Valentines Day Drabble Challenge for Team Death's Pizzas :) 7 drabbles
fannishliss
February 12th, 22:30
~Dean’s cassettes~
Dean never plays his cassettes anymore. Some he bought or copied, but most are mixes John and Mary made for each other. It kills Dean when the tape snaps or stretches out or spools into loops and wears away for the last time, the old LP pops lost forever, his parents’ overdubs memorex no more. Sam finally convinced Dean to digitize the tapes, and it seems so bizarre that the whole box of tapes, so monumental, so treasured, fits on his phone. When Mary came back, Dean showed her the tapes, let her pick whatever mix she wanted to hear.
~running shoes~
Sam gets up and ties on his shoes, no matter how tired he is, no matter how much effort it takes or how pitiful running feels compared to the problems he and Dean face. Sam and Dean have coffers of gold, now, lying in gleaming piles down in the Bunker’s deepest vaults. Sam never thought he’d be rich, but like every kid, he dreamed: beaches, parties, beautiful girls. It’s the little things, though: fresh food in the bunker kitchen, new running shoes when he needs them, beer and ammo and magazines for Dean. Sam thanks his forebears for small favors.
~diner salad~
If Sam never eats another Slim Jim in his life it will be too soon. Cheetos, Doritos, Combos, pork rinds, pretzels, even popcorn, Sam is sick of it all. Even M&Ms and Snickers have lost their appeal. After years on the road, Sam wants nothing more than the crunch of something that once had roots in the ground. That’s all he asks. Even some cut up iceberg lettuce strewn with shredded ham and American cheese. Even styrofoam tomatoes or bitter cucumbers. Anything Sam can loosely define as a vegetable satisfies so much more than any bag of processed crap.
~Ruby’s knife~
Ruby never lied, not really. She served her god as best she could, tried to do right as she saw it. She believed Sam was the chosen one, her kind’s messiah. Sam can’t blame her for any of that. He is grateful, though, for the knife - the Kurdish knife, one of a kind, that kills demons. It killed Ruby. So, in Sam’s head, it maybe comes close to even: the gift of a knife, the ending of a demon life. Whenever he wields it, he’s back there, with her warm lips, her blood, and the twisted love in her eyes.
~Sam’s best spellbook~
You might say, Sam Winchester can kill you with his brain. Inside Sam’s head are spellbooks, lexicons, bestiaries, grimoires, tomes of Latin, Enochian, Akkadian, Hebraic, Solomon’s keys, witches’ alphabets, hoodoo jingles. He always loved ancient languages, but now, his understanding of a rare branch of Canaanite could mean life or death. Sam loves computers, good libraries, but he’s hardwired his own brain with all the knowledge he needs most. Even when Lucifer got in his noggin, shouting and wearing him down, Sam lived on. One of the most powerful spellbooks ever compiled is a living compendium inside Sam Winchester’s brain.
~Enochian~
Sam paints the flowing sigils of Enochian, the flat, incantatory syllables of the Angelic programming language ringing along in his mind. Sometimes Sam wonders why Angels are so basic. Why make such powerful immortal beings so simple and unsophisticated? Then he thinks of Castiel, who never stops struggling to understand more about humans and about his father’s Creation. Does every Angel wonder? Or is Castiel just buggy? Why did God make humans and Angels so easy to frag? Slapping a bloody hand against the banishing sigil, Sam’s just grateful right now it works. Maybe that was Chuck’s plan all along.
~the conference table~
Usually, he’s working too hard, poring over books he’s already sifted through a dozen times over, trying to save the world again, and yet again. Sometimes, though, they win, and Sam can relax,basking in the gleam of green-shaded lamps, soothed by the the air filters’ hushing lullabye, and the gleaming golden wood of the conference table seems almost to sing… how many of Sam’s own ancestors worked here, cross-referencing some of the same books Sam just reshelved? Sam sips his scotch, acknowledging his own place in the lineage, the something more he never thought he’d actually find.
Tags: #000000, dean, drabbles, sammy
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