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Supernatural ficlet: Like a Cross Worn Around the Neck
Title: Like a Cross Worn Around the Neck
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam. GEN.
Warnings: Spoilers through 5x18
Rating: PG
Summary: Coda to 5x18. It's bad form to throw away Christmas gifts.
Notes: Come on, you know we all want this to happen.
Three days after Dean killed Zachariah and dragged Sam away from a fast approaching archangel and they’re back in another anonymous hotel room, with no sign of Cas or Adam, and exhausted.
They’d taken turns sleeping in the Impala, but hadn’t stopped for anything longer than a restroom break, a tank of gas and reheated convenience store food. If Adam had tipped the angels off to where Dean and Sam had been keeping him, then Bobby’s was no longer safe for them and they drove as far and as fast from South Dakota as they could.
Bobby, the stubborn son of bitch, refused to leave. But he’d called, once a day to tell them nothing had changed, and to make sure they kept leaving more and more miles behind their wheels.
Now they’re camped out in the Sunrest Motel, on the edge of some run down farming town Sam doesn’t even know the name of. The air conditioner doesn’t work, the water pressure's crap, and the walls are the same shade of sickly tan that half the motel rooms in America seem to be painted in, but Sam feels like he can finally relax.
He’s at the small table in the corner, slouched in the armchair with his legs spread out like they couldn’t be for the last three days, idly flipping through news articles over the internet, not really searching for a hunt, but just wasting time. He doesn’t find anything serious, just some old lady who swears up and down that the ghost of her dead cat (a Mr. Elroy Withington II. Seriously.) has been visiting her late at night, purring into her ear as she slept and one time, saving her from slipping over a toy her grandchild left of the top steps of the stairs by meowing and making her look down.
Sam looks away from the computer and turns to Dean, who’s sitting on one of the beds and flipping through the whole ten channels available, ready to share the after life activities of Mr. Elroy, and stops. Dean isn’t watching the TV, but staring unfocused at the bed spread, frown on his face and one hand at his neck, unconsciously dipping under the fabric of his t-shirt to rub at the dip of his throat and collar bone.
“Miss it?” Sam asks softly.
Dean’s head jerks up, his hand dropping to the bed. “What do you mean?” he asks, but he’s not meeting Sam’s eyes, and the tips of his ears are pink.
“Your necklace,” Sam needlessly clarifies. “You miss it?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably for a moment on the bed, still doesn’t look at Sam. “Just not used to not wearing it, even after Cas had it all that time," he mutters, voice gruff.
Sam nods. “Yeah.”
They’re quiet for a long moment. Dean fidgets a little on the bed, flipping the remote over in his hand, pretending to watch the sitcom on the TV. Sam watches Dean, and makes no secret about it. “Probably in some trash dump, by now,” Dean says after a while, low and too casual.
“Probably.”
“Yeah,” Dean mutters, bringing one hand up to scrub roughly at his face as he sighs. Then he finally meets Sam‘s eyes, a small, rueful smile on his face. “Sorry, Sam. I know it’s bad form to throw away a Christmas gift like that.”
Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “It’s okay. I threw away the shaving cream you gave me a couple years ago. It made my face itch.”
Dean chuckles and nods. “Right,” he says. “Guess we’re even then,” like it’s the same thing.
They both know it’s not, but Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean switches his attention back to the TV, actively going back to his channel surfing. He continues to watch Dean over his laptop, and after a while the frown is back on Dean’s face, and the hand not holding the remote control inches up to his neck again.
Sam abruptly stands up and walks over to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Dean looks up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “Sam, what are you…” his voice trails off when he sees the cord around Sam’s neck, visible through the dip of his t-shirt, expression freezing as Sam grabs it and carefully pulls it over his head.
“Here,” he says calmly, holding it out.
Dean’s hand is slow as he reaches out for it, eyes locked on the pendant as if Sam would suddenly yank it back the moment Dean tried to touch it. As soon as he does though--fingers curling around the pendent to tuck it against his palm--his eyes flicker up to meet Sam’s. “Sammy. You…” he trails off again, not sure what to say.
Sam gives him a half smile. “Like I’d let it end up in a landfill somewhere.”
Dean tries to smile back and doesn't succeed. He looks away, head ducking down to pull the cord over his head. The amulet rests against his breastbone, bright against the dark of his t-shirt, and Dean places a hand over it, pressing it against his chest. He closes his eyes for a minute and just breathes.
“Don’t throw it away again,” Sam tells his brother, and Dean’s eyes snap back open, looking up to find Sam. “It’s yours and that’s twice now that I’ve worn it. I don’t want to again.” Dean gives a little nod and Sam goes back to his laptop, doesn't say anything else.
