In a Different Light
Title: In a Different Light
Author: yourpalkara
Pairing/characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,114
Summary: If you had told Sam then…
It’s nearing the end of summer and hot is the only word Sam knows. His hair is plastered to his forehead and the stale motel room air clings to him and won’t let go.
In a moment of heat-induced rage, he’d flung the covers off the bed and now all that’s left is the thin sheet beneath him which is too rough against one bare leg, yet too soft against the other.
This story, it’s the same old thing he’s been telling for weeks. September’s a couple days away and three months is more than enough time to get used to anything. Sam would know, he moves from town to town more often than the kids his age grow out of phase after phase and “You get to stay at this school for three months, Sammy” always sounds like a lifetime.
So it’s not the heat, anymore than usual, that’s making him restless and incapable of sleep. It’s that there are too many people in the room, and Sam is finding it hard to breathe.
Dad has been back not more than a couple of hours. He’d burst through the door after months of being gone on and off but mostly off, his arms open and full of promises to stay for good. Sam had turned away, said, “Where you gonna sleep tonight, Dad?”
Now he’s stretched over every inch of what had been Sam’s bed the night before and before and before; his snores stretch out over the room, they mix with the too thick air and feel heavy against Sam’s skin.
Dean, meanwhile, exhales contentedly and rolls over, tossing arm, foot, head onto Sam’s side of the bed. Sam groans in silent frustration.
“Dean. Would. You. Just-” he yells in a whisper.
If he nudges his brother back onto his own side a little too roughly, it’s because Dean is a heavy sleeper and it’d be stupid not to take advantage of that.
He shoves and contorts Dean this way and that other way. When Sam finally sighs with what he hopes is exhaustion but it probably just satisfaction and lies back down, Dean is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. An arm and a leg are tucked at his side and he’ll probably hit his head on the nightstand if he sits up too quickly.
Sam spreads himself out over the three-quarters of the bed that he now has all to himself and he waits for sleep, he waits for sleep.
It takes too much effort, Sam thinks, to coax himself into unconsciousness after that. More than anyone should ever have to endure for something that’s supposed to keep you alive and all, but he’s nearly there. His eyes are closed and it feels like they belong that way, like he doesn’t have to work to keep the shut. He feels almost comfortable on the musty sheets and lumpy mattress. This all goes to hell when Dean thrusts an elbow into Sam’s side.
Sam sits up with a start, ready to shove Dean right back but he looks over and Dean’s on his back, head turned towards Sam, eyes closed with one leg hanging off the side of the bed and Sam’s already working out how to wake him up discreetly, if only because he’s sick of having to suffer through this alone.
He gives up after Dean has rolled back over onto Sam’s side of the bed and is unknowingly taking up even more room than when this had all begun. Sam grits his teeth as he crawls over to the edge of his side of the bed and makes himself as small as possible, which isn’t hard to do, if he’s honest. He makes promises of never again, next time they’ll get a couch, time after that he’ll sleep on the floor. He lies there on his side in a deliberately uncomfortable position hoping his Dad’ll wake up and find him like this, that he’ll make Dean sleep in the bathtub the next night.
Sam closes his eyes, lets the hot air blanket his skin and he begins the long process of drifting off to sleep.
+
It’s morning and the sun hits him in all the wrong places. It’s a blinding sort of early morning light but he’s cold. He thinks he should be able to feel it on his bare chest and has to squint as he sits up to confirm that the sheets are tangled around his feet. He pulls them up and over himself, over Dean. Dean’s leg is caught between both of Sam’s and it’s the warmest thing in the whole room, Sam thinks.
His eyes adjust to the light and Sam looks at his brother. He’s on his stomach but too far over on his edge of the bed. Sam wants to grab Dean’s arm, his waist, wants to pull him in closer, but Dean has lost his ability to sleep through anything over the years and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say he looks peaceful.
Sam shifts closer to Dean and then he’s inches away but the air left between them could be made of stone and Sam feels like he’s holding his breath. He works Dean’s arm out from under someone’s pillow and then he’s wrapping himself around Dean, under and over him. And Sam, he needs to be closer. He slides a knee under Dean’s leg and he needs to be closer, fits his head into the space between Dean’s chin and shoulder and he needs to be closer. Dean lets out a sigh or it could be a yawn but there’s one thing in the whole world that Sam really knows. More than how to hunt ghosts and demons, more than he knows his own name, he knows what his brother is like first thing in the morning and Sam doesn’t have to lift his head to know he’s not really awake. Dean leans into Sam’s embrace and then is breathing steadily once more.
With Dean this close, it’s easy to forget they’d ever lost each other. All that they’ve gone through, every trip to hell every slow climb back out, all the times one or the other has walked away, and they’ve ended up here, wrapped around each other like their lives depend on it. They probably do.
He pulls Dean closer again and again. Outside, a cloud moves in front of the sun, and then away. His hand is tangled in Dean’s hair; there’s an arm draped across his chest and he’s not positive who it belong to. A breeze blows past and rattles the trees.
