Fic: Up Around the Bend
Title: Up Around the Bend
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Supernatural/BtVS/Angel/Saving Grace/True Blood/Boondock Saints
Pairing: Gen
Rating: R
Length: 1080 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Traveling across the country brings you into contact with a lot of... weird people. Sam and Dean are getting a little tired of it.
Notes: I couldn't think of another GO crossover, so I did everything else I could think of. Takes place during S2, I think. Title's from a CCR song.
It's really only fair that they end up in California, one of the few states whose roads Dean's only half-sure of. The whole state's a thick reminder of why over-populated places drag them down and fill them up with a kind of sick normality that tastes ugly in your mouth, but Dean knows his way around a bad thing when he sees one and can avoid the problem areas with little trouble.
They don't even look twice as they head right by San Francisco with Foreigner drowning out the sounds of competitive traffic until Sunnydale opens its deceptively cheerful arms to pull them right in.
Of course, by the time they leave, Sam wants (and almost spray-paints) a subtitle to the town's County of Sunnydale welcome sign that says RUN WHILE YOU CAN, but realizes that this would only encourage the local demon population into fulfilling their own twisted expectations. No case, mystery, no research involved -- just a hell of a lot of vampires, one seriously pissed young woman with wicked aim and too many campy one-liners that weren't, for once, Dean's fault.
Later, Sam thinks it's odd that Dean's the one to leave his number with the girl, instead of the other way around.
---
Turns out LA's the next stop.
"Why are we doing this?" Sam asks for about the zillionth time, and Dean rubs a sweaty palm from the steering wheel over his face and groans. "Is it because you actually listened to that girl?"
They find out a little too late that the law-firm isn't actually evil anymore (not technically, but there's a lot of technical issues involved), even if it's run by a guy who, Dean likes to think, takes the cake from Sam for Year's Most Churlish Award. They're given rooms, food, random facts and run-ins with demons and laywers and it's almost too much like Sunnydale for Sam to take, except this time, everyone wears suits and ties and won't stop smiling at him.
The get the fuck out of that town as soon as Dean tries to sleep with a law intern that, like, post-coitally sucks the brains out of its victim's nose (Oh, gross, Sam says, horrified) and they leg it immediately as far away from California as they can manage.
"She was smokin', through," Dean says sadly, as they drive right through Arizona. "Too bad about the whole 'brains: it's what's for dinner' thing."
Sam bursts out laughing and can't stop. Dean purses his lips and turns up the AC/DC tape loud as it can go.
---
They slide right into Oklahoma through New Mexico and stop in Oklahoma City to do a job. It's your usual salt n' burn deal, and neither Sam nor Dean make a big fuss about the immediate grave digging they have to do after a hard night out on the road, though Dean makes sure to buy a beer at the local gas station right before.
It would have been easy and clean if the detective hadn't caught them at it, even if she was stumbling drunk back from a bar. Things happened fast that night. It would have been slightly less confusing if there hadn't been a third party involved.
"Get goin'," says the man, and lets them out from the precinct, looking like the most holy of hobos Sam had ever seen. "Say hi to Castiel from Earl, would you?"
"We just keep racking up friends in high places," Dean marvels with a chuckle as he fires up the ignition on the Impala.
Sam only thinks, Who the hell is Castiel? before dissolving into a hysterical sort of grin that last for miles and miles.
---
Eventually, they end up in Louisiana, which is enough of a Bumfuck, Nowhere that they don't feel really pressured to get up and leave anytime soon. There's only one motel in the entire town of Bon Temps and it's tiny and smells like clumpy bayou, but it's pretty nice. It's only half a mile from the local bar.
All of the waitresses are pretty convenient, too. Dean takes one home with him -- Carrie? Cat? -- some name indicative of her self-esteem, and Sam's stuck nursing a burger and a beer while some preteen girl stares from a few booths over, her grandmother twisting her wispy blonde hair into a French braid.
