fic: a parachute descending from the sky
You know when you're listening to a song and you just get this really clear mental image of WHAT WOULD SAM AND DEAN DO?
Yep.
a parachute descending from the sky
PG, 730~ words, no specific spoilers for 4x15 but very definitely inspired by it.
There’s this moment of stillness when they find each other.
Sam has to steady himself, a burst of energy shot at the ground with shaking hands, with his breath catching in his throat. The world dips in and out of focus, his ears ringing with the residual effects of mass exorcism. It’s a week since Lilith murdered Ruby and Castiel appeared in front of Sam’s moving car and said those four magic words, I can help you; it’s two months since he saw his brother.
“Sam,” Dean says, sheathing his sword and stepping forwards into the ring of charred earth. Hair longer, face paler, dirtier, bloodier. He’s taller than Sam remembered. “I figured you were over here,” he’s saying, “when I saw the whole flash of light, earth moves under my feet thing.”
“Yeah,” Sam breathes. He scrubs a hand under his nose and winces as blood smears across his face. “Castiel taught me all his favourite tricks.”
Dean nods. “Ten in one go. Not bad.” He’s taller than Sam remembered, and also more real, and also more alive. Sam could reach out and touch him from here.
“I’m sorry,” Dean begins, and then he cuts himself off abruptly. He runs a hand through his sweat-spiked hair, frowning out at the horizon. “I’m sorry about Ruby.”
“I’m sorry about-” Sam shrugs. He glances away. “A lot of things. Everything.”
The silence stretches. Somehow, the battle around them is slowing down, pulling apart and away, leaving them standing in the centre of a rapidly growing circle. Castiel’s doing, Sam figures; he isn’t sure he believes in God anymore. He closes his eyes, hears Dean take another step closer, and when he opens them again they’re alone.
The air is thick with dust and heat, but beyond the haze the clouds have parted. Sunlight drips through the cracks, illuminating the battlefield, and the world turns golden.
It shines.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Sam realises distantly that his cheeks are wet. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
Dean closes the distance, sliding an arm around Sam’s neck and drawing him down. Sam presses his face into Dean’s shoulder, shudders out another ragged breath. Something clenches deep inside his chest, twisting tight and hot, and he chokes.
“It’s okay,” Dean whispers against his ear. “It is. I forgive you. Two months ago, I forgave you.”
Sam huffs out a breath of laughter, and maybe Dean heard it because he adds, “Okay, two months minus a couple of pissy days. Whatever. Point is, stop getting your snotty tears on my jacket.”
“Like you never got worse on it,” Sam mumbles. He pulls back slowly, straightening up. Dean keeps a hand on his shoulder.
“So, Lucifer in Las Vegas, huh?” he says with a grin. “Shoulda seen that one coming. Think he’s got a regiment of Elvis impersonators?”
“Dean,” Sam says. “You’re not coming.”
“How far is it?”
“About a day away, but you’re not coming.”
Dean snorts, releasing Sam’s shoulder and digging his hand into his pocket. “I have a car and a flaming sword,” he says, pulling out his car keys. “Of course I’m coming.”
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam snaps. “It’s Lucifer. Stay here with Castiel. Or, hell, go with Uriel to Flagstaff. You’re not coming with me.”
Dean looks at him until Sam looks away. He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, and stares down at the bodies instead. Demons don’t let their hosts survive, these days.
“You can’t do this alone,” Dean says.
Sam laughs sharply, looking up again. “Yes, I can.”
Dean just shrugs. “Well, I don’t want you to,” he says. Slowly, like he thinks Sam will run away again, he reaches out and lays a hand on Sam’s arm. “It’s us, Sam. Together. It’s always been about us.”
Overhead, the sky rumbles and it begins to rain. Light at first, but as the thunder rolls out again, the rain comes down with it, hard and fast. Sam can hear one of the angels shouting in the distance, its words prickling down his spine, but he doesn’t move and Dean doesn’t let go.
They stare at each other as the blood washes away.
“Okay,” Sam says, at last. It’s lost to the sound of the rain, Dean pulling a face and shaking his head, and Sam laughs, pushes his dripping hair out of his dripping face, and he shouts it out this time. “Okay.”
