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The Only Thing We'll Hit Is Sunset by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
luzdeestrellas. Sam/Dean, PG, 2,617 words.
Summary : It's a year and half after Dean comes back from hell that Sam gets it.
Soft. Sweet. Full of light and happiness. A feel-good fic. This is how it should have been between them after Dean gets back from hell. And I hope it's still not too late for them to get this.
Dean turns back, and the smile, this time, doesn't want to be anything else.
And that's when it hits him, a bullet of truth wrapped up in a smile he'd know anywhere. Because this smile used to be his: a gift to earn whenever he wanted, like playing a slot machine and always coming up lucky. The idea that it ever wouldn't be his had once been so ridiculous, it hadn't even occurred to him, but that's true of just about everything in his life right now. He'd figured he'd gotten used to not having it; one more thing sacrificed without a choice, and then later, given up when he made the wrong one. But now, here, Dean's standing, a fuckload of books in his arms, looking straight at Sam, with a helpless, stupid curve of joy lighting up his whole face.
And Sam gets it, finally. Believes it without being terrified of it. That Dean's here.
::happy sigh::
luzdeestrellas. Sam/Dean, PG, 2,617 words.Summary : It's a year and half after Dean comes back from hell that Sam gets it.
Soft. Sweet. Full of light and happiness. A feel-good fic. This is how it should have been between them after Dean gets back from hell. And I hope it's still not too late for them to get this.
Dean turns back, and the smile, this time, doesn't want to be anything else.
And that's when it hits him, a bullet of truth wrapped up in a smile he'd know anywhere. Because this smile used to be his: a gift to earn whenever he wanted, like playing a slot machine and always coming up lucky. The idea that it ever wouldn't be his had once been so ridiculous, it hadn't even occurred to him, but that's true of just about everything in his life right now. He'd figured he'd gotten used to not having it; one more thing sacrificed without a choice, and then later, given up when he made the wrong one. But now, here, Dean's standing, a fuckload of books in his arms, looking straight at Sam, with a helpless, stupid curve of joy lighting up his whole face.
And Sam gets it, finally. Believes it without being terrified of it. That Dean's here.
::happy sigh::
