Warm Front (Sam/Dean)
I hope the mods will tolerate this even if it's past time, I had to drive to a restaurant with wifi since the internet at my home is out.
Title: Warm Front
Author: gold_bluepoint
Characters/Rating: Sam/Dean, PG-13 at worst
Length: 1100
Prompt: I told you so
Summary: S6. It's been raining for two months in Nesbit, Mississippi, but Dean is happy anyway.
Sam's eyes are warm and heavy-lidded, lying smug and awake in the second bed from the door when Dean stumbles in from the storm, half-blind from the water streaming down his face.
"Told you it wouldn't work," Sam says.
"Ahhh, screw you," grumps Dean, smacking water out of his ears. His jacket hits the ground with a wet thud when he shrugs it off and Dean winces at the thought of what all that muddy water's got to be doing to the leather. First time they've met a water spirit, and he already hates 'em. It's almost enough to make him long for a demon, or a malevolent ghost. Something straightforward.
Sam rustles over in his nice, dry bed. "I told you, man, that Mediterranean rain dispersal ritual was meant for a hyas, a Greek rain spirit. I'm pretty sure this one's an ame-warashi."
Dean inspects his jacket with dismay. It's gonna need leather conditioner all over at least, if he's gonna save it. He'd just gotten this one broken in too, damn. "What's the difference? They're both fuckin' foreign, neither one of them belongs in Mississippi."
Sam snorts. "You're so politically incorrect. Besides, you got that ritual out of a new age bookstore that was selling crystal wands in the window. The shopkeeper smelled like pot. You really thought it was going to work?"
"S'better than doing nothing." Dean swears and shakes his jacket off one more time, then tosses it on a chair. It's not like he won't have time to fuss around treating the leather, if they're gonna be stuck here for another two days. "Man, I don't get how you can stand to just sit around for half a week waiting for that thing to blow itself out and go away. I don't like it. I don't trust things to just willingly go away on their own."
"We didn't even have to fight anything this time. Aren't you happy about that?"
"It picked me up, Sam!" Dean howls. "I was trying to do the dispersal and the wind fucking picked me up and tossed me in the creek!"
"I told you not to try and disperse the storm early, man, we already took care of it and you're just risking ticking off the spirit again. It didn't do anything else to you?"
"Dude, I've got weeds down my asscrack!"
Sam blurts out a laugh, loud and full-bellied. "Didn't know you were into that, Dean."
"Oh, go screw yourself. I thought it was gonna drown me at first."
Sam rolls over and looks up at him. "But it didn't try to?"
"Nah, just dumped me in and let me go. But I swear, I don't trust that thing," Dean grunts, yanking off his sodden boots with a squelch.
"Well, we appeased it," Sam says slowly. His voice is rusty and warm with sleep. "It's not a malevolent spirit, it was just pissed off about being thrown in the trash. We dug it up and reinshrined it, so the storm'll blow over in a day or two. It's already getting less violent out there."
"Speak for yourself," muttered Dean, wrestling off his belt and crossing the room to the beds, dripping puddles into the carpet.
"Dean, don't even start. You're just bored because it took out the porn."
Dean glances at the thing they dug up yesterday, the green glassy idol propped against the TV that's played nothing but gentle static since the eternal storm (currently clocking in at two months, five days, and seventeen hours) plaguing Nesbit, Mississippi blew the satellite disc off the roof their first night in town. The idol is two feet long and shaped like a shuttlecock, roughly carved with a vaguely humanoid face that was creepy yesterday, running with mud and water when they exhumed it in the driving rain, but now, washed off and polished and ritually cleansed, just seems kind of serene in the warm light of Sam's bedside lamp.
"I dunno. I like a good fight, at least that way we know something's taken care of for good."
Sam makes a face at him when Dean glances up, and damn, the sight makes Dean's heart stutter in his chest. Sam has that pink-cheeked sleepy look right now that he had as a little boy. Sam still gets it sometimes, even as an adult, when he's the good kind of tired, worn out from doing good hard work and safe for the moment. It's been too many years since Dean saw it last.
