Mine is just a slower suicide.
For spn_30snapshots
not a single word
Gen (with a tiny hint of Wincest), PG, Supernatural
~650 words
Prompt: 09, Table 10, this picture.
They're in front of a little restaurant ("Fresh Fries and Pies," Dean read from the window, "What more do you need?") in southern Wyoming. Dad had gone in just a few seconds ago to load up, told them to just be patient and stay in the car. Sammy was in the back, turned sideways so he leaned against he window and his legs stretched out along the seat. He was playing with a surprisingly curly tuft of his hair when he said it.
"I'm going to go to college," just like that.
Dean raised his eyebrows and turned around in his seat. Sam wasn’t looking at him, although now it was probably intentional.
Dean's going to guess that this is coming up because of Dean's most recent birthday.
"Oh," Dean says, a little stupidly.
"Yeah," Sam concurs. "I have good grades already," he continues. "I want to go somewhere good."
"Like where?" Dean asks. He's heard of the big ones, like Harvard and...Harvard. Mostly, he doesn't know squat about colleges. He chews on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything else. The last thing he wants right now is a fight with Sam.
"I don't know," Sam turns around in his seat now, sitting with his legs forward like a normal person. He's taken to gazing out the window, clouds thick on the horizon, sunlight shining on his face. "Maybe Stanford?"
"Where is Stanford?" Dean inquires, thinking at the last second that maybe he should be embarrassed for not knowing.
"California," Sam finishes, right as their Dad comes around to the passenger door to pass Dean his pies and fries through the window.
*
They're supposed to be sleeping, but Dean is pretty sure it's a fruitless attempt. Dad's snoring on the couch, having given Dean and Sammy the bed. They're getting pretty old to share, and usually Dean would just take the floor, but he didn't quite feel like it tonight. Something about wanting to be close to Sam while he still can, but he brushes that thought aside before he has even more than a second to dwell on it.
Yeah, no sleep tonight.
Trying carefully not to disturb Sam, he rolls out of bed and tiptoes to the window on the far side of the bedroom. He places two hands on the windowsill and takes a deep breath. The moon is shockingly big tonight, and the sudden brightness of it hurts his eyes. Shadows of the trees in front of the window cut dark shapes against the pane of glass.
He bites down hard on his lower lip and looks over at Sammy, still fast asleep and breathing soundly.
Dean turned 18 a week ago, and the idea of college didn't cross his mind once. They celebrated by digging up a grave, salting and burning some bones. As a surprise, John let Dean drive the Impala back to the motel. It was the best damn birthday he's had in years.
Sam hadn’t mentioned it, but Dean knew he’d wanted to. He'd had the answer already thought out in his brain, ready if he needed to use it.
Here in the motel room, he whispers.
"I'm just a hunter, Sammy. That's what I'm good at. I don't need nothin’ else."
Sammy stirs in his sleep, flops over onto his back, and Dean looks at him as he mumbles under his breath, "Just you, me, and Dad. That's all I need. That’s it," he finishes on an exhale.
"Dean?" Sammy mumbles, voice gruff and thick with sleep. "Why aren't you in bed? What's wrong?" He asks, growing alert.
"Shh, relax, Sammy." He says, standing at the side of the bed in one step. "I'm fine. It's fine. Go back to bed," he says, and Sam does.
Dean walks back to the window.
He crawls into bed a few minutes later.
not a single word
Gen (with a tiny hint of Wincest), PG, Supernatural
~650 words
Prompt: 09, Table 10, this picture.
They're in front of a little restaurant ("Fresh Fries and Pies," Dean read from the window, "What more do you need?") in southern Wyoming. Dad had gone in just a few seconds ago to load up, told them to just be patient and stay in the car. Sammy was in the back, turned sideways so he leaned against he window and his legs stretched out along the seat. He was playing with a surprisingly curly tuft of his hair when he said it.
"I'm going to go to college," just like that.
Dean raised his eyebrows and turned around in his seat. Sam wasn’t looking at him, although now it was probably intentional.
Dean's going to guess that this is coming up because of Dean's most recent birthday.
"Oh," Dean says, a little stupidly.
"Yeah," Sam concurs. "I have good grades already," he continues. "I want to go somewhere good."
"Like where?" Dean asks. He's heard of the big ones, like Harvard and...Harvard. Mostly, he doesn't know squat about colleges. He chews on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything else. The last thing he wants right now is a fight with Sam.
"I don't know," Sam turns around in his seat now, sitting with his legs forward like a normal person. He's taken to gazing out the window, clouds thick on the horizon, sunlight shining on his face. "Maybe Stanford?"
"Where is Stanford?" Dean inquires, thinking at the last second that maybe he should be embarrassed for not knowing.
"California," Sam finishes, right as their Dad comes around to the passenger door to pass Dean his pies and fries through the window.
*
They're supposed to be sleeping, but Dean is pretty sure it's a fruitless attempt. Dad's snoring on the couch, having given Dean and Sammy the bed. They're getting pretty old to share, and usually Dean would just take the floor, but he didn't quite feel like it tonight. Something about wanting to be close to Sam while he still can, but he brushes that thought aside before he has even more than a second to dwell on it.
Yeah, no sleep tonight.
Trying carefully not to disturb Sam, he rolls out of bed and tiptoes to the window on the far side of the bedroom. He places two hands on the windowsill and takes a deep breath. The moon is shockingly big tonight, and the sudden brightness of it hurts his eyes. Shadows of the trees in front of the window cut dark shapes against the pane of glass.
He bites down hard on his lower lip and looks over at Sammy, still fast asleep and breathing soundly.
Dean turned 18 a week ago, and the idea of college didn't cross his mind once. They celebrated by digging up a grave, salting and burning some bones. As a surprise, John let Dean drive the Impala back to the motel. It was the best damn birthday he's had in years.
Sam hadn’t mentioned it, but Dean knew he’d wanted to. He'd had the answer already thought out in his brain, ready if he needed to use it.
Here in the motel room, he whispers.
"I'm just a hunter, Sammy. That's what I'm good at. I don't need nothin’ else."
Sammy stirs in his sleep, flops over onto his back, and Dean looks at him as he mumbles under his breath, "Just you, me, and Dad. That's all I need. That’s it," he finishes on an exhale.
"Dean?" Sammy mumbles, voice gruff and thick with sleep. "Why aren't you in bed? What's wrong?" He asks, growing alert.
"Shh, relax, Sammy." He says, standing at the side of the bed in one step. "I'm fine. It's fine. Go back to bed," he says, and Sam does.
Dean walks back to the window.
He crawls into bed a few minutes later.