For the Ocelot p.2maychorianAugust 29 2009, 12:56:22 UTC
"Mm'kay." Dean stared at something over Sam's right shoulder, gone again. "We got any strawb'rry jam? Need a sandwich."
"You hungry?" Sam tilted his head, incredulous. Since the fever started Dean hadn't been interested in food at all.
"Nooo," Dean drawled, chuckling breathily at the joke. "Just need a sandwich, s'all. For the ocelot."
Right, for the ocelot. Sam took a shaky breath and sat back, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded. He'd never seen Dean so out of it. He'd never missed his dad so much.
He'd never felt so alone.
"Dean, I don't think there's an ocelot anywhere in this motel," he said instead, as slowly and calmly as he could. "It's kinda the wrong part of the world. You hearing me, Dean?"
Dean blinked at him. "Ocelot? What you talkin' 'bout, man?"
Never let it be said that Sam was a stupid kid. He was starting to see a pattern here. As long he said Dean's name a lot, his big brother roused himself, kept his awareness as present as possible. Probably because he thought Sam needed him. Well, he wasn't wrong.
Sam gave him a shaky smile. "Don't ask me, Dean. You were the one going on about ocelots and jam and sandwiches. Does that sound familiar, Dean?"
"Geek," Dean said fondly. "You were the one who thought ocelots were the coolest thing ever when you saw that documentary."
"Sure, Dean. Whatever you say."
It was a little awkward, saying his name so much. But Sam fell into the pattern right quick. Anything to keep his brother with him, listening, alive. Dad wasn't here and Sam needed Dean awake, that was all.
Dean fell into an exhausted slumber just as the gray-yellow sunrise started seeping in through the motel blinds, and Sam faded down soon afterward, still sitting by the bed, his head and shoulders draped over Dean's too-warm abdomen. Sometime later a big hand shook his shoulder, rousing him, and Sam stumbled back to wakefulness.
"Mm'kay." Dean stared at something over Sam's right shoulder, gone again. "We got any strawb'rry jam? Need a sandwich."
"You hungry?" Sam tilted his head, incredulous. Since the fever started Dean hadn't been interested in food at all.
"Nooo," Dean drawled, chuckling breathily at the joke. "Just need a sandwich, s'all. For the ocelot."
Right, for the ocelot. Sam took a shaky breath and sat back, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded. He'd never seen Dean so out of it. He'd never missed his dad so much.
He'd never felt so alone.
"Dean, I don't think there's an ocelot anywhere in this motel," he said instead, as slowly and calmly as he could. "It's kinda the wrong part of the world. You hearing me, Dean?"
Dean blinked at him. "Ocelot? What you talkin' 'bout, man?"
Never let it be said that Sam was a stupid kid. He was starting to see a pattern here. As long he said Dean's name a lot, his big brother roused himself, kept his awareness as present as possible. Probably because he thought Sam needed him. Well, he wasn't wrong.
Sam gave him a shaky smile. "Don't ask me, Dean. You were the one going on about ocelots and jam and sandwiches. Does that sound familiar, Dean?"
"Geek," Dean said fondly. "You were the one who thought ocelots were the coolest thing ever when you saw that documentary."
"Sure, Dean. Whatever you say."
It was a little awkward, saying his name so much. But Sam fell into the pattern right quick. Anything to keep his brother with him, listening, alive. Dad wasn't here and Sam needed Dean awake, that was all.
Dean fell into an exhausted slumber just as the gray-yellow sunrise started seeping in through the motel blinds, and Sam faded down soon afterward, still sitting by the bed, his head and shoulders draped over Dean's too-warm abdomen. Sometime later a big hand shook his shoulder, rousing him, and Sam stumbled back to wakefulness.
And the first word out of his mouth was, "Dean."
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Right, for the ocelot.
-laughing- I love this!! And poor, desperate Sam! This was so well put together. ♥
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