*scratches head*
Oh god... I must be insane. Seriously. I just claimed a second story to do art for at spn_j2_bigbang.
*flail*
ETA:
It's mine!
spn s22.
Title: The Year of Letting Go
Summary: A hunt gone wrong six months before his deal comes due leaves Dean unable to see or hear and Sam to try to cope with Dean's unfamiliar vulnerability, as well as his own conflicted feelings for his brother.
(Far Road Motel, seven weeks after)
Dean's the only one he wants, and the only one he knows he can't have. Except now, in a sense, Sam can. Not physically, he'd never take advantage. But Sam can look with impunity, drink his brother in -- not in furtive clandestine glances like before, but long luxurious gulps, until he feels drunk on the way Dean's green eyes catch the afternoon sun spilling through the open window through tattered lace curtains . Dean's lashes are so long and thick Sam can see them in profile, watch them flutter closed against Dean's freckled cheeks as he lets the warmth pink his pale skin. Dean loves the sun now. Loves that he can *feel* it, and he'll move with it as it shifts, chasing the beams of light as they slowly traverse the room. He turns his face into it, extends an arm and lets it heat the back of his hand. Simple things, life honed down to smell and taste and touch. Dean's always been a tactile person, but now these are what define his world and he's learning to savor them, let them sink in the way the rest of us listen to the words of a favorite song or stare enraptured at a sunset. It's summer, just past the Fourth of July, and how weird was that to watch the fireworks through the motel window and flinch at the explosions while Dean sat still and oblivious, until Sam had to turn away before the tears came.
\o/
*flail*
ETA:
It's mine!
spn s22.
Title: The Year of Letting Go
Summary: A hunt gone wrong six months before his deal comes due leaves Dean unable to see or hear and Sam to try to cope with Dean's unfamiliar vulnerability, as well as his own conflicted feelings for his brother.
(Far Road Motel, seven weeks after)
Dean's the only one he wants, and the only one he knows he can't have. Except now, in a sense, Sam can. Not physically, he'd never take advantage. But Sam can look with impunity, drink his brother in -- not in furtive clandestine glances like before, but long luxurious gulps, until he feels drunk on the way Dean's green eyes catch the afternoon sun spilling through the open window through tattered lace curtains . Dean's lashes are so long and thick Sam can see them in profile, watch them flutter closed against Dean's freckled cheeks as he lets the warmth pink his pale skin. Dean loves the sun now. Loves that he can *feel* it, and he'll move with it as it shifts, chasing the beams of light as they slowly traverse the room. He turns his face into it, extends an arm and lets it heat the back of his hand. Simple things, life honed down to smell and taste and touch. Dean's always been a tactile person, but now these are what define his world and he's learning to savor them, let them sink in the way the rest of us listen to the words of a favorite song or stare enraptured at a sunset. It's summer, just past the Fourth of July, and how weird was that to watch the fireworks through the motel window and flinch at the explosions while Dean sat still and oblivious, until Sam had to turn away before the tears came.
\o/