Supernatural story: "I would cradle you tight in my arms, always"
Title: I would cradle you tight in my arms, always
Author: Signe
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam (mention of Dean/Cassie)
Rating: R
Word count: 1,547 words
Summary: You promised yourself, you'd always keep Sammy safe.
Notes: A coda to All Hell Breaks Loose part 1. There are no spoilers in it for the finale. A huge thank you to the lovely annalazarus for being a wonderful beta. Title from 'You Are My Joy', Reindeer Section. Written for svmadelyn's Kink/Cliche Challenge. My prompt was: Sleep and bedding themes (sharing a bed by necessity, such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; sex while drowsy or sleeping; sex as a sleep aid; autonomic arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep; dreams; nightmares; dream lovers, e.g., succubi; exotic or romantic beds, e.g., canopied; furs as bedding; silk sheets)
I would cradle you tight in my arms, always
Heavy in your arms, like he's sleeping. Narcoleptic in the middle of the road, head limp on your shoulder. Your knees are raw and scraped from gravel and sting like a bitch.
You stop talking eventually (empty, useless comfort), stop crying his name and stop bellowing out no as though anyone is listening and can make it true. But you don't let go. You hold him to you, warm and huge against you. He's massive, broad shoulders and tall, so tall, even though he's your little brother, baby brother, and shouldn't be bigger and stronger than you are. Your heart is beating so hard you hope maybe it's enough for two, and he's so tight against your chest it doesn't feel like the movement is only you. He's just tired, gone to sleep in your arms, and you'll take care of him until he wakes.
You tell him so, in hoarse whispers as though your voice is dried up. You ignore the crunch of boots heading back towards you, ignore the gruff come on, Son and you shrug off Bobby's hand on your shoulder, a vicious leave us alone in your eyes.
*
You didn't sleep after the fire at home. Couldn't. You'd never seen anything like it before, not even on the TV, because you weren't allowed to stay up when Dad watched movies late in the evening. You couldn't forget the noise of it, the crackling rush and swoop of flames, hot on your face even from the other side of the street. The bustle of too many people, shouting. The only thing familiar at night was the smell of Sammy, soapy-fresh and clean in his blanket, smelling like Mom in the evening after she'd bathed him. When you tucked your face in Sammy's pillow, curled up around him in his crib, you could almost forget that nothing would ever be safe again.
You learned that if you put your hand on his chest, you could feel the rise and fall of it, feel him alive beside you. You didn't have to keep your eyes open to be certain. So you rested your hand on him, and he would gurgle sometimes as though he liked it too, and you would close your eyes and then morning would be there. Light, and Daddy in the next room opening cupboards and boiling the kettle. Morning light and ordinary clatter, and Sammy awake beside you, one chubby little hand holding onto your finger. Another night survived. And you promised yourself - even harder than you promised Daddy - that you'd always keep your Sammy safe.
*
You carry Sam by yourself. Bobby wants to help, but he's smart enough not to insist - he walks alert beside you, and a part of you is conscious of his gun at the ready, protecting you both. You carry Sam all the way back to the car and barely feel the ache of straining muscles. You lay him gently in the back seat. He's too tall for it, of course, has been for years, but you manage to make him comfortable, your jacket cushioning his head.
His blood is on your hands, but you can't think of that.
*
Fremont, Dodge County, and Dad left you half the summer. You were old enough now to take care of Sam alone, legal. Money in a tin, and instructions. Phone calls to the pay phone outside every Sunday evening, and that was all.
You missed Dad sometimes, but you liked the freedom. You loved staying up late, watching movies on the Cinemax channel, laughing at Sam when he complained he couldn't concentrate on his homework and threw wadded up paper at you. He'd always leave the table eventually - grumbling even though you knew he'd done all his homework and had probably just spent the last half hour reading some geek book for fun - and flop down beside you on the sagging sofa. He'd elbow you, maybe not on purpose because he was all awkward limbs back then, grown tall without the muscle to handle his new size, and you'd wrestle until you were both on the floor and Sam was reluctantly begging for mercy. You'd stay there, pulling a couple of cushions down for your backs, and you'd forget the time until Sam was snoring, slumped against your arm. Your arm would be numb by the time you got up, and your shirt damp where Sam drooled in his sleep - if he woke up, you'd bitch about it, but if he didn't, you'd carry him to bed, ruffle his hair, and say nothing the next morning.
*
You've never felt this helpless. This lost. You want to sleep and wake up and find it was all a nightmare, but you're scared that if you do wake up, it will only be worse. You don't know how. Wandering hell for eternity would be better than knowing you were too late, that you lost Sam and then found him again only to get him killed because you couldn't help shouting his name. Seems like anything would be better than knowing that you've failed him, but who knows, maybe the demon has worse to torment you with.
There's only one bed in the room, so you lay Sam on it. His hand is cold, and doesn't warm up even though you sit and hold it between yours.
His eyes were closed anyway - you didn't have to close them.
