I don't own Sam, Dean, the Impala or Supernatural, unfortunately!
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This just sort of came into my head and wanted me to write it.
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I'm sorry for the X's in place of normal paragraphs but the site uploads my texts in a bizarre way!
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Set in late season six, more or less
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I've tried to eliminate any mistakes in grammar, sorry if some have slipped through!
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Title:- Snow and Sentiments
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Sam trudged through the snow, diner food bags in his hands.
His too-light layers of clothing doing little to keep the keen chill from penetrating his
flesh, while the freezing rawness of his exposed face and gloveless hands just added to
his overall feeling of wretchedness.
The next time Dean told him that he needed a heavy winter jacket, he wasn't going to brush
him off with the excuse of saving the money for their other expenses!
He hastened his step, not wanting the food to succumb to the polar temperatures.
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As he passed he saw the bright lights blazing out from "Leonardo's Laboratory", a high-class
Italian restaurant that he ironically calculated to be way out of his price-range.
It occurred to him that if he had become the lawyer that he had set out to be, maybe
he could have occasionally afforded a meal in a place like this.
One thought led to another and he found himself in a similar setting, a few years back,
sitting opposite a beautiful woman, a woman he had barely known, but who had left a
profound impression on him for her beauty, courage and understanding.
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He regretted that he hadn't gotten to spend more time with her, but sadly aware of his
track-record with the fairer sex, he was glad that she had been spared from the
supernatural hex that he seemed to cast on any potential woman-friends.
He threw a final glance towards the illuminated windows before turning into the corner.
Dean would be eating the furniture by now; best hurry to feed the beast.
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She exited the door, her dark hair coiffed to perfection, looking as beautiful as he remembered.
He turned away, hoping that she hadn't seen or recognised in him the overgrown boy he had
been then.
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"Sam...!" He remembered the honeyed tones of her voice.
"Sam, Is that really you?"
He didn't want to acknowledge the question, he wanted to keep walking, but she was waiting
for a reply and he felt his body turning, as if with a will of its own, towards her.
He met her eyes and he cursed himself for the tongue-tied feeling that came over him
as he only managed to stutter out the one word. "Sarah."
She smiled that warm, infectious smile he remembered, and he found his lips curling up
in response.
They stood like that, neither one wanting to break the moment.
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"How have you been..." they began, in unison.
"Ladies, first," laughed Sam, the ice broken.
"How have you been, Sam, " she repeated with a smile.
"I'm okay."
"You're looking well," her eyes taking in his trim muscular form; his worn clothing
leaving little to the imagination, " if a little cold!"
"You too, Sarah, you haven't changed a bit."
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"Listen, why don't we go back in, it's freezing out here. They make great coffee and we
can bring each other up to date. How long has it been, four or five years; we've got a lot
to talk about."
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Sam was sorely tempted, and the heat and warmth that could be seen inside was so
inviting.
He sighed," Mmm, I don't think so, Dean's waiting for his food and he's probably pissed off
and pacing the floor as it is."
"So, you're still in tandem with your brother?"
"Yeah, can't get rid of him, " quipped Sam, knowing that in his heart losing Dean was
the last thing on Earth that he desired.
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"Then why don't you call him and get him to join us here, you can eat inside."
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Sam considered it for a nano-second, the promise of heat, good food and the company of
a beautiful woman all vying to make him accept her invitation.
His heart was poised to say yes, but his lips were already forming a denial.
"Sorry, I'd love to, but Dean isn't feeling very well; he's running a fever; must have picked
up a virus or something."
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He recognised the glimmer of disappointment in her eyes at the patheticness of his
excuse, but he knew he couldn't accept.
Her's was a world that he could no longer aspire to, an alien landscape which could have
been his, perhaps with Sarah at the centre of it, but that was if he had been simply
Sam Winchester and not Sam Winchester, hunter, ex-demon blood addict and
ex-prisoner of Lucifer's Cage.
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She captured his eyes with her own, their depths sorrowful for the second good-bye to
a man she knew she could have loved and been happy with, intensified by the
recognition in the soft liquid depths of Sam's eyes, of his self-same feeling of regret.
She held his gaze, not wanting to break the connection.
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A taxi braked to a stop, splashing melted snow onto Sarah's legs.
She jumped back, surprised, turning her head towards the car.
When she brought her eyes back to Sam, all she could was the snow softly falling
and his disappearing figure, barely discernable among the white flakes.
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Sam opened the scruffy door and moved to the tiny table under the motel window.
"Hey, bro, my insides are sticking together here; you bring the food?"
Not receiving a standard snarky reply from his brother quickly put Dean's big brother antenna
into alert mode.
"Sammy? Something happen out there?"
"No, Dean! Nothing happened."
"Come on, Sammy, no more secrets, remember!"
"Fine, Dean, Sam answered, "I just ran into an old friend."
"Anyone I know?"
"No, just someone from my Stanford days, no-one important."
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(Dean pov.)
Dean got off the bed and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and he wasn't surprised
when Sam turned into his touch and he found himself with an a muscled wall of
six foot four little brother pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, as if he was the
Sam- equivalent of a giant teddy-bear.
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Dean's chick-flick rule-book had long ago been booted out the window, their
lives just too inhuman to prohibit the small comfort of a hug or an emotional
moment and Dean who could never deny anything to his puppy-eyed younger brother
certainly wouldn't deny him that, especially when the comfort went both ways.
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(Sam pov.)
Sam felt his brother's hand on his shoulder and suddenly he needed to hold on to
something solid. He felt his arms go round Dean pulling his unprotesting brother into a
hug.
He expected Dean to pull away, but he remained stoically still and circled his
shoulder with his arm.
Sam took comfort from his brother's touch, thinking how nothing had really changed.
Dean had always been able to comfort him when he was a child and he was still the only
one who could; six foot four, muscled bad-ass hunter or not!
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"You good, little brother?"
"Yeah... Yeah, Dean. I'm good."
"Fine, now let's see what's in them bags.
You didn't forget the pie, I hope, otherwise I'll kick your skinny ass back out into the
snow to get me some!"
"Dean, dude! " huffed Sam, playing his part. "When did I ever forget the pie?"
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