spn fic: Lost and Found - Sam/Dean - PG
Mar. 17th, 2008 02:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: Lost and Found
Pairing: Sam/Dean but not reeeealy
Rating: PG
Words: 653
Summary: Dean never had a security blanket. He had something else.
Disclaimer: All your Sam and Dean are belong to Kripke.
A/n: for my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bigfiction who requested Dean having a panic attack over something. ;D
“Can’t find her,” Dean’s muttering to himself, flinging mismatched socks and holey boxers out of the top drawer of the dresser. “She’s gone, she's gone…”
“Dean,” Sam sits up, scrubbing his face groggily with the back of one hand. “What’s the matter?”
“She gone, Sammy. Can’t find her nowhere.” Dean replies as he peels the bedspread back along with the sheets and flips the mattress onto the ground in one swift motion. His fist comes in contact with the box springs when he finds nothing but empty space and Dean crumples against them, face in his hands.
“Hey,” Sam slides his legs off the bed, not worrying to find a shirt to pull on, despite the chill in the room. He sits next to Dean on the edge of the springs, feels the joints of their knees touch, and pulls Dean’s hands away from his face. “What’s going on? Who’s she?”
“Ginger,” Dean all but whimpers, and a light blush stains his cheeks when he realizes he’s never told Sam this before. “S’my knife. One I keep under my pillow. Had it since I was seven, man. Dad gave it to me. I just.”
Sam can feel Dean’s body tighten next to him, as if his muscles are being pulled taut on a string, can hear the ragged breaths that catch in his throat. “It’s okay,” Sam says, his hand instinctively moving to Dean’s back, rubbing soothing circles against his bare skin. “I’ll help you find it.”
Dean’s fingers curl around the edge of the box springs, his knuckles white across the joints.
“Breathe,” Sam encourages him with words spoken next to his ear and gentle fingers along his spine. “Breathe, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes fall shut and Sam can feel his shoulders rise on the inhale, feel his body pushing outward against his palm on the exhale. Dean turns slightly, pressing his forehead against the sharp jut of Sam’s collarbone. “If you ever speak of this again, I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”
Sam chuckles against him, fingertips still brushing the bumps and ridges of Dean’s spine. “Ginger, huh?”
“Castrate, Sam.” Dean warns, words muffled by Sam’s moist skin, the vein in his neck still pulsing rapidly along with his heartbeat.
“Seriously,” He says, barely audible. “You’ll help me find her?”
“Of course I will,” Sam answers, head cocked to the side. “But you know you don‘t need it.”
“Course I need it. You know what kind of things-”
“You’re not alone anymore, Dean,” Sam murmurs, taking Dean’s face in between his large hands, holding him so that he has to look into his eyes and see the truth. “I’m not going to leave. Not again. I swear that to you.”
Moments, hours, four years and fifteen days pass between them, green eyes fixed on golden, until Dean finally nods his head, a slight movement as its still encased inside Sam’s hands. “Yeah,” He manages to reply, voice dry and crackled. “Okay.”
Sam’s hands finally release him and he stands up, long legs gliding across the room to his own bed and he pulls out from under his own damn pillow, Ginger.
“I needed you to know,” Sam offers an apology as he extends the knife to Dean, pinching the blade between two fingers. Dean swallows and nods, gripping his fingers tight around the handle; Sam watches as he walks across the room and puts Ginger inside the duffle bag full of weaponry.
“Night, Sam,” Dean mutters after putting his bed back together, crawls under the sheets and flicks off the lamp. Sam waits thirty minutes, an hour, expects Dean to shoot out of bed at any time and bolt across the room to lay Ginger in her proper place. At four, he finally realizes Dean isn’t going to get up; he’s asleep, and he trusts him.
Sam turns onto his left side and pulls the sheets up to his chin.
“Night, Dean.”
Pairing: Sam/Dean but not reeeealy
Rating: PG
Words: 653
Summary: Dean never had a security blanket. He had something else.
Disclaimer: All your Sam and Dean are belong to Kripke.
A/n: for my
bigfiction who requested Dean having a panic attack over something. ;D“Can’t find her,” Dean’s muttering to himself, flinging mismatched socks and holey boxers out of the top drawer of the dresser. “She’s gone, she's gone…”
“Dean,” Sam sits up, scrubbing his face groggily with the back of one hand. “What’s the matter?”
“She gone, Sammy. Can’t find her nowhere.” Dean replies as he peels the bedspread back along with the sheets and flips the mattress onto the ground in one swift motion. His fist comes in contact with the box springs when he finds nothing but empty space and Dean crumples against them, face in his hands.
“Hey,” Sam slides his legs off the bed, not worrying to find a shirt to pull on, despite the chill in the room. He sits next to Dean on the edge of the springs, feels the joints of their knees touch, and pulls Dean’s hands away from his face. “What’s going on? Who’s she?”
“Ginger,” Dean all but whimpers, and a light blush stains his cheeks when he realizes he’s never told Sam this before. “S’my knife. One I keep under my pillow. Had it since I was seven, man. Dad gave it to me. I just.”
Sam can feel Dean’s body tighten next to him, as if his muscles are being pulled taut on a string, can hear the ragged breaths that catch in his throat. “It’s okay,” Sam says, his hand instinctively moving to Dean’s back, rubbing soothing circles against his bare skin. “I’ll help you find it.”
Dean’s fingers curl around the edge of the box springs, his knuckles white across the joints.
“Breathe,” Sam encourages him with words spoken next to his ear and gentle fingers along his spine. “Breathe, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes fall shut and Sam can feel his shoulders rise on the inhale, feel his body pushing outward against his palm on the exhale. Dean turns slightly, pressing his forehead against the sharp jut of Sam’s collarbone. “If you ever speak of this again, I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”
Sam chuckles against him, fingertips still brushing the bumps and ridges of Dean’s spine. “Ginger, huh?”
“Castrate, Sam.” Dean warns, words muffled by Sam’s moist skin, the vein in his neck still pulsing rapidly along with his heartbeat.
“Seriously,” He says, barely audible. “You’ll help me find her?”
“Of course I will,” Sam answers, head cocked to the side. “But you know you don‘t need it.”
“Course I need it. You know what kind of things-”
“You’re not alone anymore, Dean,” Sam murmurs, taking Dean’s face in between his large hands, holding him so that he has to look into his eyes and see the truth. “I’m not going to leave. Not again. I swear that to you.”
Moments, hours, four years and fifteen days pass between them, green eyes fixed on golden, until Dean finally nods his head, a slight movement as its still encased inside Sam’s hands. “Yeah,” He manages to reply, voice dry and crackled. “Okay.”
Sam’s hands finally release him and he stands up, long legs gliding across the room to his own bed and he pulls out from under his own damn pillow, Ginger.
“I needed you to know,” Sam offers an apology as he extends the knife to Dean, pinching the blade between two fingers. Dean swallows and nods, gripping his fingers tight around the handle; Sam watches as he walks across the room and puts Ginger inside the duffle bag full of weaponry.
“Night, Sam,” Dean mutters after putting his bed back together, crawls under the sheets and flicks off the lamp. Sam waits thirty minutes, an hour, expects Dean to shoot out of bed at any time and bolt across the room to lay Ginger in her proper place. At four, he finally realizes Dean isn’t going to get up; he’s asleep, and he trusts him.
Sam turns onto his left side and pulls the sheets up to his chin.
“Night, Dean.”
