Fic: Skye Smile
Title: Skye Smile
Author: miss_annthropic
Spoilers: my fic "Wild by Skye"
Summary: Sometimes, it was hard for Sam to stand Dean on days after nights when he had run as the wolf. Set after "Wild by Skye"
Timeline: See the timeline for a chronological listing of Skyeverse fics to know where exactly this falls in the timeline. Or, you know, just read the fic and figure it out! Or eat pie. I know which one Dean would vote for :)
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
*****
"You know," Sam Winchester said wearily, "you should really learn to embrace the idea of the e-mail address."
Dean flipped through the P.O. box ring of keys from the Impala's trunk, trying to find the right key to fit their box in Tacoma, Washington. At his brother's comment, he scowled. "Dad's been using P.O. boxes for years and it's worked for him."
Sam leaned his lanky frame against the rows of other boxes, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Yeah, and Dad should have better sense than that."
Dean looked up scornfully at Sam before turning back to flipping through keys.
"I mean," Sam twisted to rest his back against the banks of boxes instead of his shoulder, "the internet's faster and portable. We can be anywhere and check the same e-mail address. We wouldn't have to go to Tacoma to check it. How long's it been since you checked this box? Months? Years?"
"A ha!" Dean crowed victoriously as he held up a gold key with a number matching the Tacoma box.
Sam rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt to come into the twenty-first century."
"What does that mean?" Dean asked as he opened the box and smiled when he saw a couple of envelopes lying in wait. He fetched them and tucked them immediately into his coat pocket. The nature of their 'correspondence' often meant it was best they not be opened in public.
"It means," Sam pushed off the boxes to follow his brother when Dean closed the box, pocketed the ring of keys, and started for the post office door, "that you still use snail mail when the internet is so accessible and useful, you listen to cassette tapes, you drive a car from 1967…"
"Hey!" Dean stopped short and turned to face his brother, one finger held up in warning. "Say what you want about the tapes, but do not badmouth my baby."
Realizing the thinness of the ice, Sam held up his hands. "Hey, I like the car, I'm just saying that it is older than you are."
Dean gave Sam an evil look and continued walking. Sam hurried to catch up, making up the distance easily with his enormous stride.
Outside, it was overcast, the Impala parked by the curb glistening with a sheen of misty rainfall. Dean rounded the hood to reach the driver's side door, his hand trailing along the hood as he moved. "I had to defend your honor, baby," Dean intoned deeply.
"Dean, I just meant-"
"Sammy here had the nerve to call you old. I'm tempted to let him walk to the motel."
Sam gaped. "Dean! It's raining!"
"Don't plead to me, Sam… I'm not the one you insulted."
Sam looked between Dean and the car. "Oh, come on! You can't be serious! You don't actually want me to apologize to the car."
Dean couldn't help a torturous smirk reminiscent of so many times when they were growing up and Sam had to cave by reason of sheer size differences. Sam knew well enough what that look meant, and he sighed as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. He looked down at the car. "I'm sorry for calling you old." He looked up at Dean. "Is that good enough?"
Dean hissed dramatically. "I don't know, Sammy… didn't sound very sincere to me."
"Dean!" Sometimes, it was hard for Sam to stand Dean on days after nights when he had run as the wolf. His mood was entirely too playful (oftentimes at Sam's expense). Sam tried not to imagine a dog with his master's shoe in his mouth, elbows to the floor and butt in the air, tail wagging, heedless of just how late said master already was, but the wicked glint in Dean's eyes looked too fit for mischievous canine for Sam to help the association.
Not that he ever told Dean what he likened his lycan brother to.
Dean finally lost his control and began to chuckle. "Get in, Bigfoot, before your yeti hair starts retaining water and I have to wring you out like a dishrag."
Both boys got into the car. "You know they're different, right?" Sam asked as he settled in his seat.
"What are?"
"Sasquatch and yeti."
Dean smiled. "Well, you oughta know. Your mom's side and your dad's side?"