And Sam can breathe again.
Author: yourpalkara
Pairing/characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,114
Summary: If you had told Sam then…
It’s nearing the end of summer and hot is the only word Sam knows. His hair is plastered to his forehead and the stale motel room air clings to him and won’t let go.
In a moment of heat-induced rage, he’d flung the covers off the bed and now all that’s left is the thin sheet beneath him which is too rough against one bare leg, yet too soft against the other.
This story, it’s the same old thing he’s been telling for weeks. September’s a couple days away and three months is more than enough time to get used to anything. Sam would know, he moves from town to town more often than the kids his age grow out of phase after phase and “You get to stay at this school for three months, Sammy” always sounds like a lifetime.
So it’s not the heat, anymore than usual, that’s making him restless and incapable of sleep. It’s that there are too many people in the room, and Sam is finding it hard to breathe.
Dad has been back not more than a couple of hours. He’d burst through the door after months of being gone on and off but mostly off, his arms open and full of promises to stay for good. Sam had turned away, said, “Where you gonna sleep tonight, Dad?”
Now he’s stretched over every inch of what had been Sam’s bed the night before and before and before; his snores stretch out over the room, they mix with the too thick air and feel heavy against Sam’s skin.
Dean, meanwhile, exhales contentedly and rolls over, tossing arm, foot, head onto Sam’s side of the bed. Sam groans in silent frustration.
“Dean. Would. You. Just-” he yells in a whisper.
If he nudges his brother back onto his own side a little too roughly, it’s because Dean is a heavy sleeper and it’d be stupid not to take advantage of that.
He shoves and contorts Dean this way and that other way. When Sam finally sighs with what he hopes is exhaustion but it probably just satisfaction and lies back down, Dean is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. An arm and a leg are tucked at his side and he’ll probably hit his head on the nightstand if he sits up too quickly.
Sam spreads himself out over the three-quarters of the bed that he now has all to himself and he waits for sleep, he waits for sleep.
It takes too much effort, Sam thinks, to coax himself into unconsciousness after that. More than anyone should ever have to endure for something that’s supposed to keep you alive and all, but he’s nearly there. His eyes are closed and it feels like they belong that way, like he doesn’t have to work to keep the shut. He feels almost comfortable on the musty sheets and lumpy mattress. This all goes to hell when Dean thrusts an elbow into Sam’s side.
Sam sits up with a start, ready to shove Dean right back but he looks over and Dean’s on his back, head turned towards Sam, eyes closed with one leg hanging off the side of the bed and Sam’s already working out how to wake him up discreetly, if only because he’s sick of having to suffer through this alone.
He gives up after Dean has rolled back over onto Sam’s side of the bed and is unknowingly taking up even more room than when this had all begun. Sam grits his teeth as he crawls over to the edge of his side of the bed and makes himself as small as possible, which isn’t hard to do, if he’s honest. He makes promises of never again, next time they’ll get a couch, time after that he’ll sleep on the floor. He lies there on his side in a deliberately uncomfortable position hoping his Dad’ll wake up and find him like this, that he’ll make Dean sleep in the bathtub the next night.
Sam closes his eyes, lets the hot air blanket his skin and he begins the long process of drifting off to sleep.
+
It’s morning and the sun hits him in all the wrong places. It’s a blinding sort of early morning light but he’s cold. He thinks he should be able to feel it on his bare chest and has to squint as he sits up to confirm that the sheets are tangled around his feet. He pulls them up and over himself, over Dean. Dean’s leg is caught between both of Sam’s and it’s the warmest thing in the whole room, Sam thinks.
His eyes adjust to the light and Sam looks at his brother. He’s on his stomach but too far over on his edge of the bed. Sam wants to grab Dean’s arm, his waist, wants to pull him in closer, but Dean has lost his ability to sleep through anything over the years and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say he looks peaceful.
Sam shifts closer to Dean and then he’s inches away but the air left between them could be made of stone and Sam feels like he’s holding his breath. He works Dean’s arm out from under someone’s pillow and then he’s wrapping himself around Dean, under and over him. And Sam, he needs to be closer. He slides a knee under Dean’s leg and he needs to be closer, fits his head into the space between Dean’s chin and shoulder and he needs to be closer. Dean lets out a sigh or it could be a yawn but there’s one thing in the whole world that Sam really knows. More than how to hunt ghosts and demons, more than he knows his own name, he knows what his brother is like first thing in the morning and Sam doesn’t have to lift his head to know he’s not really awake. Dean leans into Sam’s embrace and then is breathing steadily once more.
With Dean this close, it’s easy to forget they’d ever lost each other. All that they’ve gone through, every trip to hell every slow climb back out, all the times one or the other has walked away, and they’ve ended up here, wrapped around each other like their lives depend on it. They probably do.
He pulls Dean closer again and again. Outside, a cloud moves in front of the sun, and then away. His hand is tangled in Dean’s hair; there’s an arm draped across his chest and he’s not positive who it belong to. A breeze blows past and rattles the trees.
And Sam can breathe again.