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apocalypsos*kicks plotbunny* Get the hell out of my brain!
*****
The Secrets We Keep
*****
Sam doesn't think he could sleep in a real bed anymore, not a motel bed but a real bed of his own with sheets he has to wash himself and the worn indentation of his long body in the mattress. He doesn't sleep all that well when they're in motels anyway, and one of the twin curves in the passenger seat of the Impala fits him by now as if the damn car's hugging him to sleep.
He won't be sleeping tonight, though. Not with the spoon in his damn hand.
They're in Illinois (he thinks) by the time the sun starts to rise, and he rubs at his eyes with his free hand before holding up the spoon and glaring at it.
Mom on fire. Jess pinned to the ceiling. Dean with a bullet in his brain.
Nothing.
His brow furrows and he concentrates once again. He's starting to feel like the bad guy in that Superman movie, the one who'd narrow his eyes at something and grunt and come up with nothing in the lasers-from-the-eyes department.
He gives the spoon another dirty look and thinks about how bad that last Superman sequel was.
Nope, still nothing.
"Have you tried saying 'There is no spoon' yet?"
Sam sighs and closes his eyes before saying, "Dean, stop helping."
The teasing grin on Dean's face slips just a little, but he somehow manages to hold onto it as he turns the Impala onto the next exit. "I'm just sayin', man. Anything's worth a try, right?"
Rolling his eyes, Sam glances back at his hand and says as deliberately as possible, "There is no spoon."
Nothing happens, the spoon reflecting the first glint of sunlight like some sort of silent mockery, and Sam turns back to Dean with a sarcastic look on his face. Dean's grip on the steering wheel loosens as he fidgets in the driver's seat. "Hey, don't look at me, Sammy. I'm not the psychic here, am I?"
Sam frowns as he drops the spoon into the glove compartment. "I thought you said you were fine with this."
"I did. I mean, I am. I just ..." Dean reaches over with one hand and slams the glove compartment shut before Sam can do it, hard enough to make Sam flinch a little. His fingers flex as he draw his hand back as if he's shaking off cooties or something. "You sure this is such a good idea?"
Sam leans back in the passenger seat, takes a deep breath and shrugs. "All I've got to do is practice and it could come in handy," he points out.
"If you can get it to work," Dean adds.
"If I can get to work."
Sam reaches into the back seat and picks up a paperback he boosted from the last motel they stayed in, and Dean's jaw clenches as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal. Yeah, if this whole 'Carrie' thing doesn't fucking creep me out first, Dean thinks to himself.
"Did you say something?"
Dean's gaze darts to Sam, who tilts his head distractedly as he flips through the paperback. He's silent long enough for Sam to lower the book, for Dean to have to scramble to force a blank expression onto his face before Sam can see the stunned shock he's sure is written there. "Dean?"
Somehow, Dean chokes out the words, "It's nothing."
Sam gives him an odd look before he turns back to his book, and Dean shakes off the sense of growing dread settling over him as he tries desperately to clear his mind.
*****
There! Now maybe I can get the Wincest plotbunny out of my brain, too, while I'm at it.
The Secrets We Keep
*****
Sam doesn't think he could sleep in a real bed anymore, not a motel bed but a real bed of his own with sheets he has to wash himself and the worn indentation of his long body in the mattress. He doesn't sleep all that well when they're in motels anyway, and one of the twin curves in the passenger seat of the Impala fits him by now as if the damn car's hugging him to sleep.
He won't be sleeping tonight, though. Not with the spoon in his damn hand.
They're in Illinois (he thinks) by the time the sun starts to rise, and he rubs at his eyes with his free hand before holding up the spoon and glaring at it.
Mom on fire. Jess pinned to the ceiling. Dean with a bullet in his brain.
Nothing.
His brow furrows and he concentrates once again. He's starting to feel like the bad guy in that Superman movie, the one who'd narrow his eyes at something and grunt and come up with nothing in the lasers-from-the-eyes department.
He gives the spoon another dirty look and thinks about how bad that last Superman sequel was.
Nope, still nothing.
"Have you tried saying 'There is no spoon' yet?"
Sam sighs and closes his eyes before saying, "Dean, stop helping."
The teasing grin on Dean's face slips just a little, but he somehow manages to hold onto it as he turns the Impala onto the next exit. "I'm just sayin', man. Anything's worth a try, right?"
Rolling his eyes, Sam glances back at his hand and says as deliberately as possible, "There is no spoon."
Nothing happens, the spoon reflecting the first glint of sunlight like some sort of silent mockery, and Sam turns back to Dean with a sarcastic look on his face. Dean's grip on the steering wheel loosens as he fidgets in the driver's seat. "Hey, don't look at me, Sammy. I'm not the psychic here, am I?"
Sam frowns as he drops the spoon into the glove compartment. "I thought you said you were fine with this."
"I did. I mean, I am. I just ..." Dean reaches over with one hand and slams the glove compartment shut before Sam can do it, hard enough to make Sam flinch a little. His fingers flex as he draw his hand back as if he's shaking off cooties or something. "You sure this is such a good idea?"
Sam leans back in the passenger seat, takes a deep breath and shrugs. "All I've got to do is practice and it could come in handy," he points out.
"If you can get it to work," Dean adds.
"If I can get to work."
Sam reaches into the back seat and picks up a paperback he boosted from the last motel they stayed in, and Dean's jaw clenches as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal. Yeah, if this whole 'Carrie' thing doesn't fucking creep me out first, Dean thinks to himself.
"Did you say something?"
Dean's gaze darts to Sam, who tilts his head distractedly as he flips through the paperback. He's silent long enough for Sam to lower the book, for Dean to have to scramble to force a blank expression onto his face before Sam can see the stunned shock he's sure is written there. "Dean?"
Somehow, Dean chokes out the words, "It's nothing."
Sam gives him an odd look before he turns back to his book, and Dean shakes off the sense of growing dread settling over him as he tries desperately to clear his mind.
*****
There! Now maybe I can get the Wincest plotbunny out of my brain, too, while I'm at it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:06 am (UTC)Amazing. You already wrote that since the ep? I am stunned and awed and you kind of rock many many ways. Just... so perfect. The spoon and Sam sort of kind of reading Dean's mind and guh. Excellent!!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:29 am (UTC)If you think that's bad, I just finished post-Nightmare Wincest. Baby's first Wincest! YAY!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 12:01 pm (UTC)Oh I like it a LOT.
You keep writing, I'lll keep reading, cause this stuff is good.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 12:18 am (UTC)HOW DO YOU DO THAT??????????
*loved fic utterly*
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 03:42 am (UTC)And I giggle thinking about Dean's first line in this. Also - love the icon.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-13 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 05:23 am (UTC)Sammy reading Dean's brain... heh. That'll be an interesting episode.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-05 08:54 am (UTC)