*
First time you woke up squashed against him, your hard-on pressed into the small of his back, you were horrified. You jumped out of bed and refused to jerk off in the shower. You put it down to stress, too long without sex, and when Cassie phoned you up it was a relief. You sucked her nipples until she was squirming underneath you and then slid down, face between her thighs and made her keen, and then you fucked her slow and hard until you couldn't think any more. And when you woke up the next morning, you weren't thinking about Sam.
First time you woke up with Sam somehow in your arms, his cock firm against your thigh, you didn't move. A hitch in his breath told you he was awake, and knew you were too. If you'd been quick enough, you could have teased him, but time ran out for that, and neither of you said anything. When he kissed you, it should have been more of a surprise. It was tentative, his mouth wet in the corner of your neck where it met your shoulder, and you could have both pretended it wasn't really a kiss if you wanted. But you turned into it, letting his mouth drag across your cheek until your mouths met and there was nothing else it could have been.
He was still drowsy with sleep, and you were too. It barely seemed real, him rutting against your leg and you hard from it, your tongue trailing across his lips until he let his mouth drop open, and you fell into him. You kissed him until your lips felt bruised, and you kissed him with every touch. He came, scrunching his eyes tight, and you bit his jaw because it almost hurt to watch. He cursed you for the bruise when you kissed it the following night.
*
You don't mean to sleep, but it's been two days, and you're tired, so very tired. When your eyes fall shut, he's there, standing over you, mocking you.
"I told Sammy only one would get out alive. Just didn't tell him it'd be you, not him."
You lunge for him, wanting to see anything but amusement in those yellow eyes. But he just laughs and tells you it's a dream, you can't touch him. And that's when he tells you what he really wants. You.
So you ask the question you shouldn't. You've no choice. "If you have me, if I do what you want, will you give Sam back?"
The demon smiles at you, all yellow teeth and eyes. You'd think it were nothing more than a game to him, but there's too much determination beneath the casual pleasure in your pain. He tilts his head to one side and answers, a sibilant purr. "Yes."
When you wake up, you're curled up on the floor sobbing in the dark. You didn't get a chance to ask him what he wants, but the hand in yours is warm, and there's a pulse in the wrist, delicate flutter under the pad of your thumb.
"Sam," you whisper, and you cannot think about what you've done. You crawl up onto the bed, and take Sam in your arms, and this time the heartbeat really is his, yours and his together. You slide your hand under his shirt, and feel the curve of his spine and the trembling of sleeping muscle, the crust of dried blood. But no wounds.
You sob and laugh his name until he wakes and looks at you puzzled - open eyes, he opens his eyes - and then you kiss him. Kiss him so sweet and soft. Kiss him on the cheek and on the lips, and your tears are on his face; you taste them in each kiss.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy," you say.
Author: Signe
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam (mention of Dean/Cassie)
Rating: R
Word count: 1,547 words
Summary: You promised yourself, you'd always keep Sammy safe.
Notes: A coda to All Hell Breaks Loose part 1. There are no spoilers in it for the finale. A huge thank you to the lovely annalazarus for being a wonderful beta. Title from 'You Are My Joy', Reindeer Section. Written for svmadelyn's Kink/Cliche Challenge. My prompt was: Sleep and bedding themes (sharing a bed by necessity, such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; sex while drowsy or sleeping; sex as a sleep aid; autonomic arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep; dreams; nightmares; dream lovers, e.g., succubi; exotic or romantic beds, e.g., canopied; furs as bedding; silk sheets)
I would cradle you tight in my arms, always
Heavy in your arms, like he's sleeping. Narcoleptic in the middle of the road, head limp on your shoulder. Your knees are raw and scraped from gravel and sting like a bitch.
You stop talking eventually (empty, useless comfort), stop crying his name and stop bellowing out no as though anyone is listening and can make it true. But you don't let go. You hold him to you, warm and huge against you. He's massive, broad shoulders and tall, so tall, even though he's your little brother, baby brother, and shouldn't be bigger and stronger than you are. Your heart is beating so hard you hope maybe it's enough for two, and he's so tight against your chest it doesn't feel like the movement is only you. He's just tired, gone to sleep in your arms, and you'll take care of him until he wakes.
You tell him so, in hoarse whispers as though your voice is dried up. You ignore the crunch of boots heading back towards you, ignore the gruff come on, Son and you shrug off Bobby's hand on your shoulder, a vicious leave us alone in your eyes.
*
You didn't sleep after the fire at home. Couldn't. You'd never seen anything like it before, not even on the TV, because you weren't allowed to stay up when Dad watched movies late in the evening. You couldn't forget the noise of it, the crackling rush and swoop of flames, hot on your face even from the other side of the street. The bustle of too many people, shouting. The only thing familiar at night was the smell of Sammy, soapy-fresh and clean in his blanket, smelling like Mom in the evening after she'd bathed him. When you tucked your face in Sammy's pillow, curled up around him in his crib, you could almost forget that nothing would ever be safe again.
You learned that if you put your hand on his chest, you could feel the rise and fall of it, feel him alive beside you. You didn't have to keep your eyes open to be certain. So you rested your hand on him, and he would gurgle sometimes as though he liked it too, and you would close your eyes and then morning would be there. Light, and Daddy in the next room opening cupboards and boiling the kettle. Morning light and ordinary clatter, and Sammy awake beside you, one chubby little hand holding onto your finger. Another night survived. And you promised yourself - even harder than you promised Daddy - that you'd always keep your Sammy safe.
