Here At The End (Sam/Dean)
Apr. 21st, 2019 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runedgirlTitle: Here At The End
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Partners:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laughablelament and crowroad3
A/N: For the prompt: six hex bags (and a side of fries). Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_napowrimo poetry challenge - which was so much fun!
Here At The End
She’s the single constant for their entire lives
Rocked her springs and watched over her firstborn’s conception
Nine months later heading home, she soothed with rumbled growls
His squalling red-faced infant cries.
Her second-born was quiet, same bumpy road, same drive
Big brother squashed on her seat between Mom and Dad
Chubby fingers wrapped around his baby’s, and she knew
Two souls, one soul, already entwined.
She carries the marks of them both, embedded forever
Keeps their chlldhood memories hidden inside
Countless miles with John's foot lead on her pedal traversed together,
In the backseat, two pairs of frightened wide little boy eyes
She rocked them when no one else was there,
Lulled them to sleep as they curled up, shaggy head beneath the other’s chin
Two against the world is what it’s always seemed
But three is what it’s always been.
They’re grown now, long legs barely fitting inside
She can feel their strength as their limbs unwind
They’re dangerous, but she’s their enabler
Swift and strong and solid, ruthless hunter in the night.
She’s given all her space for what they need to stay alive
Green cooler of beers to slake their thirst and blunt their pain
Rests between the seats where their knuckles brush sometimes
A box of tapes, an extra blade, six hex bags (and a side of fries).
Her trunk is heavy with the tools of their trade
Painted and warded in sigils and signs
Grenade launchers and spell books and automatic rifles
Their favorite pistols, well-worn-handled knives.
Front seat and back seat she carries them, leather worn butter soft over time
Scuffed by the denim of their jeans, sometimes the slide of restless thighs
She’s cradled them as they cradle each other
Hoisted them up closer to the stars when they sit silent on her hood side by side.
Her black leather holds their secrets.
The whispered curses, the thump-thump-thump of racing hearts.
Their panted breaths steam her windows and she shields them
A cocoon of leather and steel, a world she makes for them apart.
She holds herself still as they tumble front to back
Boots scrape her roof, hands scrabble for zippers, clench against her leather
She soaks up their spit and sweat and the slick between them,
Matches their rhythm with her own as they rock together
She was the first to feel their heartbeats,
To take them home innocent brand new back then
She is the one still when luck runs out, heartbeat silenced,
Cold, unmoving, covered in the other’s tears, to take them home again.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Partners:
laughablelament and crowroad3A/N: For the prompt: six hex bags (and a side of fries). Written for the
spn_napowrimo poetry challenge - which was so much fun!Here At The End
She’s the single constant for their entire lives
Rocked her springs and watched over her firstborn’s conception
Nine months later heading home, she soothed with rumbled growls
His squalling red-faced infant cries.
Her second-born was quiet, same bumpy road, same drive
Big brother squashed on her seat between Mom and Dad
Chubby fingers wrapped around his baby’s, and she knew
Two souls, one soul, already entwined.
She carries the marks of them both, embedded forever
Keeps their chlldhood memories hidden inside
Countless miles with John's foot lead on her pedal traversed together,
In the backseat, two pairs of frightened wide little boy eyes
She rocked them when no one else was there,
Lulled them to sleep as they curled up, shaggy head beneath the other’s chin
Two against the world is what it’s always seemed
But three is what it’s always been.
They’re grown now, long legs barely fitting inside
She can feel their strength as their limbs unwind
They’re dangerous, but she’s their enabler
Swift and strong and solid, ruthless hunter in the night.
She’s given all her space for what they need to stay alive
Green cooler of beers to slake their thirst and blunt their pain
Rests between the seats where their knuckles brush sometimes
A box of tapes, an extra blade, six hex bags (and a side of fries).
Her trunk is heavy with the tools of their trade
Painted and warded in sigils and signs
Grenade launchers and spell books and automatic rifles
Their favorite pistols, well-worn-handled knives.
Front seat and back seat she carries them, leather worn butter soft over time
Scuffed by the denim of their jeans, sometimes the slide of restless thighs
She’s cradled them as they cradle each other
Hoisted them up closer to the stars when they sit silent on her hood side by side.
Her black leather holds their secrets.
The whispered curses, the thump-thump-thump of racing hearts.
Their panted breaths steam her windows and she shields them
A cocoon of leather and steel, a world she makes for them apart.
She holds herself still as they tumble front to back
Boots scrape her roof, hands scrabble for zippers, clench against her leather
She soaks up their spit and sweat and the slick between them,
Matches their rhythm with her own as they rock together
She was the first to feel their heartbeats,
To take them home innocent brand new back then
She is the one still when luck runs out, heartbeat silenced,
Cold, unmoving, covered in the other’s tears, to take them home again.
