Eight Cozy Nights (of Schmoop): Second!
I am seriously in the schmoop zone, and mwahahaha, just BARELY making the deadline, \o/
But yes, more schmoop, this time of the Sam and Dean variety.
...I promise the next drabble will have NUDITY!
Title: Listening to Otis Redding...
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean (implied), John/Mary
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 653
Notes: jenadamson requested: Sam and Dean. (Or Sam/Dean!!!) Holiday music in the Impala.
Summary: Dean's favorite holiday traditions are hard to let go of.
The season turns cold, and Sam's humming under his breath, playing his holiday mix on his headphones. He's tuning out to Weezer and Death Cab. He even starts singing a little: "So this is the new year," slipping out under his breath.
Dean turns up his music, fiddling with his tape deck and maybe he pushes the button or accidentally hits fast forward with his knuckle; like he did when he destroyed And Justice For All. There's this screeching, whining sound and crunching of tape. Sam hears it, takes off his headphones and Dean's pounding the dash, shouting: "No! No!"
They pull over and confirm it; Otis Redding is torn to little bitty pieces, ripped beyond repair, when Dean finally gets the case out with a screwdriver, it comes apart in his hands.
The next few days are spent in record stores, random thrift shops, and digging through cassette bins in local car washes.
"Dean, you're not going to find it." Sam rolls his head back against the wall of the record store.
"Don't talk like that Sam," Dean says, rifling through another row of tapes.
"It's not like I'll miss it, Dean. You've played it every year during Christmas, right through New Year's. I've heard every song a hundred times over, it's enough."
"It's tradition, Sam."
"It's. Enough. I'm fucking sick of it, okay!" Sam turns and stalks out, waits in the Impala until Dean finally emerges.
"Finally-" Sam starts, and Dean hands him an Otis Redding CD and blank tape.
"Put this on here."
"Dean!"
But he doesn't answer, just pulls out and ignores Sam.
They drive in silence.
***
When Mary was a young woman, she'd sit down every Christmas Eve, and listen to Otis Redding. With her parents, with her friends, with her lovers, and eventually with John Winchester.
She'd turn her husband's rough hands over in her lap, and he'd squeeze her palm. He'd stir from his nap from the couch, having exhausted himself with the tree and the lights. She'd kiss his temple, and sing into his skin; soft, slow voice. She'd rub his cheek and smile. The track would change and she'd gasp as "White Christmas" began to play.
"Oh my God! This one's my favorite!" she'd coo, and John would lean up and kiss her.
"You tell me that every year."
"Every year it's still my favorite." Mary would wink at John and stand, arms open to him.
John would rise and hold her, place a hand over her stomach, swelled at nearly eight months. She leaned into him, swaying in time with the song as they slow-danced through the living room like new lovers, drunk with romance and sweetness.
A year later she'd hold her baby boy, dancing in her living room while John dozed in the corner. "This is mommy's favorite, Dean," she whispered to him.
***
Sam swallows, frozen in Dean's arms, naked and cold even though he's surrounded by his brother's warm body, covered in fleece blankets.
Dean's said all that he's needed to say, blinks his eyes shut and tries to sleep.
Sam places a hand on Dean's chest and feels his heart, feels his breath. Curls his fingers close together and kisses him gently.
***
Sam pulls Dean out of bed, he's been sleeping on and off all night, but it's still an ungodly hour. Dean's in nothing but boxers, and it's damn cold in the cheap-shit motel room with no heater. He's confused and half asleep, and there's music in the back of his head. Sam's pulling him up, pulling him to the center of the room, drawing him close and he shivers and puts his head on Sam's shoulder, arms around his neck.
Dean doesn't realize Sam's swaying him, back and forth in tune to the music until he leans down and starts whispering: "May your days, may your days..."
And Dean wakes up in Sam's arms, dancing to Otis Redding.
Okkervil River - Listening to Otis Redding At Home During Christmas
Otis Redding - White Christmas
But yes, more schmoop, this time of the Sam and Dean variety.
...I promise the next drabble will have NUDITY!
Title: Listening to Otis Redding...
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean (implied), John/Mary
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 653
Notes: jenadamson requested: Sam and Dean. (Or Sam/Dean!!!) Holiday music in the Impala.
Summary: Dean's favorite holiday traditions are hard to let go of.
The season turns cold, and Sam's humming under his breath, playing his holiday mix on his headphones. He's tuning out to Weezer and Death Cab. He even starts singing a little: "So this is the new year," slipping out under his breath.
Dean turns up his music, fiddling with his tape deck and maybe he pushes the button or accidentally hits fast forward with his knuckle; like he did when he destroyed And Justice For All. There's this screeching, whining sound and crunching of tape. Sam hears it, takes off his headphones and Dean's pounding the dash, shouting: "No! No!"
They pull over and confirm it; Otis Redding is torn to little bitty pieces, ripped beyond repair, when Dean finally gets the case out with a screwdriver, it comes apart in his hands.
The next few days are spent in record stores, random thrift shops, and digging through cassette bins in local car washes.
"Dean, you're not going to find it." Sam rolls his head back against the wall of the record store.
"Don't talk like that Sam," Dean says, rifling through another row of tapes.
"It's not like I'll miss it, Dean. You've played it every year during Christmas, right through New Year's. I've heard every song a hundred times over, it's enough."
"It's tradition, Sam."
"It's. Enough. I'm fucking sick of it, okay!" Sam turns and stalks out, waits in the Impala until Dean finally emerges.
"Finally-" Sam starts, and Dean hands him an Otis Redding CD and blank tape.
"Put this on here."
"Dean!"
But he doesn't answer, just pulls out and ignores Sam.
They drive in silence.
***
When Mary was a young woman, she'd sit down every Christmas Eve, and listen to Otis Redding. With her parents, with her friends, with her lovers, and eventually with John Winchester.
She'd turn her husband's rough hands over in her lap, and he'd squeeze her palm. He'd stir from his nap from the couch, having exhausted himself with the tree and the lights. She'd kiss his temple, and sing into his skin; soft, slow voice. She'd rub his cheek and smile. The track would change and she'd gasp as "White Christmas" began to play.
"Oh my God! This one's my favorite!" she'd coo, and John would lean up and kiss her.
"You tell me that every year."
"Every year it's still my favorite." Mary would wink at John and stand, arms open to him.
John would rise and hold her, place a hand over her stomach, swelled at nearly eight months. She leaned into him, swaying in time with the song as they slow-danced through the living room like new lovers, drunk with romance and sweetness.
A year later she'd hold her baby boy, dancing in her living room while John dozed in the corner. "This is mommy's favorite, Dean," she whispered to him.
***
Sam swallows, frozen in Dean's arms, naked and cold even though he's surrounded by his brother's warm body, covered in fleece blankets.
Dean's said all that he's needed to say, blinks his eyes shut and tries to sleep.
Sam places a hand on Dean's chest and feels his heart, feels his breath. Curls his fingers close together and kisses him gently.
***
Sam pulls Dean out of bed, he's been sleeping on and off all night, but it's still an ungodly hour. Dean's in nothing but boxers, and it's damn cold in the cheap-shit motel room with no heater. He's confused and half asleep, and there's music in the back of his head. Sam's pulling him up, pulling him to the center of the room, drawing him close and he shivers and puts his head on Sam's shoulder, arms around his neck.
Dean doesn't realize Sam's swaying him, back and forth in tune to the music until he leans down and starts whispering: "May your days, may your days..."
And Dean wakes up in Sam's arms, dancing to Otis Redding.
Okkervil River - Listening to Otis Redding At Home During Christmas
Otis Redding - White Christmas