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Title: "let the moon guide the way"
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the_milky_way
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean Winchester (Sam/Dean)
Theme: Dean Winchester: A Year to Survive
Prompt(s): 10. full moon
Rating: PG
Words: ~ 1550
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kripke and Warner. I don't own anything.
Beta: Many thanks tosmallearthcat for the very fast and awesome beta
Summary: Full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month. It always brings out the crazies that try to take over the world or generally be annoying as fuck.
Notes: This is forangelhorny who chose Prompt 10 "Full Moon" from the table and wanted Dean sitting somewhere (park bench, cemetery)after a couple of months after losing his brother (whether is for Stanford or something) and looks up to the full moon and wonders if his brother is looking at it at the same time. Hope you'll like it. :)
Set Pre-series.
Full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month. It always brings out the crazies that try to take over the world or generally be annoying as fuck. He gets that it’s a special time for them, stars aligning and whatnot; what he doesn’t get is why everyone and their dog suddenly starts to believe it as well.
And of course Dean had to run into wannabe cult leaders during a full moon. Nothing supernatural, just some whackos playing around with things they shouldn’t even know about. It still makes Dean slightly sick when he thinks of the poor chicken and its rabbit friend.
The rumble of the Impala calms his nerves, like it always does. Dean still snorts at the look the Sheriff gave the band of drugged-out-of-their-minds wannabe cult leaders on his front step. He’s just glad to be on the road and away from any kind of human contact. He doesn’t look at the empty seat, doesn’t try to wait for his cell phone to ring. He’s alone, and has been for a while.
Dad’s off to somewhere - Dean has no idea where – chasing things Dean doesn’t want to think about. They haven’t talked in weeks, maybe even a month, ever since Dean sort of lost it, got loud, blamed Dad. He doesn’t even feel bad about it.
Sam’s not in the seat beside him, and it’s partly Dad’s fault. Dean doesn’t regret raising his voice, finally saying all those things he should have said while Sam was still there. He just regrets that it managed what Sam alone hadn’t, that it broke their family for good. They – all three of them – are too stubborn, too stupid sometimes, to admit that they know how to fix things but are too proud to do so.
Metallica blares out with a flick of a wrist. The car’s almost flying over the asphalt, dark and mostly only lit by the Impala’s headlights. The moon’s there, full and hovering just at the edge of Dean’s field of vision. Full moon, and Dean’s suddenly wondering how Sam’s doing.
It’s an impulse, just a little jerk of his hand and the car cruises to a stop on the shoulder of the empty road. Wide open expanse of land, grass, crops - dark shadows and the thickness of the night just there. Dean takes a deep breath, gets out of the car and, settles down on the hood. It's been done so many times that the movements are automatic, practiced, sense memory he never thinks about anymore.
The air is cool, not cold, but enough for him to pull his leather jacket closer. Stars in formations he knows by name, thanks to the geek he has for a little brother. He knows how to navigate them, knows how to find his way thanks to Dad. Dean, though, sometimes just sits there and looks at them, thinking about nothing in particular.
The moon's almost orange tonight – huge and looming – looking supernatural, kind of mighty to the human eye.
Dean wonders if Sam sees the same thing, not the full moon, but the memories connected to it. He wonders where Sam is, if he’s looking into the sky and thinking of things long gone. It’s late enough for it to be dark at Stanford already, as well.
Full moon, the night Sam left because he couldn’t stand their life anymore. The night Dad told Dean’s little brother to never come back. The night Dean saw his little brother turn and walk out without a glance back. The night Dean caught his little brother at the side of the road and drove him to the bus stop.
They’d sat there – just as Dean is now - under the stars and full moon, touching only where their shoulders bump, not talking – both lost for words. Waiting. Waiting for the bus, waiting for each other to acknowledge the thing between them, to say a word. Waiting for things to go back to how they were and knowing they couldn’t.
In the end, Dean had hugged Sam. Just before his brother got on the bus, squeezed hard and almost didn’t let go when Sam hugged back. No words, looks were enough, always had been. Sam needed this and Dean wasn’t going to hold him back, despite everything else.
