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FIC: Days Go By (PG-13)
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immoralilly has a poll up here that you all need to participate in. The two of us have somehow gotten this crazy idea into our heads that we need to do a fairy tale fic challenge, and we're canvassing for interest. IMPORTANTCAKES? I think so. Also, Two Kansas Yankees in King Arthur's Court by
immoralilly (PG, Sam/Dean) ~2566 words
Have you ever seen Monty Python's The Holy Grail? If you haven't, you are clearly not a complete human being. If you have, you'll adore this fic. It's hysterical and ironic in a way only Robin can manage. It looks like the bastard child of a limousine and the Black Stallion, and it’s the longest horse Sam’s ever set eyes on. The woman gives a little scream of fear and clutches at Dean’s arm. “Don’t worry, baby,” Dean tells her, “I know the size comes as a shock, but I’ll keep you safe.”
Just This Once bychickypooh (G, Gen) ~930 words
Okay, this stemmed out of something I showed Sofie and it became BEAUTIFUL. Wee!chesters, with Sammy in a bumblebee costume, do you need anything else? Oh my god, the cute. Awwww.- It is now a huge part of my personal cannon that Sam loves Talking Heads. Think about it - it makes SENSE, guys. Really! As much as we rag on Sam about being a huge girl, he is in actuality a dude, ALAS. And Talking Heads are cool, so there. Albums for download:
More Songs About Buildings and Food
Sand in the Vaseline (Discs 1 & 2) - I'm running a little late, but it's arabella_hope's birthday!! I don't have a full-on fic for you, honey, but I hope this is at least semi-okay. *smooches*
Title: Days Go By
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 700 words
Notes: For the always fabulous
arabella_hope on her day! HUGE HUGS to ms. wife-who-is-on-my-shoulder for her beta. Spoilers for AHBL, and not meant to be anything other than shameless self-indulgence. This is not a sad fic. You have been warned. Sam tricks the crossroads demon into breaking her deal in May – less than a full month in. It’s more luck than tactic, stupid in its simplicity, and Sam just about collapses in terrified relief when she disappears .
The Impala pulls up next to him and Dean hops out, gathering Sam into his arms and kissing him until their lips split and bleed.
-
June and July go by in a blur of sunshine, Dean’s left arm turning brown from hanging out the driver’s side window, freckles spreading over the bridge of his nose.
They drive across the entire continent – LA to DC – and use squeegees at every gas station to keep the Impala black. Sam steals Dean’s sunglasses in Colorado, even though they make him look like a leering eighty year old.
-
August is sticky and too hot, spent chasing a clan of werewolves across Louisiana and the pan handle of Florida. They fall asleep early, exhausted from sniping at each other all day and sticking to the leather seats of the Impala. Sam’s surly about whatever Dean brings home for dinner, and Dean’s too pissed off to do anything more than flop face-first into the pillows.
Mornings, though.
The sun rises, painting the gauzy curtains a pale yellow, and Sam climbs into Dean’s bed like a shadow. His fingers ghost over the stubble on Dean’s jaw, the pads catching on every short, prickly hair; his mouth is as soft as his breath, following the lines of Dean’s profile and tasting the spice of sweaty skin.
Slowly, Dean stirs, his lips parting under Sam’s. He’s pliant and gentle everywhere – will be until he gets his first cup of coffee down – and Sam takes careful advantage. He presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, I’m sorry; against the bump of Adam’s apple, Let me.
“Sam,” Dean whispers, curving his hand around one of Sam’s shoulders, pulling Sam down.
-
In October they don’t stay anywhere for more than two days, and it takes its toll on all three of them. There are more cans and wrappers littering the floor of the Impala than the poor girl’s ever seen, and Sam’s losing weight from his face and waist. Dean is the worst off, though. He sprained his ankle badly hunting a demon in Michigan and they left before it could heal up right.
Sam suffers through all of his bitching and whining about not being allowed to drive and even puts on Zeppelin without being asked.
Halloween comes around before they know what’s happening. There’s a little girl that gazes up at Dean with stars in her eyes when they go grocery shopping; she’s wearing a little bumble bee costume, and Dean keeps making aborted motions to pat her on the head.
“We should get dressed up,” Sam says after they’ve paid and gotten back into the car.
“Stop leering at me like that,” Dean says firmly. “No.”
But Sam ambushes Dean right inside the motel room door, pushing him into the tacky wallpaper with one forearm braced against Dean’s throat. There’s a strange tilt to his mouth, a little wicked, something unfamiliar. Dean likes it.
“We should get dressed up,” he murmurs again, close to Dean’s ear, and Dean shudders, goosebumps spreading down his arms. “I wanna play.”
-
The holidays are tough, demons maliciously taking great pleasure in tormenting happy families all over the country. Neither of them realize it’s Christmas until they wake up one morning and see a ‘closed for the holidays’ sign on the local coffee shop’s front door.
“Feel like taking the day off?” Dean asks, deliberately casual.
Sam looks surprised, bites his lip like he can’t quite believe it. He nods, though, and they spend the rest of Christmas curled up together on Dean’s bed, watching hokey Christmas cartoons.
When Rudolph and the misfit toys start singing, Dean groans and rolls over, burying his face against Sam’s neck, mumbling, “I fucking hate this part.”
-
Dean wakes up on a sunny day in April, and Sam’s hands are tight around his wrists, knuckles white with pressure. He looks awed when Dean pulls in a slow breath.
“It’s today,” he whispers against Dean’s cheek. “It was gonna be today.”
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