Sam shook his head, suffering his obtuse older brother as gracefully as he could. "Dude, you're calling your own parents that."
"Not true," Dean countered as he started the car and pulled out of the parking space. "See, I never told you this before, but we actually found you on our doorstep with a big old Sasquatch hairball covering your little bits. It was the feet that gave away where you'd come from… you had the biggest feet on a kid I'd ever seen. No way those were human feet. But you had this puppy-dog face, and I was a kid, you know, I got confused, and I asked 'can I keep him?' I had to promise to feed and water you, but I won Mom and Dad over on the idea."
"Are there fairies and unicorns in this alternate universe you live in?" Sam asked.
Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "And cheerleaders. Ooo ooo! And cheeseburgers. Cheerleaders with cheeseburgers. Cheerleaders wearing cheeseburgers."
"Okay, this has officially crossed over into uncomfortable," Sam interrupted.
Dean flicked out a hand to swat Sam on the shoulder. "Come on, tell me it's not making your mouth water. It'd have to be a double cheeseburger, of course, so you'd have two meat patties to put over their-"
"You have issues, you know that?"
"What? I haven't even told you where they put the ketchup and pickles yet."
"There are pickles involved? Seriously?" Sam asked, his lip curled.
Dean smiled lecherously. "There is once I get there."
"Okay, pull over."
"What, you want to walk?"
"No, I want to throw up."
"That's your problem, Sammy… you suffer from a lack of imagination and creativity."
"Oh yeah, you're Mister Arts and Crafts."
"Never underestimate the power of the cheeseburger."
"Can we discuss something other than food and your rampant sexual deviancy?"
Dean gave Sam a blank look. "There's more to life?"
Sam groaned and Dean laughed.
Their motel wasn't far from the post office and the rain had slacked by the time they pulled into the parking lot. By then, conversation had turned to Dean's favorite kinds of pie (and why), telling Sam their next venture into Tacoma should be to go out for dinner. When Dean got hungry he reminded Sam of those cartoon characters marooned on a desert island who started seeing steaks in everything they looked at.
When Dean let them into the motel room he tossed his keys on the small room table and began to shuck his jacket. Sam followed him in and went straight to the nightstand between their beds, grabbing up the remote to officially call dibs. He wasn't interested in watching Dean hunt for porn. The day had been an uncomfortable enough peek into Dean's twisted mind already.
"Don't go surfing for porn, Sammy, you'll go blind, get carpal tunnels, you know, the whole nine yards… or, four inches, whatever," Dean scolded in a mock-serious voice.
Sam scowled and buried the remote in his sheets. "Just check your mail, you jerk."
"Bitch…" Dean taunted back and dug through his pockets to find the envelopes.
Sam sat down on the bed and pulled out the phone book to see what they had for eateries nearby.
"Awesome," Dean said, and when Sam looked up he held up a piece of junk mail that had been in the P.O. box. "Thirty percent off hedge clippers, and buy-one-get-one-free garden hose special… it's a year old… think they'd honor it?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Do they have pet grooming shears?"
Dean looked warily at Sam.
Sam shrugged. "I never wanted to mention it before, but your tail's really bushy. Like, bitch fluffy. Wouldn't hurt to give you a trim, just enough so that you look like a boy wolf."
Dean dropped the junk mail on the floor, out of sight, out of mind. "You're not coming anywhere near my tail," Dean warned. "And frankly, you're weirding me out with this closet desire of yours to be a cosmetologist."
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but he stopped cold when he saw Dean look down at the next piece of mail in his hand and his expression fall and his color drain.
Sam, verbal sparring match forgotten, stood reflexively. "Dean? What's wrong?"
Dean stared down stupidly at the white envelope in his hand. He didn't look like he was breathing.
"Dean?" Sam stepped closer.
The movement did it. Dean blinked. He croaked, cleared his throat, then almost whispered, "It's from Skye's parents."
Sam froze.
Dean held the envelope tightly, staring at it.
"You gave them the Tacoma P.O. address?" Sam asked dumbly.
