fic: im alive im a mess
Title: im alive im a mess
Author: breebree16
Summary: Dean comes home.
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for 6.02
Author's Notes: Response to the prompt "Waiting for You" over at 15_song_titles. PS this will be cross posted in places tomorrow, i don't feel like dealing with html tonight.
Lisa got the text at about three in the morning. He told her she didn't have to wait up, just wanted to make sure she wouldn't put those target practice lessons to use. He even put a stupid little wink in the text and she thinks he's either drunk or dying.
She pulls on her robe, loops the rope and ties a knot; the new house is cold, drafty. The stairs creak under her, the banister wobbles a bit. She's not quite sure what to do with herself at the moment. She wipes down the counters from dinner, puts away some dishes before wandering to the living room, plopping down on the couch.
All their pictures are up; the eight by eleven on the mantel where they sat in a park smiling. He smiled in all the pictures, she never doubted the sincerity in them. Never doubted the warmth of his arms, the sureness of his hands.
Almost an hour passes; longer than she expected when the den brightens with the head lights of the Impala, the engine humming low like a purr of a jungle cat as he pulls into the drive way. She yawns, stretches out her arms before standing, padding towards the door.
He fiddles with the lock and she thinks of helping, but decides against it. Just stands there frozen, waiting. He's been gone for three weeks.
The door opens with a bit of a pop, flying wide, knocking over the line of salt she set up before bed. He stumbles in, dropping his duffel by the table, his keys in the bowl.
He looks like he'd been through the wringer, washed against hard rocks in the river. Red eyes, a split lip. He stared at her like he's not expecting her, like she's not supposed to be there. "Lis?"
She almost laughs, but tightens the knot on her robe. "Yeah."
"I told you not to wait up." He comes towards her, a slight limp in his left leg. A knot rises in her chest and she fights all the fibers in her wanting to rush at him like in the movies, smother him in kisses telling him how much she missed him. It makes her tight, rigid in her stance. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he grunts, stopping a foot away. She sees the hesitation, he doesn't quite look at her. "Long drive."
She nods and makes the step, reaches out with both hands to adjust the collar of his jacket. His turn to freeze, locking his feet in place, unsure of his hands."You should get some sleep then. Ben will be so happy to see you."
He smiles, pulled to the left, finally matches her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah me too."
They stare at each other for a second, her fingers pinching the tails of the collar.
She leans in to kiss him, light on the lips. He inhales deep, breathing her in; green apple shampoo, flowery body wash, cinnamon lotion. She lets him go and turns for the stairs, leaving him standing there, with a slight look of confusion.
"So, uh, I guess I'll set up down here." He looks around, at what she's done with the living room. There are still some boxes, books and manuals spread out on the coffee table. He clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck.
She laughs, high like church bells, throwing back her head, hair bouncing at her shoulders. She crosses her arms and leans on the banister, putting all her weight on her left foot, keeping the right one raised on the step behind her. "Get your ass up here."
He follows her to bed with a smirk, sheds his coat and boots at the door. His jeans and socks. She pulls down the sheets and he crawls into his spot, his pillow, sighs as he eases himself down; his bones crack, he winces as he rolls to his right side, to the good leg.
On reflex she rolls to him, slipping an arm under his, curling it around his waist. He's so heavy, solid. He smells like gas and dirt, blood. Maybe his, maybe not. She presses against him, her lips soft and moist on the back of his neck. "You didn't have to come back right away," she says into his skin tasting of salt.
He shifts a bit, runs his dirt caked nails over her knuckles. "Yeah I did."
.end
Author: breebree16
Summary: Dean comes home.
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for 6.02
Author's Notes: Response to the prompt "Waiting for You" over at 15_song_titles. PS this will be cross posted in places tomorrow, i don't feel like dealing with html tonight.
Lisa got the text at about three in the morning. He told her she didn't have to wait up, just wanted to make sure she wouldn't put those target practice lessons to use. He even put a stupid little wink in the text and she thinks he's either drunk or dying.
She pulls on her robe, loops the rope and ties a knot; the new house is cold, drafty. The stairs creak under her, the banister wobbles a bit. She's not quite sure what to do with herself at the moment. She wipes down the counters from dinner, puts away some dishes before wandering to the living room, plopping down on the couch.
All their pictures are up; the eight by eleven on the mantel where they sat in a park smiling. He smiled in all the pictures, she never doubted the sincerity in them. Never doubted the warmth of his arms, the sureness of his hands.
Almost an hour passes; longer than she expected when the den brightens with the head lights of the Impala, the engine humming low like a purr of a jungle cat as he pulls into the drive way. She yawns, stretches out her arms before standing, padding towards the door.
He fiddles with the lock and she thinks of helping, but decides against it. Just stands there frozen, waiting. He's been gone for three weeks.
The door opens with a bit of a pop, flying wide, knocking over the line of salt she set up before bed. He stumbles in, dropping his duffel by the table, his keys in the bowl.
He looks like he'd been through the wringer, washed against hard rocks in the river. Red eyes, a split lip. He stared at her like he's not expecting her, like she's not supposed to be there. "Lis?"
She almost laughs, but tightens the knot on her robe. "Yeah."
"I told you not to wait up." He comes towards her, a slight limp in his left leg. A knot rises in her chest and she fights all the fibers in her wanting to rush at him like in the movies, smother him in kisses telling him how much she missed him. It makes her tight, rigid in her stance. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he grunts, stopping a foot away. She sees the hesitation, he doesn't quite look at her. "Long drive."
She nods and makes the step, reaches out with both hands to adjust the collar of his jacket. His turn to freeze, locking his feet in place, unsure of his hands."You should get some sleep then. Ben will be so happy to see you."
He smiles, pulled to the left, finally matches her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah me too."
They stare at each other for a second, her fingers pinching the tails of the collar.
She leans in to kiss him, light on the lips. He inhales deep, breathing her in; green apple shampoo, flowery body wash, cinnamon lotion. She lets him go and turns for the stairs, leaving him standing there, with a slight look of confusion.
"So, uh, I guess I'll set up down here." He looks around, at what she's done with the living room. There are still some boxes, books and manuals spread out on the coffee table. He clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck.
She laughs, high like church bells, throwing back her head, hair bouncing at her shoulders. She crosses her arms and leans on the banister, putting all her weight on her left foot, keeping the right one raised on the step behind her. "Get your ass up here."
He follows her to bed with a smirk, sheds his coat and boots at the door. His jeans and socks. She pulls down the sheets and he crawls into his spot, his pillow, sighs as he eases himself down; his bones crack, he winces as he rolls to his right side, to the good leg.
On reflex she rolls to him, slipping an arm under his, curling it around his waist. He's so heavy, solid. He smells like gas and dirt, blood. Maybe his, maybe not. She presses against him, her lips soft and moist on the back of his neck. "You didn't have to come back right away," she says into his skin tasting of salt.
He shifts a bit, runs his dirt caked nails over her knuckles. "Yeah I did."
.end