Not so much a SPN Ficlet as a Vignette
I'm not so sure this actually fits the definition of a ficlet in anything but length as it's a tad lacking in both beginning and end -- it's just a slice of life, Winchester style. Current canon.
pretty much gen but about to drop off the edge of Sam/Dean
PG13
896 words not counting the ridiculous title (I had a different one but decided I like this one better)
In Which Sam Remembers Backstory and Solves Everything
"...and now I'm back." Sam's eyes flared gold as he rolled his shoulders. "Did I gain weight while I was gone? Because I'm sure I wasn't this big when I..." He stopped talking when Dean raised the hand not holding the sawed off shotgun. "What?"
"You're saying you took over Hell?"
Sam shrugged. "It seemed like the logical solution. First, I wanted out. Well, duh." Dimples flashed but Dean's reaction smoothed out the smile. "And I wanted all this Armageddon bullshit to end," he continued wearily. "I mean, what would be the point of my getting out if we were going to go through the last three years over and over and over. I think I'd prefer staying on the rack, you know?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly. "I hear you."
"So while everyone was busy with the..." Sam paused, and his head went up like a hound on a scent. "Is that pizza? Dude, seriously, is there leftover pizza in this room? Because I am starving. I feel like I haven't eaten in months."
Dean bent, careful not to lower the shotgun, and picked up the pizza box from the floor beside his bed. He tried not to flinch back when Sam snatched it from his hand but realized Sam was too busy cramming an entire piece of cold meatlovers into his mouth to notice.
"Oh man, this is so good!"
"Dude!" He brushed a bit of chewed crust off the crappy polyester bedspread. "Say it don't spray it!"
In answer, Sam opened wide, eyes twinkling as he showed Dean a mouthful of half chewed food.
Dean had a little trouble breathing for a moment. When he finally inhaled enough air to speak, he managed only a strangled, "Sammy?"
Sam swallowed and smiled, not the big wide toothy smile, but the smaller, softer one that only Dean ever got to see. "Yeah," he said, "it's me."
Winchester rules permitted hugging upon a return from the dead.
Arms wrapped around Sam's back, fingers clutching his shirt, cheek pressed into his shoulder, Dean didn't think he could let go. "Sammy..."
"I know. I know." One big hand stroked up and down Dean's spine. "I had to get back to you. I had to."
Which was when Dean remembered...
"You took over Hell!" He disengaged, stepping back far enough to reach up and smack Sam on the back of the head. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam hit him with bitch face number six. "I was thinking that it kind of sucked being up on a rack twenty-four seven and that maybe I wanted to get back to my brother. I was thinking that everyone was so busy thinking of me as the vessel of Lucifer, they totally missed the fact..."
"Totally missed the fact," Dean broke in as the lightbulb came on, "that you were the winner in Azazel's who wants to be a Prince of Hell contest."
"Yeah. So I um... I got off the rack and threw my weight around and left a couple of craters...okay, more than a couple." Sam rubbed at the back of his neck and looked a little embarrassed. "I may have lost my temper a bit." His eyes gleamed gold again. "But I'm still me! I swear. Body and soul. Okay, the soul's a little tarnished, but..." His voice trailed off and he stood looking hopefully down at Dean.
Dean thought about the last few weeks with his brother's meatsuit, about the year before that without any part of Sam in his life at all, about the rack, about getting off it. "Tarnished?" he said at last.
"A little," Sam allowed.
Dean shrugged. "Whose isn't?"
The silence stretched to the edge of new territory then Sam grabbed for the last piece of cold pizza.
"Guess I know where I stand in your life," Dean muttered watching Sam eat.
"I conquered Hell for you."
"And then you ditched me for leftovers."
Sam grinned, and wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve. "Imagine what I'd do for a beer and wings."
Since they were already damned, Dean did. After a minute he shook himself free of the images. "This is insane."
"Cold Oak."
"What?"
"Cold Oak, or just before..." Sam sighed and spread his hands. "...was the last time either of us could claim to be completely sane."
Dean found he couldn't argue with that so he said instead, "What now?"
"Now, we go out for beer and wings. I beat your ass in a game of pool..."
"You wish."
"...and later, you back me up while I broker a detente with Heaven and... Who's been touching my laptop?" He frowned down at the screen - which was not, Dean noted, even on a porn site. "On man, there's smudges on the monitor. You know I hate it when you mess with my stuff!"
"You touched your laptop, moron." Dean threw him his jacket. "I think you even downloaded some Celine Dion."
"Because I was soulless?"
"I really hope that was the reason, Sammy, I really do. So..." He waited just outside the motel room door. "...you got a throne?"
"Great big one." Sam walked up to the threshold, looked down, and paused.
A line of sweat ran down Dean's back. "Shouldn't you be on it?"
