[SPN] Confessions and Lamentations, 1/1
Oct. 24th, 2007 03:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianTitle: Confessions and Lamentations
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: Vague AHBL, season 3
Summary: It’s Dean’s last night, and Sam has a confession. Companion to The Deconstruction of Falling Stars.
Author’s Notes: For a challenge in my head to write fic using Babylon 5 episode titles. It seemed like a plan. Plus,katie__pillar demanded I write fic for her, and she does the washing up, so…
“I stole Amy Henderson’s panties.” Dean Winchester had been sitting outside, silent, thoughtful. He hadn’t heard his brother. He hadn’t expected a declaration like that.
“What the fuck?”
“Amy Henderson’s panties. I stole them. I just wanted to say, y’know, sorry.” Sam stands over him, wild hair buffeted this way and that by the wind. He looks about twelve. If, y’know, he was a twelve-year old giant.
“Amy Henderson? Who… Dayton. Junior year.” Dean nods, then realisation dawns. “Wait, that was you?”
“Yeah.”
“Dude! Do you know the crap I got over that? She had the entire damn school thinking I was some kind of fetishist weirdo.”
“Like I said, sorry.”
“They had a banner.”
“Yep.”
“They had a song.”
“Yep.”
“That was you?”
“I didn’t write the song.”
“But you stole the panties.”
“Yep.”
“And without the panty-stealing, there would have been no song.”
“Prob’ly not, no.”
“Dude. You suck.”
“I was eleven.”
“So? You still suck.”
“Well. Sorry.”
“Amy Henderson’s panties? What the hell was that about?”
“I can’t find anything, Dean.”
“Did you have some freakish underwear fetish?”
“I mean, I’ve looked… I’ve looked everywhere, man. There’s nothing.”
“God knows, you were basically a girl growing up, but this goes way beyond…”
“Dean! Shut UP!” It’s late, well after midnight, and the warm evening has turned cold, the hard black sky stamped with stars. There’s no-one around, just Dean and Sam. Dean and Sam Winchester, by themselves. And Sam Winchester is angry.
“OK. But, dude, you brought up Amy Henderson’s panties.”
“I just didn’t want… Dean. Please. Tell me this isn’t it.” Dean looks at Sam, sees the boy he fought with and plotted with and raised, and the man he became.
“You should get a hair cut.”
“Dean—”
“I mean, I know you’ve got this whole hair thing after Dad and his marine buzzes, but seriously, dude, you look like a yeti.”
“Dean—”
“I need to know you’re going to look after yourself, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is soft, low, and Sam realises numbly that at some stage in the next five minutes he’s probably going to start crying and Dean will take the piss out of him for… Dean won’t be taking the piss. Not ever. Dean carries on. “Cuz if you go and fall off a bridge or starve to death or get suffocated by your hair in your sleep, I’m gonna be mad. You owe me, Sam.”
“I don’t…”
“You owe me. So I need you to promise that you’re not going to do anything stupid – or more stupid than usual – when I’m… Nothing stupid, OK?” Sam laughs. It’s pretty weak for a laugh, but better than crying.
“Dean. Seriously. When it comes to stupid things, it’s really not me who’s the problem.” Dean cocks his head to one side, consideringly, then pulls a conciliatory expression.
“Well, maybe. But, Sam…”
“I promise. OK? I promise I won’t do anything stupid! I promise I won’t get myself killed! I promise I won’t make any stupid fucking deals! I promise, Dean!” Dean looks like he wants to say something, or do something, or hit something, but in the end he just shrugs.
“Well. OK then.”
“OK.”
They stand, staring at the horizon. Sam crosses his arms, wishes he had brought his coat. Dean wishes he hadn’t given his jacket to Jo, then thinks maybe it’s all right that he did. It’s cold and crisp and dark, and Sam’s crying.
“Don’t, Sammy.” They don’t hug. Winchesters don’t hug. It’s not their thing. It’s not how they were raised. But Dean slides a hand along Sam’s shoulders and pulls him close. Sam bends his head, and his tears fall against Dean’s neck. Dean wishes… he wishes… he wishes so many things that he can’t even bring them all to mind. Everything. Anything that took them away from this moment, Sam’s tears soaking hot into his collar; his hands cold against his brother’s back.
. . .
“I stole Amy Henderson’s panties.” The Impala doesn’t talk back. Sam thinks maybe her soul has gone. But he thinks he’ll keep talking to her anyway.
Author:
chaletianFandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: Vague AHBL, season 3
Summary: It’s Dean’s last night, and Sam has a confession. Companion to The Deconstruction of Falling Stars.
Author’s Notes: For a challenge in my head to write fic using Babylon 5 episode titles. It seemed like a plan. Plus,
katie__pillar demanded I write fic for her, and she does the washing up, so…“I stole Amy Henderson’s panties.” Dean Winchester had been sitting outside, silent, thoughtful. He hadn’t heard his brother. He hadn’t expected a declaration like that.
“What the fuck?”
“Amy Henderson’s panties. I stole them. I just wanted to say, y’know, sorry.” Sam stands over him, wild hair buffeted this way and that by the wind. He looks about twelve. If, y’know, he was a twelve-year old giant.
