Characters: Sam/Dean (Slash, Drabble set)
Rating: PG-13 (Subject matter)
Summary: The ache of melancholy is eased by one thing only...
Author's Notes: A 5x100 Slash-drabble arc for supernatural100’s “Sight” challenge.
They’ve driven through two states since leaving Stanford, too little said or acknowledged along the way. Grief denied cannot be comforted. That both of them hurt may be obvious— or a lie.
Sam’s anguish bleeds from his face; his broken spirit barely keeps him alive.
When Sam dreams, Dean sees his torment in the cast-off light from the world beyond their room.
He longs to slip in beside Sam the way he always did before.
But would his touch heal, or betray them both?
Transfixed by his dilemna, Dean watches and does nothing rather than risk what he’s got left.
It’s quiet now—still so oddly quiet between them. Sam feels more present, but he’s still half-hearted about their mission… about life.
Here on a picnic bench, Dean hopes this Indian Summer can melt Sam’s mood.
The sight of Sam, sitting in the sunlight with the light glinting off his hair and long fingers resting on the table in front of him, is something Dean hasn’t seen for years.
How can something so simple leave him breathless and aching?
A promise flutters long abandoned at the corner of his memory. Can it— will it— finally find the light as well?
Sam has rarely seen Dean blush, and it’s terribly cute. Who knew a kiss from the sheriff’s daughter could bring Dean down?
“I can feel your eyes,” Dean says suddenly. “I don’t need you staring while I’m trying to drive.”
“I’m sorry about the sheriff,” Sam offers quietly. “We did the best we could, but I wish we’d had more options.”
“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly. He knows Sam understands. “What else?” Because Sam’s being weird.
“If I’d known you’d blush like that, I’d’ve kissed you myself.”
The heat in Dean’s eyes isn’t anger. Sam’s frozen wondering what he just unleashed.
Dean is silent, his eyes bleak and hidden as they leave Lawrence behind.
Sam’s not sure why. It was dangerous, but it’s not the first time that’s happened. There was Mom— and they haven’t talked about it and maybe never will.
But Dean was like this before— afraid to go back there, and that clearly hasn’t changed.
Sam reaches over and grasps Dean’s hand. “I’ll drive,” he says softly.
When they pull over to switch sides, Sam gathers Dean in close— pushing past the token protests.
Dean’s the only home he has left. It’s time to let him know that.
The moon climbs higher as Dean’s head rests on Sam’s shoulder. The sharp edge of grief dulls under Sam’s fingers as they stroke Dean’s weary face.
Dean’s head moves slightly as Sam’s hand continues along its path. Just a small change in position, but Sam’s fingers brush Dean’s lips and feel a push back against them in response.
Sam’s mouth follows before he knows it’s happened, kissing reassurance where only questions ought to be.
But this is Dean, and he owes him everything. And the hand slipping behind his shoulder to pull him close says this might just be enough.
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