Dean barely nodded.
Sam was dying from curiosity. What could Skye's parents send to Dean? He was tempted to take the envelope from a suddenly paralyzed Dean's hands and open it himself.
The look on Dean's face stilled him. Dean looked stiff with uncertainty and the tingly edges of agony and panic.
It made Sam feel like an intruder. "Uh… you want me to get out of here so you can…"
Dean shook his head just as faintly.
Sam nodded compliantly.
Dean continued to stand there and stare.
"Well… are you going to open it?" Sam finally asked.
Dean took a breath. "Yeah."
But for another few seconds, he didn't.
It seemed a very long time before Dean broke the seal on the flap and opened the envelope. He pulled out a folded letter. With his lips pressed tightly together, Dean dropped the envelope on the bed and unfolded the letter.
Sam looked down at the envelope and saw there was still something in it. Unable to resist, he reached for the discarded envelope and pulled out what was in it.
Sam extracted a 4x6 picture. He turned it over and his eyes widened.
It was a picture of Dean and a woman… Sam could only assume it was Skye. They were sitting in the grass by a creek, Dean had his legs spread apart, making a place for Skye to sit in the V of his legs. She was leaning back into his chest, her head on his shoulder. She was wearing Dean's amulet around her neck, which took Sam aback at first. He'd never seen Dean so much as take it off but to shower. He didn't even take it off to be the wolf. In the picture, Dean's arms were around Skye. He had probably been looking over her shoulder toward the camera initially, but he obviously became entirely too distracted by her. In the picture, his face was turned slightly toward her, his nose and lips (curled at the corners into a smile) pressed to her dark hair. Skye was smiling, her hands curled around Dean's forearms, and something in the tilt of her head told Sam that in the next second she had turned and kissed Dean.
It was the most peaceful, normal, and happy Sam had ever seen his brother. He'd never seen Dean with Skye. He'd never even seen Skye. He had had to imagine her. Now he had a face to match with the stories Dean had told of the woman his brother loved.
Skye was beautiful. There was a raw, natural beauty to her. It was hard to explain, but Sam knew Skye's brand of beauty could never be recreated in all the imitative hotspots like Hollywood, California, or upscale New England. Skye was breath-taking in a way only wind and sky and nature could fashion.
Dean lowered the letter and rasped, "Give me that."
Sam handed over the picture at once and put his hands in his pockets, feeling guilty for having seen it first, for having touched it.
He turned to watching Dean intently.
When Dean set eyes on the picture, Sam could see his brother ache. Dean winced like it was physically painful to see her, even if only in a photograph. But at the same time, Dean smiled. His eyes shone. He studied the figures in the picture like a pilgrim feasting eyes on the holy land. He drowned in the captured moment in time.
Sam didn't want to break the moment, he wanted to give Dean time, but he started to realize Dean might stare at the picture for an hour.
"What did the letter say?" Sam ventured gently.
Dean smiled to himself, bittersweet, then blinked. "Ah… it…" Dean's voice betrayed him. Dean cleared his throat, frowned, then he just handed the letter to Sam.
Sam took it and looked down at the letter, written in a woman's fine pen.
Dean,
It took us a long time to bring ourselves to go through Skye's things after she died. When we finally did, we found her camera and had the film developed. There were quite a few pictures of you. We kept those. I hope you don't mind. I like to think those pictures were you the way Skye saw you. She loved you so much. You can see that in the pictures she took of you.
There was one of you sleeping in the grass… I don't know why, but it made me cry. It was a picture of you, but you could see Skye's heart in it. Does that sound stupid?
I'm sending this picture of the two of you together. I knew you would want it. You two looked so perfect together. I know it probably seemed like we didn't like you, but we were just scared for Skye. It was never about you.
You didn't have much time together, but I'm glad Skye found you. I've never seen my daughter look as happy as she does in this picture with you.
Take care of yourself, Dean.
