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Title: Sleeping Between Rest Stops
Fandom: SPN
Category: Sam/Dean (gen)
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1,318
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Summary: Dean is ever vigilant while Sam sleeps.
~Car~
Dean often wonders how Sam can sleep, hunched in the passenger seat.
His knees are usually jammed up against the dash and his head either pressed against the window or halfway over to Dean’s side of the car. When he had gotten so goddamn long Dean doesn’t know. Dean remembers the tiny boy with skinned knees and isn’t quite sure when the gigantor thing happened.
”When I’m taller than Dad, I’ll be able to look after everyone,” Sammy had said once and Dean had laughed long and loud.
On these rare times when Sam is completely gone, head lolling close to Dean’s shoulder, he’ll sometimes run fingers through Sam’s baby-fine hair, rubbing strands between thumb and forefinger. The one time Sam caught him at it, slitting open green eyes and frowning with a ”What are you doing man?”, Dean had laughed and said, “Your hair is getting hippy-long dude. Next rest-stop I’m buying a razor and giving you a number two all over.”
“The hell you are!” Sam had snapped, jerking his head away.
~Laundromat~
An all-night Laundromat was always an unexpected bonus on their travels. Just who the hell else would be doing their laundry at two in the morning Dean didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Sam had complained, wanting sleep over clean clothes, but a few carefully phrased sentences about just how much they both reeked had Sam grumbling and stumbling but heading in the right direction.
Sam was now curled up, impossibly small for someone with such a large frame, across three washers they weren’t using, Dean’s leather jacket balled under his head for a pillow. There were dark shadows under his eyes and Dean’s own gaze would skip between his brother and their load of washing.
“I thought I was the only crazy one,” a voice said almost near his ear and Dean jerked, caught in an almost semi-doze. He looked around and there was another guy, probably around mid-way between his age and Sam’s, heavily tattooed and with a canvas sack full of clothes.
“On the road?” Dean asked and the guy grinned and nodded.
“Me and my band. We’re not big enough yet to have screaming fan-ettes who will wash our unmentionables for us.”
Dean chuckled at such a grungy looking individual using the word unmentionables.
“You?” The guy prodded, dumping his bag full of clothes into a machine on the opposite side of the room to the sleeping Sam.
“Me and… our work takes us all over. In and out of motels mostly.” Dean had learnt long ago that most people would accept the vaguest of details when making casual conversation. Sam tended to embellish their stories a little too much, offering detail where none was needed.
“Your friend must be pretty wasted,” the guy commented with an arch of his eyebrow.
At that moment, Dean’s washing dinged and he stood and scooped it out of the machine. “Sammy! Rise and shine snowflake,” Dean said, jiggling Sam’s foot. Sam yawned and rolled from the machine and the other guy blinked.
“Holy fuck!” he breathed as all six and half odd feet of Sammy unfolded itself. He then eyed the seemingly too-small top of the washers.
Dean chuckled again.
~Couch~
“Can’t sleep?”
Sarah looked up at Dean and smiled tiredly, the hand that was trailing fingertips across Sam’s brow coming to rest.
“I know you guys are only passing through and I only get you for a day so I’m…. making the most of it,” Sarah admitted, a blush staining her cheeks.
Dean dropped himself into the armchair opposite, lowering carefully because it looked expensive and old. Sarah’s neat as a pin little apartment was filled with beautiful antiques that Dean could tell she loathed. The only thing that really fit her was a retro couch in cranberry and cream that Sarah had explained was the one thing she’d actually bought herself and not had thrust upon her by her Father.
It was a two and a half-seater and still Sam’s legs hung over the end, but his head was in Sarah’s lap so Dean figured that it was a small sacrifice.
“Won’t we wake him?” Sarah asked, her voice cautious-soft.
“Nah. Once Sammy here is out, he’s out. Of course, getting him to sleep in the first place is usually an exercise in frustration. I might have to take you on the road.”
Sarah smiled, a wistful one. “Don’t tease.” Before Dean could ask what she meant, her fingertips had started their restless path along Sam’s brow again, bumping ever so lightly over the line of stitches in his hairline. “What happened again?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“He just looks so tired.” Sarah looked up, gazing at Dean for a beat. “You both… just so tired.”
“We don’t get the regulation eight hours very often.”
“It’s more than that.” In his sleep, Sam arched into Sarah’s touch and she smiled, another wistful expression. “This fight, it’s for older men. Those that don’t have anything left. You and Sam… there’s life left to live.”
“Look, you don’t-“
“Know what I’m talking about?” Sarah cut him off, her tone a little sharp, but her expression was soft. “That’s probably true, but I’m just saying what I see.”