Fingers on his neck, touching softly, and Dean jerks around. No one’s there, he’s all alone. It had been there that night, before Sam left. Sam’s fingers on his skin, sliding up and down, stroking softly. Fingers followed by lips. Right there on the hood of the Impala under the full moon, Dean allowed his little brother to kiss him for the first time.
He feels it right now. The touches, the lips, Sam’s whispered plea to let him, to give him this if he has to go. Dean’s never been able to say no to Sam, especially not when it was something he wanted, too.
Dean feels a warmth pressed against him that isn’t there. He doesn’t move. He looks at the moon and thinks of Sam, thinks of the things he longs for and dreams of. All connected to his little brother in one way or another. He doesn’t try to analyze; it's never worked before and doesn’t make life easier, anyway.
Dean slides down the hood, lies flat and smiles when he feels something curl around him. He’s not questioning it.
The moon’s right above him now, larger but less looming. Brighter, like a guiding light.
His phone vibrates against his hip, and Dean doesn’t look at the screen before he flicks it open, doesn’t have to.
“Sammy.”
There’s rustling on the other end, a low curse, and Dean grins. His brother only ever calls on two occasions, when he’s drunk off his gourd or when he’s so homesick that he simply needs to hear Dean breathe to calm down again. Today it seems to be a mixture of both. It’s been a year now, and Dean still waits for the one phone call telling him that Sam’s okay now, that Sam can go on without Dean being there. Dean hopes, prays even, for that day to never come.
“Do…can’ya see it?” It’s slurred a little, not much though, so Sam’s still mostly sober.
Dean doesn’t ask what Sam means, knows and smiles. It hurts just a little that they're doing this over the phone.
“Yeah. Lying on the hood, middle of nowhere.” Dean wishes for a beer, needs something to hold on to, to distract him. He focuses on Sam’s breathing, a little ragged and hitching.
“So orange. So huge. Just like…”
“That night…,” Dean finishes, taking a deep breath and looking at the moon again. Memories, a year old, and now Sam’s there talking about them. Dean doesn’t know how to react, how to deal. He lets Sam take the lead.
“Yeah… Dean… I’m… I’m sorry. I… Miss you,” Sam’s quiet voice barely makes it over the line, but Dean hears him loud and clear, as if Sam’s right there next to him.
“I know, Sammy. I know. You’re good, though, right?” Dean just has to ask, no matter how much Sam will mock him for it later. Right now, in this moment, it’s the thing he needs to know, needs to ask.
“Yeah…yes, mostly. Just missin’ ya.” Sam hiccups a little and Dean grins. They don’t talk often, but when they do, nothing seems to have changed. They never mention the kiss, the tension between them, but it never seems like either of them regrets it.
“Did’ya feel it, too?” Sam’s a little louder now, curious, moving around so that Dean can hear it. The breeze has picked up a little, making him shiver despite the leather jacket, and the warmth at his side moves when he does. Dean blinks, not questioning it, not thinking about it.
“Can you now?” Is what he asks, and he hears Sam sigh.
“Yeah. As if you're right next to me. It’s the moon. We’re both looking at it, wishing.”
Dean wants to ask how Sam knows, how he can assume, but he can’t say the words – so instead Dean just huffs, shakes his head and looks at the moon again. Orange and huge and full.
Maybe Sam has a point. Dean’s been wishing a lot lately, more so since Dad abandoned him, but ever since that night, that one full moon.
“Sure, Sammy. Just like you were here,” is what he says in the end.
“Dean…”
One word that says a myriad of different things. Dean hears what Sam can’t say out loud, knows that Sam misses him just as much as Dean misses Sam. Dean knows that Sam’s safe and good. Sam still talks to him.
They stay on the phone for a while, not talking, just listening. It’s enough, for now. When Dean’s sure that Sam’s fast asleep, he lets his cell phone slip away a little, but not too far. The moon’s about to vanish, the horizon tinted red already, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder anymore if Sam’s seeing the same thing he is, thinking about that one night.
So the full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month, only sometimes it’s the only reminder he needs to go on living.
