he could make it stronger, make sure it never faded.
He went shopping. At a mall. Where there were teenagers and display windows boasting Team Edward merchandise and noisy vendors running after him in the halls begging for a sale.
Dean hated malls. He’d hated them since he was a kid, when his dad had pulled him through the wide glass doors and into the perfume department, where his cheeks had been pinched and previously dormant allergies had acted up. He’d been bustled around and shown off and it had all been pointless because his mom had never gotten a chance to open that birthday present, anyway.
But love made Dean do crazy things - like try to stay in a relationship in suburban Hell, or wander aimlessly through the local mall - and he supposed that funny feeling he got in his gut whenever Nick smiled at him could be classified as love.
The name of the emotion didn’t stop him from getting in and out of that hellhole as fast as possible, though.
Dean sped back to the motel, throwing constant glances at the little plastic bag on the seat beside him. Oh, this was a horrible idea. A horrible, horrible idea. It was stupid and impulsive and would probably only lead to loneliness.
On the other hand, that ratty old unicorn was losing what made it special, and Dean knew how that felt. When the soft smell faded from the fabric, the only thing left would be a memory and the stronger scents. Those weren’t going to be good enough.
He let himself into the room to find Nick sitting on the bed with a bag of chips, watching a large cloud of demon smoke rampage through a jungle on TV. “Rerun,” the older man explained as Dean closed the door. “Where were you?”
The hunter shrugged. “Shopping.”
“For?” Nick asked, finally turning his attention from the screen.
Dean pulled the small box out of the bag and tossed it to his companion, who fumbled for a moment before catching it.
“Perfume?” he asked before turning the box over. His eyes widened as he read the label. “This is…” He looked back up at Dean. “This was Sarah’s. How’d you know?”
“Don’t be mad,” Dean said, “but I sniffed your unicorn. I recognized the brand. My mom used to wear it, and my dad dragged me along to go birthday and Valentine’s shopping every year.”
Nick laughed. “You know, it’s funny. The only reason I ever bought this for Sarah is because it’s the kind my sister used. I had no idea what I was doing, so I went with experience.” He pulled the bottle from the box and stared at it for a long moment before turning his eyes back up to Dean. “Thanks, man.”
Dean shrugged and sat down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth of the other man through their shirts. “Don’t mention it.”
He never saw the unicorn again.
Author: mummyluvr314
Rating: G
Pairings: Dean/Nick pre-slash, mentions of Nick/Sarah
Summary: When Nick started sleeping with a stuffed unicorn, Dean went perfume shopping. It totally made sense at the time.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo “aromatherapy” square. Fifth installment in my schmoop_bingo ’verse, but each story can be read alone for now. Title is from “Raining on Sunday” by Keith Urban.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the show or anything. Sad day.
Previous Chapters: Wounded, Jaded, Loved, and Hated || Waiting for that Second Chance || The Future Ahead and the Past Behind || Like a Couple of Kids Just Trying to Save Each Other
Nick slept with a stuffed unicorn. At first, Dean was confused. He believed that he had a right to be confused (and maybe a little angry) about the way the older man chose - night after night - to wrap his arms around the grungy animal instead of the very warm body beside him.
But then Dean started thinking about it. Really thinking. The unicorn had made its first appearance the night he’d shown Nick the box of photo’s he’d gotten from the former vessel’s house. It was old and dirty and threadbare. There were nights when Dean stayed awake and listened to Nick sobbing into the purple mane, gasping out his wife’s name between hiccups.
Dean wasn’t a genius, but he knew what was going on. He’d done the same thing, once upon a time. He’d kept the blanket Sam had been wrapped in the night of fire, hidden it under countless motel pillows, and pulled it out when he was feeling particularly frightened. It had smelled like baby and smoke and their mother. If he closed his eyes and breathed deep, he’d been able to pretend she was there, wrapping her arms around him, telling him it was going to be all right.
The blanket had gone in the trash after the shtriga in Fitchburg. It had lost that comforting feel and smell. Years after that, Dean and stolen his dad’s favorite leather jacket and the old habits had started up again.
So, yeah, Dean knew and he understood, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous of the toy. He was just selfish like that. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, though, besides admitting that he might like Nick a little more than was probably acceptable, especially as the older man was still mourning the family he’d lost.
He still felt like he had to do something. Dean was suffering cold and lonely nights on small motel beds, waiting for Nick to nod off so he could oh-so-subtly wrap himself around the older man like a starfish and pretend that it was solely in the name of comfort.
Every once in a while, early in the morning, he’d catch a whiff of the unicorn. It smelled like mothballs and blood and baby and something so achingly familiar that for a moment the aroma floored him. He knew that smell, even masked as it was by the others. He knew it, and in that moment he knew how he cold help, how he could make it stronger, make sure it never faded.
He went shopping. At a mall. Where there were teenagers and display windows boasting Team Edward merchandise and noisy vendors running after him in the halls begging for a sale.
Dean hated malls. He’d hated them since he was a kid, when his dad had pulled him through the wide glass doors and into the perfume department, where his cheeks had been pinched and previously dormant allergies had acted up. He’d been bustled around and shown off and it had all been pointless because his mom had never gotten a chance to open that birthday present, anyway.
But love made Dean do crazy things - like try to stay in a relationship in suburban Hell, or wander aimlessly through the local mall - and he supposed that funny feeling he got in his gut whenever Nick smiled at him could be classified as love.
The name of the emotion didn’t stop him from getting in and out of that hellhole as fast as possible, though.
Dean sped back to the motel, throwing constant glances at the little plastic bag on the seat beside him. Oh, this was a horrible idea. A horrible, horrible idea. It was stupid and impulsive and would probably only lead to loneliness.
On the other hand, that ratty old unicorn was losing what made it special, and Dean knew how that felt. When the soft smell faded from the fabric, the only thing left would be a memory and the stronger scents. Those weren’t going to be good enough.
He let himself into the room to find Nick sitting on the bed with a bag of chips, watching a large cloud of demon smoke rampage through a jungle on TV. “Rerun,” the older man explained as Dean closed the door. “Where were you?”
The hunter shrugged. “Shopping.”
“For?” Nick asked, finally turning his attention from the screen.
Dean pulled the small box out of the bag and tossed it to his companion, who fumbled for a moment before catching it.
“Perfume?” he asked before turning the box over. His eyes widened as he read the label. “This is…” He looked back up at Dean. “This was Sarah’s. How’d you know?”
“Don’t be mad,” Dean said, “but I sniffed your unicorn. I recognized the brand. My mom used to wear it, and my dad dragged me along to go birthday and Valentine’s shopping every year.”
Nick laughed. “You know, it’s funny. The only reason I ever bought this for Sarah is because it’s the kind my sister used. I had no idea what I was doing, so I went with experience.” He pulled the bottle from the box and stared at it for a long moment before turning his eyes back up to Dean. “Thanks, man.”
Dean shrugged and sat down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth of the other man through their shirts. “Don’t mention it.”
He never saw the unicorn again.