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dean sam sin

virtualinsomnia in spn_holidays

Final gift for nightchik!

Title: Life Is Not a Paragraph
Author: Sonya
Recipient: nevermind98
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, Jo
Pairing: A little Dean/Jo, but not much more than what they've given us on the show.
Words: 1,827
Rating: PG
Thanks: To carynsilver, budclare and skyebanshee for their super-fast kung fu beta action. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Author's Note: I'm so sorry about how late this is! I was writing an entirely different fic, but it was fighting me tooth and nail, so I finally had to scrap it and start over from scratch. I wrote this one in just a few hours, so I apologize if it's lame.

then laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
--e.e. cummings

"When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Blonde hair tickles his nose as she moves her head, arranging herself so that she's leaning against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I don't know." He thinks about it for a moment. "I always thought that firemen were pretty cool."

She makes a soft noise of agreement as she contemplates his answer. "They get to save people in the daylight, when everyone can see them. I can see how that would be attractive to a kid, especially one who grew up like we did."

His shoulders move in a minute shrug, careful not to dislodge her. "They're heroes; we're criminals," he says, and it's just the facts. It sucks, but nobody ever said this life would be easy. He knew that going in.

"Nobody cares about how many monsters you kill or how many lives you save," she agrees, her voice sounding smaller than he's ever heard it before. "They just care about whether or not you p-play by the r-r-rules."

Her teeth have begun to chatter, making her stutter over her words, so he slips his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close against his chest. He tells himself that it's just practicality. It's fucking cold in here, and everyone knows that body heat is one of the best ways of getting warmed up.

"You t-t-tryin' to make a m-move on me, buddy?" she asks, giving him a look that he knows is supposed to be fierce, but on her it looks about as scary as a tiny puppy that's just learned how to growl. Not that he'll ever tell her that. She may look harmless enough, but he knows from experience that she has a mean right hook.

"Nah," he replies, helping her to wriggle underneath his coat with him. It's not really big enough to cover both of them, but it's all he's got, and he long ago learned how to make due with what was at hand. "If I was makin' a move, believe me, you'd know it."

"Right," she murmurs, her voice starting to sound sleepy, her fingers curling loosely into his t-shirt.

"Hey," he says, voice edged with panic that he tries hard not to show. "No dozin' off on me, Jo. You don't wanna deprive me of your sparkling personality, do you? I'd have to start talkin' to myself for company, which would be boring as hell, let me tell you."

She chuckles, her breath warm against his neck. It sends goosebumps down his arms, though that could just as easily be due to the fact that he's freezing his ass off. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, he decides, but he holds her a little tighter regardless.

She's silent for a long moment, so long that he starts to wonder if she really did fall asleep, but when he looks down, her eyes are still open. Her eyelashes sweep down across her cheeks in a sluggish blink, before she slowly tilts her head back, her brown eyes meeting his concerned gaze.

"Is this what it feels like to die?"

"We're not gonna die." The denial is immediate, but it falls flat, even to his own ears.

She sighs, a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. She looks at him like he's a small child that she’s indulging in silly flights of fancy.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a horrible liar, Dean Winchester?"

"Hey, I happen to be a great liar," he grumbles, ignoring the pointed look she gives him. "I could sell a man the Brooklyn bridge and make him think he was gettin' an awesome deal."

At her doubtful look, he gives her a smug smile. "Case in point, before, when you asked me if I was makin' a move on you? I was totally just tryin' to get you under here with me because you're hot."

She rolls her eyes. "Of course you were."

"In fact, maybe we should take our clothes off." He winks at her and gives her his best leer. "Body heat."

The look she gives him is as innocent as a newborn babe, so he knows immediately that something's up.

"Sounds like a good plan, Dean."

She quickly tugs his t-shirt up and snakes her hands underneath, splaying them against his skin.

"Jesus!" he hisses, stomach muscles contracting, and it takes an impressive amount of willpower to keep from leaping to his feet just to get away from the blocks of ice masquerading as her hands.

"I'm sorry," she says, a wicked glint in her eye. "Are my hands too cold?"

He glares half-heartedly at her, but settles back down eventually. "And here I didn't think I could get any colder than I already was," he grumbles, pulling her close again.

He pulls off his gloves and slips them onto her hands, even though they're easily two sizes too big for her.

"Thank you," she whispers, curling her newly-gloved hands against her chest, while he hunches under his jacket even further and tries valiantly to keep his teeth from chattering.

