friendly savages // supernatural

01 - counted lost

COUNTED LOST

[Dean and Sam]

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Drinkers and dreamers, we’re one and the same

Drinking and dreaming to run from the rain.

We throw our bags down, but water falls too fast to be walled off.

We make a home in the mud,

and hope for an olive bud.

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“I guess we’re sleeping in the Impala tonight?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, looks like it. Just don’t get your muddy boots on my seats, alright?”

Sam hides a smile because he knows his older brother is dead serious. The car is his baby. Dean’d probably marry it if he could.

“Yeah, alright.”

The brothers clamber into the car and Dean turns the key just enough that he can get the heater running. It’s cold outside. Raining pretty hard, too. Sam’s hair is all wet and he pushes it out of his face with one hand while the other reaches in the back seat for the case of beer they bought earlier, back at the last town they drove through.

Usually, the brothers would head to the nearest bar for an after-hunt drink (and maybe to pick up some girls, especially in Dean’s case), but right now they’re in the middle of nowhere and don’t intend on driving again until morning. They’re knackered from hunting what they thought was going to be just one vengeful spirit, but turned out to be a whole family of ghosts that were preying on the residents of the hotel they died in one hundred years ago. But, as always, the boys had the situation under control, and it was all over with a few salt-and-burns. Not without a price, though. The ghost of the father has flung a knife at Sam and cut him pretty deep in the side of his thigh. Nothing he couldn’t handle, although it did hurt. Sam tries not to show any sign of pain to Dean as he shifts in his seat and makes himself comfortable for a long night in - the elder Winchester worries about him enough.

✰✰✰

We may have lost our way,

but do not count us lost.

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The beer is still cold and Dean sips it gratefully. His arms are sore and his legs are sore and, well, let’s face it - everything is sore. He looks over at his little brother, who’s near passed out in the passengers seat. Hadn’t even touched his beer, but he was out like a light as soon as his head hit the headrest. Dean watches him with a sad smile as he lifts the beer to his lips again. He takes in the way Sammy’s legs are too long for the seat and so prop themselves awkwardly on the dashboard, the way he shifts positions every so often, settling on his side with one hand cradling his face. Sam looks so young when he’s sleeping, so innocent. Like everything that’s been going on over the past few years never happened.

✰✰✰

The smell of the sea and the light of the moon

are pockets of America that still feel new.

They whisper all night

that the clouds above us aren’t the end of the earth.

Dust catches the light

of suns beyond our sight.

✰✰✰

Dean sometimes wonders what would have happened if things were different for the Winchesters. If Dean hadn’t dragged Sammy off to hunt the day Jess died. If he’d just left poor Sam alone and never dragged him back into the hunting business that he’d fought so hard to leave. Would Jess still have died? Would their dad still be alive today?

Dean doesn’t know the answers to any of these questions. But he does know that he’s so grateful for his brother. If Dean had to do all this stuff alone...he would have gone crazy like his father did years ago.

✰✰✰

We may have lost our way,

but do not count us lost.

✰✰✰

They’re okay. The Winchester brothers might not have much, but they’ve got each other and most of the time that’s enough. And when it’s not - when the stress of the job and the life gets a little hard to handle - Bobby, Jo, Ellen, the rest of the Roadhouse crew, and a bunch of other hunters have their backs. Dean smiles a little when he thinks of Jo. She’s a spunky one, that’s for sure. A real firecracker. He likes the firecrackers. Thinking of fireworks makes Dean remember that night way back when Sam still hadn’t quite hit puberty and Dean was still in high school and they snuck out to the edge of the woods to let off a few fireworks. It was the best night of his life, if he’s honest. Just seeing Sammy’s grin as he watched the lights, hearing his laugh...sometimes he wishes he could have done more for his little brother. Sometimes he-

Sam coughs in his sleep and Dean is distracted from his thoughts, turning his head to watch his brother. Sam coughs again and furrows his brows in discomfort. Dean smiles a little and gently touches his hand to Sam’s forehead, brushing away his floppy brown hair. He feels Sammy lean unconsciously into Dean’s hand and he snuggles down a little in the carseat with a contented sigh. Dean’s lips twitch into a soft grin.

“I got ya, Sammy,” he whispers into the dark, taking a small sip of his now-lukewarm beer as he does so.

It’s just like old times.

Yeah, they’re alright.

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