FIC: Shadow On The Wall
Some plotless Dean whump. I don't know where this even came from.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: 455
Summary: Dean pretends he's ok so Sam can deal with his own grief.
Disclaimer: not mine, obviously.
Shadow On The Wall
There’s a shadow skulking across the grass, silent and eerie and wrong because there’s nobody causing it, just the shadow. Dean watches it, every muscle tense and ready, his shotgun raised as the shadow drifts through the fence, disappears into the darkness over there, amongst the trees. Behind him, there’s shuffling feet and a soft breath. Dean turns, his breathing short and too loud. The shadow is there again, rising tall and ominous against Sam’s back now, where he’s crouched down in the grass, flashlight making the light dew glisten. Dean’s eyes dart to the moon, calculating light and distance, then back to the shadow and he pulls the trigger, aiming in the direction he guesses the creature is. Thunder cracks, lightning splitting the sky, the sound hitting Dean’s chest and stealing the noise of the shot the instant it leaves his gun. The wind is alive as it whips past him, the creaking of tree branches against each other is a harsh laugh that taunts him, because the moon is gone and the flashlight is dead and he can’t see anything and he can’t even breathe.
“Sammy…” he whispers, feeling his lips move but not hearing his own voice.
The gun drops from limp fingers, the sound of it landing in the grass dulled by the roaring in Dean’s ears, and Dean takes two steps towards his brother before his legs fold under him. Hands catch him, stopping his fall, pulling him against something solid and warm. The world’s spinning, tight and fast and everything’s so dark.
“Hey, it’s ok. Breathe, man, c’mon,” Sam’s voice is right in Dean’s ear, breaths warm on his cheek and neck.
He wrestles cold air into his lungs, one of his hands finding the rough fabric of Sam’s jacket sleeve and gripping it tight. There’s silence for a long moment, broken only by Dean’s harsh panting and Sam’s murmured assurances. Then Dean opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing and there’s light again and he’s still standing, his back against Sam’s chest, Sam’s arms wrapped around him.
“Sam?” he mumbles.
“Yeah?” Sam’s voice is soft.
“Quit hugging me.”
There’s a soft snort, a chuckle, and Sam’s chest vibrates against Dean’s back.
“You’re the one who’s holding me,” Sam says.
Dean realizes his hand is still clenched in Sam’s sleeve, and his fingers are stiff when he lets go. Sam’s arms drop from Dean’s chest and Dean stumbles slightly as his legs take his own weight again. Sam grabs his arm.
“You ok?” he asks, already tugging Dean’s arm across his shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean responds, but he lets Sam help him out of the now empty field as the darkness gives way to the grey light of dawn.
END
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: 455
Summary: Dean pretends he's ok so Sam can deal with his own grief.
Disclaimer: not mine, obviously.
Shadow On The Wall
There’s a shadow skulking across the grass, silent and eerie and wrong because there’s nobody causing it, just the shadow. Dean watches it, every muscle tense and ready, his shotgun raised as the shadow drifts through the fence, disappears into the darkness over there, amongst the trees. Behind him, there’s shuffling feet and a soft breath. Dean turns, his breathing short and too loud. The shadow is there again, rising tall and ominous against Sam’s back now, where he’s crouched down in the grass, flashlight making the light dew glisten. Dean’s eyes dart to the moon, calculating light and distance, then back to the shadow and he pulls the trigger, aiming in the direction he guesses the creature is. Thunder cracks, lightning splitting the sky, the sound hitting Dean’s chest and stealing the noise of the shot the instant it leaves his gun. The wind is alive as it whips past him, the creaking of tree branches against each other is a harsh laugh that taunts him, because the moon is gone and the flashlight is dead and he can’t see anything and he can’t even breathe.
“Sammy…” he whispers, feeling his lips move but not hearing his own voice.
The gun drops from limp fingers, the sound of it landing in the grass dulled by the roaring in Dean’s ears, and Dean takes two steps towards his brother before his legs fold under him. Hands catch him, stopping his fall, pulling him against something solid and warm. The world’s spinning, tight and fast and everything’s so dark.
“Hey, it’s ok. Breathe, man, c’mon,” Sam’s voice is right in Dean’s ear, breaths warm on his cheek and neck.
He wrestles cold air into his lungs, one of his hands finding the rough fabric of Sam’s jacket sleeve and gripping it tight. There’s silence for a long moment, broken only by Dean’s harsh panting and Sam’s murmured assurances. Then Dean opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing and there’s light again and he’s still standing, his back against Sam’s chest, Sam’s arms wrapped around him.
“Sam?” he mumbles.
“Yeah?” Sam’s voice is soft.
“Quit hugging me.”
There’s a soft snort, a chuckle, and Sam’s chest vibrates against Dean’s back.
“You’re the one who’s holding me,” Sam says.
Dean realizes his hand is still clenched in Sam’s sleeve, and his fingers are stiff when he lets go. Sam’s arms drop from Dean’s chest and Dean stumbles slightly as his legs take his own weight again. Sam grabs his arm.
“You ok?” he asks, already tugging Dean’s arm across his shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean responds, but he lets Sam help him out of the now empty field as the darkness gives way to the grey light of dawn.
END