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longsufferinglyDear Timmy,
♥
XOXO
Chash
PS: I was going to do this earlier, but I wanted to see 413 first. This doesn't actually have spoilers, but I wanted to anyway. Shush.
A Little Bleeding; A Sinking Feeling
Teenchesters, gen, 300 words.
When Sam was sixteen, he outgrew Dean's clothes, seemingly overnight.
It didn't seem fair, how suddenly he shot up. There was no period of correctness, one day Dean calling him midget and the next sasquatch, like there was nothing he could do right, even puberty. But he liked it for a while, the novelty of towering over Dean, of being the big brother. He felt kind of cool, kind of happy.
And then he had a bad day, came home, tried to tug on one of Dean's shirts, and it didn't fit.
Dean's clothes had always meant something to Sam. They smell like him, they feel like him, and they're somehow warmer than Sam's own clothes, and they just--they help. Dean stopped hugging him around when he turned twelve, got too cool for it, or something. But he tossed Sam his flannel shirts when Sam was hurt, let Sam pull on his t-shirts to sleep in when he had nightmares, and that was almost the same thing, almost as good.
Now Sam's too big to fit into Dean's clothes and he feels as he's outgrown the world. What kind of place is it if his brother can't make him feel better? If the only thing that really made him feel right in this whole fucked up life his family has eked out is gone, what does he have left?
Sam picks up his first college application the day he rips one of Dean's flannel shirts on his newly broadened shoulders, fills it out as he thinks about the tears, the holes, the places he doesn't fit anymore.
♥
XOXO
Chash
PS: I was going to do this earlier, but I wanted to see 413 first. This doesn't actually have spoilers, but I wanted to anyway. Shush.
A Little Bleeding; A Sinking Feeling
Teenchesters, gen, 300 words.
When Sam was sixteen, he outgrew Dean's clothes, seemingly overnight.
It didn't seem fair, how suddenly he shot up. There was no period of correctness, one day Dean calling him midget and the next sasquatch, like there was nothing he could do right, even puberty. But he liked it for a while, the novelty of towering over Dean, of being the big brother. He felt kind of cool, kind of happy.
And then he had a bad day, came home, tried to tug on one of Dean's shirts, and it didn't fit.
Dean's clothes had always meant something to Sam. They smell like him, they feel like him, and they're somehow warmer than Sam's own clothes, and they just--they help. Dean stopped hugging him around when he turned twelve, got too cool for it, or something. But he tossed Sam his flannel shirts when Sam was hurt, let Sam pull on his t-shirts to sleep in when he had nightmares, and that was almost the same thing, almost as good.
Now Sam's too big to fit into Dean's clothes and he feels as he's outgrown the world. What kind of place is it if his brother can't make him feel better? If the only thing that really made him feel right in this whole fucked up life his family has eked out is gone, what does he have left?
Sam picks up his first college application the day he rips one of Dean's flannel shirts on his newly broadened shoulders, fills it out as he thinks about the tears, the holes, the places he doesn't fit anymore.