"I'm the one stuck for three days in a room with your B.O. I'm starting to see what you mean, Dean, this is pretty awful."
"You love my fragrance," Dean shoots back.
Sam coughs. "Right. Riiight." His toes are sticking off the end of the bed, stupidly long, and there's a smudge of leftover dirt on his cheekbone that Dean spots when Sam yawns. Dean's brother, in the flesh.
Dean's soaked and cranky and stuck in a motel with no goddamn porn for at least forty-eight more hours because it's raining too hard to even drive out of town, and the fucking world is trying to end itself again, but Dean's happy anyway.
Dean wrestles his sopping shirt off and contemplates it in his hand for a second. Sam yelps and jumps gratifyingly when he slaps Sam's ass through the blankets with it, and Sam growls when Dean sprawls out with a squish on his brother's bed and starts yanking off his jeans.
"Dean! I sleep here! Ugh, gross! You're all muddy, dude, go take a shower first!" Sam fusses, and starts shoving ineffectually at Dean, like he's going to push Dean off the bed that easily.
"Man, there's another fucking bed in here, get your panties untwisted. I think I deserve a fucking nap."
Sam's skin is warm and familiar against Dean's where they're shoving against each other, tussling for space under the covers, and he doesn't sound the least bit self-loathing when he says "In my bed?"
Dean wiggles his arm under Sam, smudging his clean skin with dirt and rolling them together in the middle of the bed. "It's dick-shriveling cold out there and your bed's already warmed up. I do not want to catch pneumonia 'cause your pet rain spirit decided it would be funny to shove me in a river."
Sam's hands are less shoving and more rubbing now, gripping tightly against Dean's sides. "Dean…"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for following my lead with the spirit. For not just killing it."
"Yeah, well, I still hate this rain," Dean grumbles. "Gets leaves and crap all over my car, it's not good for the finish."
"I'll make it up to you," mumbles Sam, and tugs Dean's lower lip with his teeth, and Dean feels kind of okay with Sam's atonement thing, for once.
I tag marciaelena with go get your heart back.
Title: Warm Front
Author: gold_bluepoint
Characters/Rating: Sam/Dean, PG-13 at worst
Length: 1100
Prompt: I told you so
Summary: S6. It's been raining for two months in Nesbit, Mississippi, but Dean is happy anyway.
Sam's eyes are warm and heavy-lidded, lying smug and awake in the second bed from the door when Dean stumbles in from the storm, half-blind from the water streaming down his face.
"Told you it wouldn't work," Sam says.
"Ahhh, screw you," grumps Dean, smacking water out of his ears. His jacket hits the ground with a wet thud when he shrugs it off and Dean winces at the thought of what all that muddy water's got to be doing to the leather. First time they've met a water spirit, and he already hates 'em. It's almost enough to make him long for a demon, or a malevolent ghost. Something straightforward.
Sam rustles over in his nice, dry bed. "I told you, man, that Mediterranean rain dispersal ritual was meant for a hyas, a Greek rain spirit. I'm pretty sure this one's an ame-warashi."
Dean inspects his jacket with dismay. It's gonna need leather conditioner all over at least, if he's gonna save it. He'd just gotten this one broken in too, damn. "What's the difference? They're both fuckin' foreign, neither one of them belongs in Mississippi."
Sam snorts. "You're so politically incorrect. Besides, you got that ritual out of a new age bookstore that was selling crystal wands in the window. The shopkeeper smelled like pot. You really thought it was going to work?"
"S'better than doing nothing." Dean swears and shakes his jacket off one more time, then tosses it on a chair. It's not like he won't have time to fuss around treating the leather, if they're gonna be stuck here for another two days. "Man, I don't get how you can stand to just sit around for half a week waiting for that thing to blow itself out and go away. I don't like it. I don't trust things to just willingly go away on their own."
"We didn't even have to fight anything this time. Aren't you happy about that?"
"It picked me up, Sam!" Dean howls. "I was trying to do the dispersal and the wind fucking picked me up and tossed me in the creek!"
