Happy now, kurasari?
Title: we sleep underneath the same big sky
Fandom and Pairing: Supernatural; Sam/Dean, if you see it everywhere like I do
Rating: PG
Prompt: rain; 037. Gen; kurasari's fic request
Notes: Not mine, no profit, just playing. Title from Chantal Kreviazuk's In This Life. I'm not really happy with this, especially as it was one of those things I had to sit down and force myself to write. Any and all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Summary: It is just a typical graveyard shift.
They come into the diner at 4:26 a.m. They don’t speak except to order their coffee. They look exhausted, and dirty, and they are wet from the rain. But we’re used to the truckers here, stopping for a meal in the midst of their long hauls, so I don’t much mind the boys’ slightly greasy hair and unwashed hands. They sit themselves at the far end of the counter, away from the tv, and after I deliver their coffee I return to my soap opera reruns, leaving them to brood. They sit for a long time, shoulders almost touching, staring at something I can’t see on the countertop and sipping their coffee. They don’t ask for refills, and I don’t offer. They are thinking about something big. Huge. I’ve watched two episodes since they came in and I think, their coffee must be cold, now. The sun is coming up, and the room is lighter than before. The two boys still have not moved.
Some time later, the sun appears above the hilltops, sliding through the slats in the window’s open blinds. As if, somewhere, a switch had been flipped, the fair-haired one looks up, and it seems that he has made his decision. He stands up and pulls a few bills from his pocket. “Come on, Sammy,” he says. “Time to go.” The other boy unfolds himself from the seat. I don’t remember him being quite so tall when he walked through the door. He nods, and they leave. Within moments I hear an engine start up and a black car pulls out of the parking lot, one of those real nice old classics. It leaves, and I notice they have left me a large tip.
I don’t think about them again. This kind of thing happens all the time here.
And the second part of kurasari's request, a drabble about the boys' lawyer from Folsom Prison Blues, 2.19.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and Mara almost forgot about those Winchester brothers, and their ‘mysterious’ disappearance, and their cases’ weird inconsistencies. Agent Henriksen stopped hounding her daily and she moved two states over, where her clients aren’t quite so strange. And then, one day, she got a letter.
The envelope was hand-addressed, blue ink on a piece of cheap motel stationary. The same blue pen had scratched out the motel’s logo, leaving no return address. She slit the side open and pulled a scrap of paper out, right there on her deck. The paper said,
Thanks.
She folded the letter back up, and smiled.
I actually like the second one a lot better.
Crossposted to le_kool, wordclaim50, wincest, and my journal i_am_krazy
Fandom and Pairing: Supernatural; Sam/Dean, if you see it everywhere like I do
Rating: PG
Prompt: rain; 037. Gen; kurasari's fic request
Notes: Not mine, no profit, just playing. Title from Chantal Kreviazuk's In This Life. I'm not really happy with this, especially as it was one of those things I had to sit down and force myself to write. Any and all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Summary: It is just a typical graveyard shift.
They come into the diner at 4:26 a.m. They don’t speak except to order their coffee. They look exhausted, and dirty, and they are wet from the rain. But we’re used to the truckers here, stopping for a meal in the midst of their long hauls, so I don’t much mind the boys’ slightly greasy hair and unwashed hands. They sit themselves at the far end of the counter, away from the tv, and after I deliver their coffee I return to my soap opera reruns, leaving them to brood. They sit for a long time, shoulders almost touching, staring at something I can’t see on the countertop and sipping their coffee. They don’t ask for refills, and I don’t offer. They are thinking about something big. Huge. I’ve watched two episodes since they came in and I think, their coffee must be cold, now. The sun is coming up, and the room is lighter than before. The two boys still have not moved.
Some time later, the sun appears above the hilltops, sliding through the slats in the window’s open blinds. As if, somewhere, a switch had been flipped, the fair-haired one looks up, and it seems that he has made his decision. He stands up and pulls a few bills from his pocket. “Come on, Sammy,” he says. “Time to go.” The other boy unfolds himself from the seat. I don’t remember him being quite so tall when he walked through the door. He nods, and they leave. Within moments I hear an engine start up and a black car pulls out of the parking lot, one of those real nice old classics. It leaves, and I notice they have left me a large tip.
I don’t think about them again. This kind of thing happens all the time here.
And the second part of kurasari's request, a drabble about the boys' lawyer from Folsom Prison Blues, 2.19.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and Mara almost forgot about those Winchester brothers, and their ‘mysterious’ disappearance, and their cases’ weird inconsistencies. Agent Henriksen stopped hounding her daily and she moved two states over, where her clients aren’t quite so strange. And then, one day, she got a letter.
The envelope was hand-addressed, blue ink on a piece of cheap motel stationary. The same blue pen had scratched out the motel’s logo, leaving no return address. She slit the side open and pulled a scrap of paper out, right there on her deck. The paper said,
Thanks.
She folded the letter back up, and smiled.
I actually like the second one a lot better.
Crossposted to le_kool, wordclaim50, wincest, and my journal i_am_krazy