It was interesting, how time reflected them. Ever-changing, repeating, different each moment after moment after moment. Gone in a second. Staying for an hour. Coming and lasting, going and wasting.
They were time. Time was them.
They ticked. Flushed and sweaty and warm against each other-hard muscles and taut stomachs and sometimes love-their hearts ticked like a timer until-“Fuck! God, Sam!”
Dean told the time in songs. Ten Ramble Ons left, Sammy. Two Master of Puppets. Three Traveling Riverside Blues.
Sam told the time in fancy digital technology. “Fifty-three, minutes, Dean. Twenty-seven to go. Stop asking me how much longer.”
But time didn’t feel like time when they were together. More stretches of memory or racing pulses and lazy conversations. They didn’t feel like numbers, they felt like words. Promises. They felt like coffee mouths and elevators and cigarettes. Broken alarms. Armchairs.
Sam finished his second beer and set it on the table, then looked at Dean. "I'm going to do it," he announced.
Dean wasn't paying any attention, his focus on a blonde at the bar.
Sam tapped the table and coughed but Dean still wasn't listening. "Dean!" he exclaimed.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, winking at the blonde and then flipping around to face his brother.
"I said, I'm going to do it," Sam repeated.
Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Do...what?" he questioned but Sam had already gotten up and left the table. Dean watched him in disbelief as Sam headed up toward the karaoke sign up, then sighed.
"I thought I was exaggerating when I told that cop two beers and you're singing karaoke..." he sighed.
(I apologize for this. My stepdaughter just finished Season 1 so we watched The Benders recently and for some reason that quote popped into my head!)
Sam and Dean weren’t often comfortable with other people - didn’t trust them. And that combined with the fact that, as hunters, weird scenarios kind of came with the territory, they got into far more awkward situations then was strictly necessary.
“Uh, miss, you were kind of...”
“I was making out with a reanimated corpse?”
“Well, yeah.”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
“Uh... curse.”
And:
“Dude, uh. That’s a hag.”
“I know.”
“... Well. You cursed?”
“No.”
“Okaaaay, As you were.”
But then there were these other situations, like:
“Oh, you’re such a lovely couple!”
“Lady, we’re brothers.”
...
“Gay brothers?”
But in the whole world there was a place where Dean and Sam were most comfortable - with themselves or otherwise. And that place was Bobby’s house. It was messy, disorganised, and homely. But sometimes they got too comfortable and they slipped.
“You boys holdin’ hands?”
“Um... curse.”
But then there were those other times when it was too too comfortable
( ... )
Comments 478
Sam/Dean, Time
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Anyway, just a bit too long for the comment box, so:
Title: ...and a time for peace.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1145
http://whitereflection.livejournal.com/718401.html
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They were time. Time was them.
They ticked. Flushed and sweaty and warm against each other-hard muscles and taut stomachs and sometimes love-their hearts ticked like a timer until-“Fuck! God, Sam!”
Dean told the time in songs. Ten Ramble Ons left, Sammy. Two Master of Puppets. Three Traveling Riverside Blues.
Sam told the time in fancy digital technology. “Fifty-three, minutes, Dean. Twenty-seven to go. Stop asking me how much longer.”
But time didn’t feel like time when they were together. More stretches of memory or racing pulses and lazy conversations. They didn’t feel like numbers, they felt like words. Promises. They felt like coffee mouths and elevators and cigarettes. Broken alarms. Armchairs.
They felt ageless
But not loveless.
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Dean wasn't paying any attention, his focus on a blonde at the bar.
Sam tapped the table and coughed but Dean still wasn't listening. "Dean!" he exclaimed.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, winking at the blonde and then flipping around to face his brother.
"I said, I'm going to do it," Sam repeated.
Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Do...what?" he questioned but Sam had already gotten up and left the table. Dean watched him in disbelief as Sam headed up toward the karaoke sign up, then sighed.
"I thought I was exaggerating when I told that cop two beers and you're singing karaoke..." he sighed.
(I apologize for this. My stepdaughter just finished Season 1 so we watched The Benders recently and for some reason that quote popped into my head!)
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“Uh, miss, you were kind of...”
“I was making out with a reanimated corpse?”
“Well, yeah.”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
“Uh... curse.”
And:
“Dude, uh. That’s a hag.”
“I know.”
“... Well. You cursed?”
“No.”
“Okaaaay, As you were.”
But then there were these other situations, like:
“Oh, you’re such a lovely couple!”
“Lady, we’re brothers.”
...
“Gay brothers?”
But in the whole world there was a place where Dean and Sam were most comfortable - with themselves or otherwise. And that place was Bobby’s house. It was messy, disorganised, and homely. But sometimes they got too comfortable and they slipped.
“You boys holdin’ hands?”
“Um... curse.”
But then there were those other times when it was too too comfortable ( ... )
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