fic: Sometimes Hunger is More Than a Growling Belly (Sam and Dean, theme 01: Elemental
Title: Sometimes Hunger is More Than a Growling Belly
Author: thatauthor_chic
Character(s): Sam or Dean
Claim: Sam and Dean Winchester
Theme: 01 - Elemental
Prompt: 09 - Hunger
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don’t own the car, the boys, or anything to do with the Supernatural show or making any money writing about them. I’m just taking them for a little joyride through my imagination.
Summary: What does a Winchester hunger for?
There’s a hunger that eats away at his core unlike any other. “I’m sorry…”
Nothing like having to go unknown miles between fast food joints, stomach growling painfully enough to have his fingers digging into the steering wheel. Visions of sesame seed covered buns and steaming hot, juicy patties of beef smothered in barbecue sauce and cheese making his mouth water; the anticipation of which make the miles that much longer on an empty belly.
Not like the blood red want in the darkness urged on by the cold metal of a pistol or knife taking on the heat of his skin as he stalks the night for their prey of the moment. The immediacy of life or death amplifying each one of his senses to almost painful heights until the moment the monster is slain and he’s saved the world once more.
Not even anywhere near the much sweeter rush of heat that always comes with the sight of a particularly pretty girl. That hot tug to parts somewhere considerably more southern than the heart as he lets his mind entertain thoughts generally better left unvoiced.
It’s an urgent need destined to be left unfulfilled. A loss felt at every holiday and birthday that passes with the knowledge that he’ll never get the chance to celebrate them as they were meant to be. There’s an indefinable ache to be surrounded by family and friends. The need for the kinds of relationships that most people take for granted; tortured by every example in the families of the victims that are a constant of the hunt. The solid that are there to support each other through tragedy; present to share in joys both big and small year after year.
It’s a bone deep, torturous sadness that wraps itself around him every time he has to salt and burn or bury the body of someone he loves. Another one of those who should have been there, were supposed to be there and would still be if it wasn’t for the burden of their responsibility.
His father, his brother- the one he grew up with and the one they both found and lost together- and all the friends he’d ever let down his guard long enough to let in. Each one of them had been just as invested in the hunt. Each one of them had been consumed by the job and the damned apocalypse that was always just around the corner, no matter what they did.
Dad had trained him well. Who would protect the innocent if he stepped out of the game? And yet…
There’s a hunger that slowly eats away at his core. A desperate yearning for all the impossibly simple things that were never meant to be a part of the life he’s been born to. His only tell? A scowl he can’t hide when the familiar, bitter taste paints the back of his tongue.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Eclipsed only by his blatant failure.
Author: thatauthor_chic
Character(s): Sam or Dean
Claim: Sam and Dean Winchester
Theme: 01 - Elemental
Prompt: 09 - Hunger
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don’t own the car, the boys, or anything to do with the Supernatural show or making any money writing about them. I’m just taking them for a little joyride through my imagination.
Summary: What does a Winchester hunger for?
There’s a hunger that eats away at his core unlike any other. “I’m sorry…”
Nothing like having to go unknown miles between fast food joints, stomach growling painfully enough to have his fingers digging into the steering wheel. Visions of sesame seed covered buns and steaming hot, juicy patties of beef smothered in barbecue sauce and cheese making his mouth water; the anticipation of which make the miles that much longer on an empty belly.
Not like the blood red want in the darkness urged on by the cold metal of a pistol or knife taking on the heat of his skin as he stalks the night for their prey of the moment. The immediacy of life or death amplifying each one of his senses to almost painful heights until the moment the monster is slain and he’s saved the world once more.
Not even anywhere near the much sweeter rush of heat that always comes with the sight of a particularly pretty girl. That hot tug to parts somewhere considerably more southern than the heart as he lets his mind entertain thoughts generally better left unvoiced.
It’s an urgent need destined to be left unfulfilled. A loss felt at every holiday and birthday that passes with the knowledge that he’ll never get the chance to celebrate them as they were meant to be. There’s an indefinable ache to be surrounded by family and friends. The need for the kinds of relationships that most people take for granted; tortured by every example in the families of the victims that are a constant of the hunt. The solid that are there to support each other through tragedy; present to share in joys both big and small year after year.
It’s a bone deep, torturous sadness that wraps itself around him every time he has to salt and burn or bury the body of someone he loves. Another one of those who should have been there, were supposed to be there and would still be if it wasn’t for the burden of their responsibility.
His father, his brother- the one he grew up with and the one they both found and lost together- and all the friends he’d ever let down his guard long enough to let in. Each one of them had been just as invested in the hunt. Each one of them had been consumed by the job and the damned apocalypse that was always just around the corner, no matter what they did.
Dad had trained him well. Who would protect the innocent if he stepped out of the game? And yet…
There’s a hunger that slowly eats away at his core. A desperate yearning for all the impossibly simple things that were never meant to be a part of the life he’s been born to. His only tell? A scowl he can’t hide when the familiar, bitter taste paints the back of his tongue.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Eclipsed only by his blatant failure.