And the world shines.
*
Yep.
a parachute descending from the sky
PG, 730~ words, no specific spoilers for 4x15 but very definitely inspired by it.
- Kate Havnevik - Nowhere Warm
There’s this moment of stillness when they find each other.
Sam has to steady himself, a burst of energy shot at the ground with shaking hands, with his breath catching in his throat. The world dips in and out of focus, his ears ringing with the residual effects of mass exorcism. It’s a week since Lilith murdered Ruby and Castiel appeared in front of Sam’s moving car and said those four magic words, I can help you; it’s two months since he saw his brother.
“Sam,” Dean says, sheathing his sword and stepping forwards into the ring of charred earth. Hair longer, face paler, dirtier, bloodier. He’s taller than Sam remembered. “I figured you were over here,” he’s saying, “when I saw the whole flash of light, earth moves under my feet thing.”
“Yeah,” Sam breathes. He scrubs a hand under his nose and winces as blood smears across his face. “Castiel taught me all his favourite tricks.”
Dean nods. “Ten in one go. Not bad.” He’s taller than Sam remembered, and also more real, and also more alive. Sam could reach out and touch him from here.
“I’m sorry,” Dean begins, and then he cuts himself off abruptly. He runs a hand through his sweat-spiked hair, frowning out at the horizon. “I’m sorry about Ruby.”
“I’m sorry about-” Sam shrugs. He glances away. “A lot of things. Everything.”
The silence stretches. Somehow, the battle around them is slowing down, pulling apart and away, leaving them standing in the centre of a rapidly growing circle. Castiel’s doing, Sam figures; he isn’t sure he believes in God anymore. He closes his eyes, hears Dean take another step closer, and when he opens them again they’re alone.
The air is thick with dust and heat, but beyond the haze the clouds have parted. Sunlight drips through the cracks, illuminating the battlefield, and the world turns golden.
It shines.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Sam realises distantly that his cheeks are wet. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
Dean closes the distance, sliding an arm around Sam’s neck and drawing him down. Sam presses his face into Dean’s shoulder, shudders out another ragged breath. Something clenches deep inside his chest, twisting tight and hot, and he chokes.
“It’s okay,” Dean whispers against his ear. “It is. I forgive you. Two months ago, I forgave you.”
Sam huffs out a breath of laughter, and maybe Dean heard it because he adds, “Okay, two months minus a couple of pissy days. Whatever. Point is, stop getting your snotty tears on my jacket.”
“Like you never got worse on it,” Sam mumbles. He pulls back slowly, straightening up. Dean keeps a hand on his shoulder.
“So, Lucifer in Las Vegas, huh?” he says with a grin. “Shoulda seen that one coming. Think he’s got a regiment of Elvis impersonators?”
“Dean,” Sam says. “You’re not coming.”
“How far is it?”
“About a day away, but you’re not coming.”
Dean snorts, releasing Sam’s shoulder and digging his hand into his pocket. “I have a car and a flaming sword,” he says, pulling out his car keys. “Of course I’m coming.”
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam snaps. “It’s Lucifer. Stay here with Castiel. Or, hell, go with Uriel to Flagstaff. You’re not coming with me.”
Dean looks at him until Sam looks away. He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, and stares down at the bodies instead. Demons don’t let their hosts survive, these days.
“You can’t do this alone,” Dean says.
Sam laughs sharply, looking up again. “Yes, I can.”
Dean just shrugs. “Well, I don’t want you to,” he says. Slowly, like he thinks Sam will run away again, he reaches out and lays a hand on Sam’s arm. “It’s us, Sam. Together. It’s always been about us.”
Overhead, the sky rumbles and it begins to rain. Light at first, but as the thunder rolls out again, the rain comes down with it, hard and fast. Sam can hear one of the angels shouting in the distance, its words prickling down his spine, but he doesn’t move and Dean doesn’t let go.
They stare at each other as the blood washes away.
“Okay,” Sam says, at last. It’s lost to the sound of the rain, Dean pulling a face and shaking his head, and Sam laughs, pushes his dripping hair out of his dripping face, and he shouts it out this time. “Okay.”
And the world shines.
*