Author
the_milky_wayCharacter(s)/Pairing: Dean Winchester (Sam/Dean)
Theme: Dean Winchester: A Year to Survive
Prompt(s): 10. full moon
Rating: PG
Words: ~ 1550
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kripke and Warner. I don't own anything.
Beta: Many thanks to
smallearthcat for the very fast and awesome betaSummary: Full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month. It always brings out the crazies that try to take over the world or generally be annoying as fuck.
Notes: This is for
angelhorny who chose Prompt 10 "Full Moon" from the table and wanted Dean sitting somewhere (park bench, cemetery)after a couple of months after losing his brother (whether is for Stanford or something) and looks up to the full moon and wonders if his brother is looking at it at the same time. Hope you'll like it. :)Set Pre-series.
Full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month. It always brings out the crazies that try to take over the world or generally be annoying as fuck. He gets that it’s a special time for them, stars aligning and whatnot; what he doesn’t get is why everyone and their dog suddenly starts to believe it as well.
And of course Dean had to run into wannabe cult leaders during a full moon. Nothing supernatural, just some whackos playing around with things they shouldn’t even know about. It still makes Dean slightly sick when he thinks of the poor chicken and its rabbit friend.
The rumble of the Impala calms his nerves, like it always does. Dean still snorts at the look the Sheriff gave the band of drugged-out-of-their-minds wannabe cult leaders on his front step. He’s just glad to be on the road and away from any kind of human contact. He doesn’t look at the empty seat, doesn’t try to wait for his cell phone to ring. He’s alone, and has been for a while.
Dad’s off to somewhere - Dean has no idea where – chasing things Dean doesn’t want to think about. They haven’t talked in weeks, maybe even a month, ever since Dean sort of lost it, got loud, blamed Dad. He doesn’t even feel bad about it.
Sam’s not in the seat beside him, and it’s partly Dad’s fault. Dean doesn’t regret raising his voice, finally saying all those things he should have said while Sam was still there. He just regrets that it managed what Sam alone hadn’t, that it broke their family for good. They – all three of them – are too stubborn, too stupid sometimes, to admit that they know how to fix things but are too proud to do so.
Metallica blares out with a flick of a wrist. The car’s almost flying over the asphalt, dark and mostly only lit by the Impala’s headlights. The moon’s there, full and hovering just at the edge of Dean’s field of vision. Full moon, and Dean’s suddenly wondering how Sam’s doing.
It’s an impulse, just a little jerk of his hand and the car cruises to a stop on the shoulder of the empty road. Wide open expanse of land, grass, crops - dark shadows and the thickness of the night just there. Dean takes a deep breath, gets out of the car and, settles down on the hood. It's been done so many times that the movements are automatic, practiced, sense memory he never thinks about anymore.
The air is cool, not cold, but enough for him to pull his leather jacket closer. Stars in formations he knows by name, thanks to the geek he has for a little brother. He knows how to navigate them, knows how to find his way thanks to Dad. Dean, though, sometimes just sits there and looks at them, thinking about nothing in particular.
The moon's almost orange tonight – huge and looming – looking supernatural, kind of mighty to the human eye.
Dean wonders if Sam sees the same thing, not the full moon, but the memories connected to it. He wonders where Sam is, if he’s looking into the sky and thinking of things long gone. It’s late enough for it to be dark at Stanford already, as well.
Full moon, the night Sam left because he couldn’t stand their life anymore. The night Dad told Dean’s little brother to never come back. The night Dean saw his little brother turn and walk out without a glance back. The night Dean caught his little brother at the side of the road and drove him to the bus stop.
They’d sat there – just as Dean is now - under the stars and full moon, touching only where their shoulders bump, not talking – both lost for words. Waiting. Waiting for the bus, waiting for each other to acknowledge the thing between them, to say a word. Waiting for things to go back to how they were and knowing they couldn’t.
In the end, Dean had hugged Sam. Just before his brother got on the bus, squeezed hard and almost didn’t let go when Sam hugged back. No words, looks were enough, always had been. Sam needed this and Dean wasn’t going to hold him back, despite everything else.
