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Title: Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth
Author:
krisomniac
Rating, Warning, Pairing: PG, reaper!Dean, gen
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit nor copyright infringement intended. Title from Primitive Radio Gods
Authors Note: Just silly, rambly schmoop for your Monday enjoyment. ~680 words
Summary: Dean thinks about the thousand different ways it could happen.
Hey, Sam, he thinks, You know how I was always saying you can't kill death? Well, funny thing happens when you try, then scratches out the conversation in his head and starts it over again.
I like those glasses, man. They suit you.
Sam-- as embarrassed by compliments as when he was a gangly kid-- would look down and smile, fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes, teeth still white despite the grey in his hair. He'd lace his long fingers together and apart.
The professor thing, this whole-- He imagines taking one of the books haphazardly piled on Sam's desk and gesturing with it for emphasis. Life. It suits you. Always knew it would.
He's done it a million times. Maybe more. This conversation shouldn't be so hard.
I still look out for you, Sammy, even if you don't-- He growls under his breath and tries again. Hi.
Sam would look at him funny, head tilted like an overgrown puppy. Yeah, it's me. I would've come sooner, but…
Probably better that he didn't.
It's not so bad. He'd grin at Sam's skepticism. I don't get to blow shit up anymore, but when shit blows, you can bet I'm there.
Sam might laugh at that. Then again, it's been years and worries, pain and love and a life Dean was never going to be a part of; he might not find it funny at all.
What else could I do? You were going to-- It wasn't a choice. Sam's never been able to resist asking why. And some things will never change. I had a promise to keep.
He turns and paces the empty road, trying to think of something else to say. I found Dad, a while back…. Yeah, he is. Now. He imagines resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, listening to the whispered question, telling Sam the same thing he told Mom and Dad when they asked about their baby and his young wife. I think they're happy.
He swallows. You will.
He's watched Sam's family grow over the years, was there when the kids were born, listened to Sam sing them to bed at night-- never anything too private, though with a body like Maggie's, he's been sorely tempted. He wonders if Sam will ask to see them, to say goodbye.
I can't let you do that. Dean's seen what happens when you break the rules, not that he hasn't considered trying. More than once. Course I'll look after them.
Dean opens the car door and gets in. He looks over at the empty seat beside him. It may be his playground, it may be nothing more than the physical representation of something that only exists in his memory, but of the countless souls he's invited in, only Sam will recognize the faint smell of greasy hamburgers that lingers in the upholstery, will smile when he sees the dark stain on the dash, will complain about the music on his final road trip. He makes sure it's perfect, carving the echoes of stakeouts and arguments, dust and blood into the fabric of the frame like photographs faded and yellowed over time.
The engine roars to life, and he drives slowly to the building where it happens.
I can't-- Dean shakes his head in response to the imagined question. Sam won't ask whether Dean can come with him, won't have to. Visions or not, he's always been damn near psychic about knowing things like that.
He pulls up in front of the arched doorway, walks slowly up the stone steps. Students brush past him without looking, bags of books slung over their shoulders, discussing papers or parties, or where they're planning to go have lunch. He closes his eyes in the sunlight of the window outside Sam's office and lets the everyday sounds wash over him, running over the thousand ways this has played out in his head. He thinks of the thousand conversations, quips, fights, and wonders if it will be the same.
He only knocks once on the door, then lets himself in.
All things considered, it wasn't a bad way to go.
Hey, Sammy, he says.
Sam doesn't even look surprised.
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Rating, Warning, Pairing: PG, reaper!Dean, gen
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit nor copyright infringement intended. Title from Primitive Radio Gods
Authors Note: Just silly, rambly schmoop for your Monday enjoyment. ~680 words
Summary: Dean thinks about the thousand different ways it could happen.
Hey, Sam, he thinks, You know how I was always saying you can't kill death? Well, funny thing happens when you try, then scratches out the conversation in his head and starts it over again.
I like those glasses, man. They suit you.
Sam-- as embarrassed by compliments as when he was a gangly kid-- would look down and smile, fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes, teeth still white despite the grey in his hair. He'd lace his long fingers together and apart.
The professor thing, this whole-- He imagines taking one of the books haphazardly piled on Sam's desk and gesturing with it for emphasis. Life. It suits you. Always knew it would.
He's done it a million times. Maybe more. This conversation shouldn't be so hard.
I still look out for you, Sammy, even if you don't-- He growls under his breath and tries again. Hi.
Sam would look at him funny, head tilted like an overgrown puppy. Yeah, it's me. I would've come sooner, but…
Probably better that he didn't.
It's not so bad. He'd grin at Sam's skepticism. I don't get to blow shit up anymore, but when shit blows, you can bet I'm there.
Sam might laugh at that. Then again, it's been years and worries, pain and love and a life Dean was never going to be a part of; he might not find it funny at all.
What else could I do? You were going to-- It wasn't a choice. Sam's never been able to resist asking why. And some things will never change. I had a promise to keep.
He turns and paces the empty road, trying to think of something else to say. I found Dad, a while back…. Yeah, he is. Now. He imagines resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, listening to the whispered question, telling Sam the same thing he told Mom and Dad when they asked about their baby and his young wife. I think they're happy.
He swallows. You will.
He's watched Sam's family grow over the years, was there when the kids were born, listened to Sam sing them to bed at night-- never anything too private, though with a body like Maggie's, he's been sorely tempted. He wonders if Sam will ask to see them, to say goodbye.
