Ficlet ; Carved
Title : Carved.
Rating : G
Pairing : Sam/Dean. You can see it as Sam & Dean, though.
Summary : I watch you glow... so bright against the dark of the world. You're beautiful.
Note : I really don't know if I should post this, but I'm going to anyways. My inspiration has been... God awful lately. And it's really upsetting me. This is for someonescomet, one of my best friends who I love beyond words. Here's to hoping that one day I'll be able to write you something beautiful bb.
They're somewhere past Witchita, hours lost in the thick clouds above their heads. Even on these old gravel roads the impala rides smooth, floating as they drive, Flint Hills painted to a perfection out their windows.
Dean's been across the states, reached miles that seemed impossible at times, but nothings ever been as beautiful as Sam is now. He's half asleep in the passenger seat, his hand out the window and his fingers spread wide as the wind weaves through. His hair is blowing, too. It looks like a lighter shade of brown beneath the melting sun, caramel like the youth that has long since left them both.
But now, when they've past the end of their rope in life, and all odds are stacked against them, Sam looks innocent in a way not even young age could grant him. From the curve of his cheeks to the tip of his rounded nose, and across the boyish lashes long against his skin, there's an angelic flow. It makes sense, now, that Sam was carved by God himself.
Rating : G
Pairing : Sam/Dean. You can see it as Sam & Dean, though.
Summary : I watch you glow... so bright against the dark of the world. You're beautiful.
Note : I really don't know if I should post this, but I'm going to anyways. My inspiration has been... God awful lately. And it's really upsetting me. This is for someonescomet, one of my best friends who I love beyond words. Here's to hoping that one day I'll be able to write you something beautiful bb.
They're somewhere past Witchita, hours lost in the thick clouds above their heads. Even on these old gravel roads the impala rides smooth, floating as they drive, Flint Hills painted to a perfection out their windows.
Dean's been across the states, reached miles that seemed impossible at times, but nothings ever been as beautiful as Sam is now. He's half asleep in the passenger seat, his hand out the window and his fingers spread wide as the wind weaves through. His hair is blowing, too. It looks like a lighter shade of brown beneath the melting sun, caramel like the youth that has long since left them both.
But now, when they've past the end of their rope in life, and all odds are stacked against them, Sam looks innocent in a way not even young age could grant him. From the curve of his cheeks to the tip of his rounded nose, and across the boyish lashes long against his skin, there's an angelic flow. It makes sense, now, that Sam was carved by God himself.