Love,
Jaina
Sam looked up and found Dean had stepped back to perch most of his weight against the desk. He was still captivated by the picture, but the color had come back to his face. He wasn't shocked anymore, just heartsick.
"Dean…?" Sam tried gently.
Dean smiled again, still glued to the picture. "I'd forgotten she took this."
Sam went to the end of the bed and sat down facing Dean, letter still held in one hand.
Dean took a deep breath. "We'd been running that afternoon. Skye's wolf was… I think I know how her parents must have named her. Like she walked on air or something."
Sam had seen Dean's wolf fly over the ground, paws barely seeming to touch. He knew what Dean meant.
Dean gazed at the picture. "We got back to our clothes and turned back, but we didn't want to go back home yet."
Sam's spine stiffened involuntarily. Dean was in a different state of mind, barely conscious of Sam actually in the room, but Sam had locked on to the way Dean said 'home' like it wasn't an entirely foreign concept. Had he actually gone so far as to see Skye's place as home?
"Skye pulled out her camera." Dean chuckled. "I teased her about that, but she could not be stopped. She never cared how something looked. She never felt stupid for anything she did."
Sam smiled tentatively. "Well, she must have been something to get you to agree to a picture like that," he nodded his chin toward the lovey-dovey photograph in Dean's hand.
Dean smiled. "Yeah."
"Why was she wearing your necklace?" Sam couldn't resist asking.
Dean glanced up at Sam. "She'd asked me how I could stand having it on as the wolf. She thought it would feel like a choke chain. So I put it on her and told her to try it."
"Oh."
Dean chuckled. "Since it was the only thing I ever kept on as the wolf, and I let her wear it as the wolf, she asked if that was lycanthrope cross-dressing."
Sam laughed. "I think I would have liked her."
"You would have."
Sam was glad he'd gotten to see her. He never thought he'd get to see Dean with her. He was grateful for the picture for that much alone, beyond the fact that Dean would undoubtedly treasure the picture.
"She was beautiful," Sam said.
Dean smiled wistfully at the picture. "Yes, she was."
Sam stood again, smirking playfully. "I gotta tell you, Dean… I think she was way out of your league."
Dean looked up at Sam, eyes smiling at the echoing of the very words Dean had said to Sam's girlfriend, Jessica. Sam smirked knowingly.
Dean deliberately set the picture down on the table, obviously reluctant to put it down. "Probably right, bro," he mused aloud.
"So… at the risk of invoking another painfully graphic visual description, a cheeseburger is sounding pretty good."
Dean stood and faced Sam with effort. He made himself smile. "I couldn't agree more. Let's go."
*****
That night, Dean laid the picture of him and Skye on the nightstand next to him.
The next morning, Sam woke up ungodly early, wrote Dean a note, grabbed the Impala's keys, and snuck out with the picture.
When he got back to the room two hours later Dean looked livid, but before Dean could launch into a tirade Sam handed Dean a paper sack. Dean, puzzled, took it and pulled out the contents. Inside he found the reason Sam had slipped out at the crack of dawn like a one-night stand. In the bag was the picture of Dean and Skye in a plastic frame (to protect it from getting damaged in the car), a duplicate of the picture, and two cropped, wallet-sized versions.
When he saw them, Dean didn't say a word. He just stared at the gift. Sam didn't wait nor expect a thank you, but that he struck Dean speechless was thank you enough. He didn't bring up the pictures. Neither did Dean.
*****
When they were packing up to leave later that day, Sam maneuvered himself into picking up the paper bag off the desk to give it to Dean. He might not try to get a word out of Dean about it, but he was curious as hell.
He peeked into the paper sack.
One of the wallet-size pictures was missing. The rest were still in the paper bag. Sam knew they would join the precious few keepsakes and photos Dean kept in a box in the bottom of the Impala's trunk, tucked underneath the guns and rock salt. Sam had almost hoped Dean might leave the framed picture out, something to prop on the nightstand of everywhere they went.
But that wasn't Dean. He didn't hang his heartaches out for all to see.
But he did put one picture in his wallet, always within reach.
