SPN: The Time You Have (Sam/Dean) PG-13
Title: The Time You Have
Author: shealynn88
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~900
Characters: Dean/Sam
Spoilers: S2 Finale
Summary: Dean is living the fantasy to forget the reality. Sam would rather use the time they have.
For nevcolleil
It's the third night this week that Dean has told him to take a hike. Why they still try to share the same hotel room, Sam doesn't know. Part of it's money, which they're always short on, but it's more than that. Some sense that they should be spending this time together, maybe, when it looks like there's so little of it left.
He reads the paper, drinks another cup of coffee, and finally tries to nod off in the tipped-back passenger seat of the impala. It leaves him rumpled, with a crick in his back and pins-and-needles in his foot. What it doesn't leave him is well rested.
Dean, of course, is ridiculously cheerful when he knocks on the window and startles Sam out of an uneasy sleep. He moves around the car, oblivious, and plops into the driver's seat.
“C'mon, Sammy, it's time for breakfast!”
Sam glares at him and Dean shrugs unapologetically. “What? I worked up an appetite.”
“Does it ever occur to you that there are other things to think about?” Sam asks, trying to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt as Dean pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward the diner.
Dean snorts derisively. “Like what? We're still hunting, Sammy. I'm just...taking some time to smell the roses, you know?”
“The roses?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
Dean grins. “They're all roses, Sammy, when you've got 'em down with your face--”
“Dean!” Sam cuts him off and Dean laughs at his discomfort.
Now isn't the time to discuss the pain that's been knotting in his stomach for days, or the anger that's boiling just below the surface.
But it isn't just now, is it? With Dean, there's never a good time to talk about this kind of thing. If it were up to him, they'd just hunt and get laid, and everything else would be left to sort itself out. But Sam doesn't work that way. He never has.
“You don't have all the time in the world, Dean.” Sam keeps his voice quiet, half hoping Dean won't hear him.
Dean's sudden stillness tells Sam he did. “Sammy, we talked about this. There's nothing you can do. I did what had to be done, and that's that. Just...just leave it.”
There's a long moment of silence where Sam stops himself from telling Dean how selfish, how cruel, how self centered and shallow he is. But where does he start? And what's the point, really?
“If I'm important enough to die for, why won't you be with me now? While you can?”
Dean is still again. The angry kind of still. “I don't want to talk about this, Sammy.”
“Well, I do.”
“Too bad.”
“Do you blame me for this? Is this my fault?”
“I'm not doing this.”
“Or is it just that the sight of me reminds you of the deal?”
“Sam, I swear to God--”
“What? You'll hit me? Please. You haven't laid a hand on me since you brought me back. You can't stand to touch me.
"Or were you going to go with something else? Threaten to leave, maybe? To start walking and never look back?" Sam's hands form fists and press into his thighs. "Screw you, Dean. You've already done that, and it already hurts, and you can try for something worse, but I think you set the bar a little too high, too early.”
Dean pulls the car into the grass, and Sam knows he must be really pissed. He never drives the impala off road if he can avoid it.
“You're as stupid as they come, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. He's far too calm, and Sam waits for him to get loud. That's the Dean he knows how to handle.
He doesn't. “If I think about...losing you...” Dean closes his eyes, still utterly calm. Opens them again and speaks slowly. “I won't be able to do my job, which is to kill as many of these fuckers as I can before my time is up. It's what dad would want me to do, and it's what I'm going to do. I know you don't understand, and I don't expect you to. But if I--” his voice breaks, once, and he clears his throat to cover it.
“I can't...we can't be what we were, Sammy. I think that I'm taking this pretty well, so far, okay? So just...let me do it my way.”
It's always been easier to show Dean than to tell him. All Sam can do is try. “Dean.”
He reaches out tentatively, and Dean flinches away, then sighs, shoulders falling.
He looks defeated. “Sammy...” And Sam reaches out again and touches Dean's face lightly, reverently, until the calm crumbles and something else emerges.
Agony. Horror. Fear. “Sam, please,” Dean whispers, trying to pull away, and then Sam is crawling over the gear shaft and pressing into the now-tangible pain.
“I won't let them take you,” he promises as Dean's hands dig into his ribs desperately. “You're mine,” he whispers, and he digs back, fingers into Dean's shoulder and neck, dragging and pulling and holding.
“You're mine,” he says again, and Dean's not trying to push him away anymore.
Mine, he says with lips against Dean's cheek, throat, mouth. Mine, he says, with hands against skin and wound in hair and pulling in that way that makes Dean's breath come harsh and ragged.
“Lets skip breakfast,” he whispers, and Dean nods.
It's not enough. Nothing but forever will be. But it's something, and Dean is his, and Sam has months, still, to find a way to keep him.
