SpN: Twilight Time (Sam) 2/3
4/25/09 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Twilight Time (What We Did After The End of The End Of The World)
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1360
Summary: Each day I pray for evening just to be with you, together at last at twilight time
A/N: totally self-indulgent shmoop.
Sam fires off the e-mail, closes the open windows on his laptop and shuts it down. He leans back in his chair for a second and sighs. It's been a long day. It's three o'clock, and it's time to go. No staying late on this day. He sweeps his desk clean and tosses some files in his briefcase. If he gets a chance, he'll look them over this weekend, but he doesn't plan to have chance. This weekend, Sam Winchester, lawyer, is Dean's Sammy and nothing else.
"Ash," he calls out through the open office door. "Lock her up."
"Already there, Jolly Green," his secretary mutters, cramming mysterious somethings into her purse. She looks up at him and smiles. "What's going on today, Sam?"
He just smiles. Nothing important. My brother and I are running up the coast, not a big deal…"
She shrugs. "Still, even though you have to take your brother, vacation is vacation Maybe you'll meet a nice girl," she says, and mutters, "Your brother meets enough of them."
Sam smiles ruefully, and holds his hands out. "Yeah, well…you know Dean." He's pretty sure Dean's never spent any time with Ash, but , maybe one of her friends…Dean just works that way. Sam's used to it. He stops to look in the hall mirror—his tie's crooked again. He yanks it straight and sweeps back his hair. Getting a little long, he thinks, and blushes. There's a reason he keeps it that way. There are wings of grey over the temples, white strands threaded through the brown…he'd dye it but Dean would laugh at him….
The drive home lasts minutes. Really he could walk it—was a day this distance meant nothing. He really has to admit, he's getting out of shape, and now the muscles he had that had seemed just part of him were going a little soft. Just a little. Monday, he'll start Monday. Maybe run the track with Dean. Fucking up at dawn, little Mary Sunshine Dean. He's grinning, hardly aware of it.
He pulls into the diner's parking lot and waves to the owner. "I'm here for my order, Mary, how's it going?"
He can tell she thinks it's cute, that he's here to pick up a pie for his brother's supposed birthday—not a cake, ever, always a pie. He shrugs and blushes a little. It's stupid, but it's one of the few traditions they have, pitiful as it is. This, and pie. The way she smiles makes him pay quickly. She's got that Dean's poor old bachelor brother look. "Thanks, Mary. Appreciate it."
"No problem, Sam. See you guys for breakfast Monday—and tell Dean not to bother my new waitress." She smiles like it's an impossibility. Dean's got a reputation around this town.
Sam smiles back, making sure it's sincere and wide and grabs the pie. "Will do." he's out the door and in the car, and yeah--Dean's not hearing shit from anyone. This is *his* weekend. Sam doesn't want the slightest reminder of anyone hanging around the edges of his time. Their time.
When he pulls out of the lot, he passes the uniform shop, and one of the girls waves—Sam smiles and waves back, and keeps his back teeth from grinding. It's stupid, it's just Dean, the way he is and it doesn't mean much, Sam knows that—but still. Sometimes, he'd like to lightly strangle some of these girls, not enough to kill them of course. Maybe enough to be a warning. His fingers skate over the BMW's steering wheel, and the box holding the pie slides a bit on the leather. The white cardboard curls a little at the corners….
Of course, he feels guilty instantly. Maybe he's feeling guilty because he doesn’t feel all that bad about wanting to strangle them. Dean knows about his occasional desire to lock him up and keep him in the house, but he's patient about it. So Sam says nothing, and smiles when Dean goes out on the weekends sometimes, wishes him a good time. Dean's had to be patient about so very much, deal with so much that Sam never even tries to fight.
Besides, they both knew who Dean really belonged to.
Sam drives carefully, slowly down the narrow street the house is on. Kids are all over the street here, bikes zipping in and out between the cars parked on either side of the street—he passes the café that they liked to stop at on Sundays. It never fails to make him smile; Dean always looks like any moment he's ready to bolt when they sit there. Like he's going to break something by breathing. Sam grins—he knows Dean mostly does the panicked act just for him.
Then Sam's there, in front of the house, and he let's go a hot breath, relaxes so much it almost feels like he's deflating. Home. Home, safe and sound, he tells himself, just like he's told himself for the last fifteen years, and with just as much wonder and pleasure—just as much wonder as when they were still moving around the country like frantic pin-balls, and Safe Home was whenever Dean came back to him.