I can't let you do that. Dean's seen what happens when you break the rules, not that he hasn't considered trying. More than once. Course I'll look after them.
Dean opens the car door and gets in. He looks over at the empty seat beside him. It may be his playground, it may be nothing more than the physical representation of something that only exists in his memory, but of the countless souls he's invited in, only Sam will recognize the faint smell of greasy hamburgers that lingers in the upholstery, will smile when he sees the dark stain on the dash, will complain about the music on his final road trip. He makes sure it's perfect, carving the echoes of stakeouts and arguments, dust and blood into the fabric of the frame like photographs faded and yellowed over time.
The engine roars to life, and he drives slowly to the building where it happens.
I can't-- Dean shakes his head in response to the imagined question. Sam won't ask whether Dean can come with him, won't have to. Visions or not, he's always been damn near psychic about knowing things like that.
He pulls up in front of the arched doorway, walks slowly up the stone steps. Students brush past him without looking, bags of books slung over their shoulders, discussing papers or parties, or where they're planning to go have lunch. He closes his eyes in the sunlight of the window outside Sam's office and lets the everyday sounds wash over him, running over the thousand ways this has played out in his head. He thinks of the thousand conversations, quips, fights, and wonders if it will be the same.
He only knocks once on the door, then lets himself in.
All things considered, it wasn't a bad way to go.
Hey, Sammy, he says.
Sam doesn't even look surprised.
no subject
2007-03-19 17:33 (UTC)The idea of Dean as a reaper, and his personal playground being a road trip.
Man.
Lovely.
no subject
2007-03-20 13:46 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-19 19:20 (UTC)I can't even begin to tell you how much I love this.
no subject
2007-03-20 13:47 (UTC)(no subject)
- Posted byno subject
2007-03-19 19:22 (UTC)Put a little lump in my throat, hon. ♥
no subject
2007-03-20 13:47 (UTC)Thank you!!
no subject
2007-03-19 19:41 (UTC)Nicely done. :)
Favorite lines:
Sam-- as embarrassed by compliments as when he was a gangly kid-- would look down and smile, fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes, teeth still white despite the grey in his hair.
I like the little details about how he looks. Methinks Sam will age well. :)
What else could I do? You were-- It wasn't a choice. Sam's never been able to resist asking why. And some things will never change. I had a promise to keep.
Oh, Dean. Always the protector. *pets him*
He's watched Sam's family grow over the years, was there when the kids were born, listened to Sam sing them to bed at night-- never anything too private, though with a body like Maggie's, he's been sorely tempted.
*g* Of course reaper!Dean would still like hot chicks. Wonder if he flirts with the hot reapers.
He makes sure it's perfect, carving the echoes of stakeouts and arguments, dust and blood into the fabric of the frame like memories faded and yellowed over time.
Love this, that he’s getting the car just so for Sam.
Hey, Sammy, he says.
Sam doesn't even look surprised.
Oh, boys.
no subject
2007-03-20 13:49 (UTC)They're both going to age well. I'd put money on it. They're like good wine.
Thank you so much! Glad you enjoyed.
no subject
2007-03-19 21:17 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 13:49 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-19 21:53 (UTC)It may be his playground...
That passage? That starts with that line? YOU MADE ME CRY AT WORK.
And the end -- the end is sublime and perfect. Wonderful.
♥
no subject
2007-03-20 13:51 (UTC)But yeah.
And the professor thing? totally stole from you (although I had to give Sammy a family after taking away his Dean)
thanky!
no subject
2007-03-19 23:05 (UTC)Beautiful job Kris!
no subject
2007-03-20 13:59 (UTC)Plus, Dean would make a kinda kickass reaper. ;)
(no subject)
- Posted byno subject
2007-03-19 23:23 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:00 (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
2007-03-19 23:45 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:01 (UTC)These boys, just... Yes.
no subject
2007-03-19 23:59 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:04 (UTC)But so glad you enjoyed! And thank you!
no subject
2007-03-20 00:05 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:05 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 00:45 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:05 (UTC)thank you!
no subject
2007-03-20 01:07 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:06 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 01:13 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:08 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 01:15 (UTC)It's awesome. Contemplative and achy, and really sweet. I love it.
no subject
2007-03-20 14:08 (UTC)Thanky!
no subject
2007-03-20 01:21 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:09 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 01:30 (UTC)So vivid and beautiful. And sad. *sigh*
no subject
2007-03-20 14:13 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 02:03 (UTC)But the ending is the saddest and sweetest of all!
no subject
2007-03-20 14:16 (UTC)i know, right?
And I have this total vision of Dean saving his dad and bringing his parents back together... sigh.
Thank you!
no subject
2007-03-20 02:06 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:17 (UTC)And, yeah. Together.
Thank you!!
no subject
2007-03-20 03:16 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:18 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 04:06 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:19 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 04:12 (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
2007-03-20 14:20 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 08:17 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:20 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 08:49 (UTC)I don't get to blow shit up anymore, but when shit blows, you can bet I'm there.
This made me smile, can hear Dean saying it.
And the idea of final trip inthe Impala, it's so... fitting. The ending is sad, but a quiet and peaceful kind of sad. A truly lovely lovely story!
no subject
2007-03-20 14:23 (UTC)Thank you!!
no subject
2007-03-20 09:41 (UTC)no subject
2007-03-20 14:23 (UTC)