“I understand you’d like Sammy to be all normal and everything,” Dean grunted, standing and pacing the apartment but the place was small and he found himself in the kitchen in only a few strides.
“That’s not it at all,” Sarah sighed.
“We’ll be out of your hair by morning,” Dean said, retreating back into the tiny guest room.
“Dean, that’s not what I-“ Sarah tried, but the door shut before she could finish.
“Meant.”
~Hospital~
He was better with female cops.
Unfortunately, the very male, forty-ish and slightly balding cop in front of him wasn’t buying the Dean trademark grin of everything’s okay Officer.
“What I’m saying is if you can tell me anything, we can make sure both of you are safe.”
“Honestly, he was jumped in an alley and by the time I got there, whoever did it was gone,” Dean explained, running a hand over the back of his head. He was antsy, skin crawling, just wanting to go back into Sam’s room and make sure he was okay. There’d been a head wound and a lot of blood and one thing John Winchester had instilled in him was with head wounds, you never messed around.
Head wounds were the only time they went straight to the hospital.
“Look, your cousin got pretty messed up. All I’m saying is that there’s muggings and then there’s beatings. Either this was some sick puppy that got his thrills out of beating up a random stranger or it was personal. Someone kicked the shit out of the kid.”
“I know that,” Dean growled, frustrated.
A nurse passed that Dean recognized and he grabbed her elbow. “Can I see him now?” he asked, angling his body away from the cop, trying to be dismissive.
“Oh, he’s sleeping but you can go in,” the nurse nodded, patting the hand that was holding her, probably used to people grabbing her. Dean offered an apologetic but grateful smile and released his hold.
Dean looked back at the policeman, who huffed an exasperated sigh and waved a dismissive hand. Dean had seen the expression on the man’s face a hundred times before. He wanted to help but was at a loss as to how.
“Look, he’ll… we’ll both be fine.” Dean offered, not knowing why. Perhaps there was something in the defeated slope of the policeman’s shoulders that reminded him of his father. He didn’t want to analyze it that closely.
All he wanted was to be there when Sam woke up.
~Bed~
“Dean?”
“It’s okay Sammy, I got you.”
“Dean… I dreamed….”
“I know kiddo, I know.”
Fandom: SPN
Category: Sam/Dean (gen)
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1,318
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Summary: Dean is ever vigilant while Sam sleeps.
Dean often wonders how Sam can sleep, hunched in the passenger seat.
His knees are usually jammed up against the dash and his head either pressed against the window or halfway over to Dean’s side of the car. When he had gotten so goddamn long Dean doesn’t know. Dean remembers the tiny boy with skinned knees and isn’t quite sure when the gigantor thing happened.
”When I’m taller than Dad, I’ll be able to look after everyone,” Sammy had said once and Dean had laughed long and loud.
On these rare times when Sam is completely gone, head lolling close to Dean’s shoulder, he’ll sometimes run fingers through Sam’s baby-fine hair, rubbing strands between thumb and forefinger. The one time Sam caught him at it, slitting open green eyes and frowning with a ”What are you doing man?”, Dean had laughed and said, “Your hair is getting hippy-long dude. Next rest-stop I’m buying a razor and giving you a number two all over.”
“The hell you are!” Sam had snapped, jerking his head away.
An all-night Laundromat was always an unexpected bonus on their travels. Just who the hell else would be doing their laundry at two in the morning Dean didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Sam had complained, wanting sleep over clean clothes, but a few carefully phrased sentences about just how much they both reeked had Sam grumbling and stumbling but heading in the right direction.
Sam was now curled up, impossibly small for someone with such a large frame, across three washers they weren’t using, Dean’s leather jacket balled under his head for a pillow. There were dark shadows under his eyes and Dean’s own gaze would skip between his brother and their load of washing.
“I thought I was the only crazy one,” a voice said almost near his ear and Dean jerked, caught in an almost semi-doze. He looked around and there was another guy, probably around mid-way between his age and Sam’s, heavily tattooed and with a canvas sack full of clothes.
“On the road?” Dean asked and the guy grinned and nodded.
“Me and my band. We’re not big enough yet to have screaming fan-ettes who will wash our unmentionables for us.”
Dean chuckled at such a grungy looking individual using the word unmentionables.
“You?” The guy prodded, dumping his bag full of clothes into a machine on the opposite side of the room to the sleeping Sam.
“Me and… our work takes us all over. In and out of motels mostly.” Dean had learnt long ago that most people would accept the vaguest of details when making casual conversation. Sam tended to embellish their stories a little too much, offering detail where none was needed.
