If I saved you from drowning, promise me you'll never go away.
Where does this shit come from?
For spn_30snapshots.
promise me you'll always stay
Gen, PG, Supernatural
~900 words.
Prompt: 06, Table 10 this picture.
Dean is the one who teaches Sam how to ride a bike.
They are 12 and 8, somewhere in Utah. They're staying in this old abandoned shack, hardly ideal, but Dad insists on the seclusion. A week chasing a damn werewolf, and Dean has been getting more and more irritated with Sammy by the second. The couch is prickly and the TV is nothing but static and Dean doesn't think he can stay in the house anymore. It's a hot day. Sam's been lying on the couch next to him, curled up in a ball, fitting on one cushion. His toes occasionally brush against Dean's leg even though Dean has asked Sam to stop and it's become the most annoying thing in the whole world.
"Sammy!" He bellows the next time it happens. Sam jumps up in an instant, straightening his feet out in front of him and carefully trying not to look at his brother. Dean huffs a breath of frustration, half at Sammy, half at himself. He starts tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair and before he knows it, he's heading outside.
"Wait!" Sam pleads, but Dean is already out the door, slamming it closed. He just needs to get out, grab some air, take a walk... anything.
He's all but six feet away from the door when he hears it creak open again. He groans audibly and whirls on one foot to glare at Sam, whose head is peeking around the doorjamb as if he's allergic to fresh air. He looks scared. Dean's hardness softens.
"You want to go for a walk?" He asks before he can stop himself.
Sam chews on his lip before he nods. "I need my shoes," he says, and disappears into the house.
Dean wanders back to the door in effort to assure Sam he's not going anywhere far, but before he can get there, something catches his eye. A glint, a piece of metal--just around back.
"Hey Sam, hang on for a--" but before he can finish his sentence, Sam is there, looking smaller than Dean remembers him to be. He looks up at Dean with those big, wide eyes of his and Dean feels awful for ever being annoyed in the slightest.
He smiles down at his little brother before hunching down a few inches to his level. "Come on," he says, attempting a conspiratorial whisper. "I think I see something."
"What?" Sam asks, curious as usual, but Dean doesn't say anything, just starts to tiptoe towards the back of the house. He can feel Sam following behind him, and he's relieved. He feels better, lighter, happy not to be as mad at Sammy and not to be as mad at himself anymore.
"Dean, what is it?" Sam keeps asking. Dean ignores him still, until they get there.
"It's a bike!" He says triumphantly. It's rusted, and it's a little big for either of them, but it's something.
Sam eyes it warily. "I don't know how to ride a bike," he admits, a little sadly. He looks a little worried, like Dean might rip into him because of it or punch him in the shoulder or something. Dean feels a pang in his chest. He doesn't know how to ride a bike either.
He sizes it up, then looks back to Sammy.
"Sure you do!" He says exuberantly. "It can't be hard, can it?" Sam's eyebrows disappear into the fringe of his bangs.
"I don't know, Dean," he says. "It might be hard."
"Nah," he waves a hand dismissively. He pulls the bike off of its resting place against the wall and wheels it to the front of the house. There's a small driveway, enough space to learn. Sam is behind him the whole way--close enough to be interested, far enough away to be nervous.
"Hop on, Sammy. I'll teach you," he claims boldly. Sam stands where he is, still looking uneasy.
Dean takes a step closer while still holding the bike upright and pats Sammy on the shoulder. "Come on," he says, a bit softer. "You want to try?"
"I guess," Sam concedes, and Dean feels like he won something.
"Here, I'll hold it," Dean says confidently. Sammy is a little short, but those freakishly long legs of his give him an advantage. He swings one leg over the bike and settles in pretty comfortably. Dean's got a good grip on the thing, a little harder to balance than he expected, but he'd sacrifice himself to the pavement before he lets the damn thing fall.
"Okay," he says. "Now, put your feet on the pedals."
Sam does so. He looks up at Dean, bike's height making him level with his brother. Eye to eye, Dean says, "Now, push."
It takes them a few tries--Dean almost falls while trying to walk without looking behind him, and they argue over who’s supposed to be steering. But by the fifth try, Sam's got the hang of it. Dean can tell, because Sam is smiling and blushing a little and looking at the ground and Dean has been walking in a steady pace backwards for a while.
"You did it!" Dean cries, and slowly takes his hands off of the handlebars. At the last second, he ducks out of the way. Sam wobbles for a second, steering not quite there, but he straightens out and circles perfectly around Dean. Sam's laughing, and Dean is beaming.
