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tamingthemuseTitle: When You Stopped Looking
Author: Chosenfire
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with them.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 865
Prompt: #118 - "mortal coil" at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Spoilers: general season 1
Summary: Sam thinks he knows everything there is to know about his big brother. But there are some things he never took the time to see, because he never looked.
Author’s Notes:This is a last minute ficlet written for Taming the Muse, I’ve had the idea all week, I just waited till the very last day to write it. I saw a whole Dean is really smart and Sam finds out fic somewhere on LJ and I just loved the idea so much I decided to give it a shot. Remember, comments are very welcome (and encouraged….please)
Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blue_icy_rose
~*~
Sam shifted through the clothes in the duffel bag, nose wrinkled in distaste as he tossed a pair of blood caked pants on to the growing pile on the floor. “Dude, you’re disgusting,” Sam commented darkly as he pulled out yet another shirt covered in a highly questionable substance.
Dean grinned, tilting his head back as he finished off the beer in his hand, eyes glued on the T.V “Yeah, I am huh?” He sounded proud, and smug.
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed Dean’s bag, turning it upside down and just dumping the contents into a pile. “Next time, you do your own laundry,” Sam muttered and reached inside to pull out a few stubborn socks.
“Sure thing, dear.”
Sam huffed and his brow furrowed as he saw a small rip on the inside of Dean’s bag. He poked at it trying to see if they needed to buy a new one and his mouth fell open as he saw the stack of papers hidden inside. He pulled them out, his mouth curved into a smile.
He turned to his brother, holding up one of the papers, smiling triumphantly “Man, you wrote poetry.”
Dean’s eyes moved to the papers and he looked panicked for a second, his mouth falling open. He scrambled to his feet, lunging for the papers, and Sam danced out of his reach using his height to hold it over Dean’s head.
“Give them back, you gigantic freak.”
Sam laughed, ducking out of the way and putting the small table between him and Dean. He looked over one of the papers, grinning. “Mortal coil, Dean? Seriously?” he mocked and Dean’s eyes narrowed.
A gleam entered his older brother’s eyes and Dean smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh yeah, Sammy, you think that’s bad. I seem to remember a certain chubby twelve-year-old’s school play. Still remember the lines.”
Sam grinned and he could feel it, the old familiar banter between him and Dean. The comfortable ribbing that had started when they were kids and had been strained since they had started hunting together again.
Sam tossed the papers on the table and was going to grab the last beer when he saw a thick envelope slide on the wooden surface. Curious, Sam reached down, too absorbed in the script and the white paper to see the dread in the older Winchester’s eyes.
“Dean,” Sam drew out softly as he read the paper in the envelope. “Is this an acceptance letter from MIT? The MIT?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “No, it’s from some from other college that goes by the name. Yeah, it’s from MIT.”
“You got in? When did you apply? Why did you apply?” Sam shot off the questions in rapid succession, confusion and disbelief warring on his face and his thoughts clear in his voice. Not when and why, but how. He wanted to know how Dean got in.
Because Sam was the smart one, the one with high test scores, an amazing SAT score, the brainy genius of the family. Dean had hated school. Had spent most of his high school years ditching classes unless it was auto shop. Dean had never even said a word about college, there had never been any doubt that he would be a hunter.
Dean’s smile slipped a little, flattened, became fake and his voice was strained. “You remember Stacy Anders? Slightly chubby, blonde, huge breasts. Well, she was the brainy type.” Dean’s smirk was only a shadow of its usual brilliance. “I mostly did it to impress her.”
Sam smiled softly, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. You jump off buildings to impress girls or enter a race. You don’t get the grades and the test scores to go to one of the hardest schools in the country to impress a girl.” Sam shook his head. “I just don’t know how you did it.”
“Right,” Dean’s attempt at levity faltered, bitterness touching his words. “Because I’m an idiot.”
“Dean, you hated school. You never said a word about college.”
“Well I never actually planned on going,” Dean shot out vehemently and the teasing from earlier was gone. Dean looked hurt and was now defensive.
“The why do all this?” Sam waved the letter, frustrated. “Why even apply?”
Dean seemed to deflate a bit and he buried his hands further in his pockets, shrugging. “I don’t know, Sam, just to see if I could, okay?” Dean looked up at him, voice rough “It wasn’t for you or Dad. It was for me, to prove that I could do it, to prove I wasn’t the fuck up you guys thought I was.”
Sam swallowed, nodding his head as he put the papers back on the table. “Okay.” His voice was soft. “So you built an EMF reader out of a walkman?” A smile teased at his lips as he looked back up at his brother.
Dean shrugged, looking sheepish but proud and he tried to hide that behind his old fallback, settling on cockiness. “Yeah, well you’re not the only genius in the family, Samantha.”
Sam grinned, feeling the tightness in his chest lighten “No, I’m not.”
A Crappy Poem by Dean Winchester, Age 15, freaking English Class
This mortal coil tigthens,
This hollow felling breaths,
An echo of a life,
Burnt away by thieves.
