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Title: Making Peace
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Rating: PG (language)
Category: SPN Gen (Dean, Sam)
Word Count: 448
Spoilers: End of S2
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
“I never thanked you.”
“For what?” Dean asks around a mouthful of burger. Sam is sitting on the opposite side of the diner table, twirling a fork round and round. He has the little frown lines between his brows that Dean knows always herald a serious topic and Dean hails the waitress because he needs pie for something like this.
Sam waits dutifully until Dean has a peach cobbler parked in front of him before he continues. “For not…”
“For not what?” Dean prompts. A little boy has come up on his knees behind Sam and is staring at the back of his brother’s head with wide eyes. Even sitting Sam’s a gigantor and children are often captivated. Sam’s looking down at the tabletop so Dean pokes his tongue out at the boy and waggles it.
The boy grins but disappears when his mother yanks on his shirt with a terse, “Sit down.”
“For not burning me.”
Dean blinks, not really sure he’s heard right. He tries to swallow the bite of pie he has in his mouth but it’s turned to a gluey unpalatable mess. “What did you say?”
“I just… I never want… just don’t ever do that, okay?” Sam is still staring hard at the table.
“We’re not talking about this,” Dean grates.
“Dean-"
“We are never talking about this.”
“Okay,” Sam says, sounding absurdly contrite.
Sam had laughed that morning. He’d laughed and Dean had thought that they were getting past it, they were moving on and maybe the last year he had on the ol’ mortal coil would be…
Hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking.
“Anyway, it’s a waste of time tellin’ me, I’m not going to be-"
“Stop,” Sam says, voice so broken that Dean’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “You don’t want me to be mad at you so I’m trying to be grateful. I’m trying to see this another way.”
Dean’s at a loss. He watches Sam reach across the table and snag the newspaper on the corner. He flips it open and pages through and Dean’s lip twitches when he sees Sam not stop at the obituaries but at the comics. He picks up the fork he’d been toying with and uses it to take a huge chunk of Dean’s pie.
It’s okay, Sam is saying. I’m really trying to find a way for me to be okay with this.
Sam reaches his fork across the table again and Dean parries with a spoon. Sam looks up with a bark of laughter and Dean feels something that’s been coiled tight in him ever since… ever since, let go.
“Get your own pie, bitch,” Dean grouses, but he's smiling.
Author:
kellifer_ficRating: PG (language)
Category: SPN Gen (Dean, Sam)
Word Count: 448
Spoilers: End of S2
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
“I never thanked you.”
“For what?” Dean asks around a mouthful of burger. Sam is sitting on the opposite side of the diner table, twirling a fork round and round. He has the little frown lines between his brows that Dean knows always herald a serious topic and Dean hails the waitress because he needs pie for something like this.
Sam waits dutifully until Dean has a peach cobbler parked in front of him before he continues. “For not…”
“For not what?” Dean prompts. A little boy has come up on his knees behind Sam and is staring at the back of his brother’s head with wide eyes. Even sitting Sam’s a gigantor and children are often captivated. Sam’s looking down at the tabletop so Dean pokes his tongue out at the boy and waggles it.
The boy grins but disappears when his mother yanks on his shirt with a terse, “Sit down.”
“For not burning me.”
Dean blinks, not really sure he’s heard right. He tries to swallow the bite of pie he has in his mouth but it’s turned to a gluey unpalatable mess. “What did you say?”
“I just… I never want… just don’t ever do that, okay?” Sam is still staring hard at the table.
“We’re not talking about this,” Dean grates.
“Dean-"
“We are never talking about this.”
“Okay,” Sam says, sounding absurdly contrite.
Sam had laughed that morning. He’d laughed and Dean had thought that they were getting past it, they were moving on and maybe the last year he had on the ol’ mortal coil would be…
Hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking.
“Anyway, it’s a waste of time tellin’ me, I’m not going to be-"
“Stop,” Sam says, voice so broken that Dean’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “You don’t want me to be mad at you so I’m trying to be grateful. I’m trying to see this another way.”
Dean’s at a loss. He watches Sam reach across the table and snag the newspaper on the corner. He flips it open and pages through and Dean’s lip twitches when he sees Sam not stop at the obituaries but at the comics. He picks up the fork he’d been toying with and uses it to take a huge chunk of Dean’s pie.
It’s okay, Sam is saying. I’m really trying to find a way for me to be okay with this.
Sam reaches his fork across the table again and Dean parries with a spoon. Sam looks up with a bark of laughter and Dean feels something that’s been coiled tight in him ever since… ever since, let go.
“Get your own pie, bitch,” Dean grouses, but he's smiling.