"How about that?" Dean says, and Sam just grins.
For spn_30snapshots.
promise me you'll always stay
Gen, PG, Supernatural
~900 words.
Prompt: 06, Table 10 this picture.
Dean is the one who teaches Sam how to ride a bike.
They are 12 and 8, somewhere in Utah. They're staying in this old abandoned shack, hardly ideal, but Dad insists on the seclusion. A week chasing a damn werewolf, and Dean has been getting more and more irritated with Sammy by the second. The couch is prickly and the TV is nothing but static and Dean doesn't think he can stay in the house anymore. It's a hot day. Sam's been lying on the couch next to him, curled up in a ball, fitting on one cushion. His toes occasionally brush against Dean's leg even though Dean has asked Sam to stop and it's become the most annoying thing in the whole world.
"Sammy!" He bellows the next time it happens. Sam jumps up in an instant, straightening his feet out in front of him and carefully trying not to look at his brother. Dean huffs a breath of frustration, half at Sammy, half at himself. He starts tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair and before he knows it, he's heading outside.
"Wait!" Sam pleads, but Dean is already out the door, slamming it closed. He just needs to get out, grab some air, take a walk... anything.
He's all but six feet away from the door when he hears it creak open again. He groans audibly and whirls on one foot to glare at Sam, whose head is peeking around the doorjamb as if he's allergic to fresh air. He looks scared. Dean's hardness softens.
"You want to go for a walk?" He asks before he can stop himself.
Sam chews on his lip before he nods. "I need my shoes," he says, and disappears into the house.
Dean wanders back to the door in effort to assure Sam he's not going anywhere far, but before he can get there, something catches his eye. A glint, a piece of metal--just around back.
"Hey Sam, hang on for a--" but before he can finish his sentence, Sam is there, looking smaller than Dean remembers him to be. He looks up at Dean with those big, wide eyes of his and Dean feels awful for ever being annoyed in the slightest.
He smiles down at his little brother before hunching down a few inches to his level. "Come on," he says, attempting a conspiratorial whisper. "I think I see something."
"What?" Sam asks, curious as usual, but Dean doesn't say anything, just starts to tiptoe towards the back of the house. He can feel Sam following behind him, and he's relieved. He feels better, lighter, happy not to be as mad at Sammy and not to be as mad at himself anymore.
"Dean, what is it?" Sam keeps asking. Dean ignores him still, until they get there.
"It's a bike!" He says triumphantly. It's rusted, and it's a little big for either of them, but it's something.
Sam eyes it warily. "I don't know how to ride a bike," he admits, a little sadly. He looks a little worried, like Dean might rip into him because of it or punch him in the shoulder or something. Dean feels a pang in his chest. He doesn't know how to ride a bike either.
He sizes it up, then looks back to Sammy.
"Sure you do!" He says exuberantly. "It can't be hard, can it?" Sam's eyebrows disappear into the fringe of his bangs.
"I don't know, Dean," he says. "It might be hard."
"Nah," he waves a hand dismissively. He pulls the bike off of its resting place against the wall and wheels it to the front of the house. There's a small driveway, enough space to learn. Sam is behind him the whole way--close enough to be interested, far enough away to be nervous.
"Hop on, Sammy. I'll teach you," he claims boldly. Sam stands where he is, still looking uneasy.
Dean takes a step closer while still holding the bike upright and pats Sammy on the shoulder. "Come on," he says, a bit softer. "You want to try?"
"I guess," Sam concedes, and Dean feels like he won something.
"Here, I'll hold it," Dean says confidently. Sammy is a little short, but those freakishly long legs of his give him an advantage. He swings one leg over the bike and settles in pretty comfortably. Dean's got a good grip on the thing, a little harder to balance than he expected, but he'd sacrifice himself to the pavement before he lets the damn thing fall.
"Okay," he says. "Now, put your feet on the pedals."
Sam does so. He looks up at Dean, bike's height making him level with his brother. Eye to eye, Dean says, "Now, push."
It takes them a few tries--Dean almost falls while trying to walk without looking behind him, and they argue over who’s supposed to be steering. But by the fifth try, Sam's got the hang of it. Dean can tell, because Sam is smiling and blushing a little and looking at the ground and Dean has been walking in a steady pace backwards for a while.
"You did it!" Dean cries, and slowly takes his hands off of the handlebars. At the last second, he ducks out of the way. Sam wobbles for a second, steering not quite there, but he straightens out and circles perfectly around Dean. Sam's laughing, and Dean is beaming.
"How about that?" Dean says, and Sam just grins.