make this go on
make this go on
spn, vague sam/dean, pg, 727 words; set in season 4; written for silverbullets prompt: bad movie marathon
title from ‘make this go on forever’ by snow patrol
And you think, I could get used to this.
- - -
Dean comes back from Hell, ripped open and scarred, and it’s all internal bleeding, damage that Sam can’t even imagine. And sometimes he’ll get that glint in his eye that hints at unrestrained violence or he’ll freeze in midsentence, muscles tight and expression blank, and Sam will wonder how much of his Dean in fact came back.
Dean’s quiet, restrained, and he refuses to sleep. After that first night, when he woke Sam up, screaming and caught in a memory, he hasn’t slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. He even lets Sam drive more often, so he can nap in the car, and it keeps the nightmares away, but the nights are hard, especially for Sam.
The moment they check into a motel, Sam’s ready to eat and then sleep. Dean however, has different plans. To pass the time between dusk and dawn, he’s taken to watching whatever terrible 80’s and 90’s action movies are playing on late-night television. Sam can only take so many Bruce Willis marathons before he’s ready to swear off TV altogether. And yeah, he understands why Dean doesn’t want to sleep, but neither of them wants deal with a bitchy, sleep-deprived Sam. He’d get another room, but Dean would somehow be insulted, and Sam really doesn’t want to fall into that mess.
In the end, it takes Sam two weeks to get used to sleeping with the background noise of bombs exploding and bullets whistling through the air. It’s annoying, sure, but it’s better than nights of hearing Dean’s quiet almost-sobs. He tries not to think about how fucked up it is that guns and explosions have somehow turned into a lullaby.
- - -
They’re halfway through a viewing of Total Recall when Sam notices Dean nodding off in the next bed over. He’d been making his way through a bottle of Jack Daniels and the combination of hard liquor and sleep-deprivation was finally starting to kick in. Sam watches Dean's eyelids fluttering shut and the slow rise-fall of his chest, a vague warning going off in his mind, I should wake him up, he'll be pissed if you don't. But this is something rare, something precious, a peaceful Dean with a soft expression that doesn’t betray the horrors of four months spent in the Pit.
A couple of minutes pass, Sam torn between watching the TV and Dean, and he really shouldn't be staring, because Dean's gonna know when he wakes up, he always knows, and he'll call Sam a creepy motherfucker, leaving Sam to figure whether he's angry or indifferent about it.
Forty-five minutes into The Running Man, Dean starts making little, shuffling noises, lines forming around his eyes, like he’s trying to avoid seeing something. The sheets bunch up under his twisting body, and Sam stops, because this is what a nightmare looks like, the way it holds Dean in its dark grip, and this torture needs to end.
He shakes Dean’s shoulder with an anxious, Hey man, wake up. Dean’s eyes burst open, glazed-over, but Sam can see the panic, hears it in the way he says, Sam? His voice is rough with exhaustion, and Sam can tell he wants to give in, go back to sleep.
Come on, Dean, there’s an Arnold Schwarzenegger marathon going on. Lots of explosions and naked girls. Watch it with me. Sam smiles down at Dean, catches the flicker in his expression, alarm and fear, and Dean’s voice cracks as he says, Don’t let me go back to sleep, don’t wanna sleep, Sammy.
Something deep inside Sam shatters, the part that sees Dean as the strong and fearless big brother, and it hurts to see him like that, broken and pleading, and it’s not going to last long, only until morning breaks and sobriety kicks in, and maybe it’s time for Sam to take control, just this once.
Sam murmurs, scoot over, sliding under the covers next to Dean, and he turns up the TV volume. The hiss-clap-boom of explosions and the glare of the fire fill the motel room. Dean’s hand curls around the fabric of Sam’s shirt, an unspoken thank you, and Sam just says, Hey man, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.
And he thinks, I could get used to this.
spn, vague sam/dean, pg, 727 words; set in season 4; written for silverbullets prompt: bad movie marathon
title from ‘make this go on forever’ by snow patrol
And you think, I could get used to this.
- - -
Dean comes back from Hell, ripped open and scarred, and it’s all internal bleeding, damage that Sam can’t even imagine. And sometimes he’ll get that glint in his eye that hints at unrestrained violence or he’ll freeze in midsentence, muscles tight and expression blank, and Sam will wonder how much of his Dean in fact came back.
Dean’s quiet, restrained, and he refuses to sleep. After that first night, when he woke Sam up, screaming and caught in a memory, he hasn’t slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. He even lets Sam drive more often, so he can nap in the car, and it keeps the nightmares away, but the nights are hard, especially for Sam.
The moment they check into a motel, Sam’s ready to eat and then sleep. Dean however, has different plans. To pass the time between dusk and dawn, he’s taken to watching whatever terrible 80’s and 90’s action movies are playing on late-night television. Sam can only take so many Bruce Willis marathons before he’s ready to swear off TV altogether. And yeah, he understands why Dean doesn’t want to sleep, but neither of them wants deal with a bitchy, sleep-deprived Sam. He’d get another room, but Dean would somehow be insulted, and Sam really doesn’t want to fall into that mess.
In the end, it takes Sam two weeks to get used to sleeping with the background noise of bombs exploding and bullets whistling through the air. It’s annoying, sure, but it’s better than nights of hearing Dean’s quiet almost-sobs. He tries not to think about how fucked up it is that guns and explosions have somehow turned into a lullaby.
- - -
They’re halfway through a viewing of Total Recall when Sam notices Dean nodding off in the next bed over. He’d been making his way through a bottle of Jack Daniels and the combination of hard liquor and sleep-deprivation was finally starting to kick in. Sam watches Dean's eyelids fluttering shut and the slow rise-fall of his chest, a vague warning going off in his mind, I should wake him up, he'll be pissed if you don't. But this is something rare, something precious, a peaceful Dean with a soft expression that doesn’t betray the horrors of four months spent in the Pit.
A couple of minutes pass, Sam torn between watching the TV and Dean, and he really shouldn't be staring, because Dean's gonna know when he wakes up, he always knows, and he'll call Sam a creepy motherfucker, leaving Sam to figure whether he's angry or indifferent about it.
Forty-five minutes into The Running Man, Dean starts making little, shuffling noises, lines forming around his eyes, like he’s trying to avoid seeing something. The sheets bunch up under his twisting body, and Sam stops, because this is what a nightmare looks like, the way it holds Dean in its dark grip, and this torture needs to end.
He shakes Dean’s shoulder with an anxious, Hey man, wake up. Dean’s eyes burst open, glazed-over, but Sam can see the panic, hears it in the way he says, Sam? His voice is rough with exhaustion, and Sam can tell he wants to give in, go back to sleep.
Come on, Dean, there’s an Arnold Schwarzenegger marathon going on. Lots of explosions and naked girls. Watch it with me. Sam smiles down at Dean, catches the flicker in his expression, alarm and fear, and Dean’s voice cracks as he says, Don’t let me go back to sleep, don’t wanna sleep, Sammy.
Something deep inside Sam shatters, the part that sees Dean as the strong and fearless big brother, and it hurts to see him like that, broken and pleading, and it’s not going to last long, only until morning breaks and sobriety kicks in, and maybe it’s time for Sam to take control, just this once.
Sam murmurs, scoot over, sliding under the covers next to Dean, and he turns up the TV volume. The hiss-clap-boom of explosions and the glare of the fire fill the motel room. Dean’s hand curls around the fabric of Sam’s shirt, an unspoken thank you, and Sam just says, Hey man, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.
And he thinks, I could get used to this.