withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-12-11 03:41 am
withimpunity) wrote2008-12-11 03:41 am
Entry tags:
fic: beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
Title: Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
Pairing: Sam, Dean (sam/dean if you want it to be)
Rating: PG
Words: 202
Prompt: 0023 @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
winchesters100
A/n: This is a longer version of the 100 word drabble I posted here at the comm.
Dean finds it when John's sleeping off the pain and the Vicodin from their recent hunting trip; it falls out of the tattered journal pages when Dean picks it up off the nightstand and starts flipping through the pages for Bobby's number; John might be too proud to ask for help, but Dean learned long ago where pride got you: a little left of fucking nowhere.
Dean pinches the plastic photograph between his thumb and forefinger and feels the walls he put up the second Sam left start to crumble, brick by brick. Its just a stupid picture; Sam's thirteenth birthday. His hair's too damn long and there's a pimple on his nose and blue icing dried in the corner of his mouth. He's looking up the camera through a curtain of jagged bangs. Happy birthday, Sammy. Say cheese, bitch.
Dean shuts the bathroom door and slides down the peeling wallpaper, crumbling the picture inside his fist, soaking his face with tears that burn his cheeks with loss and regret. When the walls finally completely break away, Dean's chest aches and heaves with the pain and a strangled sob forces its way out of his mouth.
I can't do this alone.
Yes you can.
I don't want to.
Pairing: Sam, Dean (sam/dean if you want it to be)
Rating: PG
Words: 202
Prompt: 0023 @
winchesters100A/n: This is a longer version of the 100 word drabble I posted here at the comm.
Dean finds it when John's sleeping off the pain and the Vicodin from their recent hunting trip; it falls out of the tattered journal pages when Dean picks it up off the nightstand and starts flipping through the pages for Bobby's number; John might be too proud to ask for help, but Dean learned long ago where pride got you: a little left of fucking nowhere.
Dean pinches the plastic photograph between his thumb and forefinger and feels the walls he put up the second Sam left start to crumble, brick by brick. Its just a stupid picture; Sam's thirteenth birthday. His hair's too damn long and there's a pimple on his nose and blue icing dried in the corner of his mouth. He's looking up the camera through a curtain of jagged bangs. Happy birthday, Sammy. Say cheese, bitch.
Dean shuts the bathroom door and slides down the peeling wallpaper, crumbling the picture inside his fist, soaking his face with tears that burn his cheeks with loss and regret. When the walls finally completely break away, Dean's chest aches and heaves with the pain and a strangled sob forces its way out of his mouth.
I can't do this alone.
Yes you can.
I don't want to.
no subject
no subject
...
lol that sounds naughty.