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Happy birthday to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wanderlight!
Doctor Who's ep JUST got downloaded. After five hours and four freaking tries. *stabs internet connection*
I've been lazying around all day, doing nothing but reading fic obsessively (and cry a bit because The Jared Padalecki Untitled Project is over and I kinda wanted it go on and on forever). My brother's wangsting about wanting to see the wretched Chivas vs. Atlas soccer game but it's a local game so no tv station airs it until it's over and all I wanna do is go and eat a burger or something but everyone's rambling on and on about said wretched game, ugh.
But! Nothing of this matters, because it's wanderlight's birthday and
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RITA!!!
I hope you had a great time! You're one of the greatest people I've ever met, and you must already know by know that I heart you like whoa. So here, a bit of present, messily wrapped but hope you like it either - Terra gave you angsty!Dean, so it's only fitting that I give you angsty!Sam. ♥ ♥
Title: See You When I'm Sleeping
Word Count: 650
Summary: Sam thinks a dreamcatcher will help him get rid of all of his unwanted dreams.
Rating: PG-13
Author Notes: Rita get wincest as a gift because she's such an enabler and because her user interest 'dreamcatcher' was too damn cool to not write anything about it. Also, I took quite a leeway with dreamcatcher's functions, sorry. Mmm, dunno whether I should crosspost. I mean, it's rather short, isn't it?
Sam takes to sleeping every night with a dreamcatcher pinned to the wall above his bed with a rusty tack, the colorful strands of twine looking grey in the darkness.
Dean thinks it’s meant to catch nightmares, to keep him from waking in the middle of the night with the breath knocked out of him from the fire and blood behind his eyelids. Sam doesn’t correct him. He’s not entirely wrong, after all.
Dean’s always been a heavy sleeper, something he hates but has no control over, and Sam sneaks out every morning before he wakes up, an extra layer of clothes against the cold. He sits on the asphalt next to the Imapala in this week, month’s motel parking lot, and touches the fine strands shaped as a spider web.
He lets himself get lost in the images, just for a second, with the whispered pleas and the feeling of heated flesh against flesh and DeanDeanDean pressed up against him, warm and willing and soft.
He bites his lip, mimics what the Dean in his mind was doing in his dreams last night, and lets his head fall back with a heavy thud on the car’s door, hands clutching at the dreamcatcher.
Afterwards, he dumps the dreams on the asphalt, shakes the dreamcatcher clean and lets the dreams fall out to either wither on the parking lot and get stuck on tires or to fly away with the morning breeze, far away where Sam doesn’t have to own up to them, doesn’t have to acknowledge them.
Later, he comes back into the room bearing coffee, places it on the nightstand next to Dean’s bed and tries not to stare. He puts the dreamcatcher in the bottom of his duffel, hidden by smelly shirts and a pair of hole infested socks and tries to forget all about it.
He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up to Dean kneeling on his bed, fingers touching the dreamcatcher, mouth and eyes open almost comically. There’s nothing comical about the situation, though, dawn’s light filtering through the curtains and Dean tense beside him, his right knee touching Sam’s shoulder.
“Uh,” says Sam, staring up at Dean, who just blinks back.
Dean bites his lip as he averts Sam’s eyes, looking uncomfortable, something Sam hadn’t seen since he was twelve and caught Dean with his hand up a girl’s skirt on their old couch. Dean goes into the bathroom and closes the door, leaves Sam still lying on the bed, heart racing, an arm thrown across his face.
They don’t talk about it.
----
It’s three months later when Dean straddles him while Sam’s sitting on his bed, pushes him down until he’s flat on his back with Dean curled over him, forearms on each sides of his head.
Dean’s breath feels warm against Sam’s lips, and he starts breathing faster, eyes open wide as Dean just hovers there for a moment, staring at him.
“Dean,” he starts to say, but Dean interrupts him.
“Stop angsting about it, Sammy,” he says, and then he kisses him, a little hesitant and sloppy but Sam’s beyond caring. He takes a hold of Dean’s shirt, pulls on the fabric to bring Dean closer.
