mickeym

wendy's had a bad day, and I promised

callsigns some comfort a week or so ago (meep! so late!), so here're a couple of ficlets for them. Wendy wanted Sam/Dean and rain, and Jessa wanted Sam/Dean and cuddling. Both are PG, barely. I don't own anything related to Supernatural, sadly. Hope they work for y'all :) *hugs*

For

wendy,

When It Rains

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. It's still raining?" Dean scowled up at the skies then slammed the door shut. "Dude, we're gonna float away, at this rate."

"Start building an ark," Sam said, his voice quiet with disinterest. From where Dean was standing, he looked mostly asleep, still, long body lax beneath the rumpled sheets.

"No arks." Dean sighed and contemplated the necessity of coffee versus the irritation of getting soaked, and decided it wasn't worth it. "Too hard to find a parking space." He flopped back down on the bed beside Sam. "I'm bored."

Sam snorted, but the sound got lost in a yawn. "How can you be bored? You haven't been awake for more than half an hour. Go back to sleep."

"Go back to sleep?" Dean blinked. "Uh. Why?"

Sam was a warm, solid weight against him, and after just a moment Sam curled himself over and around Dean, enveloping him in that warmth. By contrast, the breeze blowing in through the open window was cool and refreshing, the scent light and fresh.

"Because it's a good day to stay in bed," Sam said, nuzzling at Dean's throat. "It's cloudy, gray, quiet--" Each word was punctuated with a soft nip, like emphasis. Dean shivered once, goosebumps rippling over his arms. "This is--a chicken noodle soup kind of day," he finished, and Dean heard the smile in Sam's voice.

"Chicken noodle soup?" Dean dislodged Sam enough to sit up and strip his t-shirt back off, glad he hadn't gotten fully dressed yet.

"Yeah. Y'know, like grilled cheese and tomato soup--comfort food. It's a comfort kind of day."

"If you say so," Dean said, letting a hint of a grump into his voice. Actually, though, it sounded good. Lay in bed, surrounded by Sam, listening to the rain hit against the roof.

How long since they'd had a quiet day like this?

"Too long," Sam whispered, the words sliding down into Dean.

"Don't do that," he whispered back. It was really freakin' weird, when Sam answered, even if Dean hadn't spoken out loud. "No, you can keep doing that," he added, grabbing at Sam when he moved away.

"Just gotta go to the bathroom," Sam said, slipping out of bed. "Back in a minute."

"I'll be here," Dean called after him. The rain sounded louder for a minute, a heavy tempo beating out on every surface outside.

No place else he wanted to be, really.

~fin~

For

callsigns,

There's No Place Like Home

Home has been many places, over the years.

Sam thinks of the backseat of the car, snuggled up against Dean while Dad drove them through the night, or the sleepy little town in Mississippi where they stayed for several months while Dad researched and then took care of a complicated haunting.

Or the apartment they had in Missoula, when he was eight, and Dean beat up the fifth grader who'd been picking on Sam, teasing him about his curls.

The first home he ever had, that he doesn't remember.

A dorm-room in Stanford, and later, an apartment in Palo Alto.

Too many motel rooms to remember, as they criss-crossed the country.

Pastor Jim's parish house in Blue Earth, the year Sam started middle school. They stayed there for almost a year, Dad coming back in between hunts, taking them out on hunts when they weren't in class.

But however often it changed, and wherever it was, it was also always one thing.

Dean.

Sam can't remember a time when Dean wasn't there; when Dean wasn't there for him. He isn't able to differentiate 'home' from 'Dean' -- they're one and the same.

Home right now is right where he is, snuggled into Dean's arms. It's cold in here; even colder outside. There are blizzard warnings all over the place, and the snow's been coming down thick and heavy for hours. The heater in this ratty little motel room will probably crap out long before the storm does, so they've tucked towels in around the windows and doors and now they're curled up together in one bed, with the covers from both beds piled over them.

"You okay?" Dean's nose is cold, and he's rubbing it right behind Sam's ear.

"Yeah, why?"

"You been quiet in there." Dean taps one finger against the side of Sam's head and Sam snorts and turns his head, nipping at the finger. "Hey, no biting. You bite, and I'm gonna wanna get naked and horizontal, and then we freeze to death and it's all your fault."

Sam blinks. "I--what?" When Dean takes a breath like he's going to say it all again, Sam cuts him off by kissing him. "We could probably generate enough heat," he murmurs against Dean's mouth. It's all talk, though; it's way too cold in the room to even think about taking anything off.

Dean tightens his arms, twined around Sam's waist, and leans back a little. Sam goes with him, shifting until he's in a semi-prone position, head against Dean's chest. There are too many layers between, but Sam's listened to Dean's heartbeat all his life. He knows it better than his, and the sound soothes and comforts him, no matter what.

That's home, for him.

~fin~