monicawoe (monicawoe) wrote,

Kind of Like Home (Gen, G)

Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about all these awesome spoilers - I wrote the plot-bunny hopping around in my brain!

word-count: ~850
characters: Sam, Dean
mild spoilers for 8x13 and beyond. Set some time between 8x12 and 8x13.
Sam & Dean settle down[Spoiler (click to open)]in their new home-base

Dean turned the corner into the library and couldn't help but smile to himself. They'd been here for just over three weeks now, and it was starting to feel like…well like home, weirdly. A huge, sprawling enormous underground bunker of a home, but a home nonetheless. They had two dozen bedrooms to choose from between the two of them. Of course he'd grabbed the one with the most space — that was his right as the older brother.

The linens left on the bed were dusty, but after a run to a nearby laundromat, he discovered they were by far the most comfortable sheets he'd ever had. The comforter was down, it had feathers in it — like actual soft squishy feathers. The pillows were just as soft, and so if he slept in the next morning it totally wasn't his fault. Sam on the other hand, had fallen asleep on the couch in the back corner of the library the first four nights in a row, and only ended up in his bed on the fifth night because they'd spent the day hunting chupacabras and he was too tired to get back up after lying down for 'a short nap.'

"Sammy?" Dean called out, as he walked down the center of the huge room. Books lined the walls in every direction. When they'd first seen this room, Sam had had what could only be described as a full-body nerdgasm.

It was pretty cool. A little musty, but there were books in here that were several centuries old — some that were hand-written on parchment bound in leather. There was a reason it smelled musty. And there were just…so many. By Sam's estimation the library housed nearly 700,000 books. All of them unique. All of them relevant to their lives. There were whole shelves filled with books written completely in Enochian, at least three walls full of alternate versions of sacred texts — from every religion known (and unknown) to man. So yeah…a little boring, but Sam was as happy as…a nerd in a giant library.

"You fall asleep again? You should come check out my room, it's awesome! I got these Zeppelin posters, man, they—" Dean's voice got stuck in his throat when he spotted Sam. He wasn't laying on his favorite couch, he was sitting in it, his face deep in concentration. He was staring at the coffee table in front of him — more specifically at his empty coffee cup, his spoon, and a small empty plate — all of which were floating about a foot above the table.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, more loudly as he got closer.

There was a clattering noise as the cup, plate and spoon all fell back onto the table, and Sam looked up at Dean in shock. "Dean—"

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, trying to sound calm and collected. Which he totally was, despite the way his heart was clenching unpleasantly — each beat sending him reminders of what Sam's powers were — where they came from.

Sam winced as he picked up the coffee cup. There was a big crack running down the center and a piece had chipped off the top. "I gotta stop using this china. Sorry."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Do I look like I give a crap about the china?"

"It's not what you think," Sam said, standing up. He held his hands out like he was looking for a gesture that would explain everything.

"You weren't just levitating stuff?"

"No I was, but—"

"How?" Dean asked. It wasn't what he was afraid of, it couldn't be, because they hadn't even seen a demon since the whole mess with Alfie the angel, and that had been months ago, and he would've noticed if Sam had—

It wasn't that.

"With my mind," Sam said. He chewed on his lip for a second and looked at Dean, waiting for a reaction.

"So your powers started working again?"

"Yes. I made them work again." He ran his fingers through his hair. "And because I know you're thinking it — it's got nothing to do with demon blood. I haven't had any in — " He swallowed. "I haven't had any in a long, long time, and plus — this isn't something I could ever control that well anyway. I only did it that one time with Max."

Dean nodded. "Okay, so how?"

Sam's lips quirked. "There are books here, for people…like me. People that have abilities, or tendencies towards…psychic stuff." He coughed and looked down at the floor. "So I thought, it'd be stupid for me to not at least try."

Dean gave him a steady look.

"Right?" Sam asked, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Right," Dean answered. "But you think maybe you should start by practicing with pencils, or feathers, or some crap like that?"

Sam smirked. "Fine."

"So you gonna come check out my room or are you spending the whole day in here again with your flat, leather-bound girlfriends?" Dean turned and headed back down the book-filled aisles.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, and trailed after him.

Tags: dean winchester, fic, sam winchester
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