fic: tension
Apr. 1st, 2019 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
puchuupoetTitle: tension
Author:puchuupoet
Word Count: ~1650
Rating: gen
Heads-up: whumpish, underage drinking, migraine/headaches
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323279
Forgorgeousnerd
It's been awhile since Sam's seen his dad drive this fast. Or feels it, really. The Impala smoothes out more after they hit 65, and he's pretty sure his dad passed that a while ago. He can't tell for sure though, with Dean's shirt covering his face, and he's thankful for it even if it does choke up his throat with Axe.
"We're almost there, Sammy, almost," Dean's whispering, hand on Sam's ankle as if he's trying to ground himself instead of the other way around. Any other time they'd laugh it off, claim to be too old for this shit, but Sam doesn't want either of them drifting away right now.
The car turns and the sun reflects off of something and Sam can't help it, his head splits open and he keens at the pain, making Dean jump and John swear softly.
"Keep his eyes covered, Dean," he's low and sharp, bringing the car to a stop in a sure manner. "Keep him still until I get the room opened up for us."
Sam braces himself for a door slam that never comes, just a soft whoosh from Dean as his fingers start to clench around Sam's leg. "It'll be okay, you've got this," Dean's rambling and that scares Sam more than anything else that's happened so far.
"Dean, wha's going on?" The pain's a dull throb now, a steady heartbeat pulse that's too reliable, too constant, and Sam tenses, waiting for the inevitable tip back into sharpness.
"Dunno, Sammy. Dad's comin' this way now, gotta just hold on a little bit longer..."
Sam can feel the reluctant loss of Dean's grip, followed by the practiced noises of collecting everything needed for the night. The car whines when Dean gets out, and for a heartbeat Sam thinks it escaped from his lungs, the pain finally punching through bone.
"Dad's gonna get you, Sam, just wait," Dean pauses as the gravel crunch gets closer. "I'll meet you inside, it'll be okay." All Sam can do is moan in response, fingers clenching in the fabric covering his face.
The world's bright and sharp against Sam's eyes, even with the pillow covering his head. He can still feel the Impala's vibrations rattling his bones, even though Dad had gently placed him on the motel bed forever ago. He's long forgotten where they are, or even where they're supposed to be going. Some place in New Mexico, he thinks, and it's supposed to be spring break, and maybe that's why everything's hot and sticky and dizzying.
Steps pound at his temple, thunk thunk thunk thunk, and Sam doesn't realize he's crying out until he stops, silenced by a large hand cradling the back of his neck. The touch is scarred and tender, like only his dad's can be, in that unpredictable way.
"Sam, I gotta go, get you more painkillers and supplies. Everything’s okay, just, it’ll be painful for awhile." His dad pauses, moving his hand to rub the back of his own neck. "There's something out there too, killin' kids and it should be easy enough, there's already hunters working it. They just, they need backup, and we're the closest around..."
Sam whimpers, and his dad takes it for the acquiescence it is. He holds his breath as John walks away, the inhaled gasp buffering against the hard heels on thin carpeted floor and linoleum. He stays like that until he feels the Impala start up, the hulking car parked right outside the room’s window. The sharp throb in his temple reminds him to breathe, a hard whoosh out that leaves his vision sparkling, and Sam gratefully lets himself fall asleep in the resounding silence.
The world's calmer when he hears shuffling by the doorway, and Sam can't tell how much time has passed. His shirt's still sweatstuck to his back, and there's an ache in the air that melts into him, but the noises aren't pricking at his eyes as badly. The pillow’s smushed up against his face, sheltering him from the afternoon light.
"Dean?" he whispers, and the mattress dips next to him.
"How're you doing?" Dean's hand is hovering near Sam's head, barely touching his hair but Sam's already wincing at the possibilities.
"...brain hurts."
"All over?" Dean's whispering and Sam's afraid of what that means.
"Yeah, everywhere." The pillow's slipping away, and Sam tightens his grip. "Don't move it, it helps."
He can barely hear the "I gotcha" whispered out before the bed's lighter and he can hear the soft pad of Dean's feet moving away from him.
There's rustling happening out there, zippers harsh against his ears, and then the soft steps are heading back his way, passing by him and Sam can't remember the last time Dean was this quiet.
"You can come out now," Dean whispers and Sam cautiously raises the pillow to find the room blanketed in darkness, soft light coming from the edges of the windows where Dean had tucked in the spare blankets. "Better?"
