thruterryseyes (thruterryseyes) wrote in spn_j2_xmas,
thruterryseyes
thruterryseyes
spn_j2_xmas

Gift for verucasalt123

Title: A life in three parts
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Medium: Fic
Rating: PG13 (The way I look at stuff)
Warnings:Mild Sexual references, maybe underage in one part if you squint
Summary: 3 vignettes
Author's notes: I haven't written anything in a long time. I tried to take a few of the requested likes and make them into something readable. This is short, but not for lack of thought. I hope you find something to like here.

Stolen Moments

“Be quiet!” A harsh whisper.
“I can’t help it!” A little less than a whisper, but not quite ‘out loud’.
The tangle of sheets shifted violently.
Oh, God-“ not even an attempt to whisper this time.
“I swear to God I am gonna GAG you if you don’t be quiet...”
“What are you gonna gag me with?”
“Oh, you ARE asking for it..” This followed by a throaty laugh and another tsunami of bedclothes.
Suddenly, “When is Dad gonna be back?”
What?” No attempt to keep it down this time. “Why the hell would you ask that? NOW?”
 The sheet was flipped back and Dean sat up with a snap, angrily brushing his hair back. Light from the hotel vacancy sign shone through the missing slats in the closed window blinds and painted his bare back in pale zebra stripes. “Jesus, Sam! Way to kill the mood.”
“I’m sorry, “ Sam raised himself up on his elbow and stretched out his hand to Dean and tried to touch his shoulder.
Dean moved away.
“Please. I didn’t mean to. I’m scared of what might happen if he finds out about us. What he might do.” Sam sat up as well and shifted so that his arm brushed Dean’s. This time Dean didn’t move.
“He won’t find out, cause we’re not gonna give him the chance. We’ve always been careful and we’ll keep being careful.” Dean’s voice was a hard growl, no room for argument.
 “But what if he did?”
“He WON’T!” Dean rubbed his face. “Sam, how often do we get to do this? To BE like this? If you keep bringing up Dad every time we get this chance we’re gonna start being like a couple of scared rabbits afraid to move.” Dean turned suddenly and cupped Sam’s face. “Sam, I wanta move. I want us to be this. If it’s to much for you, then you gotta say so, now, and it ends here, no matter what, because I won’t ever do anything to hurt you, to see you hurt like that.” Dean slapped Sam lightly. “Look at me.” He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against Sam’s. “You know he’d just kill me and pretend he only had one son to start with.”
Sam jerked back. “That’s not funny! None of this is your fault. We both wanted this.”
Dean moved in again, more pressure this time and Sam responded slightly. “Well, he could be back anytime so are we doin’ this or not? Cause, we got one bed, who knows how much time and better things to do with it than have this discussion again.” Dean leaned into Sam harder and gradually pressed him back to the bed.
“You make one more sound,” Dean warned, “And I’m gonna stuff my dirty socks in your mouth and tie ‘em in place with the first jock strap I can find!” He flipped the sheets back over them both and then hauled Sam to his hands and knees, smacking him on the hip. He leaned over Sam’s back and murmured, “You be good for me... and I’ll be good for you...”
                                                               *********************
30 minutes later, the door to the room rattled and heavy footsteps came inside. There was a clunk as a bag dropped to the floor and a light was flipped on in the kitchenette sending a dull glow over the two beds in the room.
Beside him, Dean felt Sam’s body start. He pressed his hand over Sam’s chest and said in voice so soft it was barely more than a thought, “Just breathe.”

