fic: your curious life with me
And the other commentfic!
your curious life with me
PG, 600~ words, post-4x22 h/c futurefic.
Written for jadedpen's backseat of the Impala prompt at the post-season four commentfic schmoop meme.
Title from The Big World by Leonard Cohen, because I can.
*
“Hey,” Dean says, later. He has no idea where they are anymore, just that the sky is dark and the road is empty all around them and that it’s beginning to rain.
“Hey,” he says again.
Sam’s head jerks up from where it was lolling back against the seat. He blinks, too slow, this dazed kind of look on his face and a smudge of blood on his cheekbone.
“Hey,” Dean says, louder. Snaps his fingers under Sam’s nose, one eye on the road. He hates driving in the rain. He hates it. “You with me? I need to pull over?”
“No,” Sam says. He swallows with an audible click, then, “I - yeah. No. What?”
“Yeah, that was completely reassuring. You’ve really eased my concerns, there.”
Sam blinks at him again - too slow, too fucking slow - and then his head drops back against the seat again, staring across at Dean until even that is apparently too damn tiring and his eyes slide shut. Jesus.
“Really, really fucking eased, Sammy,” Dean says, pulling over to the side of the road. For a moment, car rolling to a slow halt, he just leans forward into the steering wheel, forehead pressed against the backs of his hands. Five hours driving - he thinks, he lost track of time pretty much ten minutes after they drove away from that smoking hole in the ground where Lucifer had been - with Sam zoning in and out like he isn’t really there at all.
“Jesus,” Dean mutters, and then he sits up and gets out of the car.
The rain is heavier now. Sky dark, road dark, land dark. The pools of bright light thrown from the headlamps shows nothing but grey grass all around.
“Come on, wakey wakey, rise and goddamn shine,” Dean says, walking around and pulling the passenger door open. Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. Great. Dean leans inside, shaking Sam’s shoulder, biting down on the twist of relief in his throat as Sam groans and bats a hand at the disturbance. “Time to get up, Sam.”
“Head,” Sam mumbles, screwing his eyes even tighter shut. “Hurts.”
“I know, dude.” Dean gives him another shake. “But if you get up, you can lie down in the back. Stretch out your yeti limbs a bit, yeah?”
Sam huffs out an irritated breath, but his shoulders hitch and his lips twitch and he opens his eyes. The pupils are still too wide, still too dark.
“I’m not carrying you, man,” Dean says, but he pretty much does, anyway, getting one arm around his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around Sam’s waist and dragging him out of the car. It takes them a full five minutes to navigate the two freaking feet to the backseat door, with Sam slumped against him and rain seeping into every crease in their clothes, and then Dean has to drag him back into the car again. Apparently just crawling into the backseat is too much work for Sam to bother with right now.
“Seriously,” Dean mutters. “Why do I put up with you, again?”
In the end, Sam just buries his head face-first in Dean’s stomach, groaning out his protest whenever Dean tries to move, with his limbs contorted in impossible angles and his breathing slow and heavy and one hand fisted in the hem of Dean’s shirt. He looks comfortable though. That’s a start.
The rain outside is bluegrey and thick as smoke, lulling. Dean brushes a hand through Sam’s damp hair, picking at the blood-matted knots, and Sam mumbles in response, half-lifting his head until Dean gently pushes it back down again.
“Nah,” Dean says. “’sokay. Go to sleep.”
*
your curious life with me
PG, 600~ words, post-4x22 h/c futurefic.
Written for jadedpen's backseat of the Impala prompt at the post-season four commentfic schmoop meme.
Title from The Big World by Leonard Cohen, because I can.
*
“Hey,” Dean says, later. He has no idea where they are anymore, just that the sky is dark and the road is empty all around them and that it’s beginning to rain.
“Hey,” he says again.
Sam’s head jerks up from where it was lolling back against the seat. He blinks, too slow, this dazed kind of look on his face and a smudge of blood on his cheekbone.
“Hey,” Dean says, louder. Snaps his fingers under Sam’s nose, one eye on the road. He hates driving in the rain. He hates it. “You with me? I need to pull over?”
“No,” Sam says. He swallows with an audible click, then, “I - yeah. No. What?”
“Yeah, that was completely reassuring. You’ve really eased my concerns, there.”
Sam blinks at him again - too slow, too fucking slow - and then his head drops back against the seat again, staring across at Dean until even that is apparently too damn tiring and his eyes slide shut. Jesus.
“Really, really fucking eased, Sammy,” Dean says, pulling over to the side of the road. For a moment, car rolling to a slow halt, he just leans forward into the steering wheel, forehead pressed against the backs of his hands. Five hours driving - he thinks, he lost track of time pretty much ten minutes after they drove away from that smoking hole in the ground where Lucifer had been - with Sam zoning in and out like he isn’t really there at all.
“Jesus,” Dean mutters, and then he sits up and gets out of the car.
The rain is heavier now. Sky dark, road dark, land dark. The pools of bright light thrown from the headlamps shows nothing but grey grass all around.
“Come on, wakey wakey, rise and goddamn shine,” Dean says, walking around and pulling the passenger door open. Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. Great. Dean leans inside, shaking Sam’s shoulder, biting down on the twist of relief in his throat as Sam groans and bats a hand at the disturbance. “Time to get up, Sam.”
“Head,” Sam mumbles, screwing his eyes even tighter shut. “Hurts.”
“I know, dude.” Dean gives him another shake. “But if you get up, you can lie down in the back. Stretch out your yeti limbs a bit, yeah?”
Sam huffs out an irritated breath, but his shoulders hitch and his lips twitch and he opens his eyes. The pupils are still too wide, still too dark.
“I’m not carrying you, man,” Dean says, but he pretty much does, anyway, getting one arm around his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around Sam’s waist and dragging him out of the car. It takes them a full five minutes to navigate the two freaking feet to the backseat door, with Sam slumped against him and rain seeping into every crease in their clothes, and then Dean has to drag him back into the car again. Apparently just crawling into the backseat is too much work for Sam to bother with right now.
“Seriously,” Dean mutters. “Why do I put up with you, again?”
In the end, Sam just buries his head face-first in Dean’s stomach, groaning out his protest whenever Dean tries to move, with his limbs contorted in impossible angles and his breathing slow and heavy and one hand fisted in the hem of Dean’s shirt. He looks comfortable though. That’s a start.
The rain outside is bluegrey and thick as smoke, lulling. Dean brushes a hand through Sam’s damp hair, picking at the blood-matted knots, and Sam mumbles in response, half-lifting his head until Dean gently pushes it back down again.
“Nah,” Dean says. “’sokay. Go to sleep.”
*