Sam mouths out “yes,” sitting up as Dean starts making the bed for him, pulling down the comforter and leaving the cool blankets for cover. He lets Dean take the pillow from him, fluff it into position, and place it back under Sam’s head.
"Dad said it’s nothing to worry about, not like a concussion or anything, so you can sleep more if you wanna,” Dean pauses at Sam’s gaze. “It’s like a really bad migraine or something. I guess maybe Mom’s side had it going way back and you lucked out.” Sam groans at the words, fingers grabbing at the blankets.
You wanna try and keep sleeping through it?"
Sam nods, wincing at the sudden burst of hurt and from the corner of his eye he can see Dean bristle before leaving the room. Everything hurts and he's disappointed Dean and he's probably never gonna come back from spring break and he briefly wonders what his classmates will think of him, running off like that and...
"Here," and metal is pressed into his hand, flat and sloshing and Sam knows it as Dean's, the one he's not allowed to touch, not even look at. He looks at Dean with a wide-eyed stare.
"You ate the last of our painkillers, jerk,” Dean murmurs. When Sam refuses to blink at him, Dean seems to deflate a little. “It'll be fine, Sammy." Dean's eyes glint in the low light. "I promise you."
The cap's already unscrewed, and Sam hesitantly takes a sip, the liquid burning when he swallows. It's nothing like the beer they've let him sip before. Dean takes the flask back and Sam watches him take a larger sip, head thrown back, a small shudder running through Dean's body when he swallows.
"Dean..." but Dean shakes his head, sets the flask down on the bedside table.
"Gotta go take care of some stuff. Go lie down."
Sam's made himself comfortable by the time he hears Dean walking back towards him. The whiskey's left him warm and floaty, the taste almost gone from his mouth. His head's better, duller and he gets why Dean hides it away from everyone, how this can be as comforting as anything else offered up to them.
"Better?"
"Mmmhmmm."
"Good. Shove over."
Sam opens his eyes in time to see Dean climbing into bed next to him, and he automatically kicks the sheets up to let Dean in. He's pretty sure Dean had more to drink when he left the bedroom, with how he's settling in and wrestling with the sheets, kicking them into complacency.
"Dean..." he whispers, and Dean pauses, looks at Sam with exhaustion and bruises, and Sam hasn't seen him like this in awhile. "Thank you for...everything."
"S'no big deal," Dean shrugs before rolling over. "Don't hog all the blankets."
It gets quiet sooner than Sam wanted, the blankets muffling the sounds from the parking lot, Dean's breathing not as deep as Sam's used to. There's an itchiness in his head still, one that makes him not want to move in case it shifts to sharp again. He scoots though, shifting his legs over until he's able to wedge one between Dean's calves.
"Sammy..." Dean's voice is soft, and Sam grasps the hem of his t-shirt, pulling at it until the tension reassures them both.
“Who sings that one song, something something in the dark?” Sam’s words are a slow tumble from his mouth, warmed over with whiskey. “Cause it’s not supposed to happen but it’s happening.”
“What’s happenin’, Sam?”
“The song is…”
“Fuckin last time I treat you to my special stash,” Dean murmurs, pulling away to stare at Sam’s face. “It’s Dio, dumbass. Rainbow in the Dark.”
“They’re splootchy but they’re there…” Sam sticks his tongue out at Dean. “Don’t call me names.”
“You seein’ rainbows?” At Sam’s cautious nod, Dean settles back down on the pillow. “Dad said it might happen, auras and rainbows and weird light shit. It sucks but you’ll be okay.”
“Don’t believe you…” the whiskey-slur is back, ebbing and flowing with Sam’s energy. “Hasn’t been okay in forever”
“Today forever or…”
“Forever forever, Dean,” Sam scrunches his eyes shut, and Dean can’t tell if it’s from the migraines or something deeper.
Dean rearranges himself around Sam, legs touching but he gives him his space otherwise. The worry lines on Sam’s face are starting to fade, and his breathing’s starting to even out.
“Dad’s trying to save other kids right now, Sammy. He made sure you were safe before takin’ off.” It’s easier to talk at Sam then to him, to the closed trembling eyelids rather than wide accusing eyes. “He knows you’re strong, knows you can handle it, he knows…” Dean pauses when Sam scoots closer, resting against Dean’s chest.
“He knows I’ve got you,” Sam murmurs, fingers grasping at Dean’s t-shirt.