                                                             
Just Another Day

Foreheads pressed together, sweaty from the day of lazy summer heat, Sam’s long hair sticking to Dean’s cheek, they stood in the alley and just gasped in each other’s air. Somehow, dusk had become darkness  while they stood there, fresh from the kill, blood still on their hands and clothes, some of it theirs, some of it not, and they stood there, uncaring of their injuries at the moment, just breathlessly happy  to know they were both alive.
“You got a cut on your face,” Dean finally murmured, pulling back to look Sam over. He lifted his hand and delicately touched the gash on Sam’s cheekbone, the bloody trail down the side of his face a stark black splash in the harsh glare of old incandescent bulbs that guarded hidden doorways.
 Sam shrugged, the pain negligible compared to the burn in his side where the talon’s had raked him, but he wouldn’t tell Dean about that until they got back to the motel.
“I’m good,” he replied. “Had worse.” He reached out and took Dean’s other hand, raising it to look at the two fingers that were no longer straight, not that they had really been straight before.
Dean hissed and tried to pull away. He’d broken both of those fingers at least twice before and every time they healed a little more crooked and they ached a little more when it was cold.
“Don’t-“
They were already obviously swollen and Sam moved them gently but did not attempt to set them. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and carefully wrapped Dean’s hand to keep the fingers from moving.
When Dean tried to jerk them away again, even the gentle touch too much, Sam held tight and finished what he was doing.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just breathe.”


It’s not over...even when it kinda is

A wrong move, left when he should have gone right, the big bad a little faster that he’d thought, himself getting a little slower. How didn’t really matter, it had finally happened, the one he couldn’t get over. He was just fucking lucky he hadn’t lost his leg instead of just the ability to bend it easily. A dragging limp beat the hell out of  nothing to limp with.
No more jumping, kicking, killing. No more hiding, no more running.
From anything.
Life had fought with everything it had to put them down, to put them out and had finally won.
And lost.
Surprisingly, it hadn’t been that hard to just let it all go. No more monsters to hunt them down, to be hunted by them. The decision had been so simple.
Just let it go.
Let the world roll on without them, let their existence fade into whispered legend as much as reality until no one remembered whether they had ever really existed at all. They’d done their time and more, and to escape that life with nothing worse to show than a bad leg for Dean and a scar that left one of Sam’s eye half closed was pretty damn good if you asked them.
Forever came on a day they weren’t expecting it. But thank God and anyone listening, forever hadn’t come hand in hand with alone.
The years had taken their toll and their pounds of flesh a bit at a time until there just wasn’t enough left to keep on keeping on with.  It came along with sparkles of silver in their hair and joints that complained in the chill mornings when the fire hadn’t been going for long or the damp evening when winter threatened it’s arrival with cold rain and hard wind.
Sam was already on the shallow front porch of the little cabin they now called home that hung off the side of a mountain looking out over a valley with a flashing little river running through it.  Small and simple and so deeply hidden by every spell, talisman, and safeguard they knew of or could imagine that finding it would have been a fucking miracle.
The Impala rested in a lean-to shed attached to the side of the house, reverently covered with a soft tarp, removed only on those rare occasions when they took her to town for something they had to have and once they had left the small town they traded in, no one remembered having seen them.
They didn’t leave often, because honestly, they had each other and next to that nothing else seemed to important.
Dean dragged himself out onto the porch, carrying a steaming cup of coffee, letting the screen slam gently behind him. He had a cane but it was put to better use squashing spiders than walking with.
Sam glanced back at the sound, his own cup of coffee cooled enough to drink, but sitting ignored on the railing he was leaning on. It was early spring in the valley and morning mists curled through the trees, obscuring one moment and revealing the next.
He pushed the chair next to him aside to allow Dean room to sit down and get his leg situated. Once settled, Dean took a long drink of coffee, then he leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam’s.
“Morning,” he rumbled.
 Sam smiled and kissed him back, then turned and faced the view.  They had stared at this view for over five years now and it never got old.
They both rested back in their chairs, soft and quiet, listening to the birds call through the trees.
Sam watched Dean’s profile as he looked out over the valley, the streaks in his hair highlights in the rising sun, laugh lines crinkling his eyes and around his mouth. Sam would not have called them anything as crass as wrinkles.
“I love you,” he said softly.
  Dean glanced over at him and smiled. He reached out and covered Sam’s hand with his own and closing his eyes, resting his head against the chair back.
“What do you want to do today?” Sam asked after another moment of silence.
 Dean sighed deeply and settled himself more firmly in the chair.
“ Today, Sammy?” He patted Sam’s hand, closing down on it, smiling, at peace. “Just breathe.”


Merry Christmas
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