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Supernatural Fic: Hold On Tight
Title: Hold on Tight
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
keefaq
Word count: 1189
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Transformative work
Warning: I don't imagine I'll be writing anything in this fandom that isn't Wincest to one degree or another.
Summary: Dean's still afraid.
A/N: Just a little tag for Yellow Fever. I felt Dean needed some comfort for his hurt.
Sam drove and Dean tried to catch up on all the sleep he hadn’t been getting, but he couldn’t relax. After only an hour in the car, punctuated by increasingly worried looks from Sam and the over loud sound of his jacket crinkling against the seat as he searched unsuccessfully for a comfortable position to nap in, Sam took pity on him and pulled into a motel.
Dean followed him into the lobby, aware he was standing too close but not able to stop, then backing off abruptly at the strange look the guy behind the desk was giving him. Sam smiled insincerely at the guy before grabbing Dean's arm and hauling him out of the lobby. "Why were you glaring at the poor man like that?" Sam asked, but he didn't pursue it when Dean shrugged.
“I’m just going to grab a quick shower,” Sam said when they finished carrying their bags into the small, stale-smelling room. Dean dismissed him with a distracted nod, checked the locks on the windows, pulled open the drawer in the bedside table-it was empty-thought about putting his gun in there, but dithered indecisively for a moment before closing it again. He grabbed a book at random from Sam’s bag, propped himself up on the bed and stared at the pages full of information that couldn’t quite get past the unwelcome thoughts rushing through his head.
By the time Sam emerged, dressed for bed and toweling off damp hair, Dean had given in to his anxiety and was up again digging through one of their bags. “I’m just going to lay down some salt,” he said, hoping Sam wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
“I know you’re still scared,” Sam said, and before he could deny it, “Bobby said it will take a few days for the anxiety to go away completely.” Dean felt some of the tension drain out of his back and neck on hearing this information. So he wasn’t just losing his nerve; it was still part of the sickness. He felt a little better after putting the salt down and checking the locks again, and he climbed into bed and settled down, hoping he could finally get some much needed rest. But long after Sam turned off the light, he lay awake in the semi darkness, watching the wall for headlights of passing cars that never appeared. The small town they were in had apparently settled down for the night.
He glanced over to where Sam was curled up on his bed, hunched over himself, hands tucked between his knees, looking strangely small and young for someone who had just saved his life by reenacting a brutal murder.
Dean closed his eyes and remembered all the hours spent in the back seat of the Impala as a child, his back pressed against the door, Sammy curled up in his lap warm and sleeping, the drowsy making motion of the car comforting and familiar in an inconstant and frequently terrifying world. Until Dad stopped it. That was a memory that never faded, Dad’s tight-lipped disapproval as he ran a thick piece of duct tape down the center of the backseat and pointed firmly, this is your side and this is Sam’s side. We weren’t fighting he’d protested, bewildered at his sudden loss. He'd flushed with shame at the look his father gave him. He’d felt that same shame once before, when Dad had rebuked him for kissing baby Sam too much, and hugging him too hard. “Stay on your side, Dean, and make sure Sammy stays on his side. You’re too old to sleep together,” Dad had said. Dean could still feel his stomach twist with the sick horror that Dad had seen something, something in him that shouldn’t be there, something hurtful to Sam, and he'd curled up as far onto his side of the car as he could.
Sam had gone quiet and Dean snapped out of his unpleasant reverie with the sudden terrifying thought that he might have stopped breathing. He got up and slid silently across the room, relieved when he got close enough to see the slight but regular rise and fall of his brother’s chest.
Sammy hadn’t slept well by himself after Dad separated them, and at the next stop Dad had brought him a big teddy bear to curl up with. Sammy was still just a little kid, and stuffed animals were fine for kids, but Dean knew he was too old for toys. He hadn't wanted one. He'd had a good warm blanket to wrap around himself, and when Sam tried to slide over against him, he'd kicked him in the stomach, and turned away, wadding a corner of the blanket into a ball and pressing it against the knot of shame in his stomach, ignoring the little sniffling noise Sam was making.
