angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2008-12-14 02:07 am
angelgazing) wrote2008-12-14 02:07 am
Entry tags:
ficlet: a victory song in progress - spn
title: A Victory Song in Progress
rating: omgtame
fandom: SPN
notes Written for a snuggle fic meme![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
luzdeestrellas hosted, oh, ages ago. I also made her beta. Re-posted for accessibility, and because Vic didn't believe I wrote it.
Afterwards, it doesn't hit like Dean expects it to, not really.
The heavens don't rain down, hell doesn't rise up, and they're mostly left standing. The fight is only won on a technicality, and mostly it just feels like they made it to the play-offs because the other team fumbled the ball.
Like, it wasn't skill that got them this far, and they've just got scarier stuff up ahead.
Dean's tired. His limbs are heavy and his head is pounding, throbbing at his temple where he took the worst of the blow. He's only upright on the bed because he's got his baby brother, the oak tree, to his left and the wall at his back.
He keeps his feet stretched out in front of him on the hotel bedspread, three inches of mud caked onto the soles and everything. If it weren't for the beer bottle in his hand, he'd probably be flat on his face already.
Sam laughs, and it sounds rough, tired, hard, like he knows it's not really funny. "Dean," he says, full on Oh-My-God-What-the-Hell sighing right through it. And it's not really fair, because Dean didn't do anything.
"Sammy," Dean answers, just because, in his best big brother voice. It seems like a lot of work to lift his beer, but he does it anyway, then grins as big as he can and turns his face in to Sam's shoulder, so he can't see how much work it takes. "Hey," he says, and doesn't even notice that he's interrupting himself.
The Kansas City news at ten is playing, a low hum in the background, but with closed captioning on the flickering television set. People are walking out, slowly, two by two, hands clasped tight, from the abandoned mausoleum they'd been trapped in for days, and it's like a clown car; they just keep coming.
The fire at the preacher's house is a mystery. No current suspects, everyone survived intact, the whole family shaking with tears in their bright blue eyes.
The eight day weather planner is predicting nothing but blue skies.
"Hey," Dean says again, and bumps Sam's shoulder with his, and then forgets to pull back. "Look what we did," he says, and hides another smile, glad when he inhales that Sam changed his shirt.
Sam laughs, this time for real, and takes away Dean's mostly-piss-warm beer just to finish it off. He makes some sort of weird, complicated shrugging motion and cuts himself off with a yawn. He ends up settling again, all of 2.3 seconds later, with his arm around Dean's waist, pulling him in closer.
"Yeah," Sam says, his chin just a little too stubble rough against Dean's forehead. Dean can barely breathe around Sam's grip on him. "Yeah, look at us."
"We are the champions," Dean tells him, very seriously, and is way too tired to pull away. Tomorrow, maybe, he'll feel like making all the jokes he can't even think of right now, as Sam presses a kiss into his hair. "Freddy Mercury would be proud."
rating: omgtame
fandom: SPN
notes Written for a snuggle fic meme
luzdeestrellas hosted, oh, ages ago. I also made her beta. Re-posted for accessibility, and because Vic didn't believe I wrote it.Afterwards, it doesn't hit like Dean expects it to, not really.
The heavens don't rain down, hell doesn't rise up, and they're mostly left standing. The fight is only won on a technicality, and mostly it just feels like they made it to the play-offs because the other team fumbled the ball.
Like, it wasn't skill that got them this far, and they've just got scarier stuff up ahead.
Dean's tired. His limbs are heavy and his head is pounding, throbbing at his temple where he took the worst of the blow. He's only upright on the bed because he's got his baby brother, the oak tree, to his left and the wall at his back.
He keeps his feet stretched out in front of him on the hotel bedspread, three inches of mud caked onto the soles and everything. If it weren't for the beer bottle in his hand, he'd probably be flat on his face already.
Sam laughs, and it sounds rough, tired, hard, like he knows it's not really funny. "Dean," he says, full on Oh-My-God-What-the-Hell sighing right through it. And it's not really fair, because Dean didn't do anything.
"Sammy," Dean answers, just because, in his best big brother voice. It seems like a lot of work to lift his beer, but he does it anyway, then grins as big as he can and turns his face in to Sam's shoulder, so he can't see how much work it takes. "Hey," he says, and doesn't even notice that he's interrupting himself.
The Kansas City news at ten is playing, a low hum in the background, but with closed captioning on the flickering television set. People are walking out, slowly, two by two, hands clasped tight, from the abandoned mausoleum they'd been trapped in for days, and it's like a clown car; they just keep coming.
The fire at the preacher's house is a mystery. No current suspects, everyone survived intact, the whole family shaking with tears in their bright blue eyes.
The eight day weather planner is predicting nothing but blue skies.
"Hey," Dean says again, and bumps Sam's shoulder with his, and then forgets to pull back. "Look what we did," he says, and hides another smile, glad when he inhales that Sam changed his shirt.
Sam laughs, this time for real, and takes away Dean's mostly-piss-warm beer just to finish it off. He makes some sort of weird, complicated shrugging motion and cuts himself off with a yawn. He ends up settling again, all of 2.3 seconds later, with his arm around Dean's waist, pulling him in closer.
"Yeah," Sam says, his chin just a little too stubble rough against Dean's forehead. Dean can barely breathe around Sam's grip on him. "Yeah, look at us."
"We are the champions," Dean tells him, very seriously, and is way too tired to pull away. Tomorrow, maybe, he'll feel like making all the jokes he can't even think of right now, as Sam presses a kiss into his hair. "Freddy Mercury would be proud."
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Thanks!
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(Anonymous) 2009-01-26 06:53 am (UTC)(link)Uh, the next sentence was going to read "Where are you so I can find you and marry you and keep you" but that is rather creepy, so good thing I didn't write that. Right? Right.
Anyways, I love it! Jared and Jensen should just announce their love now, it's totally canon.
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I am totally writing that story, I swear. Eventually. Maybe next, since it wouldn't be either one of the big bang stories I should be writing. But, dude, J2! It's just that they are so married! I can't help it if it's canon!