shallowz

Title: Three Steps to the Door
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Nothing damaging
Warnings/spoilers: Nothing really
Word count: 700ish
Disclaimer: Not ours, no profit is being made … etc.
Thanks go to mags_205 for the super quicky beta.
Thanks also to i_speak_tongue for this prompt:

Since it's World Read Aloud Day, you could write a little h/c in which Sam reads to Dean? You'd make me and mad_server very happy fangirls!

“Three steps to the door.”

Oh goodie.

Dean hated it. Hated every single stinking minute of hanging on to Sam’s jacket, not knowing where the hell he was.

Fucked up didn’t begin to cover it.

Sam’s hand pressed the middle of his back, steering him into the motel room. Dean welcomed the quiet once the door closed, given his ramped up paranoia. He couldn’t tell the difference between a harmless sound or a I’m-gonna-die sound. Even if he could, what would he do? Swat at it, hoping he’d hit something?

“Dean, nothing’s out there.”

“Is the carpet shag?” Felt like it. Better to focus on that and not let on Sam know he’d read his mind. Wouldn’t do.

“Yeah.”

“What color?” Cos, that never got old.

Silence. Could almost hear the whirring of Sam’s brain.

“Not sure.” Came the slow reply. “Weird combo.”

“Take a pic.”

“You’ll see it yourself. We’re staying until the bandages come off.”

“People might die in that time.”

“Maybe, but I know you will if we go now.”

Reasonable. Implacable. The no-changing-Sammy’s-mind tone added to the over all sense of helpless.

“Shit.”

“I’ve got a few calls in to see if there’s someone else in the area. Go on, take the next bed. I’ll get our stuff.”

Oooo… independence. Dean felt his way along to the bed furthest from the door. Not hard to find. He controlled his descent. Damn, everything hurt but his eyes. They were numb. Stupid bastard tossing accelerant on the fire while Dean attempted to save his sorry ass. He still saw the flash behind the bandages.

Keratitis, otherwise known as Corneal Flash Burn, which made a helluva lot more sense, surpassed the suckitude of a broken leg.

Hummm

Traffic on the nearby road.

Squawk

Trunk opening – that wasn’t the Impala – don’t go there.

Swish

Familiar sounds of removing duffel bags.

Squawk

Heel-tap, heel-tap

Sam’s even tread, door closing, the world shut out again.

He breathed.

Stupid assholes and their asinine rituals, conjuring creatures they didn’t believe in.

Oh hey, we thought it’d be fun, you know, give it a whirl. Didn’t think it would work.

Boneheads.

Today’s college youth. America, be proud.

“That was some quick draw Latin you pulled out.”

Clank

Ammo bag landing on the floor.

“Stoners.” Hard, cutting tone. Not one he’d heard since the soulless days. “Should’ve let the low level demon have a snack.”

“Probably wouldn’t have felt it.”

A sigh. “True.”

He sensed the tension drain out of Sam. Good. Didn’t need eyes to feel how tightly wound he was.

Blindness created a vulnerability and life change neither of them were willing to contemplate. Not even a hint of it.

Temporary.

Say after me: Temporary.

Day after tomorrow, he’d believe it.

Clink

“Beer? Tell me you got a six pack.”

“Six? After today, I gotta a case.”

“Sammy, I love you.”

A laugh.

“Tell me that tomorrow morning.”

The smile pulled at the patches covering his eyes, but it felt good anyway.

“TV?”

“Yeah, sure. Wow. There’s no remote.” Static that could only come from a snowy picture filled the room.

Click

More static.

Click – click - click

“No TV?”

Heavy sigh. “No.”

“Gimme a beer.”

Three beers released the rubber band drawing his shoulders up to his ears. Six gave him a comforting buzz.

Sam took a bathroom run and on his return, he started snooping.

Scrap - slide

Drawers opening and shutting.

Grunt – slam

Sticky drawer shutting.

The crow of pure delight made him jump.

“What?!”

“So all we could do was Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! And we didn’t like it.”

Memories slammed into Dean.

“Not one little bit.” In unison they finished the page - that was their line.

They giggled. Another ritual.

He’d plead drunkenness tomorrow. Right now it was okay to remember a deep voice reading from a tattered Cat in the Hat liberated (i.e. nicked) from a small town library.

Another beer.

“Start from the beginning.” Dean bunched the deflated pillows, settling into them.

Cough

Clearing the throat. Dad always did that before he started reading.

“The sun did not shine.

It was too wet to play.

So we sat in the house.

All that cold, cold wet day.”

The heavy baritone emphasizing cold, cold, wet.

Sam read it right.

But that is not all!

Oh, no.