“Yeah…” Dean whispers. “I’ve got you.”
Author:
puchuupoetWord Count: ~1650
Rating: gen
Heads-up: whumpish, underage drinking, migraine/headaches
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323279
For
gorgeousnerdIt's been awhile since Sam's seen his dad drive this fast. Or feels it, really. The Impala smoothes out more after they hit 65, and he's pretty sure his dad passed that a while ago. He can't tell for sure though, with Dean's shirt covering his face, and he's thankful for it even if it does choke up his throat with Axe.
"We're almost there, Sammy, almost," Dean's whispering, hand on Sam's ankle as if he's trying to ground himself instead of the other way around. Any other time they'd laugh it off, claim to be too old for this shit, but Sam doesn't want either of them drifting away right now.
The car turns and the sun reflects off of something and Sam can't help it, his head splits open and he keens at the pain, making Dean jump and John swear softly.
"Keep his eyes covered, Dean," he's low and sharp, bringing the car to a stop in a sure manner. "Keep him still until I get the room opened up for us."
Sam braces himself for a door slam that never comes, just a soft whoosh from Dean as his fingers start to clench around Sam's leg. "It'll be okay, you've got this," Dean's rambling and that scares Sam more than anything else that's happened so far.
"Dean, wha's going on?" The pain's a dull throb now, a steady heartbeat pulse that's too reliable, too constant, and Sam tenses, waiting for the inevitable tip back into sharpness.
"Dunno, Sammy. Dad's comin' this way now, gotta just hold on a little bit longer..."
Sam can feel the reluctant loss of Dean's grip, followed by the practiced noises of collecting everything needed for the night. The car whines when Dean gets out, and for a heartbeat Sam thinks it escaped from his lungs, the pain finally punching through bone.
"Dad's gonna get you, Sam, just wait," Dean pauses as the gravel crunch gets closer. "I'll meet you inside, it'll be okay." All Sam can do is moan in response, fingers clenching in the fabric covering his face.
The world's bright and sharp against Sam's eyes, even with the pillow covering his head. He can still feel the Impala's vibrations rattling his bones, even though Dad had gently placed him on the motel bed forever ago. He's long forgotten where they are, or even where they're supposed to be going. Some place in New Mexico, he thinks, and it's supposed to be spring break, and maybe that's why everything's hot and sticky and dizzying.
Steps pound at his temple, thunk thunk thunk thunk, and Sam doesn't realize he's crying out until he stops, silenced by a large hand cradling the back of his neck. The touch is scarred and tender, like only his dad's can be, in that unpredictable way.
"Sam, I gotta go, get you more painkillers and supplies. Everything’s okay, just, it’ll be painful for awhile." His dad pauses, moving his hand to rub the back of his own neck. "There's something out there too, killin' kids and it should be easy enough, there's already hunters working it. They just, they need backup, and we're the closest around..."
Sam whimpers, and his dad takes it for the acquiescence it is. He holds his breath as John walks away, the inhaled gasp buffering against the hard heels on thin carpeted floor and linoleum. He stays like that until he feels the Impala start up, the hulking car parked right outside the room’s window. The sharp throb in his temple reminds him to breathe, a hard whoosh out that leaves his vision sparkling, and Sam gratefully lets himself fall asleep in the resounding silence.
The world's calmer when he hears shuffling by the doorway, and Sam can't tell how much time has passed. His shirt's still sweatstuck to his back, and there's an ache in the air that melts into him, but the noises aren't pricking at his eyes as badly. The pillow’s smushed up against his face, sheltering him from the afternoon light.
"Dean?" he whispers, and the mattress dips next to him.
"How're you doing?" Dean's hand is hovering near Sam's head, barely touching his hair but Sam's already wincing at the possibilities.
"...brain hurts."
"All over?" Dean's whispering and Sam's afraid of what that means.
"Yeah, everywhere." The pillow's slipping away, and Sam tightens his grip. "Don't move it, it helps."
He can barely hear the "I gotcha" whispered out before the bed's lighter and he can hear the soft pad of Dean's feet moving away from him.
There's rustling happening out there, zippers harsh against his ears, and then the soft steps are heading back his way, passing by him and Sam can't remember the last time Dean was this quiet.
"You can come out now," Dean whispers and Sam cautiously raises the pillow to find the room blanketed in darkness, soft light coming from the edges of the windows where Dean had tucked in the spare blankets. "Better?"