The soft evening light makes the room look sepia-colored; the Louisiana heat turns the image hazy, almost blurry, and Sam has to wonder if this is another dream. Dean still tastes vaguely like the French fries he had for lunch, and his shirt makes Sam’s skin itch, details so real and tangible that they clash with the dream-like quality of the moment, of Dean’s mouth sliding against Sam’s and the way he says Sam’s name, all breathless sounds.
Sam thinks vaguely of all of the stolen moments pressed against the car, and running his fingers over Dean’s back feels infinitely better than pressing them against twine strands and ancient magic.
I've been lazying around all day, doing nothing but reading fic obsessively (and cry a bit because The Jared Padalecki Untitled Project is over and I kinda wanted it go on and on forever). My brother's wangsting about wanting to see the wretched Chivas vs. Atlas soccer game but it's a local game so no tv station airs it until it's over and all I wanna do is go and eat a burger or something but everyone's rambling on and on about said wretched game, ugh.
wanderlight's birthday andTitle: See You When I'm Sleeping
Word Count: 650
Summary: Sam thinks a dreamcatcher will help him get rid of all of his unwanted dreams.
Rating: PG-13
Author Notes: Rita get wincest as a gift because she's such an enabler and because her user interest 'dreamcatcher' was too damn cool to not write anything about it. Also, I took quite a leeway with dreamcatcher's functions, sorry. Mmm, dunno whether I should crosspost. I mean, it's rather short, isn't it?
Sam takes to sleeping every night with a dreamcatcher pinned to the wall above his bed with a rusty tack, the colorful strands of twine looking grey in the darkness.
Dean thinks it’s meant to catch nightmares, to keep him from waking in the middle of the night with the breath knocked out of him from the fire and blood behind his eyelids. Sam doesn’t correct him. He’s not entirely wrong, after all.
Dean’s always been a heavy sleeper, something he hates but has no control over, and Sam sneaks out every morning before he wakes up, an extra layer of clothes against the cold. He sits on the asphalt next to the Imapala in this week, month’s motel parking lot, and touches the fine strands shaped as a spider web.
He lets himself get lost in the images, just for a second, with the whispered pleas and the feeling of heated flesh against flesh and DeanDeanDean pressed up against him, warm and willing and soft.
He bites his lip, mimics what the Dean in his mind was doing in his dreams last night, and lets his head fall back with a heavy thud on the car’s door, hands clutching at the dreamcatcher.
Afterwards, he dumps the dreams on the asphalt, shakes the dreamcatcher clean and lets the dreams fall out to either wither on the parking lot and get stuck on tires or to fly away with the morning breeze, far away where Sam doesn’t have to own up to them, doesn’t have to acknowledge them.
Later, he comes back into the room bearing coffee, places it on the nightstand next to Dean’s bed and tries not to stare. He puts the dreamcatcher in the bottom of his duffel, hidden by smelly shirts and a pair of hole infested socks and tries to forget all about it.
He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up to Dean kneeling on his bed, fingers touching the dreamcatcher, mouth and eyes open almost comically. There’s nothing comical about the situation, though, dawn’s light filtering through the curtains and Dean tense beside him, his right knee touching Sam’s shoulder.
“Uh,” says Sam, staring up at Dean, who just blinks back.
Dean bites his lip as he averts Sam’s eyes, looking uncomfortable, something Sam hadn’t seen since he was twelve and caught Dean with his hand up a girl’s skirt on their old couch. Dean goes into the bathroom and closes the door, leaves Sam still lying on the bed, heart racing, an arm thrown across his face.
They don’t talk about it.
----
It’s three months later when Dean straddles him while Sam’s sitting on his bed, pushes him down until he’s flat on his back with Dean curled over him, forearms on each sides of his head.
Dean’s breath feels warm against Sam’s lips, and he starts breathing faster, eyes open wide as Dean just hovers there for a moment, staring at him.
“Dean,” he starts to say, but Dean interrupts him.
“Stop angsting about it, Sammy,” he says, and then he kisses him, a little hesitant and sloppy but Sam’s beyond caring. He takes a hold of Dean’s shirt, pulls on the fabric to bring Dean closer.
