Supernatural Fic: Conversations With Dead People
Title: Conversations With Dead People
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating / Genre: PG-13, Gen
Words: 334
Spoilers: Episode tag / missing scene for 4.01, Lazarus Rising.
Disclaimer/ Notes: Supernatural is the property of The CW. Possibly Eric Kripke. For all of my flist who once showed their love for Supernatural with much writing of truly excellent fic, but have been lured away by the bandom; come back to the fold! Mostly for ignipes as a belated birthday present.
Summmary: Sleep like the dead used to just be a metaphors for the Winchesters.
~~~
The fan whirrs with a slow whum over the bed and Dean wonders if this is how Martin Sheen felt when he filmed Apocalypse Now. Alive, and not.
Everything sounds different. Everything looks different. Not better, not worse, just different. Detached somehow. It's making him crazy.
"Sam," he says into the darkness, without thinking what he's going to say next.
"Yeah?"
"You still snore?"
"You still fart?"
"Uh, don't know," Dean replies, then grins. "Haven't yet. Get me some chilli dogs for breakfast, we'll find out."
Dean hears Sam snort and smiles at the thought of Sam laughing again. Then the quiet comes back.
"Dean?"
"Yeah."
"You really don't remember?"
"I really don't," Dean says, dismissing the flash of dark chasm and cacophony that assaulted his senses earlier. "Do you?"
"Just remember waking up in the middle of nowhere. Felt like I'd been asleep for a week. I remember dying though."
"Me too."
The silence falls again, as it has to, because what light fraternal banter can compete with that? Predictably, it's Sam that breaks it.
"Dean?" he asks again, like he's checking he's really there, not some revenant or a figment of his increasingly bleak imagination.
"I'm here." Dean grunts.
"Promise you'll never do that again."
Dean starts to say, "Sure thing," or, "Wasn't planning on it," but for once in his life, his mind works faster than his mouth and he figures out what Sam's really asking. Remembers holding the deadweight of his brother in the mud and the rain. The look on Sam's face a year later when Dean heard the scratching and howls at the door.
"I promise, Sammy. No more deals."
Dean feels the almost unconscious sigh of relief in the bed across from him and before he's counted a hundred Sam's breathing has lengthened into the low dark patterns of sleep.
Dean listens to the rhythmic half-snoring, the whirr-hum of the fan above him and before long he's deep down under. He doesn't dream.
But he does remember.
~~~
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating / Genre: PG-13, Gen
Words: 334
Spoilers: Episode tag / missing scene for 4.01, Lazarus Rising.
Disclaimer/ Notes: Supernatural is the property of The CW. Possibly Eric Kripke. For all of my flist who once showed their love for Supernatural with much writing of truly excellent fic, but have been lured away by the bandom; come back to the fold! Mostly for ignipes as a belated birthday present.
Summmary: Sleep like the dead used to just be a metaphors for the Winchesters.
~~~
The fan whirrs with a slow whum over the bed and Dean wonders if this is how Martin Sheen felt when he filmed Apocalypse Now. Alive, and not.
Everything sounds different. Everything looks different. Not better, not worse, just different. Detached somehow. It's making him crazy.
"Sam," he says into the darkness, without thinking what he's going to say next.
"Yeah?"
"You still snore?"
"You still fart?"
"Uh, don't know," Dean replies, then grins. "Haven't yet. Get me some chilli dogs for breakfast, we'll find out."
Dean hears Sam snort and smiles at the thought of Sam laughing again. Then the quiet comes back.
"Dean?"
"Yeah."
"You really don't remember?"
"I really don't," Dean says, dismissing the flash of dark chasm and cacophony that assaulted his senses earlier. "Do you?"
"Just remember waking up in the middle of nowhere. Felt like I'd been asleep for a week. I remember dying though."
"Me too."
The silence falls again, as it has to, because what light fraternal banter can compete with that? Predictably, it's Sam that breaks it.
"Dean?" he asks again, like he's checking he's really there, not some revenant or a figment of his increasingly bleak imagination.
"I'm here." Dean grunts.
"Promise you'll never do that again."
Dean starts to say, "Sure thing," or, "Wasn't planning on it," but for once in his life, his mind works faster than his mouth and he figures out what Sam's really asking. Remembers holding the deadweight of his brother in the mud and the rain. The look on Sam's face a year later when Dean heard the scratching and howls at the door.
"I promise, Sammy. No more deals."
Dean feels the almost unconscious sigh of relief in the bed across from him and before he's counted a hundred Sam's breathing has lengthened into the low dark patterns of sleep.
Dean listens to the rhythmic half-snoring, the whirr-hum of the fan above him and before long he's deep down under. He doesn't dream.
But he does remember.
~~~