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Dec. 28th, 2007


Here and Here

(On a scrap of paper tucked into the pocket where Dean keeps his car keys. He found the note - but not the keys - when he headed out to take a hunt solo while Sam was injured.)

Quizzing each other over dinner or
In the back seat. Chem tests, Latin, baseball
Scores. Geekboy, you'd say, but you reeled off names
Of movie stars, and never flunked a test.

Sixteen ways to break a bone: you taught me
That. Sparring round the room, flushed triumphant.
Till that time I learned the lesson a little
Too well: broke your wrist. You winced and swore, proud.

Stock, forearm, pistol grip. Your hands pick out
Each piece by name, unerring. You taught me
To break down and rebuild; clean, grease, reload
But I could never learn this peace in motion.

I trace slow paths across your skin. Count each
Mark anew, learn and relearn every scar.
Not mapping but knowing, you said, but I
Travel into unknown territory.

I don't know the story behind every scar
You got those four years. Each day I find new
Ways to touch your skin. I'm still learning, Dean:
No amount of time could ever be enough.

Nov. 1st, 2007


(Written along a sheet of paper folded into a fan shape.)

Ninety-nine degrees.
Water beads on sun-warm skin
Salt under my tongue.

Oct. 29th, 2007


(Written on the back of a new box of candles, slipped into Sam's bag.)

Candlelight colours
Your face gold, flickering bright.
Shining and shadows.

I try to focus,
But can't look away until
The ritual is done

And you blow out the
Candles, leave us in the dark.
I can still see you.

Oct. 28th, 2007


(On the back of a scribbled map of the town they are in, showing motel, diner, main street and haunted house.)

"Mapping my moles?" you murmur,
Your voice low. When I look up,
Your eyes are dark, and you're smiling.

Don't need a map. I know them all
By heart, can find them in the dark;
Fingers and lips, grazing one to the next.

Just like I know your heartbeat, and
The size of your shoes, the size of
Your smile as my mouth finds the next mole.

I shake my head, don't try to explain
Why I don't like maps and manuals
For the important things. Not for you.

I know the way, I won't get lost,
And it's not like I want others to follow.
So no, not mapping, Sam. Knowing.

Because that's the problem with maps.
Some things are too important to risk them
Falling into someone else's hands.


(On a torn map page showing the I-90, tucked into Dean's sunglasses case.)

Some days, feels like the
Road stretches on forever.
Feel the miles settle
In my bones, weary.

But then you squint at
The sun; run your hand over
The hood, unconscious
Caress; smile at me.

And my heart lifts: the
Road stretches on forever.
Feel the miles roll out
Before us: a promise.


(On the back of a whiskey label painstakingly peeled off the bottle.)

Some days I hate this
Fucking job. Want to sleep and
Never wake up. Christ.

You pass the aspirin
And the whiskey. Sit close, legs
Brushing against mine.

For once you don't try
To make me talk - just hold out
Your hand for a drink.

We pass the bottle
Back and forth. Eventually
I lie down, still dressed.

You press close behind
Me, warm and real; whisper your
First word in hours: "Dean."

Oct. 26th, 2007


(Written on motel notepaper and tucked into Dean's hand when Sam left to get coffee.)


Sleep riding shotgun
Face slack against glass
Wake to say 'Careful
Driving my girl, bitch.'

Stay alert all night
Muscles tensed for action
Move quick and tireless
To cover my back.

Work without rest, then
Sprawl and sleep motionless
But still snap awake
When I say your name.



(Scribbled on the back of a slightly damp floor-plan of a highschool.)

Breath knocked out. I gasp
Air, then lose it at the sight
Of dew-drop lashes.

Oct. 24th, 2007


Overwhelm (Oneshot; NC17; Sam/Dean)

Title: Overwhelm
Author: [info]parenthetical and [info]zooey_glass04
Rating: NC17
Genre: PWP, only with slightly more plot than that suggests!
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Wordcount: 3408 words
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to us
Beta: [info]social_retard86 did an awesome spot beta and provided the title. Thanks dear!
Notes: Title from ‘This Fire’ by Franz Ferdinand.
For the lovely [info]aynslee, who deserves the best of all possible birthdays. Happy Birthday, dear!
Summary: Sam and Dean break into a high school.

