FIC: 3 Words - Drabbles (SPN, GEN )
by MaygraFrom coiledsoul: Sam, Mary, fireflies (300 words)
Mary had a little ritual. She'd done it with Dean. She did it with Sam. A wish a month on something special for the first year. One month after he was born, she wrapped him up and took him outside, looked at the clear sky and found a bright twinkle. "That's your star, Sammy. Your very own." And she made a wish for him.
In July it was fireflies. The yard was full of them and she tracked one as it made its way from the ground to the trees. Sammy blinked and reached for it. "That's your firefly, Sammy." And she wished on that as well.
End of July into August was storm season. Rain and wind and John coming home drenched every day. Dean fidgeting from being stuck inside and unable to go out and play. On the 2nd the skies cleared for a bit and Mary let Dean run and play and stomp in puddles, while she sat on the front steps with Sam. "Mommy, look," Dean said, pointing. Mary looked up to see the trailing edge of a rainbow.
"Make a wish, Dean."
"Is Sammy making one too?"
"I'll make one for him."
September was for kites on the weekend, and she and John and Dean wrote wishes on cloth and tied them to the tail. John leaned over her shoulder as she wrote one for Sam, kissing her when he saw it.
October brought turning leaves. It meant bundling Dean up in a sweater from his grandmother and Sam in knitted blanket to watch the first of the leaves start to fall. Mary waited for four and kissed Sam's forehead on the fifth for a wish.
On November 2, Mary's final wish for her youngest son was made on a drop of her own blood.
From moosesal: scarlet, snow, lemon (100 words)
Dean had seen his share of blood in his time. Blood, guts, other things best not mentioned -- or remembered. But there were few things as disturbing as blood on snow. Something about the wide swath of scarlet stretched across otherwise pristine white made it seem like a blasphemy. Snow on blood didn't turn brown as it dried -- it stayed vivid and stark, the color frozen as a mark of violence. There was no mistaking it for anything else.
But more disturbing than blood on snow was the absolute terror of knowing the blood was Sam's.
He kept moving.
From boji: Green, innuendo, blasted (cheated) (100 words)
"You're not looking so good," Dean said with a grin.
Sam glared at him and pressed his head into his hands again.
"No, really, Sam, you look a little green."
"Shut up," Sam said, flinching back when Dean offered him a glass. "What is that?"
"Hair of the dog, m'boy," Dean said with a snort.
The smell of alcohol made him scrabble back on the bed -- not a good idea. "No, thanks. God. I didn't have that much to drink. What were we drinking?"
"Boot Blasters. Good for getting down to business."
"Yeah, if your business is alcohol poisoning."
Boot Blaster
Ingredients:
• 1 oz White rum
• 1 oz Gin
• 1 oz Vodka
• 1 oz Triple sec
• 14 oz Lemon-lime mix
• 1/2 oz Coca-Cola
Mixing instructions: Half fill a 20oz glass (preferably in the shape of a Cowboy Boot) with ice, regular or crushed. Pour the spirits over the ice. Add lemon-lime mix leaving room at the top for the 1/2 oz of Coca-Cola to dirty the drink.
From without_me: (1) Dean, in the rain; (2) the scent of jasmine; (3) Sam behind the wheel of the Impala. (100 words)
Dean could make all the noise in the world he wanted to about letting Sam drive his car. He regularly warned Sam about damage, about braking too fast or hard, about adjusting the seat to fit Sam's longer legs; how it took days for Dean to adjust the seat again so he could sit comfortably.
Sam drove like he did everything else, careful and cautious, always focused but as uncomfortable behind the wheel as he seemed to be in his own skin most days.
And yet, Dean slept better in the car while Sam was driving than any other time.
From gryphonrhi: rain-slick road, guttering candles/fire, taste of snow in the air (200words)
"We'll be in Hayden by nightfall."
Sam frowned.
"It's just a ghost, Sam."
"I missed this."
"What?" Dean asked. Sam was leaning against the car while Dean filled the tank.
"The taste of snow in the air. When I was in California…" Sam's gaze dropped from the sky to the ground, to the worn canvas of his tennis shoes. "I missed the snow. Seems like we were always someplace where it snowed at this time of year. Growing up."
They'd spent so much of their childhood in the Midwest, that wasn't such a stretch. "I didn't think you liked snow."
"I don't. Not really," Sam said.
Dean stared up at the sky. There was no snow in sight -- maybe it would fall later, or not. He topped off the tank and got back in the car.
Sam stood outside for a few more moments before reluctantly sliding back into the seat.d Dean resigned himself to a few more hours of unhappy Sam.
"You can miss something you didn't really like, because it's still something you always knew," Sam said suddenly.
They were 100 miles down the road before Dean realized snow wasn't what Sam was talking about at all.