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ht_murrayTitle: Light
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
tru_faith_lost
Rating: PG
Pairing: AntiChrist!Sam/Dean
Summary: Too short for a summary really, just a random ficlet about what Sam would do if he had all the power in the world.
Disclaimer: Yeah, no buckazoids, Roger Wilco. I be lowly space janitor. You're welcome to my mops.
A/N: Whattaya know? I got nothing to say except Boo! Hiss! to everyone on my f-list who didn't warn me about the end of Brokeback Mountain. I don't do unhappy endings...Not. Ever. So read in good faith, kind reader.
Light
Dean washes the car on Sundays, has ever since Sam can remember, since the car was Dad’s and rainy Sundays were spent driving to the next hunt, Dean telling the rain to, “Stop. Start. Stop,” while Sam giggled in amazement. Sam doesn’t remember how old he was when he realized Dean could only control the rain when they went under an overpass, doesn’t remember the last time he giggled in amazement either.
Pastor Jim always said rain on Sunday was Heaven weeping.
Since Sam broke the deal, it rains every Sunday, but Dean still washes the car.
And Sam watches, rainwater dripping down the long strands of his bangs and clinging to his eyelashes. He doesn’t blink, likes the ripple effect of waves in his vision as he oversees Dean in his weekly labor of love--Dean with sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, damp t-shirt clinging to his back. Sam thinks it’s like seeing his brother new again, the way he saw him when Dean could part the sea of clouds with just a word, just for Sam.
Sam doesn’t mind waiting, could watch Dean like this forever, would if Dean asked. Dean would never ask, though. Instead, he catches Sam’s eyes for a second, rainbows dancing between them in the mist, and bites his lip to keep from smiling too hard. That doesn’t stop the blush spreading up his cheeks, across his freckles and into his sweat-darkened hair. The sun shines all the brighter for the appreciation.
When the last spot of wax has baked and hardened, been buffed to a sheen that mimics the glint in Dean’s eyes, Dean joins Sam in the rain, lets his little brother rinse the caked dust from his shoulders, kiss the salt from his neck.
The first hint of goosebumps along Dean’s arms, and the sun shines again.
Heaven might weep around them, but as long as Dean looks at him like this, all grace, and wonder, and alive, the sun will shine. Because Sam says so. And when it comes right down to it, light is light, no matter who makes it so. No matter for whom.
And there is light. And it is good. Heaven’s not the only land weeping.
I know it's short, but please to be commenting anyway. I iz vewy saadddd. (Don't ever watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time when you're alone at three a.m.)
Author:
tru_faith_lostRating: PG
Pairing: AntiChrist!Sam/Dean
Summary: Too short for a summary really, just a random ficlet about what Sam would do if he had all the power in the world.
Disclaimer: Yeah, no buckazoids, Roger Wilco. I be lowly space janitor. You're welcome to my mops.
A/N: Whattaya know? I got nothing to say except Boo! Hiss! to everyone on my f-list who didn't warn me about the end of Brokeback Mountain. I don't do unhappy endings...Not. Ever. So read in good faith, kind reader.
Light
Dean washes the car on Sundays, has ever since Sam can remember, since the car was Dad’s and rainy Sundays were spent driving to the next hunt, Dean telling the rain to, “Stop. Start. Stop,” while Sam giggled in amazement. Sam doesn’t remember how old he was when he realized Dean could only control the rain when they went under an overpass, doesn’t remember the last time he giggled in amazement either.
Pastor Jim always said rain on Sunday was Heaven weeping.
Since Sam broke the deal, it rains every Sunday, but Dean still washes the car.
And Sam watches, rainwater dripping down the long strands of his bangs and clinging to his eyelashes. He doesn’t blink, likes the ripple effect of waves in his vision as he oversees Dean in his weekly labor of love--Dean with sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, damp t-shirt clinging to his back. Sam thinks it’s like seeing his brother new again, the way he saw him when Dean could part the sea of clouds with just a word, just for Sam.
Sam doesn’t mind waiting, could watch Dean like this forever, would if Dean asked. Dean would never ask, though. Instead, he catches Sam’s eyes for a second, rainbows dancing between them in the mist, and bites his lip to keep from smiling too hard. That doesn’t stop the blush spreading up his cheeks, across his freckles and into his sweat-darkened hair. The sun shines all the brighter for the appreciation.
When the last spot of wax has baked and hardened, been buffed to a sheen that mimics the glint in Dean’s eyes, Dean joins Sam in the rain, lets his little brother rinse the caked dust from his shoulders, kiss the salt from his neck.
The first hint of goosebumps along Dean’s arms, and the sun shines again.
Heaven might weep around them, but as long as Dean looks at him like this, all grace, and wonder, and alive, the sun will shine. Because Sam says so. And when it comes right down to it, light is light, no matter who makes it so. No matter for whom.
And there is light. And it is good. Heaven’s not the only land weeping.
I know it's short, but please to be commenting anyway. I iz vewy saadddd. (Don't ever watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time when you're alone at three a.m.)