“Your friend must be pretty wasted,” the guy commented with an arch of his eyebrow.
At that moment, Dean’s washing dinged and he stood and scooped it out of the machine. “Sammy! Rise and shine snowflake,” Dean said, jiggling Sam’s foot. Sam yawned and rolled from the machine and the other guy blinked.
“Holy fuck!” he breathed as all six and half odd feet of Sammy unfolded itself. He then eyed the seemingly too-small top of the washers.
Dean chuckled again.
“Can’t sleep?”
Sarah looked up at Dean and smiled tiredly, the hand that was trailing fingertips across Sam’s brow coming to rest.
“I know you guys are only passing through and I only get you for a day so I’m…. making the most of it,” Sarah admitted, a blush staining her cheeks.
Dean dropped himself into the armchair opposite, lowering carefully because it looked expensive and old. Sarah’s neat as a pin little apartment was filled with beautiful antiques that Dean could tell she loathed. The only thing that really fit her was a retro couch in cranberry and cream that Sarah had explained was the one thing she’d actually bought herself and not had thrust upon her by her Father.
It was a two and a half-seater and still Sam’s legs hung over the end, but his head was in Sarah’s lap so Dean figured that it was a small sacrifice.
“Won’t we wake him?” Sarah asked, her voice cautious-soft.
“Nah. Once Sammy here is out, he’s out. Of course, getting him to sleep in the first place is usually an exercise in frustration. I might have to take you on the road.”
Sarah smiled, a wistful one. “Don’t tease.” Before Dean could ask what she meant, her fingertips had started their restless path along Sam’s brow again, bumping ever so lightly over the line of stitches in his hairline. “What happened again?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“He just looks so tired.” Sarah looked up, gazing at Dean for a beat. “You both… just so tired.”
“We don’t get the regulation eight hours very often.”
“It’s more than that.” In his sleep, Sam arched into Sarah’s touch and she smiled, another wistful expression. “This fight, it’s for older men. Those that don’t have anything left. You and Sam… there’s life left to live.”
“Look, you don’t-“
“Know what I’m talking about?” Sarah cut him off, her tone a little sharp, but her expression was soft. “That’s probably true, but I’m just saying what I see.”
“I understand you’d like Sammy to be all normal and everything,” Dean grunted, standing and pacing the apartment but the place was small and he found himself in the kitchen in only a few strides.
“That’s not it at all,” Sarah sighed.
“We’ll be out of your hair by morning,” Dean said, retreating back into the tiny guest room.
“Dean, that’s not what I-“ Sarah tried, but the door shut before she could finish.
“Meant.”
He was better with female cops.
Unfortunately, the very male, forty-ish and slightly balding cop in front of him wasn’t buying the Dean trademark grin of everything’s okay Officer.
“What I’m saying is if you can tell me anything, we can make sure both of you are safe.”
“Honestly, he was jumped in an alley and by the time I got there, whoever did it was gone,” Dean explained, running a hand over the back of his head. He was antsy, skin crawling, just wanting to go back into Sam’s room and make sure he was okay. There’d been a head wound and a lot of blood and one thing John Winchester had instilled in him was with head wounds, you never messed around.
Head wounds were the only time they went straight to the hospital.
“Look, your cousin got pretty messed up. All I’m saying is that there’s muggings and then there’s beatings. Either this was some sick puppy that got his thrills out of beating up a random stranger or it was personal. Someone kicked the shit out of the kid.”
“I know that,” Dean growled, frustrated.
A nurse passed that Dean recognized and he grabbed her elbow. “Can I see him now?” he asked, angling his body away from the cop, trying to be dismissive.
“Oh, he’s sleeping but you can go in,” the nurse nodded, patting the hand that was holding her, probably used to people grabbing her. Dean offered an apologetic but grateful smile and released his hold.
Dean looked back at the policeman, who huffed an exasperated sigh and waved a dismissive hand. Dean had seen the expression on the man’s face a hundred times before. He wanted to help but was at a loss as to how.
“Look, he’ll… we’ll both be fine.” Dean offered, not knowing why. Perhaps there was something in the defeated slope of the policeman’s shoulders that reminded him of his father. He didn’t want to analyze it that closely.
All he wanted was to be there when Sam woke up.
“Dean?”
“It’s okay Sammy, I got you.”
“Dean… I dreamed….”
“I know kiddo, I know.”
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I don't know what it was about her but I liked Sarah so much... she got to be the smart, sweet girl without coming off Mary-Sueish at all which is often the trap...
I just get the feeling that she would take what little time she could get with the boys... understanding that there is something they need to finish...
:)