Fic: far from the carnage of the fiery sun (implied Sam/Dean) PG
Title to Kings Of Leon's "Closer."
far from the carnage of the fiery sun
Implied Sam/Dean - Supernatural, pre-series
PG | 312 words
stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down
It's maybe five days in. Dean's not really keeping track. He'll start counting when the days passed outnumber the ones that remain. John left them in some shabby motel, as usual. Sam pulled a face when he saw it. The "L" in the sign had burned out. Dean made a crack about keeping the dragons out, but Sam had no smile for him, had nothing but derision in his voice when he snorted "wrong kind of moat." Dean knew that, of course. Maybe Sam couldn't recognize his jokes anymore since Dean made so few. Or maybe Sam was as tired as he was of hiding from monsters.
Now they have to sleep in the dark. The storm blowing outside knocked the power out an hour ago. Sam had had his nose in some old science journal and Dean had been busy cleaning his gun. Dean was pretty sure he could've managed without, that he could take apart, clean, and reassemble his gun just by the feel of it. He knows his way around a shotgun like little else, but Sam whined that he couldn't sleep with Dean over there snapping and clicking pieces. Sam complained and Dean gave (he always gave too easily, too readily, when Sam asked him).
The clock glows 1:43, but Dean is still awake. Across from him, Sam is breathing low and steady, but Dean is trying hard not to listen. Dean doesn't mind the blackout; he revels in it, even. In the dark he doesn't worry about his thoughts playing all over his face. He isn't afraid Sam will see them there (because Sam could always read him like a book, surprise surprise). Every few minutes though, lightning flashes outside and the room bursts with it. For a moment, silver light falls across Sam as he sleeps and in that half a second, everything is illuminated.
far from the carnage of the fiery sun
Implied Sam/Dean - Supernatural, pre-series
PG | 312 words
stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down
It's maybe five days in. Dean's not really keeping track. He'll start counting when the days passed outnumber the ones that remain. John left them in some shabby motel, as usual. Sam pulled a face when he saw it. The "L" in the sign had burned out. Dean made a crack about keeping the dragons out, but Sam had no smile for him, had nothing but derision in his voice when he snorted "wrong kind of moat." Dean knew that, of course. Maybe Sam couldn't recognize his jokes anymore since Dean made so few. Or maybe Sam was as tired as he was of hiding from monsters.
Now they have to sleep in the dark. The storm blowing outside knocked the power out an hour ago. Sam had had his nose in some old science journal and Dean had been busy cleaning his gun. Dean was pretty sure he could've managed without, that he could take apart, clean, and reassemble his gun just by the feel of it. He knows his way around a shotgun like little else, but Sam whined that he couldn't sleep with Dean over there snapping and clicking pieces. Sam complained and Dean gave (he always gave too easily, too readily, when Sam asked him).
The clock glows 1:43, but Dean is still awake. Across from him, Sam is breathing low and steady, but Dean is trying hard not to listen. Dean doesn't mind the blackout; he revels in it, even. In the dark he doesn't worry about his thoughts playing all over his face. He isn't afraid Sam will see them there (because Sam could always read him like a book, surprise surprise). Every few minutes though, lightning flashes outside and the room bursts with it. For a moment, silver light falls across Sam as he sleeps and in that half a second, everything is illuminated.