Sam would be content with that.
END
Author: miss_annthropic
Spoilers: my fic "Wild by Skye"
Summary: Sometimes, it was hard for Sam to stand Dean on days after nights when he had run as the wolf. Set after "Wild by Skye"
Timeline: See the timeline for a chronological listing of Skyeverse fics to know where exactly this falls in the timeline. Or, you know, just read the fic and figure it out! Or eat pie. I know which one Dean would vote for :)
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
*****
"You know," Sam Winchester said wearily, "you should really learn to embrace the idea of the e-mail address."
Dean flipped through the P.O. box ring of keys from the Impala's trunk, trying to find the right key to fit their box in Tacoma, Washington. At his brother's comment, he scowled. "Dad's been using P.O. boxes for years and it's worked for him."
Sam leaned his lanky frame against the rows of other boxes, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Yeah, and Dad should have better sense than that."
Dean looked up scornfully at Sam before turning back to flipping through keys.
"I mean," Sam twisted to rest his back against the banks of boxes instead of his shoulder, "the internet's faster and portable. We can be anywhere and check the same e-mail address. We wouldn't have to go to Tacoma to check it. How long's it been since you checked this box? Months? Years?"
"A ha!" Dean crowed victoriously as he held up a gold key with a number matching the Tacoma box.
Sam rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt to come into the twenty-first century."
"What does that mean?" Dean asked as he opened the box and smiled when he saw a couple of envelopes lying in wait. He fetched them and tucked them immediately into his coat pocket. The nature of their 'correspondence' often meant it was best they not be opened in public.
"It means," Sam pushed off the boxes to follow his brother when Dean closed the box, pocketed the ring of keys, and started for the post office door, "that you still use snail mail when the internet is so accessible and useful, you listen to cassette tapes, you drive a car from 1967…"
"Hey!" Dean stopped short and turned to face his brother, one finger held up in warning. "Say what you want about the tapes, but do not badmouth my baby."
Realizing the thinness of the ice, Sam held up his hands. "Hey, I like the car, I'm just saying that it is older than you are."
Dean gave Sam an evil look and continued walking. Sam hurried to catch up, making up the distance easily with his enormous stride.
Outside, it was overcast, the Impala parked by the curb glistening with a sheen of misty rainfall. Dean rounded the hood to reach the driver's side door, his hand trailing along the hood as he moved. "I had to defend your honor, baby," Dean intoned deeply.
"Dean, I just meant-"
"Sammy here had the nerve to call you old. I'm tempted to let him walk to the motel."
Sam gaped. "Dean! It's raining!"
"Don't plead to me, Sam… I'm not the one you insulted."
Sam looked between Dean and the car. "Oh, come on! You can't be serious! You don't actually want me to apologize to the car."
Dean couldn't help a torturous smirk reminiscent of so many times when they were growing up and Sam had to cave by reason of sheer size differences. Sam knew well enough what that look meant, and he sighed as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. He looked down at the car. "I'm sorry for calling you old." He looked up at Dean. "Is that good enough?"
Dean hissed dramatically. "I don't know, Sammy… didn't sound very sincere to me."
"Dean!" Sometimes, it was hard for Sam to stand Dean on days after nights when he had run as the wolf. His mood was entirely too playful (oftentimes at Sam's expense). Sam tried not to imagine a dog with his master's shoe in his mouth, elbows to the floor and butt in the air, tail wagging, heedless of just how late said master already was, but the wicked glint in Dean's eyes looked too fit for mischievous canine for Sam to help the association.
Not that he ever told Dean what he likened his lycan brother to.
Dean finally lost his control and began to chuckle. "Get in, Bigfoot, before your yeti hair starts retaining water and I have to wring you out like a dishrag."
Both boys got into the car. "You know they're different, right?" Sam asked as he settled in his seat.
"What are?"
"Sasquatch and yeti."
Dean smiled. "Well, you oughta know. Your mom's side and your dad's side?"