Dean shook off the memory and leaned a little closer. “Christo.” The word slipped out of him whisper soft, and Sam jerked awake suddenly, lunging at him and almost knocking him onto the floor in a somnambulant panic that faded to nothing when he realized he wasn’t in any danger. “What the hell, Dean?”
“Sorry.” Dean flinched away from the outraged look on Sam’s face.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he grinned in embarrassment, trying to shrug it off, but Sam sat up and peered at him with that merciless mother hen look he got sometimes.
“I just…” his laugh sounded phony even to himself. “I couldn’t sleep- ” and at Sam’s uncomprehending look he blurted out, “ I just need to be sure you’re breathing.”
Sam studied him for a second as if not sure of his sincerity, then reached down and flicked his blankets upwards, holding them still in invitation, and Dean only hesitated a moment before joining him, curling up against Sam’s side in profound relief. Sam’s arm came around him comfortingly, as if he were the younger brother, and for once he didn’t care. He grabbed onto Sam’s t-shirt with both hands. Dad was gone, and maybe he’d been right to separate them, but it hadn’t worked. It had already been way too late to try to pull the two of them apart. Dad could never understand what it was like for them. He had no idea what it was like to grow up in the terrifying world they shared.
He felt himself starting to quiver and took a deep breath. He could deal with this level of fear, he’d done it lots of times before, but he was exhausted, and Sam had both of his hard, unyielding arms wrapped tightly around him as if he'd never let go. He gave in to it, let the quiver turn to full body shakes, and Sam held on through it, pulling him even closer, and oh god brushing their lips lightly together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped his own arm across Sam’s chest, placing his hand carefully where he could feel Sam’s relentless heart beating evenly, and finally was able to calm down and slip into sleep.
Author:
keefaqWord count: 1189
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Transformative work
Warning: I don't imagine I'll be writing anything in this fandom that isn't Wincest to one degree or another.
Summary: Dean's still afraid.
A/N: Just a little tag for Yellow Fever. I felt Dean needed some comfort for his hurt.
Sam drove and Dean tried to catch up on all the sleep he hadn’t been getting, but he couldn’t relax. After only an hour in the car, punctuated by increasingly worried looks from Sam and the over loud sound of his jacket crinkling against the seat as he searched unsuccessfully for a comfortable position to nap in, Sam took pity on him and pulled into a motel.
Dean followed him into the lobby, aware he was standing too close but not able to stop, then backing off abruptly at the strange look the guy behind the desk was giving him. Sam smiled insincerely at the guy before grabbing Dean's arm and hauling him out of the lobby. "Why were you glaring at the poor man like that?" Sam asked, but he didn't pursue it when Dean shrugged.
“I’m just going to grab a quick shower,” Sam said when they finished carrying their bags into the small, stale-smelling room. Dean dismissed him with a distracted nod, checked the locks on the windows, pulled open the drawer in the bedside table-it was empty-thought about putting his gun in there, but dithered indecisively for a moment before closing it again. He grabbed a book at random from Sam’s bag, propped himself up on the bed and stared at the pages full of information that couldn’t quite get past the unwelcome thoughts rushing through his head.
By the time Sam emerged, dressed for bed and toweling off damp hair, Dean had given in to his anxiety and was up again digging through one of their bags. “I’m just going to lay down some salt,” he said, hoping Sam wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
“I know you’re still scared,” Sam said, and before he could deny it, “Bobby said it will take a few days for the anxiety to go away completely.” Dean felt some of the tension drain out of his back and neck on hearing this information. So he wasn’t just losing his nerve; it was still part of the sickness. He felt a little better after putting the salt down and checking the locks again, and he climbed into bed and settled down, hoping he could finally get some much needed rest. But long after Sam turned off the light, he lay awake in the semi darkness, watching the wall for headlights of passing cars that never appeared. The small town they were in had apparently settled down for the night.