*
You carry Sam by yourself. Bobby wants to help, but he's smart enough not to insist - he walks alert beside you, and a part of you is conscious of his gun at the ready, protecting you both. You carry Sam all the way back to the car and barely feel the ache of straining muscles. You lay him gently in the back seat. He's too tall for it, of course, has been for years, but you manage to make him comfortable, your jacket cushioning his head.
His blood is on your hands, but you can't think of that.
*
Fremont, Dodge County, and Dad left you half the summer. You were old enough now to take care of Sam alone, legal. Money in a tin, and instructions. Phone calls to the pay phone outside every Sunday evening, and that was all.
You missed Dad sometimes, but you liked the freedom. You loved staying up late, watching movies on the Cinemax channel, laughing at Sam when he complained he couldn't concentrate on his homework and threw wadded up paper at you. He'd always leave the table eventually - grumbling even though you knew he'd done all his homework and had probably just spent the last half hour reading some geek book for fun - and flop down beside you on the sagging sofa. He'd elbow you, maybe not on purpose because he was all awkward limbs back then, grown tall without the muscle to handle his new size, and you'd wrestle until you were both on the floor and Sam was reluctantly begging for mercy. You'd stay there, pulling a couple of cushions down for your backs, and you'd forget the time until Sam was snoring, slumped against your arm. Your arm would be numb by the time you got up, and your shirt damp where Sam drooled in his sleep - if he woke up, you'd bitch about it, but if he didn't, you'd carry him to bed, ruffle his hair, and say nothing the next morning.
*
You've never felt this helpless. This lost. You want to sleep and wake up and find it was all a nightmare, but you're scared that if you do wake up, it will only be worse. You don't know how. Wandering hell for eternity would be better than knowing you were too late, that you lost Sam and then found him again only to get him killed because you couldn't help shouting his name. Seems like anything would be better than knowing that you've failed him, but who knows, maybe the demon has worse to torment you with.
There's only one bed in the room, so you lay Sam on it. His hand is cold, and doesn't warm up even though you sit and hold it between yours.
His eyes were closed anyway - you didn't have to close them.
*
First time you woke up squashed against him, your hard-on pressed into the small of his back, you were horrified. You jumped out of bed and refused to jerk off in the shower. You put it down to stress, too long without sex, and when Cassie phoned you up it was a relief. You sucked her nipples until she was squirming underneath you and then slid down, face between her thighs and made her keen, and then you fucked her slow and hard until you couldn't think any more. And when you woke up the next morning, you weren't thinking about Sam.
First time you woke up with Sam somehow in your arms, his cock firm against your thigh, you didn't move. A hitch in his breath told you he was awake, and knew you were too. If you'd been quick enough, you could have teased him, but time ran out for that, and neither of you said anything. When he kissed you, it should have been more of a surprise. It was tentative, his mouth wet in the corner of your neck where it met your shoulder, and you could have both pretended it wasn't really a kiss if you wanted. But you turned into it, letting his mouth drag across your cheek until your mouths met and there was nothing else it could have been.
He was still drowsy with sleep, and you were too. It barely seemed real, him rutting against your leg and you hard from it, your tongue trailing across his lips until he let his mouth drop open, and you fell into him. You kissed him until your lips felt bruised, and you kissed him with every touch. He came, scrunching his eyes tight, and you bit his jaw because it almost hurt to watch. He cursed you for the bruise when you kissed it the following night.
*
You don't mean to sleep, but it's been two days, and you're tired, so very tired. When your eyes fall shut, he's there, standing over you, mocking you.
"I told Sammy only one would get out alive. Just didn't tell him it'd be you, not him."
You lunge for him, wanting to see anything but amusement in those yellow eyes. But he just laughs and tells you it's a dream, you can't touch him. And that's when he tells you what he really wants. You.
So you ask the question you shouldn't. You've no choice. "If you have me, if I do what you want, will you give Sam back?"
The demon smiles at you, all yellow teeth and eyes. You'd think it were nothing more than a game to him, but there's too much determination beneath the casual pleasure in your pain. He tilts his head to one side and answers, a sibilant purr. "Yes."
When you wake up, you're curled up on the floor sobbing in the dark. You didn't get a chance to ask him what he wants, but the hand in yours is warm, and there's a pulse in the wrist, delicate flutter under the pad of your thumb.
"Sam," you whisper, and you cannot think about what you've done. You crawl up onto the bed, and take Sam in your arms, and this time the heartbeat really is his, yours and his together. You slide your hand under his shirt, and feel the curve of his spine and the trembling of sleeping muscle, the crust of dried blood. But no wounds.
You sob and laugh his name until he wakes and looks at you puzzled - open eyes, he opens his eyes - and then you kiss him. Kiss him so sweet and soft. Kiss him on the cheek and on the lips, and your tears are on his face; you taste them in each kiss.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy," you say.