tigriswolf | Tempest - SN fic

Title: Tempest
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: Dean and Sam aren’t mine
Warnings: none
Pairings: none, unless you count Dean and the weather
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 890
Point of view: third
Notes: same universe as “Storm”

They’re stuck in the motel room, waiting for some stupid storm to either blow itself out or blow through. The power failed a good hour before and Sam hadn’t had time to recharge his laptop’s battery. Dean’s content to clean the guns, inventory their clothes, and sharpen knives by candlelight, but within twenty minutes, Sam’s climbing the walls.

And it keeps on storming.

Damn, Sam hates rain.

“Dude, calm down,” Dean finally snaps. “You’re drivin’ me crazy.”

“I’m bored.” Sam knows he’s whining, but he needs something to do.

“So read a book,” Dean suggests, finally done with the clothes.

“I’ll strain my eyes.”

Dean scoffs and Sam’s sure he’s rolling his eyes.

A clap of thunder and Sam jumps, gasping; Dean just breathes, “Awesome.”

Sam has never understood his brother’s weather fetish. Dean has actually stood in the middle of a thunderstorm, face towards the sky, and laughed. If that’s not certifiably insane, Sam doesn’t know what is.

“Sammy, if you won’t do anything to relieve your boredom, shut up. Take a nap or somethin’.”

Sam doesn’t pout. Really, he doesn’t. He just settles against the headboard, crosses his arms, and grumbles. And that’s not pouting.

Dean mutters and tosses a shirt at his head. “Hope that was clean.”

Another hour. Endless, dragging, and Sam ran out of fun when he realized he couldn’t surf the web—oh, about two minutes after the power failed.

“Hey, I think it’s lighting up, Sam,” Dean announces, and he’s out the door before Sam realizes that’s his intention.

“Dean!” he yells. He has never understood his brother and he never, ever will. He bounces off the bed and stalks to the door, glares out into the storm and his crazy brother, who—the hell? Dean is just standing in the middle of the lashing rain, face raised to the sky, and he is… he is. He’s laughing.

Sam hurts just watching, imagining the stinging on his face. “Dean!” he hollers again, feeling like the older brother for once, trying to get an errant sibling to heel. “Get your ass back in here before you’re struck by lightning, you crazy fool!”

Dean laughs again. “C’mon, Sammy! It’s fun.”

The rain falls harder. Sam can’t even see the pavement through the gloom.

“Dean, your boots’ll be ruined!” Sam tries, stepping further back into the room. “And your shirt!”

Dean giggles. Sam can barely hear it over the storm, but his older brother, the hardened hunter, the most dangerous man he’s ever known—fucking giggles like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl with a crush.

Sam stares. A curtain of water separates them, but he stares at where he thinks his brother is, scoffs in disbelief, and slams the door. Who cares if Dean catches his death? Not Sam, that's for damn sure. He stretches out on his bed and buries himself beneath the covers.

He mutters about idiots who think they’re immune to colds, about crazy fools—he’s never understood Dean’s fascination with weather. Dean would probably run out to visit with a tornado, if he was ever in the same place as one.

Sam hates the sound of raindrops on the roof, against the window. It keeps his mind focused, engaged on the noise, so he can’t think about the case they were attempting before the sky opened its bladder and pissed on them.

If possible, it starts raining even harder. Sam considers screaming.

He wakes when Dean trumps back in, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on Sam.

“Dean,” he growls, sitting up. He’s tangled in the blankets, caught. It takes a minute to unravel himself and he throws Dean’s jacket back at him once he’s free.

Dean laughs, spreads his jacket on the dresser, and continues stripping his clothes. “Storm’s almost done, Sammy,” he says, stepping into the darkened bathroom and grabbing a towel. He briskly dries himself off and jumps on his bed. “I figure the power’ll be back on soon.”

In the semidarkness of the room, Sam looks over at Dean, stares at him. “What do you like so much about storms?” Sam asks.

Dean’s silent for a minute ,before saying, “I dunno. The power, beauty—grace, maybe. They’re kinda like big cats, if you think about it.” He’s quick to assure, “Not that I have thought about it. Not at all. But—dangerous, for all their beauty, you know?”

Sam thinks for a moment, picturing in his mind Dean laughing in the middle of a storm, thunder overhead and lightning in the distance. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

A few more minutes pass and the power blinks on. Sam checks his watch: five till five. “Let’s find some food then watch some TV,” he suggests.

Dean looks at him like he’s possessed. “You don’t wanna work on the case?”

“It’s not goin’ anywhere. Besides, how long’s it been since we took a break?”

“How ‘bout Chinese?” Dean asks, pulling on a dry shirt as Sam rolls out of bed. “And maybe the movie rental place’ll be open.”

“Whatever you want, Dean,” Sam tells him and ties his shoes.

No, he doesn’t understand his brother fully, but he knows more than enough. And he’s glad—he’s glad that Dean can still be a wonder-filled kid about some things. He waits for Dean by the door and thinks that maybe he’s finally catching up.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

theladyscribe

Oh god, yes. Dean and storms just go together. Like Dean and rock music and Dean and horses and... I could go on like that forever, but I'll spare you.

This was perfect and a lovely mental image of Dean running around like a lunatic in a lightning storm.

From:

i'm awake, and i'm young, and i'm alive

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