Guess what day it is? Comment-fic day!
Once again, it's everyone's favourite day in Supernatural: May 2nd! You know what that means, right? Time to hurt Sam! ;)
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
Sam was ignoring him, rubbing one big finger down the ridiculously tiny kitten's spine, his mouth curling up at the side and it mewled and arched under his touch, baring its tiny round kitten belly with its down-soft fur, batting playfully at his hands with retraced claws when he tickled its belly.
Six months later and Scratch is bigger than the handful she'd been then, but still small enough for Sam to pick her up in pretty much one hand, and small enough for her to sleep in small warm spaces like the soft hollow of Sam's throat.
Dean walks into the room further and stops by the couch, looking down at them. It's working, by some miracle; Sam's sleeping these days, he's relaxing; the tight look is gone from his eyes and he doesn't startle in crowds and he lets Dean near him and smiles at him and calls him a fucking disgusting excuse for a human being when Dean lets the washing pile up for three days and Dean feels his eyes rake over him when Dean comes out of the shower in ways he hadn't for longer than Dean could remember.
But they still don't touch, really. Sometimes Sam comes in to sleep in Dean's room - what was their room - but he stays a clearly marked body's space away from Dean, and when Dean's hand lingers too long from a pat on the shoulder or back, he still starts to tense up, even though Dean knows he's fighting it.
But it's getting better.
"Happy birthday, Sammy," he says quietly, standing over the couch like a creeper. He thinks Sam's asleep from the steady rise and fall of his chest - making Scratch shift slightly each time, ears twitching again - but Sam's eyes blink open.
"Mmm," he says. "Morning, Dean."
"It's four PM," says Dean.
"Whatever. It's my birthday. It can be moring if I say it is."
"Whatever you say, Princess."
Then Sam startles Dean badly by reaching up with the hand that was flung over his head, and catching on to Dean's wrist. Sam looks slightly surprised at the motion, too, but he holds on firmly and his face relaxes, like - like it feels okay.
He tugs slightly. "C'mere," he says.
"Er--" says Dean, standing there like a lemon.
Sam scowls, and starts to sit up, removing Scratch to his lap with one hand and using the other to pull Dean down to sit on the couch. Then Sam settles back down, head in Dean's lap, eyes falling closed and face turned into Dean, sharp nose pressing into Dean's belly.
"God," Sam murmurs. "Relax. You're a fucking awful pillow."
Dean huffs a laugh, and relaxes, Sam's head shifting as Dean's thighs lose their tension.
Dean eyes Scratch warily. She blinks sleepily at him, like she's saying, 'If Sam weren't here, I'd live up to my name, but we both know he's more important than our feud."
He nods solemnly.
The End.
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*_*
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That is everything I wanted and more. I cannot get enough of gradual recovery and convalescence fics. With cats. And Dean and Sam having to pine for each other and Dean being awesome and things getting better. And curtain fic.
THAANKKK YOUUUUU!
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skdhalkdhalk
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nice and sweet.
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Shmoop. I love the shmoop. It's all cuddley and warm and furry and purring and has Sammy and Dean so damn desperate to heal his brother and having to take agonizing baby steps doing it. But it's SO GOOD.
And this: even though Sam knows Dean won't hurt him - would never fucking hurt him, would hurt anything that ever tried, let them goddamn try - even though Sam knows all that, his body doesn't.
This isn't shmoop. This is fucking heartbreaking! And beautiful.
And there's a cat. A believably snuggly & feisty all at once cat. What could be better?
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