The But I would doesn't need to be spoken.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam. GEN.
Warnings: Spoilers through 5x18
Rating: PG
Summary: Coda to 5x18. It's bad form to throw away Christmas gifts.
Notes: Come on, you know we all want this to happen.
Three days after Dean killed Zachariah and dragged Sam away from a fast approaching archangel and they’re back in another anonymous hotel room, with no sign of Cas or Adam, and exhausted.
They’d taken turns sleeping in the Impala, but hadn’t stopped for anything longer than a restroom break, a tank of gas and reheated convenience store food. If Adam had tipped the angels off to where Dean and Sam had been keeping him, then Bobby’s was no longer safe for them and they drove as far and as fast from South Dakota as they could.
Bobby, the stubborn son of bitch, refused to leave. But he’d called, once a day to tell them nothing had changed, and to make sure they kept leaving more and more miles behind their wheels.
Now they’re camped out in the Sunrest Motel, on the edge of some run down farming town Sam doesn’t even know the name of. The air conditioner doesn’t work, the water pressure's crap, and the walls are the same shade of sickly tan that half the motel rooms in America seem to be painted in, but Sam feels like he can finally relax.
He’s at the small table in the corner, slouched in the armchair with his legs spread out like they couldn’t be for the last three days, idly flipping through news articles over the internet, not really searching for a hunt, but just wasting time. He doesn’t find anything serious, just some old lady who swears up and down that the ghost of her dead cat (a Mr. Elroy Withington II. Seriously.) has been visiting her late at night, purring into her ear as she slept and one time, saving her from slipping over a toy her grandchild left of the top steps of the stairs by meowing and making her look down.
Sam looks away from the computer and turns to Dean, who’s sitting on one of the beds and flipping through the whole ten channels available, ready to share the after life activities of Mr. Elroy, and stops. Dean isn’t watching the TV, but staring unfocused at the bed spread, frown on his face and one hand at his neck, unconsciously dipping under the fabric of his t-shirt to rub at the dip of his throat and collar bone.
“Miss it?” Sam asks softly.
Dean’s head jerks up, his hand dropping to the bed. “What do you mean?” he asks, but he’s not meeting Sam’s eyes, and the tips of his ears are pink.
“Your necklace,” Sam needlessly clarifies. “You miss it?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably for a moment on the bed, still doesn’t look at Sam. “Just not used to not wearing it, even after Cas had it all that time," he mutters, voice gruff.
Sam nods. “Yeah.”
They’re quiet for a long moment. Dean fidgets a little on the bed, flipping the remote over in his hand, pretending to watch the sitcom on the TV. Sam watches Dean, and makes no secret about it. “Probably in some trash dump, by now,” Dean says after a while, low and too casual.
“Probably.”
“Yeah,” Dean mutters, bringing one hand up to scrub roughly at his face as he sighs. Then he finally meets Sam‘s eyes, a small, rueful smile on his face. “Sorry, Sam. I know it’s bad form to throw away a Christmas gift like that.”
Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “It’s okay. I threw away the shaving cream you gave me a couple years ago. It made my face itch.”
Dean chuckles and nods. “Right,” he says. “Guess we’re even then,” like it’s the same thing.
They both know it’s not, but Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean switches his attention back to the TV, actively going back to his channel surfing. He continues to watch Dean over his laptop, and after a while the frown is back on Dean’s face, and the hand not holding the remote control inches up to his neck again.
Sam abruptly stands up and walks over to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Dean looks up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “Sam, what are you…” his voice trails off when he sees the cord around Sam’s neck, visible through the dip of his t-shirt, expression freezing as Sam grabs it and carefully pulls it over his head.
“Here,” he says calmly, holding it out.
Dean’s hand is slow as he reaches out for it, eyes locked on the pendant as if Sam would suddenly yank it back the moment Dean tried to touch it. As soon as he does though--fingers curling around the pendent to tuck it against his palm--his eyes flicker up to meet Sam’s. “Sammy. You…” he trails off again, not sure what to say.
Sam gives him a half smile. “Like I’d let it end up in a landfill somewhere.”
Dean tries to smile back and doesn't succeed. He looks away, head ducking down to pull the cord over his head. The amulet rests against his breastbone, bright against the dark of his t-shirt, and Dean places a hand over it, pressing it against his chest. He closes his eyes for a minute and just breathes.
“Don’t throw it away again,” Sam tells his brother, and Dean’s eyes snap back open, looking up to find Sam. “It’s yours and that’s twice now that I’ve worn it. I don’t want to again.” Dean gives a little nod and Sam goes back to his laptop, doesn't say anything else.
The But I would doesn't need to be spoken.
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