The yellow duplex shone like…like that house in their dream journey. So peaceful, so normal it was almost unreal, with its little wicker set and…yeah. Okay, so maybe it is a little "sixty-year old queen with lots of cats", like Dean always growls but Sam likes it and deep down, so does Dean, even if he sits on the wicker couch like he's canvassing the neighborhood instead of living there. No wonder the neighbors love him. They get that it's kind of cute, his cranky act.
And speaking of cranky, there he is, mooning over her again. His baby. Sam grins and loosens his tie and watches Dean shut the garage again. When he turns he's making that face at the car. Again. Sam laughs to himself. "Hey, are you ready? I'm starving, dude."
Sam's starving for a lot of things...he plans on feeding a few hungers tonight. He grins at Dean, and thinks, perfect. He's fucking perfect, always has been. Ever since he'd first looked at Dean and decided he was what a man was supposed to be—and then had the earth-shattering thought that Dean was the man he wanted—he's been perfect to Sam.
"Where are we going, dude?"
Sam loosens his tie and says, "We're going wherever the wind takes us."
Dean looks him over and smirks. "So…we're gonna go with your usual crappy sense of direction then?"
"Yeah, shut the eff up, funny guy."
"You love it when I act this way." It is pretty much an act, always has been…but Dean's right, he does love it. He loves it like crazy. Memories come alive in his mind, long, long days on the road; hunting things, saving people…he looks over at Dean and smiles. Saving people. Saving...each other. Here he is in the car, sitting next to the graying, getting a little pudgy, humming along to songs older than their generation, savior of the world. Sam laughs out loud. It doesn't get better than that.
"What?"
"I'm thinking about how I'm going to pin you to the mattress and fuck your brains out."
Dean frowns, rolls his eyes, and says, "Okay, but after dinner, all right?" Sure. Sam can see the flush of red roll right up Dean's neck and the little smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes…and then he laughs. "Fuck my brains out hunh? You're a smooth talker, you are."
Sam shrugs, "Yeah, I learned it from my brother."
"He must be a pretty cool guy," Dean smirks, and arches his eyebrows at him. Sam grins and ignores the automatic, warm tug that look builds in his gut.
"Nah, he's some loud, foul-mouthed old hustler out of Kansas—"
"Dude!" Dean punches him in the arm. "Next time, I'm driving, and you can get the abuse…"
There was no better way to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the end of the world than with his brother sitting next to him, happy, whole…and knowing how important he was to Sam.
the end
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1360
Summary: Each day I pray for evening just to be with you, together at last at twilight time
A/N: totally self-indulgent shmoop.
Sam fires off the e-mail, closes the open windows on his laptop and shuts it down. He leans back in his chair for a second and sighs. It's been a long day. It's three o'clock, and it's time to go. No staying late on this day. He sweeps his desk clean and tosses some files in his briefcase. If he gets a chance, he'll look them over this weekend, but he doesn't plan to have chance. This weekend, Sam Winchester, lawyer, is Dean's Sammy and nothing else.
"Ash," he calls out through the open office door. "Lock her up."
"Already there, Jolly Green," his secretary mutters, cramming mysterious somethings into her purse. She looks up at him and smiles. "What's going on today, Sam?"
He just smiles. Nothing important. My brother and I are running up the coast, not a big deal…"
She shrugs. "Still, even though you have to take your brother, vacation is vacation Maybe you'll meet a nice girl," she says, and mutters, "Your brother meets enough of them."
Sam smiles ruefully, and holds his hands out. "Yeah, well…you know Dean." He's pretty sure Dean's never spent any time with Ash, but , maybe one of her friends…Dean just works that way. Sam's used to it. He stops to look in the hall mirror—his tie's crooked again. He yanks it straight and sweeps back his hair. Getting a little long, he thinks, and blushes. There's a reason he keeps it that way. There are wings of grey over the temples, white strands threaded through the brown…he'd dye it but Dean would laugh at him….
The drive home lasts minutes. Really he could walk it—was a day this distance meant nothing. He really has to admit, he's getting out of shape, and now the muscles he had that had seemed just part of him were going a little soft. Just a little. Monday, he'll start Monday. Maybe run the track with Dean. Fucking up at dawn, little Mary Sunshine Dean. He's grinning, hardly aware of it.
He pulls into the diner's parking lot and waves to the owner. "I'm here for my order, Mary, how's it going?"
He can tell she thinks it's cute, that he's here to pick up a pie for his brother's supposed birthday—not a cake, ever, always a pie. He shrugs and blushes a little. It's stupid, but it's one of the few traditions they have, pitiful as it is. This, and pie. The way she smiles makes him pay quickly. She's got that Dean's poor old bachelor brother look. "Thanks, Mary. Appreciate it."