"Nah. The place pretty much runs itself." Sam stepped over the salt line, pulled the door closed behind him, and draped a warm, heavy arm across Dean's shoulders. "You wouldn't believe the number of bureaucrats we have..."
pretty much gen but about to drop off the edge of Sam/Dean
PG13
896 words not counting the ridiculous title (I had a different one but decided I like this one better)
In Which Sam Remembers Backstory and Solves Everything
"...and now I'm back." Sam's eyes flared gold as he rolled his shoulders. "Did I gain weight while I was gone? Because I'm sure I wasn't this big when I..." He stopped talking when Dean raised the hand not holding the sawed off shotgun. "What?"
"You're saying you took over Hell?"
Sam shrugged. "It seemed like the logical solution. First, I wanted out. Well, duh." Dimples flashed but Dean's reaction smoothed out the smile. "And I wanted all this Armageddon bullshit to end," he continued wearily. "I mean, what would be the point of my getting out if we were going to go through the last three years over and over and over. I think I'd prefer staying on the rack, you know?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly. "I hear you."
"So while everyone was busy with the..." Sam paused, and his head went up like a hound on a scent. "Is that pizza? Dude, seriously, is there leftover pizza in this room? Because I am starving. I feel like I haven't eaten in months."
Dean bent, careful not to lower the shotgun, and picked up the pizza box from the floor beside his bed. He tried not to flinch back when Sam snatched it from his hand but realized Sam was too busy cramming an entire piece of cold meatlovers into his mouth to notice.
"Oh man, this is so good!"
"Dude!" He brushed a bit of chewed crust off the crappy polyester bedspread. "Say it don't spray it!"
In answer, Sam opened wide, eyes twinkling as he showed Dean a mouthful of half chewed food.
Dean had a little trouble breathing for a moment. When he finally inhaled enough air to speak, he managed only a strangled, "Sammy?"
Sam swallowed and smiled, not the big wide toothy smile, but the smaller, softer one that only Dean ever got to see. "Yeah," he said, "it's me."
Winchester rules permitted hugging upon a return from the dead.
Arms wrapped around Sam's back, fingers clutching his shirt, cheek pressed into his shoulder, Dean didn't think he could let go. "Sammy..."
"I know. I know." One big hand stroked up and down Dean's spine. "I had to get back to you. I had to."
Which was when Dean remembered...
"You took over Hell!" He disengaged, stepping back far enough to reach up and smack Sam on the back of the head. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam hit him with bitch face number six. "I was thinking that it kind of sucked being up on a rack twenty-four seven and that maybe I wanted to get back to my brother. I was thinking that everyone was so busy thinking of me as the vessel of Lucifer, they totally missed the fact..."
"Totally missed the fact," Dean broke in as the lightbulb came on, "that you were the winner in Azazel's who wants to be a Prince of Hell contest."
"Yeah. So I um... I got off the rack and threw my weight around and left a couple of craters...okay, more than a couple." Sam rubbed at the back of his neck and looked a little embarrassed. "I may have lost my temper a bit." His eyes gleamed gold again. "But I'm still me! I swear. Body and soul. Okay, the soul's a little tarnished, but..." His voice trailed off and he stood looking hopefully down at Dean.
Dean thought about the last few weeks with his brother's meatsuit, about the year before that without any part of Sam in his life at all, about the rack, about getting off it. "Tarnished?" he said at last.
"A little," Sam allowed.
Dean shrugged. "Whose isn't?"
The silence stretched to the edge of new territory then Sam grabbed for the last piece of cold pizza.
"Guess I know where I stand in your life," Dean muttered watching Sam eat.
"I conquered Hell for you."
"And then you ditched me for leftovers."
Sam grinned, and wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve. "Imagine what I'd do for a beer and wings."
Since they were already damned, Dean did. After a minute he shook himself free of the images. "This is insane."
"Cold Oak."
"What?"
"Cold Oak, or just before..." Sam sighed and spread his hands. "...was the last time either of us could claim to be completely sane."
Dean found he couldn't argue with that so he said instead, "What now?"
"Now, we go out for beer and wings. I beat your ass in a game of pool..."
"You wish."
"...and later, you back me up while I broker a detente with Heaven and... Who's been touching my laptop?" He frowned down at the screen - which was not, Dean noted, even on a porn site. "On man, there's smudges on the monitor. You know I hate it when you mess with my stuff!"
"You touched your laptop, moron." Dean threw him his jacket. "I think you even downloaded some Celine Dion."
"Because I was soulless?"
"I really hope that was the reason, Sammy, I really do. So..." He waited just outside the motel room door. "...you got a throne?"
"Great big one." Sam walked up to the threshold, looked down, and paused.
A line of sweat ran down Dean's back. "Shouldn't you be on it?"
"Nah. The place pretty much runs itself." Sam stepped over the salt line, pulled the door closed behind him, and draped a warm, heavy arm across Dean's shoulders. "You wouldn't believe the number of bureaucrats we have..."