Dean's grinning too, droplets of water caught bright in his eyelashes, and suddenly Sam's heart isn't pounding from fear any more.

Overwhelm )



(Written in Magic Marker on the side of the empty coffee cup and left on the hood of the Impala.)

You buy me coffee
With cream. I kiss you; smile at
The words you don't say.

Oct. 23rd, 2007


(On the back of an empty packet of bandages.)

Can't seem to stand. Legs
Won't hold me. Eyes slipping shut.
"I've got you," you say.


(On the back of a flyer entitled 'Embark on new challenges!' and tucked into the weapons compartment of the Impala.)

My first day at school.
'Big guys don't cry,' you said, but
Held onto my hand.

Oct. 21st, 2007


(Scrawled on a discarded coffee lid.)

Pillow crease across
Your cheek. Bed hair sticking up
All over. I laugh.

A loud yawn. I pass
Across your froofy coffee.
You inhale and smile.

Oct. 20th, 2007



(Written in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Invisible until the next morning, when the glass steamed up again when Dean was taking his shower. There's a smudged shape at the end which could be a heart, if that wasn't too unspeakably girly to be true.)

Dean, I - Your voice
Reading bedtime books made them
The safest place I knew.


Here and here

(Written on a leaflet explaining the library's opening hours and facilities, and tucked in with Sam's laundry.)

I was clinging tightly to Mom's hand;
We picked out some stories together
For her to read to me before bed.
Chose something easy I could read you,
With my mouth pressed close against her bump,
While she stroked my hair and smiled at me.
At the desk, they let me stamp the books,
And I carried them home.

Dad was researching, seeking answers.
No books for me now. My words were lost.
You gurgled in my lap, clutching my
Fingers, while I held on tight to you.
Heavy books, no pictures, except ones
That scared me. Title unreadable.
D is for Dean, Mom used to tell me.
But it wasn't my name.

At the desk, they let you stamp the books.
You giggled, and smiled at me so wide.
I read to you before bed, but I
Couldn't do it the way that she could -
Couldn't remember the story's end.
You dozed off, curled up close against me.
I snapped off the light and tried my best
To remember it all.

I sent you to the children's section
And checked over my notes - hastily
Scribbled, shaking just like Dad's voice had.
Fumbled through heavy books; difficult
Words, deciphered with dictionaries.
Race against time. You checked out your books
While I ran outside to the pay phone.
Five rings. Ten. No answer.

You read all the time, disappearing
Into a world I couldn't follow
Except when I read to you at night.
Knew you would soon be too old for that.
After school, tried to do my homework,
Words twisting and blurring as I read.
Librarian asked about my bruise.
Didn't go back again.

You liked the research best, liked helping
Though we wouldn't let you near the hunt.
Helping without guns and ugliness,
Glowing when you found the vital link.
You all but lived at the library.
Came to pick you up early one day,
Found you looking through college leaflets.
Backed up, waited outside.

Out of practice; I had to relearn.
Thought how you would have liked my laptop,
Given it some girly name. Drove through
The night. Found you in the library;
Circles under your eyes. Longed to make
You rest and eat. Slipped away unseen.
Always hated me interrupting
When you were studying.

Made the laptop your own; I didn't
Mind giving it up. Buried yourself
In books, but kept talking to me. Then
Pulled me behind the stacks and kissed me
Senseless, until I stopped complaining.
Never gonna love them like you do.
But I can put up with libraries
If you're there too, Sammy.


Oct. 19th, 2007


(Written on the back of an old photograph, showing Sam toddling along, clutching Dean's hand for support.)

You walked from Dad's arms
To mine. "Sammy," I said, voice
Rusty. Baby steps.


(Written on a flyer for kids' swimming lessons which Sam picked up at a public library.)

I swam ten meters.
Finished gasping. You and Dad
Looked on and cheered.


Phoenix - Chapter Five

Phoenix - Chapter Five )
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Phoenix - Chapter Four

Phoenix - Chapter Four )

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Phoenix - Chapter Three

Phoenix - Chapter Three )

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