"No problem, Sam. See you guys for breakfast Monday—and tell Dean not to bother my new waitress." She smiles like it's an impossibility. Dean's got a reputation around this town.
Sam smiles back, making sure it's sincere and wide and grabs the pie. "Will do." he's out the door and in the car, and yeah--Dean's not hearing shit from anyone. This is *his* weekend. Sam doesn't want the slightest reminder of anyone hanging around the edges of his time. Their time.
When he pulls out of the lot, he passes the uniform shop, and one of the girls waves—Sam smiles and waves back, and keeps his back teeth from grinding. It's stupid, it's just Dean, the way he is and it doesn't mean much, Sam knows that—but still. Sometimes, he'd like to lightly strangle some of these girls, not enough to kill them of course. Maybe enough to be a warning. His fingers skate over the BMW's steering wheel, and the box holding the pie slides a bit on the leather. The white cardboard curls a little at the corners….
Of course, he feels guilty instantly. Maybe he's feeling guilty because he doesn’t feel all that bad about wanting to strangle them. Dean knows about his occasional desire to lock him up and keep him in the house, but he's patient about it. So Sam says nothing, and smiles when Dean goes out on the weekends sometimes, wishes him a good time. Dean's had to be patient about so very much, deal with so much that Sam never even tries to fight.
Besides, they both knew who Dean really belonged to.
Sam drives carefully, slowly down the narrow street the house is on. Kids are all over the street here, bikes zipping in and out between the cars parked on either side of the street—he passes the café that they liked to stop at on Sundays. It never fails to make him smile; Dean always looks like any moment he's ready to bolt when they sit there. Like he's going to break something by breathing. Sam grins—he knows Dean mostly does the panicked act just for him.
Then Sam's there, in front of the house, and he let's go a hot breath, relaxes so much it almost feels like he's deflating. Home. Home, safe and sound, he tells himself, just like he's told himself for the last fifteen years, and with just as much wonder and pleasure—just as much wonder as when they were still moving around the country like frantic pin-balls, and Safe Home was whenever Dean came back to him.
The yellow duplex shone like…like that house in their dream journey. So peaceful, so normal it was almost unreal, with its little wicker set and…yeah. Okay, so maybe it is a little "sixty-year old queen with lots of cats", like Dean always growls but Sam likes it and deep down, so does Dean, even if he sits on the wicker couch like he's canvassing the neighborhood instead of living there. No wonder the neighbors love him. They get that it's kind of cute, his cranky act.
And speaking of cranky, there he is, mooning over her again. His baby. Sam grins and loosens his tie and watches Dean shut the garage again. When he turns he's making that face at the car. Again. Sam laughs to himself. "Hey, are you ready? I'm starving, dude."
Sam's starving for a lot of things...he plans on feeding a few hungers tonight. He grins at Dean, and thinks, perfect. He's fucking perfect, always has been. Ever since he'd first looked at Dean and decided he was what a man was supposed to be—and then had the earth-shattering thought that Dean was the man he wanted—he's been perfect to Sam.
"Where are we going, dude?"
Sam loosens his tie and says, "We're going wherever the wind takes us."
Dean looks him over and smirks. "So…we're gonna go with your usual crappy sense of direction then?"
"Yeah, shut the eff up, funny guy."
"You love it when I act this way." It is pretty much an act, always has been…but Dean's right, he does love it. He loves it like crazy. Memories come alive in his mind, long, long days on the road; hunting things, saving people…he looks over at Dean and smiles. Saving people. Saving...each other. Here he is in the car, sitting next to the graying, getting a little pudgy, humming along to songs older than their generation, savior of the world. Sam laughs out loud. It doesn't get better than that.
"What?"
"I'm thinking about how I'm going to pin you to the mattress and fuck your brains out."
Dean frowns, rolls his eyes, and says, "Okay, but after dinner, all right?" Sure. Sam can see the flush of red roll right up Dean's neck and the little smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes…and then he laughs. "Fuck my brains out hunh? You're a smooth talker, you are."
Sam shrugs, "Yeah, I learned it from my brother."
"He must be a pretty cool guy," Dean smirks, and arches his eyebrows at him. Sam grins and ignores the automatic, warm tug that look builds in his gut.
"Nah, he's some loud, foul-mouthed old hustler out of Kansas—"
"Dude!" Dean punches him in the arm. "Next time, I'm driving, and you can get the abuse…"
There was no better way to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the end of the world than with his brother sitting next to him, happy, whole…and knowing how important he was to Sam.
the end
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4/25/09 03:15 pm (UTC)OH holy hell--wait!!! I screwed up my time line! it can't be birthday pie!!!!
Mind if I have my freak out here? *G*