Author: shealynn88
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~900
Characters: Dean/Sam
Spoilers: S2 Finale
Summary: Dean is living the fantasy to forget the reality. Sam would rather use the time they have.
For nevcolleil
It's the third night this week that Dean has told him to take a hike. Why they still try to share the same hotel room, Sam doesn't know. Part of it's money, which they're always short on, but it's more than that. Some sense that they should be spending this time together, maybe, when it looks like there's so little of it left.
He reads the paper, drinks another cup of coffee, and finally tries to nod off in the tipped-back passenger seat of the impala. It leaves him rumpled, with a crick in his back and pins-and-needles in his foot. What it doesn't leave him is well rested.
Dean, of course, is ridiculously cheerful when he knocks on the window and startles Sam out of an uneasy sleep. He moves around the car, oblivious, and plops into the driver's seat.
“C'mon, Sammy, it's time for breakfast!”
Sam glares at him and Dean shrugs unapologetically. “What? I worked up an appetite.”
“Does it ever occur to you that there are other things to think about?” Sam asks, trying to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt as Dean pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward the diner.
Dean snorts derisively. “Like what? We're still hunting, Sammy. I'm just...taking some time to smell the roses, you know?”
“The roses?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
Dean grins. “They're all roses, Sammy, when you've got 'em down with your face--”
“Dean!” Sam cuts him off and Dean laughs at his discomfort.
Now isn't the time to discuss the pain that's been knotting in his stomach for days, or the anger that's boiling just below the surface.
But it isn't just now, is it? With Dean, there's never a good time to talk about this kind of thing. If it were up to him, they'd just hunt and get laid, and everything else would be left to sort itself out. But Sam doesn't work that way. He never has.
“You don't have all the time in the world, Dean.” Sam keeps his voice quiet, half hoping Dean won't hear him.
Dean's sudden stillness tells Sam he did. “Sammy, we talked about this. There's nothing you can do. I did what had to be done, and that's that. Just...just leave it.”
There's a long moment of silence where Sam stops himself from telling Dean how selfish, how cruel, how self centered and shallow he is. But where does he start? And what's the point, really?
“If I'm important enough to die for, why won't you be with me now? While you can?”
Dean is still again. The angry kind of still. “I don't want to talk about this, Sammy.”
“Well, I do.”
“Too bad.”
“Do you blame me for this? Is this my fault?”
“I'm not doing this.”
“Or is it just that the sight of me reminds you of the deal?”
“Sam, I swear to God--”
“What? You'll hit me? Please. You haven't laid a hand on me since you brought me back. You can't stand to touch me.
"Or were you going to go with something else? Threaten to leave, maybe? To start walking and never look back?" Sam's hands form fists and press into his thighs. "Screw you, Dean. You've already done that, and it already hurts, and you can try for something worse, but I think you set the bar a little too high, too early.”
Dean pulls the car into the grass, and Sam knows he must be really pissed. He never drives the impala off road if he can avoid it.
“You're as stupid as they come, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. He's far too calm, and Sam waits for him to get loud. That's the Dean he knows how to handle.
He doesn't. “If I think about...losing you...” Dean closes his eyes, still utterly calm. Opens them again and speaks slowly. “I won't be able to do my job, which is to kill as many of these fuckers as I can before my time is up. It's what dad would want me to do, and it's what I'm going to do. I know you don't understand, and I don't expect you to. But if I--” his voice breaks, once, and he clears his throat to cover it.
“I can't...we can't be what we were, Sammy. I think that I'm taking this pretty well, so far, okay? So just...let me do it my way.”
It's always been easier to show Dean than to tell him. All Sam can do is try. “Dean.”
He reaches out tentatively, and Dean flinches away, then sighs, shoulders falling.
He looks defeated. “Sammy...” And Sam reaches out again and touches Dean's face lightly, reverently, until the calm crumbles and something else emerges.
Agony. Horror. Fear. “Sam, please,” Dean whispers, trying to pull away, and then Sam is crawling over the gear shaft and pressing into the now-tangible pain.
“I won't let them take you,” he promises as Dean's hands dig into his ribs desperately. “You're mine,” he whispers, and he digs back, fingers into Dean's shoulder and neck, dragging and pulling and holding.
“You're mine,” he says again, and Dean's not trying to push him away anymore.
Mine, he says with lips against Dean's cheek, throat, mouth. Mine, he says, with hands against skin and wound in hair and pulling in that way that makes Dean's breath come harsh and ragged.
“Lets skip breakfast,” he whispers, and Dean nods.
It's not enough. Nothing but forever will be. But it's something, and Dean is his, and Sam has months, still, to find a way to keep him.