He wonders when Sam will get here. He doesn't think about the fact that Sam won't be expecting them back for at least another day, or the fact that even if he realizes they're in trouble, he'll have no clue where to start searching. Sam will find them. He'll have one of his weirdo visions or something, and then he'll find them. Because Dean needs him to.

"Okay, this is just stupid," Jo announces suddenly, rising to her knees and quickly straddling his legs. She seats herself in his lap, facing him, and quickly pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her clad in just a bra. It's black, which has always been a big turn on for him, and Dean wishes fleetingly that they were somewhere else, anywhere else, so that he could actually appreciate the fact that a beautiful woman is stripping down to her underwear in his lap.

"We're both adults here," she continues, reaching out and sliding his arms out of his coat. He cocks an eyebrow, but remains silent, even as she guides him to raise his arms and then quickly and efficiently strips him of his t-shirt. His amulet falls through the neckline of his shirt and lands against his chest, becoming a painfully bright point of cold where the metal touches his bare skin, but he doesn't have a chance to concentrate on that for more than a second before she starts helping him back into his jacket. Then she slides her arms around his waist so that they're tucked against his back, underneath his coat; she presses herself against him, chest to chest, and buries her face against his neck, like she's trying to burrow her way inside of him. He wraps his arms around her, bringing the ends of his coat around as far as he can to try and keep her covered.

"You know," he says after a long moment passes in silence, "I was only kidding about the whole getting naked thing."

She laughs, and they're pressed so close together that he can feel it reverberate through his entire body.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he murmurs against her hair.

And he supposes, in the end, that there are worse ways to die. He'd rather freeze than drown, for instance. Or a plane crash. He'd definitely rather freeze than die in a plane crash. Just the idea of it is enough to make him shudder.

"Sam'll find us," he says aloud, because maybe actually saying it will make it come true. He's seen stranger things, after all. After a lifetime of homicidal ghosts, rampaging werewolves and yellow-eyed demons, he thinks that anything could be possible.

She doesn't reply; she just moves closer, her lips brushing a ghost-like kiss across his jawline. Dean wraps his arms more tightly around her in response, and tries to fight off the drowsy feeling that's trying to overtake him. He can't fall asleep. Not here.

He repeats it in his mind like a mantra. Nosleeping nosleeping nosleeping nosleeping nosleeping nosleeping...


When he opens his eyes, all he sees is white, and it's a minute before his vision starts to clear and actual shapes come into focus. This isn't the afterlife, thank god, unless death looks surprisingly like an empty hospital room.

His mouth is dry, and he thinks he'd sell his soul for a glass of water right about now. And he knows a guy who knows a guy, so it's not an idle threat.

He hears the door open and looks up. Sam is standing there, and when their eyes meet, the smile that blossoms on his baby brother's face is perhaps the most beautiful thing Dean's seen in a long time.

Sammy found them. He really found them.

He tries to speak, but what's supposed to be "You're a sight for sore eyes, dude," becomes a strangled croak, so he settles for a smile instead.

The nurse enters then, and he tries to ask for a glass of water. Instead, he's just allowed some ice chips to suck on, which he fully plans to bitch about just as soon as he stops sounding like a frog with laryngitis.

Once the nurse is done prodding and poking him (which, dude, she's not even a little hot, so there goes that fantasy), Sam sits down on the edge of the bed. Dean's still frog boy, but Sammy seems to have developed mind reading as another one of his freaky powers, because he knows exactly what Dean wants to ask.

"Jo's in ICU. She was worse off than you were, but the doc thinks she's gonna make a full recovery. They're talking about moving her to a regular room tomorrow."

Dean nods, relieved, but he needs to know the rest. He arches an eyebrow, giving Sam a look that clearly says, "And?"

"Don't worry, it's dead. I killed it right before I found where it stashed the two of you. One less nasty thing to worry about in the world."

Dean smiles and feels a huge weight lift from his shoulders. Creature's dead; Jo's okay; Sam's here. Things are as they should be.

"Ellen's outside," Sam tells him. "She wants to thank you for watching out for Jo."

Sam moves toward the door, but he pauses just before opening it. "It was interesting how I found you guys," he remarks nonchalantly. "You know, in a half naked embrace and all."

Dean glares, and manages to croak out an explanation. "Body heat, moron. Jo's idea."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, so you say, Dean. Leave it to you to get to second base when you're trapped in a frozen meat locker."

Bite me, little brother, Dean thinks to himself as Sam walks outside and talks to Ellen. You're just jealous.

(xposted in virtualinsomnia)


Thanks! I'm so glad you liked it! :-)