The soft evening light makes the room look sepia-colored; the Louisiana heat turns the image hazy, almost blurry, and Sam has to wonder if this is another dream. Dean still tastes vaguely like the French fries he had for lunch, and his shirt makes Sam’s skin itch, details so real and tangible that they clash with the dream-like quality of the moment, of Dean’s mouth sliding against Sam’s and the way he says Sam’s name, all breathless sounds.
Sam thinks vaguely of all of the stolen moments pressed against the car, and running his fingers over Dean’s back feels infinitely better than pressing them against twine strands and ancient magic.
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Ah, darling, so classic...and I particularly loved this line: lets the dreams fall out to either wither on the parking lot and get stuck on tires or to fly away with the morning breeze, far away where Sam doesn’t have to own up to them. ♥
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Aw, thanks, I particualry like that phrase too. :) If you keep commenting on my wincest fics I might end up convinced that you actually like the pairing, dear *g*
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(if we ever do meet, I'm gonna teach you how to make one! They're so much fun to do...)
The world never knows anything right. :-P It's a wonder those people survive, man.
LOL. I am willing to read it, let's say. Not to the point of writing it, though...you might have more luck trying to egg Taryn on ;)
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...Yeah. That's what I used to say. *g* Oh man, I've been proding Taryn for ages to write wincest, but she says her muse is dead. *pout* No fair, I miss Taryn-fic. ;__;
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--Aileene
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Thank you!
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So pretty. And I love the dreamcatcher idea.
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And: Dean straddles him while Sam’s sitting on his bed, pushes him down until he’s flat on his back with Dean curled over him, forearms on each sides of his head. is really, a very lovely image. *g*
My muse would like to make it known that she is certainly not dead, only trying to split her time between the insanely long AU I'm writing and the wincest I've been plotting for far too long. ;)
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Tell your muse that I missed her so while she was gone! XD
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¡Awww! Lloré cuando ví que
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Jaja, supongo que le voy a tener que mandar un chingo de indirectas XD (nah, esta pensando escribir una especie de AU cracktastico en la que todos estan en un show gay todo raro y Jensen es el unico que no es gay y a Tom Welling le gusta que lo nalguen. O algo asi. o_O Suena un poco... raro.
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Mi cumple es hasta agosto, el 24 osea que falta un buen ¡¡Ahhhh!! ¿Me vas a escribir algo? No tienes que hacerlo ¿eh? Con tenerte de amiga es más que suficiente ;)
O_o con ese fic. No sé, suena raro pero después de lo que hizo con TUJPP a lo mejor resulta otra maravilla. Jejeje, sino al menos será divertido de leer.
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YA SÉ. Se oye taaaan bizarro! XD La mera verdad, lo que quiero que escriba es SPN fic. Los pocos que ha escrito son GENIALES, y como me muero de ganas de un fic wincest todo largo y bello como solo ella lo podría escribir. Eso o Night Watch fic. Que al cabo por eso la agregé a mi flist hace como tres milenios XD
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Mmmph. Okay. GUH.
All of my enabling has paid off, it seems, because this is lovely, and perfect, and it's got dreamcatchers. I adore the entire concept of this fic; I've never thought about dreamcatchers in that way before, but um. Yeah. Guh.
Not messily wrapped in the least. Your prose is beautiful, as usual, and I think my favourite line is the one that Terra picked out, too -- shakes the dreamcatcher clean and lets the dreams fall out to either wither on the parking lot and get stuck on tires or to fly away with the morning breeze, far away where Sam doesn’t have to own up to them, doesn’t have to acknowledge them. There's something so beautiful about the imagery, and what it says about Sam.
Thank you so much for writing this, Ale. It's just perfect (and you should definitely post it elsewhere and share it with as many people as possible *nods*). ♥
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Aw, thanks, hon, I'm glad you liked it. And wee, that's my favorite sentence as well. *g*
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Excellent story! Thank you for writing and sharing :)
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Thank you!
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I am not in this fandom, I swear!
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Riiiiiight. Whatever you say. XD
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Loved this. So very, very much.
*sigh*
:::goes to happy place:::
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So, consider this both your notification that this has been recced at
I always watch out for your name to pop up, because I know it will be something special.
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Loved the use of a the dream catcher. Short, sweet, angsty and hot.
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Basically, they're Native American crafts that are supposed to keep bad dreams away when hanged over someone's bed. :) And thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :))
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