[SPN] Satellite

Title: Satellite
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Rating: PG
Prompt: 01. Moon
Summary: Sam’s seen too many bodies burned in his life to recall the spirit or its story, but he remembers Dean’s smile in the unnatural beam of the flashlight.
Notes: Written for 50_elements.

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Sam tagged along on his first hunt three days after his thirteenth birthday.

He remembers holding the flashlight while Dad and Dean went to work on the grave, and he remembers watching the dark spread of sweat through Dean’s shirt. Sam’s seen too many bodies burned in his life to recall the spirit or its story, but he remembers Dean’s smile in the unnatural beam of the flashlight; his teeth gleamed white against the grave dirt on his face.

He remembers thinking that Dean was everything Sam ever wanted to be, and he remembers thinking that Dad was indestructible, infallible. Dad poured the starter fluid, Dean the salt, and they let Sam light the match.

He remembers the rush, the way his hands – so huge on his skinny wrist – trembled with adrenaline, and he remembers that later, it was his whole body shaking, and it was Dean who held him like he hadn’t since Sam was six. The freckles on Dean’s nose were stark in the moonlight, and Sam tried to count them to stay calm.

He remembers the way Dean curled around him, the way his legs tangled with Sam’s skinny ones, and he remembers that he fell asleep like, tucked against the safety of Dean’s heartbeat. Dean teased him in the morning to make up for it, and they fought until Dad broke them up.

He remembers that when Dean pulled away, there was blood on his lip, and he remembers the strange sort of pride on Dean’s face. It was the first time Sam ever got a solid hit in.

He remembers – years later, before he ever told them about the acceptance letter hidden at the bottom of his duffel – he remembers Dean’s slurred, “You can do better than this, Sammy.” He remembers Dad’s face like a thunderhead before he left, and he remembers Dean’s tight mouth and white knuckles when he drove Sam to the bus station.

Now he sits on the edge of a tiny bed, staring at nails free of grave dirt, and he remembers the hard beat of his heart when he spoke to the pretty blonde in his psych class. He thinks of her smile, teeth as white as Dean’s but her face clean, golden like her hair.

Jessica, he thinks, and his stomach clenches, tight with nerves. They have a date tonight, and Sam knows, in a way he can’t explain, that this changes everything. He thinks of Dean, and for a moment it hurts so much he can’t breathe. But Sam isn’t going back.