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kat_lair***
Title: Reshaped
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen or Dean/Sam
Tags: Ficlet, Shippy Gen, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Transformation, Codependency
Rating: T
Word count: 493
Disclaimer: Make-believe!
Summary: Dean doesn’t notice it at first.
Author Notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 2/31. Theme/prompt: transformation
Reshaped on AO3
Dean doesn’t notice it at first. The changes are so gradual, so small, to begin with that they are easy to dismiss as just new stress reactions (and they are stressed, like, all the time) or just Sam being weird (and, let’s face it, he’s weird all the time).
It’s a grin that seems sharper than normal, Sam’s mouth stretching wide, wide, teeth bared, eyes slitted as he watches the hapless law enforcement officer of the week try to come up with a rational explanation for the mutilated bodies.
“Knock it off,” Dean mutters under his breath as they are leaving, elbowing Sam on the side. “It’s not that funny.”
“It is,” Sam says. “They’re always funny.” There’s something almost mean about the way he’s chuckling still.
It’s the way the setting sun throws Sam into stark relief, his shadow stretching impossibly along the road. From where Dean is watching he is nothing but a dark shape, tall and sinewy, almost inhuman. It’s the angle, the light is behind Sam and… It’s the angle.
It’s Sam stealing his pie, straight from Dean’s plate, eating it with his hands, skin stained, mouth obscenely red from the cherries. It’s Sam raiding the motel vending machine almost every night. It’s the candy wrappers piling on the floor of the Impala. It’s the four, five, six packets of sugar Sam puts in his coffee.
When Dean lifts an eyebrow at him, Sam only laughs. “You know I like sweet things.”
Dean knows Sam never liked them to this extent, but he says nothing.
It’s small things. But they add up. They multiply. Expand. And Dean notices.
It’s Sam stepping away from a distraught family member, not even a pretense of sympathy on his face after they’ve gotten their information. It’s Sam not in his bed when Dean wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s the smell of forest on him in the morning, green and wet and rich with secrets. It’s the way he moves, fluid and deadly. It’s the way he kills, before they see him coming. Before he needs to.
It’s Sam, his eyes glowing silver in the moonlight, watching Dean watching him. His skin is stained, his mouth red like cherries. He likes sweet things.
It’s not Sam, some would say. This thing with a smile like knives is not Sam, they’d say. Dean might have too, once. But that was years and deaths ago, years and deaths and sacrifices and never-ever giving up, never-ever leaving each other behind. Dean knows better now.
This thing waiting for him at the edge of the woods, his body strong and sinuous, his love twisting like a river, like roots of ancient trees, may not be Sam as he was before, but it is Sam. It is Sam now.
And Sam? Sam is always his.
Dean’s steps are sure as he walks to join his brother, the night folding around them, soft and silent.
Theirs.
***
Title: Reshaped
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen or Dean/Sam
Tags: Ficlet, Shippy Gen, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Transformation, Codependency
Rating: T
Word count: 493
Disclaimer: Make-believe!
Summary: Dean doesn’t notice it at first.
Author Notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 2/31. Theme/prompt: transformation
Reshaped on AO3
Dean doesn’t notice it at first. The changes are so gradual, so small, to begin with that they are easy to dismiss as just new stress reactions (and they are stressed, like, all the time) or just Sam being weird (and, let’s face it, he’s weird all the time).
It’s a grin that seems sharper than normal, Sam’s mouth stretching wide, wide, teeth bared, eyes slitted as he watches the hapless law enforcement officer of the week try to come up with a rational explanation for the mutilated bodies.
“Knock it off,” Dean mutters under his breath as they are leaving, elbowing Sam on the side. “It’s not that funny.”
“It is,” Sam says. “They’re always funny.” There’s something almost mean about the way he’s chuckling still.
It’s the way the setting sun throws Sam into stark relief, his shadow stretching impossibly along the road. From where Dean is watching he is nothing but a dark shape, tall and sinewy, almost inhuman. It’s the angle, the light is behind Sam and… It’s the angle.
It’s Sam stealing his pie, straight from Dean’s plate, eating it with his hands, skin stained, mouth obscenely red from the cherries. It’s Sam raiding the motel vending machine almost every night. It’s the candy wrappers piling on the floor of the Impala. It’s the four, five, six packets of sugar Sam puts in his coffee.
When Dean lifts an eyebrow at him, Sam only laughs. “You know I like sweet things.”
Dean knows Sam never liked them to this extent, but he says nothing.
It’s small things. But they add up. They multiply. Expand. And Dean notices.
It’s Sam stepping away from a distraught family member, not even a pretense of sympathy on his face after they’ve gotten their information. It’s Sam not in his bed when Dean wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s the smell of forest on him in the morning, green and wet and rich with secrets. It’s the way he moves, fluid and deadly. It’s the way he kills, before they see him coming. Before he needs to.
It’s Sam, his eyes glowing silver in the moonlight, watching Dean watching him. His skin is stained, his mouth red like cherries. He likes sweet things.
It’s not Sam, some would say. This thing with a smile like knives is not Sam, they’d say. Dean might have too, once. But that was years and deaths ago, years and deaths and sacrifices and never-ever giving up, never-ever leaving each other behind. Dean knows better now.
This thing waiting for him at the edge of the woods, his body strong and sinuous, his love twisting like a river, like roots of ancient trees, may not be Sam as he was before, but it is Sam. It is Sam now.
And Sam? Sam is always his.
Dean’s steps are sure as he walks to join his brother, the night folding around them, soft and silent.
Theirs.
***