Untitled #7 (Gen, G)
Title: Untitled #7
Rating: G
Category: Gen oneshot
Word Count: 621
Characters: Dean and Sam
Spoilers: S2: "All Hell Breaks Loose: Part I & II"
Summary: It's one night during the last week.
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: Because everybody and their cat seems to have written something about Dean's last year/week/day. This is my contribution. Flocked, yes, but it's still my two cents--right?
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
A week. Growing smaller by every tick of the clock, dwindling with their every breath and their every scared heartbeat. No closer to salvation for a soul than when they started. The only knowledge they have now is that Hell bleeds and burns more than they knew. That is all they've gathered in this last--final--year. No comfort. Only fear.
The room is dark, only light is the muted blue of the moon peeking through parted curtains, and Sam lies awake as he always does now. Doesn't even know if he can sleep anymore. Too afraid that one night Dean will just walk out and leave him to greet the hellhounds with open arms in a field so far away.
Against the roof and window glass, raindrops splash, pitter-patter slowly. The beginning roll of the storm that will come to claim Dean. Sam can no more stop the storm than he can stop Dean's death.
In his bed, fingers twisted in the sheets, Sam stares at Dean's back, thinking him asleep, thinking him finding reprieve for at least a few moments--not spent in Hell--in dreams of now. Then Dean's neck, shoulders clothed in gray t-shirt, shudder and twitch, and Sam knows there is no solace to be found tonight.
He swings his legs from beneath his blankets and pads over to Dean's bed. Touches his brother's shoulder and says, "Hey."
Dean flinches, startled, and his eyes are wide, perfectly awake when he whispers, "Sam?" It's a hiccup, a pinched sob he's fighting back.
"Move over," Sam says, and Dean does so that Sam can clamber, all long limbs and ungraceful steps in the dark, onto the bed beside him. So they can lie on the bed, on their backs, barely touching and staring at the ceiling as if they can see through the plaster and paint, through the thick clouds and falling rain straight to Heaven.
They remain in silence until Dean, always the big brother even now--now in spite of it all crashing down so quickly--asks, "You okay, Sammy?"
Sam snorts. Dry and dimissive, and his voice cracks when he replies, "I've been better."
"Me too," Dean says. Sighs. "Me too."
There's a flash of light outside--a passing car on the street--and Dean shifts and wipes at his tired eyes.
"Do you..." Sam begins. Stops to gather himself and wonders if he has the right to ask. But if he has no right now, then he will never ask, so he tries again. "Do you ever regret coming to get me at Stanford?"
Dean turns his head, eyebrows brought together in sudden confusion and he says, "What is that supposed to mean?"
Sam averts his eyes and fumbles, plays with a loose thread on the motel blankets. "I was just thinking...if you hadn't come to Stanford, Dad would still be alive. Caleb and Pastor Jim too. The demon wouldn't have come after us. Jake wouldn't have gotten me. And you--this wouldn't be happening."
Dean stays silent before he sighs and says, "You're right. None of that would've happened." He pauses, and Sam waits for it. Waits to hear the regret Dean holds, and then Dean speaks. "But if I had to do it all again? Wouldn't change a thing. You...you're my brother, and I...I got you back, Sammy. I got you."
Sam closes his eyes. Can't stop the water hot behind his lids now. "You can't leave me," he whispers, broken and ragged. He wipes at his face with the corner of his sleeve.
Next to him, Dean sighs, breathes, and his hand that settles, clutches tightly Sam's wrist is strong and reassuring but. But already, too early, cold in its touch.
The sound of rain on the rooftop fills in the silence between them.
End
Rating: G
Category: Gen oneshot
Word Count: 621
Characters: Dean and Sam
Spoilers: S2: "All Hell Breaks Loose: Part I & II"
Summary: It's one night during the last week.
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: Because everybody and their cat seems to have written something about Dean's last year/week/day. This is my contribution. Flocked, yes, but it's still my two cents--right?
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
A week. Growing smaller by every tick of the clock, dwindling with their every breath and their every scared heartbeat. No closer to salvation for a soul than when they started. The only knowledge they have now is that Hell bleeds and burns more than they knew. That is all they've gathered in this last--final--year. No comfort. Only fear.
The room is dark, only light is the muted blue of the moon peeking through parted curtains, and Sam lies awake as he always does now. Doesn't even know if he can sleep anymore. Too afraid that one night Dean will just walk out and leave him to greet the hellhounds with open arms in a field so far away.
Against the roof and window glass, raindrops splash, pitter-patter slowly. The beginning roll of the storm that will come to claim Dean. Sam can no more stop the storm than he can stop Dean's death.
In his bed, fingers twisted in the sheets, Sam stares at Dean's back, thinking him asleep, thinking him finding reprieve for at least a few moments--not spent in Hell--in dreams of now. Then Dean's neck, shoulders clothed in gray t-shirt, shudder and twitch, and Sam knows there is no solace to be found tonight.
He swings his legs from beneath his blankets and pads over to Dean's bed. Touches his brother's shoulder and says, "Hey."
Dean flinches, startled, and his eyes are wide, perfectly awake when he whispers, "Sam?" It's a hiccup, a pinched sob he's fighting back.
"Move over," Sam says, and Dean does so that Sam can clamber, all long limbs and ungraceful steps in the dark, onto the bed beside him. So they can lie on the bed, on their backs, barely touching and staring at the ceiling as if they can see through the plaster and paint, through the thick clouds and falling rain straight to Heaven.
They remain in silence until Dean, always the big brother even now--now in spite of it all crashing down so quickly--asks, "You okay, Sammy?"
Sam snorts. Dry and dimissive, and his voice cracks when he replies, "I've been better."
"Me too," Dean says. Sighs. "Me too."
There's a flash of light outside--a passing car on the street--and Dean shifts and wipes at his tired eyes.
"Do you..." Sam begins. Stops to gather himself and wonders if he has the right to ask. But if he has no right now, then he will never ask, so he tries again. "Do you ever regret coming to get me at Stanford?"
Dean turns his head, eyebrows brought together in sudden confusion and he says, "What is that supposed to mean?"
Sam averts his eyes and fumbles, plays with a loose thread on the motel blankets. "I was just thinking...if you hadn't come to Stanford, Dad would still be alive. Caleb and Pastor Jim too. The demon wouldn't have come after us. Jake wouldn't have gotten me. And you--this wouldn't be happening."
Dean stays silent before he sighs and says, "You're right. None of that would've happened." He pauses, and Sam waits for it. Waits to hear the regret Dean holds, and then Dean speaks. "But if I had to do it all again? Wouldn't change a thing. You...you're my brother, and I...I got you back, Sammy. I got you."
Sam closes his eyes. Can't stop the water hot behind his lids now. "You can't leave me," he whispers, broken and ragged. He wipes at his face with the corner of his sleeve.
Next to him, Dean sighs, breathes, and his hand that settles, clutches tightly Sam's wrist is strong and reassuring but. But already, too early, cold in its touch.
The sound of rain on the rooftop fills in the silence between them.
End