004.Photo/Picture // Sam Winchester // Supernatural
Title: Love in Focus
Prompt/Number: Photo/Picture/004
Rating: PG-13 for implied sexuality and violence.
Character/Fandom: Sam Winchester/Supernatural
Word Count: ~1050 words
Note: Set before/during/after the "Pilot" (SPN 01x01)
He and Dean had so few photos. Maybe ten if they combined their resources. The whole family before the fire. Mom and dad wrapped tight around each other. Him and Dad and Dean on some hunting trip he no longer remembered. And he had that picture of Jess.
It was strange because he didn't have much in his wallet that was real. His credit cards and IDs all had fake names. Even the cash in there, though real, hadn't really been earned in any conventional sense. At least, not unless he could call himself a professional dingy bar-corner gambler.
It was her senior year photo, funny, or perhaps not, because that batch had only just arrived from the photographer the week before she died. She'd torn the package open with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary and hmm'ed at the proofs. He'd come around behind, all arms, (man, he was skinny back then) and folded her close, looking over her shoulder.
This one had been his favorite. Simple, yeah, but perfect. It was a close up with some kind of wind machine effect and it just captured who she was so well. Her blue eyes sparkled with a shade of intensity that said she was just as deep and smart as she was pretty. The white of her smile and the curve of her lips said that she could be quirky sometimes, that she teased a lot and laughed a lot and tended to see the good in most everything, even him. That flush in her cheeks, though? That tilt of her head? They said she didn't really know all the reasons he had to love her, that she didn't understand just how beautiful she was.
He'd pointed to this one as the one that he wanted for keeps, but made sure she knew that every one of them were gorgeous. She'd protested, of course, because apparently she could never quite see herself clearly, even when her contacts were in and even when the evidence was so undeniable. He felt it was his duty to help her understand, help her see the light. And he'd done it with laughter.
He took the photos from her hands and set them gently aside. Then he'd turned her in his arms and initiated his surprise tickling attack, taking her down to the floor squeaking with giggles until there were tears in her eyes and she had to shriek 'uncle'.
He made her say that all the pictures were beautiful and that none of them deserved to be hidden away. It seemed like maybe she believed him, at least a little, but he had to make sure. So, the tickling continued until she promise-promise-promised that she wouldn't throw any of them out or pretend they didn't exist. The smiles on his face and hers were huge right then and just thinking about it now made him grin almost just as wide.
He'd let her tickle him back, though, just to keep things fair. He'd even let her win, tumbling onto his side with belly laughs so deep they almost hurt. Then when they both could breathe again, she'd leaned over and kissed him, soft at first, then deep, and his fingers got lost in the blond silk of her hair.
They didn't do much with photographs that night and didn't even make it properly to bed. They woke up tangled all together on the couch, still smiling and silly like the fun had only just ended. He forgot about classes that day, on purpose of course, knowing he wouldn't be missed, but that he'd be missing her. He even kind of forgot what had triggered it all.
Hence the surprise when he'd gone to grab take-out two nights later and found the photo he'd chosen wedged in one of those little plastic folders made for such things. There was writing on the back, but he was paying for their food and holding up the line, so he resolved to read it later.
But later came a day too late.
He'd come home from the hunt to find homemade cookies and a note signed with a heart. He'd settled in to wait, soothed by the sounds of the shower, with a smile on his face. But then she'd been bleeding down on him and burning over him and he'd lost himself in grief.
There was nothing left for him there but flame and ash when Dean had dragged him to the car. His tears were stuck, though, hardly spilling, as he shook off dreams of something better, something more, and focused on the justice that needed meting out.
They drove as far away as they could get that night before they pulled off for a room. He knew he couldn't sleep, though, and didn't even really try. He just sat and watched his brother breathing for a while, the rise and fall of something real and present reaching through the haze.
He found himself staring out the window some unknown minutes later, hardly noticing the sunrise. His hands were tense around an item, though, something flat and delicate and her. He had no memory of reaching for his wallet or carrying the picture to the window, but then he was blinking down at it and his fingers were turning it over and he cracked right down the middle, things held back pouring out over his arm.
Dean never asked him why his tears were fresh when he woke up or why his anger burned so bright. Dean thought he knew, thought he could maybe understand, but he didn't and he couldn't and he wouldn't ever really. It wasn't just about loss, about lives taken and destroyed. It was about being moments away from having everything he'd ever really wanted only to be shoved back into a world filled with nothing but duty and darkness.
Sam,
I love you and I think you know that.
So, I hope that you'll believe me
when I say that I don't need
formal clothes or fancy dinners
or even candlelight.
All I need is you and your love.
So, if you're waiting for the right time,
know that any time will do just fine.
So, go ahead and ask me, you dork.
