Sam let Dean open the door – let Dean manhandle him into the seat. It felt good to sit down. Dean slid in behind the wheel and started the car – sat there for a minute, looking at Sam. "What? Hey, let's get some...some waffles or something. Wanna?"
"Waffles? You fucker." Dean laughed – revved the engine and pulled away from the curb and Sam looked over at him, puzzled. Smiling a little, because he really could never not smile when Dean laughed. "You wanted waffles after you almost drowned, too."
I love the way their brains make the same connections—not in a spooky The Shining way, but in a really cool ::sighs::-way =D
"Natural tranquilizer," Dean countered. "All those carbs."
Sam looked sideways at Dean but Dean was intent on the road, fiddling with the defroster so he could de-steam the windshield. That was exactly something that Dean would know. And take advantage of. "Hey! All those times you snuck me toast and honey at bedtime..." Dean just chuckled and Sam slumped down in his seat, grinning. Watching the headlights and streetlights as they fractured and spangled and haloed in the spatter of rain across the glass. Flare and dim, flare and dim and revolve and he didn't notice when Dean parked and got out. Didn't notice his door opening until he all but fell onto the rain-wet sidewalk.
"Whoa, there, buddy. You sure you're okay? Lemme see your eyes." Dean had him up and pressed against the car – warm hands cradling Sam's face, tilting him toward the light.
"Dean? There's a martini glass floating in the air."
Christ—is it near a boardwalk? Are they at the Coney Island circa 2010? ::hides head::
And he's being way too easily distracted by light patterns—like his brains trying to slip him into a trance-state or something. Hypnotize him.
Sam stared up at the tilting martini glass – the neon words in red and green. "Five...Point...Cafe. Do you think they'll have waffles?"
"Sure to have," Dean said, and shoved him through the door.
Well? Did they have waffles?
Cocooned in light, safe, warm, oh, mother, I see you, father, oh...what is that, something tugging, oh, it hurts...what is it, what...so cold...no, please, don't make me, no, no -
"No!" Sam jerked away – away from the hands that were pulling at him, the voice that was calling him. Invoking and conjuring and binding him.
Ah . . . some bits of Ghost-man Maddox. . . .
Sudden blaze of light and then Dean's face sticking up over the edge of the bed, his hair every which way and his lip looking suspiciously red.
"Dean?"
"You gonna hit me again?"
"What? I –" Sam wiggled, getting his legs all the way off the bed – getting twisted around enough to sit up a little. The back of his head ached. "Shit. I hit you? I'm sorry."
"You keep saying that tonight." Dean scooted closer and held out his hand and Sam took it. Surged upright and promptly toppled over, the sheet knotted so tightly around his calves that he couldn't even stand. "Tim-ber!" Dean laughed, and Sam swatted at him.
Hah! No need to apologize when he provides Dean with so much entertainment. You can't put a price on laughter, you know.
"Uh." Sam rubbed his leg – looked over at Dean. Dean was wearing his 'do not bullshit me' expression, and his swelling lip made it slightly ridiculous. "It was weird. It was...a memory?"
"I dunno, was it? Jeez, Sam –"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, it was. That – guy. That spirit. It was...him, it was..." Grey fields at dawn, mist lying low in the craters and the hollows; winter-bare trees like lines of smudged charcoal and a low, leaden sky. Grey bone poking up through the dead grey earth; ragged tatter of rain-bleached cloth that could be butternut brown or Union blue – tangle of matted, grey hair. The shells churning up the earth and bringing the dead back to the light again and again...never enough salt to end them all...drown them in the sea and they would still come back, crying, crying...
no subject
Sam let Dean open the door – let Dean manhandle him into the seat. It felt good to sit down. Dean slid in behind the wheel and started the car – sat there for a minute, looking at Sam. "What? Hey, let's get some...some waffles or something. Wanna?"
"Waffles? You fucker." Dean laughed – revved the engine and pulled away from the curb and Sam looked over at him, puzzled. Smiling a little, because he really could never not smile when Dean laughed. "You wanted waffles after you almost drowned, too."
I love the way their brains make the same connections—not in a spooky The Shining way, but in a really cool ::sighs::-way =D
"Natural tranquilizer," Dean countered. "All those carbs."
Sam looked sideways at Dean but Dean was intent on the road, fiddling with the defroster so he could de-steam the windshield. That was exactly something that Dean would know. And take advantage of. "Hey! All those times you snuck me toast and honey at bedtime..." Dean just chuckled and Sam slumped down in his seat, grinning. Watching the headlights and streetlights as they fractured and spangled and haloed in the spatter of rain across the glass. Flare and dim, flare and dim and revolve and he didn't notice when Dean parked and got out. Didn't notice his door opening until he all but fell onto the rain-wet sidewalk.
"Whoa, there, buddy. You sure you're okay? Lemme see your eyes." Dean had him up and pressed against the car – warm hands cradling Sam's face, tilting him toward the light.
"Dean? There's a martini glass floating in the air."
Christ—is it near a boardwalk? Are they at the Coney Island circa 2010?
::hides head::
And he's being way too easily distracted by light patterns—like his brains trying to slip him into a trance-state or something. Hypnotize him.
Sam stared up at the tilting martini glass – the neon words in red and green. "Five...Point...Cafe. Do you think they'll have waffles?"
"Sure to have," Dean said, and shoved him through the door.
Well? Did they have waffles?
Cocooned in light, safe, warm, oh, mother, I see you, father, oh...what is that, something tugging, oh, it hurts...what is it, what...so cold...no, please, don't make me, no, no -
"No!" Sam jerked away – away from the hands that were pulling at him, the voice that was calling him. Invoking and conjuring and binding him.
Ah . . . some bits of Ghost-man Maddox. . . .
Sudden blaze of light and then Dean's face sticking up over the edge of the bed, his hair every which way and his lip looking suspiciously red.
"Dean?"
"You gonna hit me again?"
"What? I –" Sam wiggled, getting his legs all the way off the bed – getting twisted around enough to sit up a little. The back of his head ached. "Shit. I hit you? I'm sorry."
"You keep saying that tonight." Dean scooted closer and held out his hand and Sam took it. Surged upright and promptly toppled over, the sheet knotted so tightly around his calves that he couldn't even stand. "Tim-ber!" Dean laughed, and Sam swatted at him.
Hah! No need to apologize when he provides Dean with so much entertainment. You can't put a price on laughter, you know.
"Uh." Sam rubbed his leg – looked over at Dean. Dean was wearing his 'do not bullshit me' expression, and his swelling lip made it slightly ridiculous. "It was weird. It was...a memory?"
"I dunno, was it? Jeez, Sam –"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, it was. That – guy. That spirit. It was...him, it was..." Grey fields at dawn, mist lying low in the craters and the hollows; winter-bare trees like lines of smudged charcoal and a low, leaden sky. Grey bone poking up through the dead grey earth; ragged tatter of rain-bleached cloth that could be butternut brown or Union blue – tangle of matted, grey hair. The shells churning up the earth and bringing the dead back to the light again and again...never enough salt to end them all...drown them in the sea and they would still come back, crying, crying...
No. Effing. Way!