SPN ficlet - Conviction
Spn (I know, right? Weird.) ficlet written for Thursday Prompts at spnwriterlounge .
It's really nice to be hearing from the boys again.
-'Snick
Title: Conviction
Author: persnickett
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Warnings: none
Word Count: 444
Prompt: Slavery
_____________
Conviction
_____________
Sometimes Dean looks at his brother and thinks maybe nothing really is left to chance.
He looks at Sam, all limbs and oversized hands, and Dean is four years old again. Miniature fingers curl in the fabric of his pyjama top and Dean knows even before his father tells him “Go”, that he is not supposed to let the heat, the screaming, in. Sammy is what matters. He runs.
He’s thirteen, and Sam is staring up at him; eyes wide, sodden hair clinging around his face in slick tendrils like creeping, poisonous vines. Dean has snatched Sam’s life back from the jaws of fire, and now water, and he is raw for days with it. Flayed open, nerves jangling and vulnerable to a world that seems suddenly brighter, sharper. Fierce. Sammy bounces back before Dean does - whole, and safe. And Dean vows, not knowing how true the adolescent words are, that their father will be long dead before he learns that Sam’s heart had stopped for seventeen seconds by the side of that icy run-off pond in Nebraska before Dean got him breathing again.
Twenty-six, and this time it’s Dean on his back, looking up at the shock and the questions melting the aggression out of Sam’s familiar features. A simple matter of a little B&E and Sam got the jump on him. He swears to God Sam wasn’t this damn tall when he left for California, but at least it looks like his kid brother remembers everything Dean taught him. Sam still looks pissed as Dean mutters for Sam to get off of him but there is a wave of something washing through him, making him grin, that Dean will only recognize later, as pride.
Barely over thirty now and already he is one of the rare and few who needn’t take anything on faith. He’s witnessed in the flesh the answers to questions that keep most mortal souls awake at night. Demons, angels. Gods - and they can all go to hell just like he did, as far as Dean is concerned. There’s not a lot left that can make Dean Winchester ponder the concept of belief.
But then he looks at Sam.
Sam looks back with eyes that have seen enough to keep them brim full up on crazy and jacked-up for a lifetime. And Dean knows now, hears it from the lips of angels, and prophets. It is not down to coincidence, nor fluke, nor sheer unadulterated fuck-up, but simply because it is fated, that all of it only serves to leave them drained. Empty.
Vessels.
Sometimes Dean looks at Sam and he actually believes in destiny.
Nothing this cruel could be an accident.
It's really nice to be hearing from the boys again.
-'Snick
Title: Conviction
Author: persnickett
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Warnings: none
Word Count: 444
Prompt: Slavery
_____________
Conviction
_____________
Sometimes Dean looks at his brother and thinks maybe nothing really is left to chance.
He looks at Sam, all limbs and oversized hands, and Dean is four years old again. Miniature fingers curl in the fabric of his pyjama top and Dean knows even before his father tells him “Go”, that he is not supposed to let the heat, the screaming, in. Sammy is what matters. He runs.
He’s thirteen, and Sam is staring up at him; eyes wide, sodden hair clinging around his face in slick tendrils like creeping, poisonous vines. Dean has snatched Sam’s life back from the jaws of fire, and now water, and he is raw for days with it. Flayed open, nerves jangling and vulnerable to a world that seems suddenly brighter, sharper. Fierce. Sammy bounces back before Dean does - whole, and safe. And Dean vows, not knowing how true the adolescent words are, that their father will be long dead before he learns that Sam’s heart had stopped for seventeen seconds by the side of that icy run-off pond in Nebraska before Dean got him breathing again.
Twenty-six, and this time it’s Dean on his back, looking up at the shock and the questions melting the aggression out of Sam’s familiar features. A simple matter of a little B&E and Sam got the jump on him. He swears to God Sam wasn’t this damn tall when he left for California, but at least it looks like his kid brother remembers everything Dean taught him. Sam still looks pissed as Dean mutters for Sam to get off of him but there is a wave of something washing through him, making him grin, that Dean will only recognize later, as pride.
Barely over thirty now and already he is one of the rare and few who needn’t take anything on faith. He’s witnessed in the flesh the answers to questions that keep most mortal souls awake at night. Demons, angels. Gods - and they can all go to hell just like he did, as far as Dean is concerned. There’s not a lot left that can make Dean Winchester ponder the concept of belief.
But then he looks at Sam.
Sam looks back with eyes that have seen enough to keep them brim full up on crazy and jacked-up for a lifetime. And Dean knows now, hears it from the lips of angels, and prophets. It is not down to coincidence, nor fluke, nor sheer unadulterated fuck-up, but simply because it is fated, that all of it only serves to leave them drained. Empty.
Vessels.
Sometimes Dean looks at Sam and he actually believes in destiny.
Nothing this cruel could be an accident.