Fingers on his neck, touching softly, and Dean jerks around. No one’s there, he’s all alone. It had been there that night, before Sam left. Sam’s fingers on his skin, sliding up and down, stroking softly. Fingers followed by lips. Right there on the hood of the Impala under the full moon, Dean allowed his little brother to kiss him for the first time.
He feels it right now. The touches, the lips, Sam’s whispered plea to let him, to give him this if he has to go. Dean’s never been able to say no to Sam, especially not when it was something he wanted, too.
Dean feels a warmth pressed against him that isn’t there. He doesn’t move. He looks at the moon and thinks of Sam, thinks of the things he longs for and dreams of. All connected to his little brother in one way or another. He doesn’t try to analyze; it's never worked before and doesn’t make life easier, anyway.
Dean slides down the hood, lies flat and smiles when he feels something curl around him. He’s not questioning it.
The moon’s right above him now, larger but less looming. Brighter, like a guiding light.
His phone vibrates against his hip, and Dean doesn’t look at the screen before he flicks it open, doesn’t have to.
“Sammy.”
There’s rustling on the other end, a low curse, and Dean grins. His brother only ever calls on two occasions, when he’s drunk off his gourd or when he’s so homesick that he simply needs to hear Dean breathe to calm down again. Today it seems to be a mixture of both. It’s been a year now, and Dean still waits for the one phone call telling him that Sam’s okay now, that Sam can go on without Dean being there. Dean hopes, prays even, for that day to never come.
“Do…can’ya see it?” It’s slurred a little, not much though, so Sam’s still mostly sober.
Dean doesn’t ask what Sam means, knows and smiles. It hurts just a little that they're doing this over the phone.
“Yeah. Lying on the hood, middle of nowhere.” Dean wishes for a beer, needs something to hold on to, to distract him. He focuses on Sam’s breathing, a little ragged and hitching.
“So orange. So huge. Just like…”
“That night…,” Dean finishes, taking a deep breath and looking at the moon again. Memories, a year old, and now Sam’s there talking about them. Dean doesn’t know how to react, how to deal. He lets Sam take the lead.
“Yeah… Dean… I’m… I’m sorry. I… Miss you,” Sam’s quiet voice barely makes it over the line, but Dean hears him loud and clear, as if Sam’s right there next to him.
“I know, Sammy. I know. You’re good, though, right?” Dean just has to ask, no matter how much Sam will mock him for it later. Right now, in this moment, it’s the thing he needs to know, needs to ask.
“Yeah…yes, mostly. Just missin’ ya.” Sam hiccups a little and Dean grins. They don’t talk often, but when they do, nothing seems to have changed. They never mention the kiss, the tension between them, but it never seems like either of them regrets it.
“Did’ya feel it, too?” Sam’s a little louder now, curious, moving around so that Dean can hear it. The breeze has picked up a little, making him shiver despite the leather jacket, and the warmth at his side moves when he does. Dean blinks, not questioning it, not thinking about it.
“Can you now?” Is what he asks, and he hears Sam sigh.
“Yeah. As if you're right next to me. It’s the moon. We’re both looking at it, wishing.”
Dean wants to ask how Sam knows, how he can assume, but he can’t say the words – so instead Dean just huffs, shakes his head and looks at the moon again. Orange and huge and full.
Maybe Sam has a point. Dean’s been wishing a lot lately, more so since Dad abandoned him, but ever since that night, that one full moon.
“Sure, Sammy. Just like you were here,” is what he says in the end.
“Dean…”
One word that says a myriad of different things. Dean hears what Sam can’t say out loud, knows that Sam misses him just as much as Dean misses Sam. Dean knows that Sam’s safe and good. Sam still talks to him.
They stay on the phone for a while, not talking, just listening. It’s enough, for now. When Dean’s sure that Sam’s fast asleep, he lets his cell phone slip away a little, but not too far. The moon’s about to vanish, the horizon tinted red already, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder anymore if Sam’s seeing the same thing he is, thinking about that one night.
So the full moon is not Dean’s favorite time of the month, only sometimes it’s the only reminder he needs to go on living.
