![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mindsplintersWorld: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 664
Circumstance: Begun at Corner Bakery, finished at home
"Do you remember when Dad took us to..?"
"No."
"What about when..?"
"No."
Dean snarled at the road stretching ahead of them, all flat and boring with not even a dive motel breaking the expanse as far as the eye could see. "Can you at least let me get the freakin' words out?"
"No."
He shot an increasingly annoyed look out the corner of his eye at his brother who sat slumped in the passenger seat. Sam had barely said ten words in the past hour. Some of them were "stop sign" and that never counted. Sam often said that until he got used to driving in the Impala again with his brother. Instead, he spent the time staring out the window or else poking around on his cell phone, endlessly scrolling through text messages and pictures. Dean turned his eyes back to the road and frowned. "Dude, what crawled up your butt and died?"
"Nothing." Sam didn't even look up from his cell phone. "I just don't feel like playing Happy Families right now."
The brakes locked hard and the momentum threw both men forward. Dean was more prepared, having slammed the brakes himself, and recovered first, turning to glare at Sam. "I just wanted to ask you," he began.
"Get out of the road." Sam looked suddenly very tired and resigned.
"Dammit, Sam, I..." Gritting his teeth, Dean yanked the wheel to the side and pulled onto the shoulder in a flurry of dust. Then he put the car into park and twisted once more to stare at Sam. "You're gonna tell me what's wrong."
Quietly, Sam closed the applications on his phone and leaned forward to set it on the dashboard. "Nothing's wrong," he said carefully. "I just don't feel like... No. I know. No chick flick moments." He glanced at Dean's face furrowed in confusion and sank back into his seat with a sigh. "Look, Dean, I don't remember everything like you do and, seriously, what I remember? The guns and the monsters and never having a normal day? I'd kinda like to forget a lot of it, okay?"
It was if he had gut-punched his older brother. Dean turned back to face the windshield and settled both hands on the wheel. The sunlight reflected off his wide silver ring and cast a spark up into his eyes but he never flinched. "You know," he finally replied, "that's pretty much the worst thing you've ever said to me. Pretty goddamn bratty of you, Sammy. Congratulations."
"Dean, I..."
"No, seriously." Leaning forward a bit, Dean peered through the windshield - ahead into the dust, the bright blue sky, and beyond. "We don't have much, you and I. Not left, anymore. Memories and those stories, I'd say that was about it. I guess it'd be like me stepping on your phone. You have pictures of your college buddies on there, right?" His voice softened. "Of Jess?"
Sam looked at the phone sitting on the dashboard and the corners of his mouth turned down before he dropped his eyes to his hands. Silence filled the car despite the radio-noise; somehow Dean's choice in driving music became negligent in the wake of their own quiet. Finally, Sam reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... I remember that one camping trip we took," he began hesitantly. "Up in the Catskills, right? It was just after your birthday. The ninth one, maybe, I guess. Dad brought fishing poles but..."
As Sam's voice gained certainty and the story took shape, Dean leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His shoulders relaxed by inches until he appeared nearly boneless. A faint smile appeared on his lips. Minutes later, when Sam wound down and looked over, his brother's breathing was regular and slow, sleep having taken away all worry and strain. Shaking his head a bit, Sam smiled to himself and reached for his phone again. He sometimes forgot how sentimental Dean could be.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 664
Circumstance: Begun at Corner Bakery, finished at home
"Do you remember when Dad took us to..?"
"No."
"What about when..?"
"No."
Dean snarled at the road stretching ahead of them, all flat and boring with not even a dive motel breaking the expanse as far as the eye could see. "Can you at least let me get the freakin' words out?"
"No."
He shot an increasingly annoyed look out the corner of his eye at his brother who sat slumped in the passenger seat. Sam had barely said ten words in the past hour. Some of them were "stop sign" and that never counted. Sam often said that until he got used to driving in the Impala again with his brother. Instead, he spent the time staring out the window or else poking around on his cell phone, endlessly scrolling through text messages and pictures. Dean turned his eyes back to the road and frowned. "Dude, what crawled up your butt and died?"
"Nothing." Sam didn't even look up from his cell phone. "I just don't feel like playing Happy Families right now."
The brakes locked hard and the momentum threw both men forward. Dean was more prepared, having slammed the brakes himself, and recovered first, turning to glare at Sam. "I just wanted to ask you," he began.
"Get out of the road." Sam looked suddenly very tired and resigned.
"Dammit, Sam, I..." Gritting his teeth, Dean yanked the wheel to the side and pulled onto the shoulder in a flurry of dust. Then he put the car into park and twisted once more to stare at Sam. "You're gonna tell me what's wrong."
Quietly, Sam closed the applications on his phone and leaned forward to set it on the dashboard. "Nothing's wrong," he said carefully. "I just don't feel like... No. I know. No chick flick moments." He glanced at Dean's face furrowed in confusion and sank back into his seat with a sigh. "Look, Dean, I don't remember everything like you do and, seriously, what I remember? The guns and the monsters and never having a normal day? I'd kinda like to forget a lot of it, okay?"
It was if he had gut-punched his older brother. Dean turned back to face the windshield and settled both hands on the wheel. The sunlight reflected off his wide silver ring and cast a spark up into his eyes but he never flinched. "You know," he finally replied, "that's pretty much the worst thing you've ever said to me. Pretty goddamn bratty of you, Sammy. Congratulations."
"Dean, I..."
"No, seriously." Leaning forward a bit, Dean peered through the windshield - ahead into the dust, the bright blue sky, and beyond. "We don't have much, you and I. Not left, anymore. Memories and those stories, I'd say that was about it. I guess it'd be like me stepping on your phone. You have pictures of your college buddies on there, right?" His voice softened. "Of Jess?"
Sam looked at the phone sitting on the dashboard and the corners of his mouth turned down before he dropped his eyes to his hands. Silence filled the car despite the radio-noise; somehow Dean's choice in driving music became negligent in the wake of their own quiet. Finally, Sam reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... I remember that one camping trip we took," he began hesitantly. "Up in the Catskills, right? It was just after your birthday. The ninth one, maybe, I guess. Dad brought fishing poles but..."
As Sam's voice gained certainty and the story took shape, Dean leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His shoulders relaxed by inches until he appeared nearly boneless. A faint smile appeared on his lips. Minutes later, when Sam wound down and looked over, his brother's breathing was regular and slow, sleep having taken away all worry and strain. Shaking his head a bit, Sam smiled to himself and reached for his phone again. He sometimes forgot how sentimental Dean could be.
