[fic] nutkin: Driving Down the Darkness
[ Sam/Dean ]
Title: Driving Down the Darkness
Writer: nutkin
Alternate links: AO3
Status of work: complete
Characters and/or pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings, kinks & contents:[Click to read]none listed
Length: 40,000 words
Summary: a coda to season one
Reccer's notes: Whenever someone asks me what Supernatural is about, I always tell them that it's a story about two brothers who set out in search of their father, and wind up finding each other in the process. Of course, a lot of other stuff happens in the meantime, but boil down season one for me and that's it. This fic absolutely nails it, shows us all the ways that Sam and Dean are on an inevitable collision course. It's a blend of what we see in the episodes and what happens in between them. Canon is stitched perfectly into the fic, not too much and not too little. Lovely writing, insightful characterizations, and awesome character voices, it's the kind of fic that you want to curl up and spend an afternoon with.
[Short excerpt](Note: set after the events of 'Faith')
In all his vague acceptance that death might come for him, he never stopped to think about what he might leave behind. He's got another good twenty to thirty years before his midlife crisis comes knocking, so it's never been much of an issue. Yeah, he lives his own life. Yeah, he fucks around. You have to find your pleasure where you get it when you live by the sword.
But when he saw death coming, when time seemed to splinter and dance blue sparks across the water, what flashed in front of him wasn't his whole life. It wasn't the good and the bad, the people he's saved and the battles he's won, his sins and lies and wrong-doings.
It was just Sam.
Like looking at photographs, he could remember the two of them chasing each other through roadside fields, playing cowboys and Indians and shooting cans on fences. Wading in muddy rivers and hopping between weeds in sidewalk cracks so their feet didn't burn. Corner store Slurpees, lips stained blue with syrup. All the punched shoulders, all the noogies, all the late-night whispered conversations alone in the car and motel beds. Eighteen summers, eighteen springs, splashing in puddles and having each other's backs.
That's what his mind found to remember; that's what his life was all about.