therapeutic thump

i like your moxie, sassafras!


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NaNo: 1b
the arch of the eyebrows gives it away
innie_darling
*

Between the cases they find and the ones Dean's plotted out like he's Dad's social secretary, they stay plenty busy. Sam finds himself doing a little headbanging in the car, rocking out to Dean's music - indestructible as a cockroach - even when he's in the passenger seat with an open book on his lap. Dean's even ceded driving rights occasionally, looking only a little put out at not having the steering wheel to tap along to the beat.

Even on their hunts, Sam's no longer half a step behind his brother, but keeping step with him, alongside of him. Starting with the werewolf in Fresno, his is the hand that deals out death; he fires killshots and swings knives as if this is all he's ever known, exhilarated by the feelings of triumph and glory that rocket through him. If this is how hunting makes Dean feel, the whole world his to save or destroy, righteous and vengeful, then it's no wonder that Dean was the original evangelist, preaching the word of the Hunt, dismissing as unimportant the lesser pleasures of school, the normal life, and the real world. The mundane world, where people live their lives in shadow, unaware of whose sacrifice saves them, once and always.

Dean seems content to let him take the lead, dropping back and fashioning himself anew into the wingman he'd once been for Dad, and Sam supposes there must be a kind of comfort in that for Dean, finding peace in the memory of old obedience, of faithful love. Dean's maybe not quite as sharp as he once was; there's too much that's taken a toll on him, and it's not like there's time to stop and let everything heal up properly - neither one of them would be able to sit still for long enough.

Sam decapitates the siren, convinced he is right where he's supposed to be, doing what he was meant to do. He's never been more sure of anything in his life. Dean's wry voice streaks through his head - Nice moves, Sammy. Like riding a bike, huh? - and there's a grin - the old, mischievous, sparkling grin - on Dean's weary face.





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You don't REALLY need to sleep, do you??

::pouts::

::stares, hoping more will just appear, because I want it SO MUCH::

I'm still intrigued! Lovely stuff about Sam here, and I'm perpetually awed by writing like this, that moves along so smoothly without getting stuck on any one detail.

That is so nice of you to say! This piece is really fighting me, and I had kind of a similar experience last time I did something like this. This style of writing just isn't natural for me, and I'm afraid it shows.

The mundane world, where people live their lives in shadow, unaware of whose sacrifice saves them, once and always.
Love this image - usually the hunters are the ones that move in shadow and I love you turn it upside down and have the rest of the world become that for Sam, showing his move into revelling in this life.

Also like that Dean would be comfortable as wingman again - I can see that!

Ooh, I like that interpretation, that Sam's consciously reversing things to suit his newfound commitment to hunting. Neat!

And there's a reason Dean's the wingman . . . more soon!

This is so intriguing, how Sam's changed towards hunting and you really captured his new exhilaration with it. I'm also curious about the shift in dynamic, the way Dean wants to play wingman, where that's going.

Oh, I'm so glad Sam's attitude is coming across clearly! And yes, there is a reason that Dean's drifting back a little, ceding control.

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