Dude, Sam thinks, avoiding her gaze, awkward.
Which is weird, because he knows he's at least somewhat attractive, but the girl ducks her head in a furious blush and Sam can't help but feel like she's read his mind.
Dean makes an offhand comment about the South when they hit the road again, and Sam rolls his shoulders.
---
Boston is fucking huge and sprawling and covered in vines, and Sam likes it immediately because it reminds him of Stanford. Dean, of course, hates it.
They hit the bars and end up with one on the Irish side of town, and run into mirror versions of themselves.
"I'm Connor," says Murphy.
"Fuckin' shuttup, Murph," says Connor, slapping his brother on the upside of the head. "I'm Connor. This's me nuisance brother Murphy." He pauses to down a drink -- Sam notices the pistol on his hip when his coat lifts. He pats the stool next to him.
Dean keeps his gun close but relaxes when all they do is get drunk and laugh. Sam's on edge even when they say goodbye and it's been a nice run-in with you, and they part ways. Split right down in half, two brothers to a side. It's -- scary familiar.
Scarier still when Dean's drinking a morning beer and sees Connor and Murphy's badly sketched faces on the motel's television screen and sprays it all out on the carpet.
---
"You two just keep runnin' into trouble, don't you?"
"Kind of the job description, Bobby," Dean hisses as Bobby pulls a threaded needle through his forearm, while Sam holds an ice pack to his aching head. Bobby's place is the ultimate in default locations; it's just -- there, every time they need it, and Sam had mentioned tiredly that he was getting tired of hopping states.
Bobby, never the one to turn down an opportunity to tell them how stupid they are, had welcomed them with open arms and a bottle of Jack. "You boys oughta take a nice long sabbatical. Been gettin' phonecalls out the ass since you left last month."
Sam snorts; he's half-expected it.
"Gladly," Dean says. "Got any cars need fixing?"
But of course the girl who'd Dean left his number with in California calls the next day, and it starts all over again.
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Supernatural/BtVS/Angel/Saving Grace/True Blood/Boondock Saints
Pairing: Gen
Rating: R
Length: 1080 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Traveling across the country brings you into contact with a lot of... weird people. Sam and Dean are getting a little tired of it.
Notes: I couldn't think of another GO crossover, so I did everything else I could think of. Takes place during S2, I think. Title's from a CCR song.
It's really only fair that they end up in California, one of the few states whose roads Dean's only half-sure of. The whole state's a thick reminder of why over-populated places drag them down and fill them up with a kind of sick normality that tastes ugly in your mouth, but Dean knows his way around a bad thing when he sees one and can avoid the problem areas with little trouble.
They don't even look twice as they head right by San Francisco with Foreigner drowning out the sounds of competitive traffic until Sunnydale opens its deceptively cheerful arms to pull them right in.
Of course, by the time they leave, Sam wants (and almost spray-paints) a subtitle to the town's County of Sunnydale welcome sign that says RUN WHILE YOU CAN, but realizes that this would only encourage the local demon population into fulfilling their own twisted expectations. No case, mystery, no research involved -- just a hell of a lot of vampires, one seriously pissed young woman with wicked aim and too many campy one-liners that weren't, for once, Dean's fault.
Later, Sam thinks it's odd that Dean's the one to leave his number with the girl, instead of the other way around.
---
Turns out LA's the next stop.
"Why are we doing this?" Sam asks for about the zillionth time, and Dean rubs a sweaty palm from the steering wheel over his face and groans. "Is it because you actually listened to that girl?"
They find out a little too late that the law-firm isn't actually evil anymore (not technically, but there's a lot of technical issues involved), even if it's run by a guy who, Dean likes to think, takes the cake from Sam for Year's Most Churlish Award. They're given rooms, food, random facts and run-ins with demons and laywers and it's almost too much like Sunnydale for Sam to take, except this time, everyone wears suits and ties and won't stop smiling at him.
