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I totally blame ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misskatieleigh for inspiring me.
I should be working on the prequel to Not The World I Left Behind or my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
reel_spn or apocalypse_kree fic but what am I doing instead?
Another story in my wing 'verse.
Here's a snippet while I work.... this is just literally pouring out of me so it'll probably be done pretty soon...
That night, Dean peels his eyes open to see Sam standing in his bedroom doorway. Sam’s got the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands, stretching the fabric out as he wrings it. Dean has a strong flash-memory of Sam as an eight-year old the first time their Dad had put them in separate rooms and how Sam hadn’t really understood the concept. Instead every night he’d followed Dean stubbornly and insinuated himself in Dean’s bed.
Dean hadn’t really objected too strenuously because when you knew the dark things that went bump in the night were real, you slept easier with your kid brother tucked under your arm.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Dean asks, sitting up and knuckling his eyes, trying to push the sleep-fog away.
“I think something’s wrong,” Sam says in a voice so small that Dean has to look to make sure Sam hasn’t magically regressed to that eight-year old.
“Sammy?” Dean swings his feet out of bed and plants them on the floor, wincing because it’s nearly winter and the bare boards become a misery on unprotected feet. Dean forebears though because he absolutely refuses to wear the bed socks that Sam bought him with much glee.
By way of answer, Sam holds his hands up and they’re covered in something sticky with feathers between his fingers. Adrenalin dumps through Dean’s body, getting him up and moving and he’s over to Sam in a few steps, feeling feathers underfoot when he gets close. Sam steps back a little and Dean leans out of his room, seeing the trail of feathers that leads from Sam’s room to his.
“What-?” Dean starts, gripping Sam’s arms and swinging him around. Sam goes, pliant like a doll and in the half-light Dean can see that Sam was right, something is definitely wrong.
misskatieleigh for inspiring me. I should be working on the prequel to Not The World I Left Behind or my
reel_spn or apocalypse_kree fic but what am I doing instead? Another story in my wing 'verse.
Here's a snippet while I work.... this is just literally pouring out of me so it'll probably be done pretty soon...
That night, Dean peels his eyes open to see Sam standing in his bedroom doorway. Sam’s got the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands, stretching the fabric out as he wrings it. Dean has a strong flash-memory of Sam as an eight-year old the first time their Dad had put them in separate rooms and how Sam hadn’t really understood the concept. Instead every night he’d followed Dean stubbornly and insinuated himself in Dean’s bed.
Dean hadn’t really objected too strenuously because when you knew the dark things that went bump in the night were real, you slept easier with your kid brother tucked under your arm.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Dean asks, sitting up and knuckling his eyes, trying to push the sleep-fog away.
“I think something’s wrong,” Sam says in a voice so small that Dean has to look to make sure Sam hasn’t magically regressed to that eight-year old.
“Sammy?” Dean swings his feet out of bed and plants them on the floor, wincing because it’s nearly winter and the bare boards become a misery on unprotected feet. Dean forebears though because he absolutely refuses to wear the bed socks that Sam bought him with much glee.
By way of answer, Sam holds his hands up and they’re covered in something sticky with feathers between his fingers. Adrenalin dumps through Dean’s body, getting him up and moving and he’s over to Sam in a few steps, feeling feathers underfoot when he gets close. Sam steps back a little and Dean leans out of his room, seeing the trail of feathers that leads from Sam’s room to his.
“What-?” Dean starts, gripping Sam’s arms and swinging him around. Sam goes, pliant like a doll and in the half-light Dean can see that Sam was right, something is definitely wrong.