"I told you not to try and disperse the storm early, man, we already took care of it and you're just risking ticking off the spirit again. It didn't do anything else to you?"
"Dude, I've got weeds down my asscrack!"
Sam blurts out a laugh, loud and full-bellied. "Didn't know you were into that, Dean."
"Oh, go screw yourself. I thought it was gonna drown me at first."
Sam rolls over and looks up at him. "But it didn't try to?"
"Nah, just dumped me in and let me go. But I swear, I don't trust that thing," Dean grunts, yanking off his sodden boots with a squelch.
"Well, we appeased it," Sam says slowly. His voice is rusty and warm with sleep. "It's not a malevolent spirit, it was just pissed off about being thrown in the trash. We dug it up and reinshrined it, so the storm'll blow over in a day or two. It's already getting less violent out there."
"Speak for yourself," muttered Dean, wrestling off his belt and crossing the room to the beds, dripping puddles into the carpet.
"Dean, don't even start. You're just bored because it took out the porn."
Dean glances at the thing they dug up yesterday, the green glassy idol propped against the TV that's played nothing but gentle static since the eternal storm (currently clocking in at two months, five days, and seventeen hours) plaguing Nesbit, Mississippi blew the satellite disc off the roof their first night in town. The idol is two feet long and shaped like a shuttlecock, roughly carved with a vaguely humanoid face that was creepy yesterday, running with mud and water when they exhumed it in the driving rain, but now, washed off and polished and ritually cleansed, just seems kind of serene in the warm light of Sam's bedside lamp.
"I dunno. I like a good fight, at least that way we know something's taken care of for good."
Sam makes a face at him when Dean glances up, and damn, the sight makes Dean's heart stutter in his chest. Sam has that pink-cheeked sleepy look right now that he had as a little boy. Sam still gets it sometimes, even as an adult, when he's the good kind of tired, worn out from doing good hard work and safe for the moment. It's been too many years since Dean saw it last.
"I'm the one stuck for three days in a room with your B.O. I'm starting to see what you mean, Dean, this is pretty awful."
"You love my fragrance," Dean shoots back.
Sam coughs. "Right. Riiight." His toes are sticking off the end of the bed, stupidly long, and there's a smudge of leftover dirt on his cheekbone that Dean spots when Sam yawns. Dean's brother, in the flesh.
Dean's soaked and cranky and stuck in a motel with no goddamn porn for at least forty-eight more hours because it's raining too hard to even drive out of town, and the fucking world is trying to end itself again, but Dean's happy anyway.
Dean wrestles his sopping shirt off and contemplates it in his hand for a second. Sam yelps and jumps gratifyingly when he slaps Sam's ass through the blankets with it, and Sam growls when Dean sprawls out with a squish on his brother's bed and starts yanking off his jeans.
"Dean! I sleep here! Ugh, gross! You're all muddy, dude, go take a shower first!" Sam fusses, and starts shoving ineffectually at Dean, like he's going to push Dean off the bed that easily.
"Man, there's another fucking bed in here, get your panties untwisted. I think I deserve a fucking nap."
Sam's skin is warm and familiar against Dean's where they're shoving against each other, tussling for space under the covers, and he doesn't sound the least bit self-loathing when he says "In my bed?"
Dean wiggles his arm under Sam, smudging his clean skin with dirt and rolling them together in the middle of the bed. "It's dick-shriveling cold out there and your bed's already warmed up. I do not want to catch pneumonia 'cause your pet rain spirit decided it would be funny to shove me in a river."
Sam's hands are less shoving and more rubbing now, gripping tightly against Dean's sides. "Dean…"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for following my lead with the spirit. For not just killing it."
"Yeah, well, I still hate this rain," Dean grumbles. "Gets leaves and crap all over my car, it's not good for the finish."
"I'll make it up to you," mumbles Sam, and tugs Dean's lower lip with his teeth, and Dean feels kind of okay with Sam's atonement thing, for once.
I tag marciaelena with go get your heart back.