Sam shook his head, suffering his obtuse older brother as gracefully as he could. "Dude, you're calling your own parents that."
"Not true," Dean countered as he started the car and pulled out of the parking space. "See, I never told you this before, but we actually found you on our doorstep with a big old Sasquatch hairball covering your little bits. It was the feet that gave away where you'd come from… you had the biggest feet on a kid I'd ever seen. No way those were human feet. But you had this puppy-dog face, and I was a kid, you know, I got confused, and I asked 'can I keep him?' I had to promise to feed and water you, but I won Mom and Dad over on the idea."
"Are there fairies and unicorns in this alternate universe you live in?" Sam asked.
Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "And cheerleaders. Ooo ooo! And cheeseburgers. Cheerleaders with cheeseburgers. Cheerleaders wearing cheeseburgers."
"Okay, this has officially crossed over into uncomfortable," Sam interrupted.
Dean flicked out a hand to swat Sam on the shoulder. "Come on, tell me it's not making your mouth water. It'd have to be a double cheeseburger, of course, so you'd have two meat patties to put over their-"
"You have issues, you know that?"
"What? I haven't even told you where they put the ketchup and pickles yet."
"There are pickles involved? Seriously?" Sam asked, his lip curled.
Dean smiled lecherously. "There is once I get there."
"Okay, pull over."
"What, you want to walk?"
"No, I want to throw up."
"That's your problem, Sammy… you suffer from a lack of imagination and creativity."
"Oh yeah, you're Mister Arts and Crafts."
"Never underestimate the power of the cheeseburger."
"Can we discuss something other than food and your rampant sexual deviancy?"
Dean gave Sam a blank look. "There's more to life?"
Sam groaned and Dean laughed.
Their motel wasn't far from the post office and the rain had slacked by the time they pulled into the parking lot. By then, conversation had turned to Dean's favorite kinds of pie (and why), telling Sam their next venture into Tacoma should be to go out for dinner. When Dean got hungry he reminded Sam of those cartoon characters marooned on a desert island who started seeing steaks in everything they looked at.
When Dean let them into the motel room he tossed his keys on the small room table and began to shuck his jacket. Sam followed him in and went straight to the nightstand between their beds, grabbing up the remote to officially call dibs. He wasn't interested in watching Dean hunt for porn. The day had been an uncomfortable enough peek into Dean's twisted mind already.
"Don't go surfing for porn, Sammy, you'll go blind, get carpal tunnels, you know, the whole nine yards… or, four inches, whatever," Dean scolded in a mock-serious voice.
Sam scowled and buried the remote in his sheets. "Just check your mail, you jerk."
"Bitch…" Dean taunted back and dug through his pockets to find the envelopes.
Sam sat down on the bed and pulled out the phone book to see what they had for eateries nearby.
"Awesome," Dean said, and when Sam looked up he held up a piece of junk mail that had been in the P.O. box. "Thirty percent off hedge clippers, and buy-one-get-one-free garden hose special… it's a year old… think they'd honor it?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Do they have pet grooming shears?"
Dean looked warily at Sam.
Sam shrugged. "I never wanted to mention it before, but your tail's really bushy. Like, bitch fluffy. Wouldn't hurt to give you a trim, just enough so that you look like a boy wolf."
Dean dropped the junk mail on the floor, out of sight, out of mind. "You're not coming anywhere near my tail," Dean warned. "And frankly, you're weirding me out with this closet desire of yours to be a cosmetologist."
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but he stopped cold when he saw Dean look down at the next piece of mail in his hand and his expression fall and his color drain.
Sam, verbal sparring match forgotten, stood reflexively. "Dean? What's wrong?"
Dean stared down stupidly at the white envelope in his hand. He didn't look like he was breathing.
"Dean?" Sam stepped closer.
The movement did it. Dean blinked. He croaked, cleared his throat, then almost whispered, "It's from Skye's parents."
Sam froze.
Dean held the envelope tightly, staring at it.
"You gave them the Tacoma P.O. address?" Sam asked dumbly.
Dean barely nodded.
