Characters: Dean with a smidgen of Sam
Prompt: 088. Sugar Blossoms
Word Count: 385
Rating: PG-13 for Incesty undertones
Summary: Dean recuperates in a small Southern town.
Author's Notes: I seriously have not written anything in a God's
age, so comments, criticism, even flames are welcome, if they
can somehow manage to help me improve.
There is a small town in Georgia where Dean lived for three months. John had dumped him in the South while he was recuperating from a nasty reaction to venom. Dean never had been very happy to be out of the hunt; for his father to unload him like something used up, stung even more. He was prepared to heal as quick as he could and then catch up.
He stayed in one of three apartments carved out of a hulking antebellum mansion called Lafayette's Fortress. He had dreaded the idea of neighbors trying to be friendly, but he was a little uncomfortable that the other tenants seemed even more paranoid than he. There were tales about the building, supposedly the site of lynchings and murder/suicides, but he did not pay much mind to the gossip. There was even suppose to be a ghost that roamed along the veranda. He had heard all the stories, but did not quite believe any of them. After all, he hadn't had much experience with ghosts that were not vengeful. The first time he ran into the translucent little girl, she seemed more afraid than he ever would be.
It was a small town with two churches and five stores for Voudon practitioners. Everyone seemed to believe whatever was the most practical for that day. He would walk along the main road, peering into dusty windows and wonder if the feeling of discomfort because he was comfortable would ever go away. Each morning he woke up and watched the market square from his third story. He watched and wondered what his Sammy would think of the town. Sam was the one who craved normality and Dean never really had understood his brother's ache.
But in this place, steeped in magic and hauntings, Dean was normal. Hell—compared to some of the townsfolk, he was damn near boring. Of course, he is and always has been, in love with his baby brother—so maybe he's not normal even here.
On quiet mornings though, Dean ignores the flare of pain that Sam's absence ignites under his sternum. Instead, he imagines waking up wrapped around Sam, underneath the peeling green of his ceiling. He can see Sam so clearly—that big, toothy grin as he breathes magnolia-laden, sugar blossom air.