Sam mouths out “yes,” sitting up as Dean starts making the bed for him, pulling down the comforter and leaving the cool blankets for cover. He lets Dean take the pillow from him, fluff it into position, and place it back under Sam’s head.
"Dad said it’s nothing to worry about, not like a concussion or anything, so you can sleep more if you wanna,” Dean pauses at Sam’s gaze. “It’s like a really bad migraine or something. I guess maybe Mom’s side had it going way back and you lucked out.” Sam groans at the words, fingers grabbing at the blankets.
You wanna try and keep sleeping through it?"
Sam nods, wincing at the sudden burst of hurt and from the corner of his eye he can see Dean bristle before leaving the room. Everything hurts and he's disappointed Dean and he's probably never gonna come back from spring break and he briefly wonders what his classmates will think of him, running off like that and...
"Here," and metal is pressed into his hand, flat and sloshing and Sam knows it as Dean's, the one he's not allowed to touch, not even look at. He looks at Dean with a wide-eyed stare.
"You ate the last of our painkillers, jerk,” Dean murmurs. When Sam refuses to blink at him, Dean seems to deflate a little. “It'll be fine, Sammy." Dean's eyes glint in the low light. "I promise you."
The cap's already unscrewed, and Sam hesitantly takes a sip, the liquid burning when he swallows. It's nothing like the beer they've let him sip before. Dean takes the flask back and Sam watches him take a larger sip, head thrown back, a small shudder running through Dean's body when he swallows.
"Dean..." but Dean shakes his head, sets the flask down on the bedside table.
"Gotta go take care of some stuff. Go lie down."
Sam's made himself comfortable by the time he hears Dean walking back towards him. The whiskey's left him warm and floaty, the taste almost gone from his mouth. His head's better, duller and he gets why Dean hides it away from everyone, how this can be as comforting as anything else offered up to them.
"Better?"
"Mmmhmmm."
"Good. Shove over."
Sam opens his eyes in time to see Dean climbing into bed next to him, and he automatically kicks the sheets up to let Dean in. He's pretty sure Dean had more to drink when he left the bedroom, with how he's settling in and wrestling with the sheets, kicking them into complacency.
"Dean..." he whispers, and Dean pauses, looks at Sam with exhaustion and bruises, and Sam hasn't seen him like this in awhile. "Thank you for...everything."
"S'no big deal," Dean shrugs before rolling over. "Don't hog all the blankets."
It gets quiet sooner than Sam wanted, the blankets muffling the sounds from the parking lot, Dean's breathing not as deep as Sam's used to. There's an itchiness in his head still, one that makes him not want to move in case it shifts to sharp again. He scoots though, shifting his legs over until he's able to wedge one between Dean's calves.
"Sammy..." Dean's voice is soft, and Sam grasps the hem of his t-shirt, pulling at it until the tension reassures them both.
“Who sings that one song, something something in the dark?” Sam’s words are a slow tumble from his mouth, warmed over with whiskey. “Cause it’s not supposed to happen but it’s happening.”
“What’s happenin’, Sam?”
“The song is…”
“Fuckin last time I treat you to my special stash,” Dean murmurs, pulling away to stare at Sam’s face. “It’s Dio, dumbass. Rainbow in the Dark.”
“They’re splootchy but they’re there…” Sam sticks his tongue out at Dean. “Don’t call me names.”
“You seein’ rainbows?” At Sam’s cautious nod, Dean settles back down on the pillow. “Dad said it might happen, auras and rainbows and weird light shit. It sucks but you’ll be okay.”
“Don’t believe you…” the whiskey-slur is back, ebbing and flowing with Sam’s energy. “Hasn’t been okay in forever”
“Today forever or…”
“Forever forever, Dean,” Sam scrunches his eyes shut, and Dean can’t tell if it’s from the migraines or something deeper.
Dean rearranges himself around Sam, legs touching but he gives him his space otherwise. The worry lines on Sam’s face are starting to fade, and his breathing’s starting to even out.
“Dad’s trying to save other kids right now, Sammy. He made sure you were safe before takin’ off.” It’s easier to talk at Sam then to him, to the closed trembling eyelids rather than wide accusing eyes. “He knows you’re strong, knows you can handle it, he knows…” Dean pauses when Sam scoots closer, resting against Dean’s chest.
“He knows I’ve got you,” Sam murmurs, fingers grasping at Dean’s t-shirt.
“Yeah…” Dean whispers. “I’ve got you.”
