Bez slashu, chociaż mogą pojawiać się "unos momentos":)
Memories of You and I [PG - Gen]
Fic by Akintay - Art by P.M
Sam doesn’t touch Dean’s things at first.
He puts Dean’s duffel bag inside the trunk, nestled carefully between Dean’s array of weapons. Ever since Sam can remember their bags have been the only privacy they really had, the only place to hide stuff, store something that you want to be just yours. There’s an unspoken rule that they can’t touch each other’s bags without permission that only got broken a couple of times when they were bratty, snoopy teenagers.
Even now this rule hasn’t changed for Sam. Because Dean will come back, Sam will bring him back. It’s just a matter of when. And then, once Sam has figured out a way to get Dean out of hell, he’ll want his things, and Sam knows Dean is going to throw a fit if they’re not untouched. One time, they stopped talking to Sam for a week when Sam borrowed a t-shirt from him without asking. Dean’s touchy about his stuff like that.
But then, a few weeks after Dean dies, Sam gets hurt hunting a wendigo, a big gash on his leg that require stitches. Their medical kit is stuffed with all kinds of crap, but the one thing missing is suture.
For a split second, Sam considers driving to the next store he can find, but he has blood seeping through his torn jeans and it’s the middle of the night and Sam knows Dean has the stuff he needs in his duffel bag.
Still, Sam hesitates longer than he should before he limps out of his motel room to the car. Dean might not like Sam going through his things, but Sam figures he’s going to like coming back to Sam having bled out in some motel room in the middle of nowhere even less. And it’s not like Sam is snooping; he’s not even really gonna look at any of Dean’s stuff.
Dean’s duffel bag is full of his things, which, yeah, is not surprising, but it makes Sam’s chest clench painfully. He riffles through t-shirts and jeans and button-downs quickly, trying not to think about it.
“A thread. Dental floss. Anything,” he mutters to himself, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. It works until his fingers brush against paper, thick and smooth. Without thinking about it, he pulls it out, curious, and before his mind catches up and tells him to stop, to not look at it because it’s Dean’s, he catches a glimpse of what he’s holding in his fingers.
Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #3
I’m starting to understand what Metatron meant by resonating with the world. I thought the chaos in my head had somehow stopped after we left the hotel and went back to the safety of the batcave, but it only got worse during the following night.
I’ve reached a level of perception I never thought possible. I can clearly hear Dean and Cas talking two floors below, smell the scent of the pine woods all around the bunker, feel on my face the wind that blows by the railroad nearby. I can also see memories that were long forgotten, every detail.
I remember a drawing of Dean and I that I did when I was about two. I remember the monster that almost shred me to pieces during my first hunt. I remember this old watch Bobby used to keep in a wooden box and that we weren’t allowed to touch under any circumstances. I remember the pain I felt in my chest when I saw Dean being eaten alive by a Hellhound.
All of this chaos shouldn’t make any sense and yet everything is so clear now, amazing, frightening and beautiful.
Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #2
I collapsed on the kitchen floor this morning. It was violent, unexpected as if someone had struck me on the back of my head with a baseball bat.
When I woke up, Dean was there, visibly relieved to see me come back from the dead.
He didn’t say anything. He just sighed, helped me up, and brought me to my room as best he could. We almost fell twice and I bumped into something along the way.
“It’s nothing,” Dean said, “just that little monkey statue near the…Sam, for fuck’s sake! Why the hell are you trying to pick it up? It’s broken anyway. Yes, we’ll take care of it later. It’s NOTHING Sam, I’m telling you!”
Nothing, indeed. I’ve just broken a rare Chinese antique from the 16th century. There are only three of them in world. Well, two now.
“Ok Bigfoot, time to put you to bed. I’m gonna stay here with you a bit. And if you dare try saying ‘I’m fine’ even once, I’ll wax your head with duct tape, capisce?”
I usually love disagreeing with Dean just for the sake of it, but I can’t lie. I am not fine.
Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #1
My name is Sam Winchester.
Like my grandfather and certainly his grandfather before him, I am a Man of Letters, a member of a secret society that researches the supernatural. There used to be dozens of us but Dean and I are the only ones left.
As far as I know.
I’m not sure of anything at the moment. I’ve had better days… and better nights too.
when you think about it fanfiction is actually amazing
there are thousands of brilliantly written novel-length stories kids wrote from their own brains about characters and shows/books/movies they love all twined into the internet and other kids read these 50k+ stories in their own time and invest themselves in it
nobody’s being paid to write it and nobody’s being told to read it, people do it because they legitimately enjoy it
that is just kind of amazing
This is the best bulletproof vest ever. And sometimes we need it, right?
Plus - it says “writer”:)