Sam was dying from curiosity. What could Skye's parents send to Dean? He was tempted to take the envelope from a suddenly paralyzed Dean's hands and open it himself.
The look on Dean's face stilled him. Dean looked stiff with uncertainty and the tingly edges of agony and panic.
It made Sam feel like an intruder. "Uh… you want me to get out of here so you can…"
Dean shook his head just as faintly.
Sam nodded compliantly.
Dean continued to stand there and stare.
"Well… are you going to open it?" Sam finally asked.
Dean took a breath. "Yeah."
But for another few seconds, he didn't.
It seemed a very long time before Dean broke the seal on the flap and opened the envelope. He pulled out a folded letter. With his lips pressed tightly together, Dean dropped the envelope on the bed and unfolded the letter.
Sam looked down at the envelope and saw there was still something in it. Unable to resist, he reached for the discarded envelope and pulled out what was in it.
Sam extracted a 4x6 picture. He turned it over and his eyes widened.
It was a picture of Dean and a woman… Sam could only assume it was Skye. They were sitting in the grass by a creek, Dean had his legs spread apart, making a place for Skye to sit in the V of his legs. She was leaning back into his chest, her head on his shoulder. She was wearing Dean's amulet around her neck, which took Sam aback at first. He'd never seen Dean so much as take it off but to shower. He didn't even take it off to be the wolf. In the picture, Dean's arms were around Skye. He had probably been looking over her shoulder toward the camera initially, but he obviously became entirely too distracted by her. In the picture, his face was turned slightly toward her, his nose and lips (curled at the corners into a smile) pressed to her dark hair. Skye was smiling, her hands curled around Dean's forearms, and something in the tilt of her head told Sam that in the next second she had turned and kissed Dean.
It was the most peaceful, normal, and happy Sam had ever seen his brother. He'd never seen Dean with Skye. He'd never even seen Skye. He had had to imagine her. Now he had a face to match with the stories Dean had told of the woman his brother loved.
Skye was beautiful. There was a raw, natural beauty to her. It was hard to explain, but Sam knew Skye's brand of beauty could never be recreated in all the imitative hotspots like Hollywood, California, or upscale New England. Skye was breath-taking in a way only wind and sky and nature could fashion.
Dean lowered the letter and rasped, "Give me that."
Sam handed over the picture at once and put his hands in his pockets, feeling guilty for having seen it first, for having touched it.
He turned to watching Dean intently.
When Dean set eyes on the picture, Sam could see his brother ache. Dean winced like it was physically painful to see her, even if only in a photograph. But at the same time, Dean smiled. His eyes shone. He studied the figures in the picture like a pilgrim feasting eyes on the holy land. He drowned in the captured moment in time.
Sam didn't want to break the moment, he wanted to give Dean time, but he started to realize Dean might stare at the picture for an hour.
"What did the letter say?" Sam ventured gently.
Dean smiled to himself, bittersweet, then blinked. "Ah… it…" Dean's voice betrayed him. Dean cleared his throat, frowned, then he just handed the letter to Sam.
Sam took it and looked down at the letter, written in a woman's fine pen.
Dean,
It took us a long time to bring ourselves to go through Skye's things after she died. When we finally did, we found her camera and had the film developed. There were quite a few pictures of you. We kept those. I hope you don't mind. I like to think those pictures were you the way Skye saw you. She loved you so much. You can see that in the pictures she took of you.
There was one of you sleeping in the grass… I don't know why, but it made me cry. It was a picture of you, but you could see Skye's heart in it. Does that sound stupid?
I'm sending this picture of the two of you together. I knew you would want it. You two looked so perfect together. I know it probably seemed like we didn't like you, but we were just scared for Skye. It was never about you.
You didn't have much time together, but I'm glad Skye found you. I've never seen my daughter look as happy as she does in this picture with you.
Take care of yourself, Dean.
Love,
Jaina
Sam looked up and found Dean had stepped back to perch most of his weight against the desk. He was still captivated by the picture, but the color had come back to his face. He wasn't shocked anymore, just heartsick.