The get the fuck out of that town as soon as Dean tries to sleep with a law intern that, like, post-coitally sucks the brains out of its victim's nose (Oh, gross, Sam says, horrified) and they leg it immediately as far away from California as they can manage.
"She was smokin', through," Dean says sadly, as they drive right through Arizona. "Too bad about the whole 'brains: it's what's for dinner' thing."
Sam bursts out laughing and can't stop. Dean purses his lips and turns up the AC/DC tape loud as it can go.
---
They slide right into Oklahoma through New Mexico and stop in Oklahoma City to do a job. It's your usual salt n' burn deal, and neither Sam nor Dean make a big fuss about the immediate grave digging they have to do after a hard night out on the road, though Dean makes sure to buy a beer at the local gas station right before.
It would have been easy and clean if the detective hadn't caught them at it, even if she was stumbling drunk back from a bar. Things happened fast that night. It would have been slightly less confusing if there hadn't been a third party involved.
"Get goin'," says the man, and lets them out from the precinct, looking like the most holy of hobos Sam had ever seen. "Say hi to Castiel from Earl, would you?"
"We just keep racking up friends in high places," Dean marvels with a chuckle as he fires up the ignition on the Impala.
Sam only thinks, Who the hell is Castiel? before dissolving into a hysterical sort of grin that last for miles and miles.
---
Eventually, they end up in Louisiana, which is enough of a Bumfuck, Nowhere that they don't feel really pressured to get up and leave anytime soon. There's only one motel in the entire town of Bon Temps and it's tiny and smells like clumpy bayou, but it's pretty nice. It's only half a mile from the local bar.
All of the waitresses are pretty convenient, too. Dean takes one home with him -- Carrie? Cat? -- some name indicative of her self-esteem, and Sam's stuck nursing a burger and a beer while some preteen girl stares from a few booths over, her grandmother twisting her wispy blonde hair into a French braid.
Dude, Sam thinks, avoiding her gaze, awkward.
Which is weird, because he knows he's at least somewhat attractive, but the girl ducks her head in a furious blush and Sam can't help but feel like she's read his mind.
Dean makes an offhand comment about the South when they hit the road again, and Sam rolls his shoulders.
---
Boston is fucking huge and sprawling and covered in vines, and Sam likes it immediately because it reminds him of Stanford. Dean, of course, hates it.
They hit the bars and end up with one on the Irish side of town, and run into mirror versions of themselves.
"I'm Connor," says Murphy.
"Fuckin' shuttup, Murph," says Connor, slapping his brother on the upside of the head. "I'm Connor. This's me nuisance brother Murphy." He pauses to down a drink -- Sam notices the pistol on his hip when his coat lifts. He pats the stool next to him.
Dean keeps his gun close but relaxes when all they do is get drunk and laugh. Sam's on edge even when they say goodbye and it's been a nice run-in with you, and they part ways. Split right down in half, two brothers to a side. It's -- scary familiar.
Scarier still when Dean's drinking a morning beer and sees Connor and Murphy's badly sketched faces on the motel's television screen and sprays it all out on the carpet.
---
"You two just keep runnin' into trouble, don't you?"
"Kind of the job description, Bobby," Dean hisses as Bobby pulls a threaded needle through his forearm, while Sam holds an ice pack to his aching head. Bobby's place is the ultimate in default locations; it's just -- there, every time they need it, and Sam had mentioned tiredly that he was getting tired of hopping states.
Bobby, never the one to turn down an opportunity to tell them how stupid they are, had welcomed them with open arms and a bottle of Jack. "You boys oughta take a nice long sabbatical. Been gettin' phonecalls out the ass since you left last month."
Sam snorts; he's half-expected it.
"Gladly," Dean says. "Got any cars need fixing?"
But of course the girl who'd Dean left his number with in California calls the next day, and it starts all over again.