“Amy Henderson? Who… Dayton. Junior year.” Dean nods, then realisation dawns. “Wait, that was you?”
“Yeah.”
“Dude! Do you know the crap I got over that? She had the entire damn school thinking I was some kind of fetishist weirdo.”
“Like I said, sorry.”
“They had a banner.”
“Yep.”
“They had a song.”
“Yep.”
“That was you?”
“I didn’t write the song.”
“But you stole the panties.”
“Yep.”
“And without the panty-stealing, there would have been no song.”
“Prob’ly not, no.”
“Dude. You suck.”
“I was eleven.”
“So? You still suck.”
“Well. Sorry.”
“Amy Henderson’s panties? What the hell was that about?”
“I can’t find anything, Dean.”
“Did you have some freakish underwear fetish?”
“I mean, I’ve looked… I’ve looked everywhere, man. There’s nothing.”
“God knows, you were basically a girl growing up, but this goes way beyond…”
“Dean! Shut UP!” It’s late, well after midnight, and the warm evening has turned cold, the hard black sky stamped with stars. There’s no-one around, just Dean and Sam. Dean and Sam Winchester, by themselves. And Sam Winchester is angry.
“OK. But, dude, you brought up Amy Henderson’s panties.”
“I just didn’t want… Dean. Please. Tell me this isn’t it.” Dean looks at Sam, sees the boy he fought with and plotted with and raised, and the man he became.
“You should get a hair cut.”
“Dean—”
“I mean, I know you’ve got this whole hair thing after Dad and his marine buzzes, but seriously, dude, you look like a yeti.”
“Dean—”
“I need to know you’re going to look after yourself, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is soft, low, and Sam realises numbly that at some stage in the next five minutes he’s probably going to start crying and Dean will take the piss out of him for… Dean won’t be taking the piss. Not ever. Dean carries on. “Cuz if you go and fall off a bridge or starve to death or get suffocated by your hair in your sleep, I’m gonna be mad. You owe me, Sam.”
“I don’t…”
“You owe me. So I need you to promise that you’re not going to do anything stupid – or more stupid than usual – when I’m… Nothing stupid, OK?” Sam laughs. It’s pretty weak for a laugh, but better than crying.
“Dean. Seriously. When it comes to stupid things, it’s really not me who’s the problem.” Dean cocks his head to one side, consideringly, then pulls a conciliatory expression.
“Well, maybe. But, Sam…”
“I promise. OK? I promise I won’t do anything stupid! I promise I won’t get myself killed! I promise I won’t make any stupid fucking deals! I promise, Dean!” Dean looks like he wants to say something, or do something, or hit something, but in the end he just shrugs.
“Well. OK then.”
“OK.”
They stand, staring at the horizon. Sam crosses his arms, wishes he had brought his coat. Dean wishes he hadn’t given his jacket to Jo, then thinks maybe it’s all right that he did. It’s cold and crisp and dark, and Sam’s crying.
“Don’t, Sammy.” They don’t hug. Winchesters don’t hug. It’s not their thing. It’s not how they were raised. But Dean slides a hand along Sam’s shoulders and pulls him close. Sam bends his head, and his tears fall against Dean’s neck. Dean wishes… he wishes… he wishes so many things that he can’t even bring them all to mind. Everything. Anything that took them away from this moment, Sam’s tears soaking hot into his collar; his hands cold against his brother’s back.
. . .
“I stole Amy Henderson’s panties.” The Impala doesn’t talk back. Sam thinks maybe her soul has gone. But he thinks he’ll keep talking to her anyway.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:51 pm (UTC)So funny and sad at the same time. Sam's hair and Amy's panties and the song. There was a SONG!
Also, isn't "talking the piss" a bit... English? Don't know what it should be instead, though.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:56 pm (UTC)Well, you tidy, too. It's not all about the washing up. ♥
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 03:05 pm (UTC)I've not been doing much on the tidying front recently, you must admit.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 03:09 pm (UTC)Have. I. Pimped?
You're asking me, Miss Squeenie McPimpalot, if I've pimped?
Ee, I don't know...
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 03:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 04:46 pm (UTC)As for "taking the piss"? That is a little jarring when reading it from an American standpoint. A phrase more close to "poking fun" or "rag on him" would be more accurate. *shrugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 08:06 pm (UTC)Favorite lines:
He looks about twelve. If, y’know, he was a twelve-year old giant.
*snickers*
“They had a banner.”
“Yep.”
“They had a song.”
“Yep.”
LOL!
the hard black sky stamped with stars.
Great description.
Dean. Please. Tell me this isn’t it.
Oh, Sam.
Dean looks at Sam, sees the boy he fought with and plotted with and raised, and the man he became.
Nicely phrased.
But Dean slides a hand along Sam’s shoulders and pulls him close. Sam bends his head, and his tears fall against Dean’s neck.
Oh, boys.
“I stole Amy Henderson’s panties.” The Impala doesn’t talk back. Sam thinks maybe her soul has gone. But he thinks he’ll keep talking to her anyway.
Lovely and aching.
*hugs Sam and the Impala*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 11:43 pm (UTC)And I don't even care about the British-ism. *cries*
~ Erin
no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 06:38 pm (UTC)