"Dean…?" Sam tried gently.
Dean smiled again, still glued to the picture. "I'd forgotten she took this."
Sam went to the end of the bed and sat down facing Dean, letter still held in one hand.
Dean took a deep breath. "We'd been running that afternoon. Skye's wolf was… I think I know how her parents must have named her. Like she walked on air or something."
Sam had seen Dean's wolf fly over the ground, paws barely seeming to touch. He knew what Dean meant.
Dean gazed at the picture. "We got back to our clothes and turned back, but we didn't want to go back home yet."
Sam's spine stiffened involuntarily. Dean was in a different state of mind, barely conscious of Sam actually in the room, but Sam had locked on to the way Dean said 'home' like it wasn't an entirely foreign concept. Had he actually gone so far as to see Skye's place as home?
"Skye pulled out her camera." Dean chuckled. "I teased her about that, but she could not be stopped. She never cared how something looked. She never felt stupid for anything she did."
Sam smiled tentatively. "Well, she must have been something to get you to agree to a picture like that," he nodded his chin toward the lovey-dovey photograph in Dean's hand.
Dean smiled. "Yeah."
"Why was she wearing your necklace?" Sam couldn't resist asking.
Dean glanced up at Sam. "She'd asked me how I could stand having it on as the wolf. She thought it would feel like a choke chain. So I put it on her and told her to try it."
"Oh."
Dean chuckled. "Since it was the only thing I ever kept on as the wolf, and I let her wear it as the wolf, she asked if that was lycanthrope cross-dressing."
Sam laughed. "I think I would have liked her."
"You would have."
Sam was glad he'd gotten to see her. He never thought he'd get to see Dean with her. He was grateful for the picture for that much alone, beyond the fact that Dean would undoubtedly treasure the picture.
"She was beautiful," Sam said.
Dean smiled wistfully at the picture. "Yes, she was."
Sam stood again, smirking playfully. "I gotta tell you, Dean… I think she was way out of your league."
Dean looked up at Sam, eyes smiling at the echoing of the very words Dean had said to Sam's girlfriend, Jessica. Sam smirked knowingly.
Dean deliberately set the picture down on the table, obviously reluctant to put it down. "Probably right, bro," he mused aloud.
"So… at the risk of invoking another painfully graphic visual description, a cheeseburger is sounding pretty good."
Dean stood and faced Sam with effort. He made himself smile. "I couldn't agree more. Let's go."
*****
That night, Dean laid the picture of him and Skye on the nightstand next to him.
The next morning, Sam woke up ungodly early, wrote Dean a note, grabbed the Impala's keys, and snuck out with the picture.
When he got back to the room two hours later Dean looked livid, but before Dean could launch into a tirade Sam handed Dean a paper sack. Dean, puzzled, took it and pulled out the contents. Inside he found the reason Sam had slipped out at the crack of dawn like a one-night stand. In the bag was the picture of Dean and Skye in a plastic frame (to protect it from getting damaged in the car), a duplicate of the picture, and two cropped, wallet-sized versions.
When he saw them, Dean didn't say a word. He just stared at the gift. Sam didn't wait nor expect a thank you, but that he struck Dean speechless was thank you enough. He didn't bring up the pictures. Neither did Dean.
*****
When they were packing up to leave later that day, Sam maneuvered himself into picking up the paper bag off the desk to give it to Dean. He might not try to get a word out of Dean about it, but he was curious as hell.
He peeked into the paper sack.
One of the wallet-size pictures was missing. The rest were still in the paper bag. Sam knew they would join the precious few keepsakes and photos Dean kept in a box in the bottom of the Impala's trunk, tucked underneath the guns and rock salt. Sam had almost hoped Dean might leave the framed picture out, something to prop on the nightstand of everywhere they went.
But that wasn't Dean. He didn't hang his heartaches out for all to see.
But he did put one picture in his wallet, always within reach.
Sam would be content with that.
END