Author: Chosenfire
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with them.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 865
Prompt: #118 - "mortal coil" at
tamingthemuseCharacters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Spoilers: general season 1
Summary: Sam thinks he knows everything there is to know about his big brother. But there are some things he never took the time to see, because he never looked.
Author’s Notes:This is a last minute ficlet written for Taming the Muse, I’ve had the idea all week, I just waited till the very last day to write it. I saw a whole Dean is really smart and Sam finds out fic somewhere on LJ and I just loved the idea so much I decided to give it a shot. Remember, comments are very welcome (and encouraged….please)
Beta'd by
blue_icy_rose~*~
Sam shifted through the clothes in the duffel bag, nose wrinkled in distaste as he tossed a pair of blood caked pants on to the growing pile on the floor. “Dude, you’re disgusting,” Sam commented darkly as he pulled out yet another shirt covered in a highly questionable substance.
Dean grinned, tilting his head back as he finished off the beer in his hand, eyes glued on the T.V “Yeah, I am huh?” He sounded proud, and smug.
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed Dean’s bag, turning it upside down and just dumping the contents into a pile. “Next time, you do your own laundry,” Sam muttered and reached inside to pull out a few stubborn socks.
“Sure thing, dear.”
Sam huffed and his brow furrowed as he saw a small rip on the inside of Dean’s bag. He poked at it trying to see if they needed to buy a new one and his mouth fell open as he saw the stack of papers hidden inside. He pulled them out, his mouth curved into a smile.
He turned to his brother, holding up one of the papers, smiling triumphantly “Man, you wrote poetry.”
Dean’s eyes moved to the papers and he looked panicked for a second, his mouth falling open. He scrambled to his feet, lunging for the papers, and Sam danced out of his reach using his height to hold it over Dean’s head.
“Give them back, you gigantic freak.”
Sam laughed, ducking out of the way and putting the small table between him and Dean. He looked over one of the papers, grinning. “Mortal coil, Dean? Seriously?” he mocked and Dean’s eyes narrowed.
A gleam entered his older brother’s eyes and Dean smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh yeah, Sammy, you think that’s bad. I seem to remember a certain chubby twelve-year-old’s school play. Still remember the lines.”
Sam grinned and he could feel it, the old familiar banter between him and Dean. The comfortable ribbing that had started when they were kids and had been strained since they had started hunting together again.
Sam tossed the papers on the table and was going to grab the last beer when he saw a thick envelope slide on the wooden surface. Curious, Sam reached down, too absorbed in the script and the white paper to see the dread in the older Winchester’s eyes.
“Dean,” Sam drew out softly as he read the paper in the envelope. “Is this an acceptance letter from MIT? The MIT?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “No, it’s from some from other college that goes by the name. Yeah, it’s from MIT.”
“You got in? When did you apply? Why did you apply?” Sam shot off the questions in rapid succession, confusion and disbelief warring on his face and his thoughts clear in his voice. Not when and why, but how. He wanted to know how Dean got in.
Because Sam was the smart one, the one with high test scores, an amazing SAT score, the brainy genius of the family. Dean had hated school. Had spent most of his high school years ditching classes unless it was auto shop. Dean had never even said a word about college, there had never been any doubt that he would be a hunter.
Dean’s smile slipped a little, flattened, became fake and his voice was strained. “You remember Stacy Anders? Slightly chubby, blonde, huge breasts. Well, she was the brainy type.” Dean’s smirk was only a shadow of its usual brilliance. “I mostly did it to impress her.”
Sam smiled softly, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. You jump off buildings to impress girls or enter a race. You don’t get the grades and the test scores to go to one of the hardest schools in the country to impress a girl.” Sam shook his head. “I just don’t know how you did it.”
“Right,” Dean’s attempt at levity faltered, bitterness touching his words. “Because I’m an idiot.”
“Dean, you hated school. You never said a word about college.”
“Well I never actually planned on going,” Dean shot out vehemently and the teasing from earlier was gone. Dean looked hurt and was now defensive.
“The why do all this?” Sam waved the letter, frustrated. “Why even apply?”
Dean seemed to deflate a bit and he buried his hands further in his pockets, shrugging. “I don’t know, Sam, just to see if I could, okay?” Dean looked up at him, voice rough “It wasn’t for you or Dad. It was for me, to prove that I could do it, to prove I wasn’t the fuck up you guys thought I was.”
Sam swallowed, nodding his head as he put the papers back on the table. “Okay.” His voice was soft. “So you built an EMF reader out of a walkman?” A smile teased at his lips as he looked back up at his brother.
Dean shrugged, looking sheepish but proud and he tried to hide that behind his old fallback, settling on cockiness. “Yeah, well you’re not the only genius in the family, Samantha.”
Sam grinned, feeling the tightness in his chest lighten “No, I’m not.”
A Crappy Poem by Dean Winchester, Age 15, freaking English Class
This mortal coil tigthens,
This hollow felling breaths,
An echo of a life,
Burnt away by thieves.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-26 06:05 am (UTC)