timbre.
title: timbre
rating: G
a/n: 700+ words of gen, sam-centric. comments and crits are welcomed and highly appreciated.
summary: dean's voice was sam's security blanket
Timbre
Sam likes Dean’s voice. He thinks it’s just…beautiful. Nice, to put it manly. Even as a kid, he would always feel comforted when Dean talked to him. Even when Dean still had his little boy’s voice. Even before it became that deep, husky tone. Even then.
The oldest possible memory Sam had in his mind is of a six-year-old Dean singing him a lullaby at bedtime. Dean’s hair was overgrown, the shaggy blond mop curtaining his green eyes. His soft pats on Sam’s thigh were soothing, the rhythmic taptaptap pulling him into slumber. It wasn’t a wonder that Sam’s first word when he was eleven months old turned out to be “Dean”.
He was more than a brother to Sam. More a father than John was. Heck - Dean was like a father and mother to him.
Sam wonders when that had changed. When Dean was no longer a parent. When he just became a brother.
Sam remembers the day he left for Stanford. The sky was robin’s egg blue, not a cloud in sight. The silence was deafening. Dean had not been talking since the stoic “I’ll take you to the station”. Sam had never felt a stronger need to hear Dean’s voice. The fight with Dad left him slightly trembling, a dread threatening to drown every fiber of his being. And he thought about why he didn’t consider one of the most important factors in his life when he made the decision to leave. He didn’t think about what Dean would want, how he would feel. It was pretty obvious then. But Sam wasn’t certain whether Dean’s silence was per his departure or the words he threw at their father.
“Goodbye, Sam.”
Such finality in that voice. The voice he loved so much.
“Whoa. Easy, tiger.”
For a moment, hearing that dulcet tone, Sam was hit with pure, unadulterated bliss. It was as if his track of sentiments reversed itself. Dean was right then someone he knew, his brother, his family, his friend, his protector, his Dean. Dean with his cavernous timbre and sleepy drawl. Then, it reverted. Dean - and his voice, for that matter - was his past. The past that he had tried so hard to forget the past two years. He didn’t need that familiar voice anymore. That was the reason he never answered any of Dean’s calls. He didn’t want to catch that tone again and felt like Sammy Winchester. He is Sam Winchester now, a normal pre-law student with no odd history of having his big brother’s voice as a security blanket.
“Could you turn off the light, Sam?”
It had been two weeks since Dad’s death. The boys are now orphans. And yet, Sam still feels like he has someone he could call a parent. Watching Dean slipping into slumber on the bed next to his, Sam smiled.
“Dean?”
A grumble, like music to Sam’s ears.
“Can you sing me a song? You know, just like when we were kids.”
Dean’s green eyes were wide on him, eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Are you kidding? Go to sleep, Sammy.”
Sam laid his head on the pillow, sighing. Not three seconds, Dean started crooning a Brahms lullaby, slow at first then louder, his voice steady and smooth.
Good evening, good night. With roses adorned,
With carnations covered, slip under the covers.
Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again.
Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again.
Good evening, good night. By angels watched,
Who show you in your dream the Christ-child's tree.
Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, look into dream's paradise.
Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, look into dream's paradise.
Sam is sure he is smiling in his near-sleep. Dean’s voice reverberated in a soft manner across the small motel room, seeping into his core. By the time Dean got to Golden Slumbers, sleep finally took over. And at the very edge between consciousness, Sam realizes that come what may, he feels most secured when listening to Dean’s voice.
Dean’s beautiful voice.
Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep,
pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby.
Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep,
pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
-end-
resonant; a continuation.
rating: G
a/n: 700+ words of gen, sam-centric. comments and crits are welcomed and highly appreciated.
summary: dean's voice was sam's security blanket
Timbre
Sam likes Dean’s voice. He thinks it’s just…beautiful. Nice, to put it manly. Even as a kid, he would always feel comforted when Dean talked to him. Even when Dean still had his little boy’s voice. Even before it became that deep, husky tone. Even then.
The oldest possible memory Sam had in his mind is of a six-year-old Dean singing him a lullaby at bedtime. Dean’s hair was overgrown, the shaggy blond mop curtaining his green eyes. His soft pats on Sam’s thigh were soothing, the rhythmic taptaptap pulling him into slumber. It wasn’t a wonder that Sam’s first word when he was eleven months old turned out to be “Dean”.
He was more than a brother to Sam. More a father than John was. Heck - Dean was like a father and mother to him.
Sam wonders when that had changed. When Dean was no longer a parent. When he just became a brother.
Sam remembers the day he left for Stanford. The sky was robin’s egg blue, not a cloud in sight. The silence was deafening. Dean had not been talking since the stoic “I’ll take you to the station”. Sam had never felt a stronger need to hear Dean’s voice. The fight with Dad left him slightly trembling, a dread threatening to drown every fiber of his being. And he thought about why he didn’t consider one of the most important factors in his life when he made the decision to leave. He didn’t think about what Dean would want, how he would feel. It was pretty obvious then. But Sam wasn’t certain whether Dean’s silence was per his departure or the words he threw at their father.
“Goodbye, Sam.”
Such finality in that voice. The voice he loved so much.
“Whoa. Easy, tiger.”
For a moment, hearing that dulcet tone, Sam was hit with pure, unadulterated bliss. It was as if his track of sentiments reversed itself. Dean was right then someone he knew, his brother, his family, his friend, his protector, his Dean. Dean with his cavernous timbre and sleepy drawl. Then, it reverted. Dean - and his voice, for that matter - was his past. The past that he had tried so hard to forget the past two years. He didn’t need that familiar voice anymore. That was the reason he never answered any of Dean’s calls. He didn’t want to catch that tone again and felt like Sammy Winchester. He is Sam Winchester now, a normal pre-law student with no odd history of having his big brother’s voice as a security blanket.
“Could you turn off the light, Sam?”
It had been two weeks since Dad’s death. The boys are now orphans. And yet, Sam still feels like he has someone he could call a parent. Watching Dean slipping into slumber on the bed next to his, Sam smiled.
“Dean?”
A grumble, like music to Sam’s ears.
“Can you sing me a song? You know, just like when we were kids.”
Dean’s green eyes were wide on him, eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Are you kidding? Go to sleep, Sammy.”
Sam laid his head on the pillow, sighing. Not three seconds, Dean started crooning a Brahms lullaby, slow at first then louder, his voice steady and smooth.
Good evening, good night. With roses adorned,
With carnations covered, slip under the covers.
Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again.
Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again.
Good evening, good night. By angels watched,
Who show you in your dream the Christ-child's tree.
Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, look into dream's paradise.
Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, look into dream's paradise.
Sam is sure he is smiling in his near-sleep. Dean’s voice reverberated in a soft manner across the small motel room, seeping into his core. By the time Dean got to Golden Slumbers, sleep finally took over. And at the very edge between consciousness, Sam realizes that come what may, he feels most secured when listening to Dean’s voice.
Dean’s beautiful voice.
Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep,
pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby.
Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep,
pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
-end-
resonant; a continuation.