I know that I'll say yes.
Jess ♥
Prompt/Number: Photo/Picture/004
Rating: PG-13 for implied sexuality and violence.
Character/Fandom: Sam Winchester/Supernatural
Word Count: ~1050 words
Note: Set before/during/after the "Pilot" (SPN 01x01)
He and Dean had so few photos. Maybe ten if they combined their resources. The whole family before the fire. Mom and dad wrapped tight around each other. Him and Dad and Dean on some hunting trip he no longer remembered. And he had that picture of Jess.
It was strange because he didn't have much in his wallet that was real. His credit cards and IDs all had fake names. Even the cash in there, though real, hadn't really been earned in any conventional sense. At least, not unless he could call himself a professional dingy bar-corner gambler.
It was her senior year photo, funny, or perhaps not, because that batch had only just arrived from the photographer the week before she died. She'd torn the package open with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary and hmm'ed at the proofs. He'd come around behind, all arms, (man, he was skinny back then) and folded her close, looking over her shoulder.
This one had been his favorite. Simple, yeah, but perfect. It was a close up with some kind of wind machine effect and it just captured who she was so well. Her blue eyes sparkled with a shade of intensity that said she was just as deep and smart as she was pretty. The white of her smile and the curve of her lips said that she could be quirky sometimes, that she teased a lot and laughed a lot and tended to see the good in most everything, even him. That flush in her cheeks, though? That tilt of her head? They said she didn't really know all the reasons he had to love her, that she didn't understand just how beautiful she was.
He'd pointed to this one as the one that he wanted for keeps, but made sure she knew that every one of them were gorgeous. She'd protested, of course, because apparently she could never quite see herself clearly, even when her contacts were in and even when the evidence was so undeniable. He felt it was his duty to help her understand, help her see the light. And he'd done it with laughter.
He took the photos from her hands and set them gently aside. Then he'd turned her in his arms and initiated his surprise tickling attack, taking her down to the floor squeaking with giggles until there were tears in her eyes and she had to shriek 'uncle'.
He made her say that all the pictures were beautiful and that none of them deserved to be hidden away. It seemed like maybe she believed him, at least a little, but he had to make sure. So, the tickling continued until she promise-promise-promised that she wouldn't throw any of them out or pretend they didn't exist. The smiles on his face and hers were huge right then and just thinking about it now made him grin almost just as wide.
He'd let her tickle him back, though, just to keep things fair. He'd even let her win, tumbling onto his side with belly laughs so deep they almost hurt. Then when they both could breathe again, she'd leaned over and kissed him, soft at first, then deep, and his fingers got lost in the blond silk of her hair.
They didn't do much with photographs that night and didn't even make it properly to bed. They woke up tangled all together on the couch, still smiling and silly like the fun had only just ended. He forgot about classes that day, on purpose of course, knowing he wouldn't be missed, but that he'd be missing her. He even kind of forgot what had triggered it all.
Hence the surprise when he'd gone to grab take-out two nights later and found the photo he'd chosen wedged in one of those little plastic folders made for such things. There was writing on the back, but he was paying for their food and holding up the line, so he resolved to read it later.
But later came a day too late.
He'd come home from the hunt to find homemade cookies and a note signed with a heart. He'd settled in to wait, soothed by the sounds of the shower, with a smile on his face. But then she'd been bleeding down on him and burning over him and he'd lost himself in grief.
There was nothing left for him there but flame and ash when Dean had dragged him to the car. His tears were stuck, though, hardly spilling, as he shook off dreams of something better, something more, and focused on the justice that needed meting out.
They drove as far away as they could get that night before they pulled off for a room. He knew he couldn't sleep, though, and didn't even really try. He just sat and watched his brother breathing for a while, the rise and fall of something real and present reaching through the haze.
He found himself staring out the window some unknown minutes later, hardly noticing the sunrise. His hands were tense around an item, though, something flat and delicate and her. He had no memory of reaching for his wallet or carrying the picture to the window, but then he was blinking down at it and his fingers were turning it over and he cracked right down the middle, things held back pouring out over his arm.
Dean never asked him why his tears were fresh when he woke up or why his anger burned so bright. Dean thought he knew, thought he could maybe understand, but he didn't and he couldn't and he wouldn't ever really. It wasn't just about loss, about lives taken and destroyed. It was about being moments away from having everything he'd ever really wanted only to be shoved back into a world filled with nothing but duty and darkness.
Sam,
I love you and I think you know that.
So, I hope that you'll believe me
when I say that I don't need
formal clothes or fancy dinners
or even candlelight.
All I need is you and your love.
So, if you're waiting for the right time,
know that any time will do just fine.
So, go ahead and ask me, you dork.
I know that I'll say yes.
Jess ♥