He glanced over to where Sam was curled up on his bed, hunched over himself, hands tucked between his knees, looking strangely small and young for someone who had just saved his life by reenacting a brutal murder.
Dean closed his eyes and remembered all the hours spent in the back seat of the Impala as a child, his back pressed against the door, Sammy curled up in his lap warm and sleeping, the drowsy making motion of the car comforting and familiar in an inconstant and frequently terrifying world. Until Dad stopped it. That was a memory that never faded, Dad’s tight-lipped disapproval as he ran a thick piece of duct tape down the center of the backseat and pointed firmly, this is your side and this is Sam’s side. We weren’t fighting he’d protested, bewildered at his sudden loss. He'd flushed with shame at the look his father gave him. He’d felt that same shame once before, when Dad had rebuked him for kissing baby Sam too much, and hugging him too hard. “Stay on your side, Dean, and make sure Sammy stays on his side. You’re too old to sleep together,” Dad had said. Dean could still feel his stomach twist with the sick horror that Dad had seen something, something in him that shouldn’t be there, something hurtful to Sam, and he'd curled up as far onto his side of the car as he could.
Sam had gone quiet and Dean snapped out of his unpleasant reverie with the sudden terrifying thought that he might have stopped breathing. He got up and slid silently across the room, relieved when he got close enough to see the slight but regular rise and fall of his brother’s chest.
Sammy hadn’t slept well by himself after Dad separated them, and at the next stop Dad had brought him a big teddy bear to curl up with. Sammy was still just a little kid, and stuffed animals were fine for kids, but Dean knew he was too old for toys. He hadn't wanted one. He'd had a good warm blanket to wrap around himself, and when Sam tried to slide over against him, he'd kicked him in the stomach, and turned away, wadding a corner of the blanket into a ball and pressing it against the knot of shame in his stomach, ignoring the little sniffling noise Sam was making.
Dean shook off the memory and leaned a little closer. “Christo.” The word slipped out of him whisper soft, and Sam jerked awake suddenly, lunging at him and almost knocking him onto the floor in a somnambulant panic that faded to nothing when he realized he wasn’t in any danger. “What the hell, Dean?”
“Sorry.” Dean flinched away from the outraged look on Sam’s face.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he grinned in embarrassment, trying to shrug it off, but Sam sat up and peered at him with that merciless mother hen look he got sometimes.
“I just…” his laugh sounded phony even to himself. “I couldn’t sleep- ” and at Sam’s uncomprehending look he blurted out, “ I just need to be sure you’re breathing.”
Sam studied him for a second as if not sure of his sincerity, then reached down and flicked his blankets upwards, holding them still in invitation, and Dean only hesitated a moment before joining him, curling up against Sam’s side in profound relief. Sam’s arm came around him comfortingly, as if he were the younger brother, and for once he didn’t care. He grabbed onto Sam’s t-shirt with both hands. Dad was gone, and maybe he’d been right to separate them, but it hadn’t worked. It had already been way too late to try to pull the two of them apart. Dad could never understand what it was like for them. He had no idea what it was like to grow up in the terrifying world they shared.
He felt himself starting to quiver and took a deep breath. He could deal with this level of fear, he’d done it lots of times before, but he was exhausted, and Sam had both of his hard, unyielding arms wrapped tightly around him as if he'd never let go. He gave in to it, let the quiver turn to full body shakes, and Sam held on through it, pulling him even closer, and oh god brushing their lips lightly together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped his own arm across Sam’s chest, placing his hand carefully where he could feel Sam’s relentless heart beating evenly, and finally was able to calm down and slip into sleep.
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Sam’s arm came around him comfortingly, as if he were the younger brother
<3
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I saw you are a member of bottom_dean so I started reading your story "Fade to Black" and I'm really enjoying it. Can I friend you? I'm new to Supernatural and I neeeeed SPN friends.
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Hugs,
Lynsey