Just a Hole in Arizona: 8 and 12
Just a Hole in Arizona
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The Oklahoma plain rolled past, smooth and easy. Sam was in the back, reading (dork) and Dean was stretched out shotgun, feeling the thrum of the engine and road-noise beneath them. They were moving, Oklahoma to Arizona, and they had a whole week of vacation before they would start a new term in a new school, and Sam wasn't even bitching about it. Mostly, he wasn't bitching because Dad had promised them they'd spend the vacation camping at the Grand Canyon, and Dean had spent two solid weeks talking up the joys of America's greatest natural wonder to Sam. Sam was now convinced it was going to be absolutely epic, and Dean figured that was okay because it probably would be pretty cool.
Apparently their new place in Arizona was surrounded by ghost-towns, old abandoned mining outposts, full of safe and easy hunts. Enough to keep Dad busy for a whole school term and give Dean his first chance to shoot a spirit, which, yeah, awesome.
Dad pulled over for gas, some truck stop with a parking lot the size of a football field, 18-wheelers lined up in neat rows between the diner and the little strip of lawn and picnic tables. Dad pumped the gas, then leaned in through the window. "Gonna make a phone call. Sammy, stretch your legs."
Sam tumbled out the back door and onto the grass on his stomach without peeling his eyes away from the book, but Dean was pretty sure he wasn't pouting, just absorbed, so it was okay. He climbed out and followed Dad to the payphone by the diner's door.
Dad's conversation with Pastor Jim was quiet and brisk, but Dean caught "is he gonna be okay?" and "found her lair?" and "how many victims?" and Dad looked more and more worried. Dean felt all his quiet open-road happiness knot into a little ball in his stomach, waiting for the verdict. Dad was getting directions, now, and promising to drop the boys off within 48 hours, and just like that the epic camping trip was up in smoke.
When Dad finally hung up, Dean made his voice carefully neutral and asked, "What's up?"
"Do you remember Caleb?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Pastor Jim pointed him after a harpy, and now he's hurt bad. He’ll be okay, but she’s still out there."
"So we've gotta go."
"I've gotta go. You and Sam are spending the time with Pastor Jim."
He was supposed to say "yes, sir" now, supposed to go back to Sam and break the news to him and make sure Sam didn't whine about it. But he couldn't make himself move.
"What is it?"
"I should go with you. I can watch your back."
"We've been over this. You'll get your first hunt this year, Dean, just like I promised. One I think is safe to start with." Dad sounded annoyed now, was turning back to the car, and Dean had to fix that because he hadn't understood at all.
"No! Dad, this thing got Caleb-"
Dad turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "She got Caleb, but she won't get me. I won’t let her.”
Dean thought if it was any other hunter, he would have believed that. But he did remember Caleb, and Caleb was as big as Dad and as strong. He remembered Caleb hitting the dead center of every target and pinning Dad to the ground once when they sparred. He made one last, desperate attempt.
“Dad, the trip. It’s my first ever vacation! You promised…”
That was hitting below the belt and they both knew it. Dean didn’t pull what he thought of as the “good dad” card very often, mostly because of the way it made Dad’s face twist in equal parts guilt and anger at Dean for causing that guilt. It never worked before, and it didn’t work now.
“Enough, Dean.” Dad seemed to be making a conscious effort to soften his voice. “Once we’re set up in Arizona, when Sam’s settled into school. On your first hunt, we’ll stop by the Grand Canyon then. Make it a celebration.”
Dean figured it wasn’t Dad’s fault he totally missed the point, on a couple of levels, so he just shrugged roughly. “That part doesn’t matter. It was for Sam anyway.”
Dad looked maybe a little hurt, but he nodded and turned around again, heading back to the car. Dean dropped to the pavement, pretended to tie his shoes while he waited for the tangle of disappointment and fear to unknot inside. Let Dad field Sammy’s questions for once.
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At Pastor Jim's, Sam sulked and whined and was generally completely insufferable. Dean wasn't sulking-- absolutely not, no sir-- but he had to admit he wasn't trying too terribly hard to keep Sam happy and pleasant either. And that probably wasn't fair to Pastor Jim, but whatever.
In his quest to appease them, Jim finally produced a tent and two sleeping bags and suggested that they go camping after all. Dean's first impulse was to be a smart-ass, because camping at a National Park was possibly justified by cool surroundings, but fake backyard camping was inexcusably lame. But it was obviously the sort of lame Sammy fell for, because Dean couldn't even put together a crack about the stunning landscape of Back Yard, Minnesota, before Sam was deep in highly serious negotiations with Pastor Jim about exactly how far from the house they were allowed to set up and how often they had to check in. Dean figured it was about time to buck up, thanked Jim for the idea, and summoned every last bit of enthusiasm he could muster to help Sam figure out the tent.
That night, with the fire out and completely doused in dirt and the s’more makings safely stowed, Sam herded Dean under the canvas. Dean tried to protest, to convince Sam it was way too early to sleep and maybe get him to catch some fireflies in their empty water bottle, but Sam was insistent. He carefully zipped closed every flap until not even a flicker of light from the road and streetlamps could reach them, and then clicked off the flashlight.
Dean pulled a pretty impressive creepy moan (if he did say so himself) and started groping for another light. But Sam was having none of it.
“Dean, just sit still. I have something for you.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just wait.”
There was a fair amount of rustling and Dean felt something laid across his lap. Sam knelt next to Dean, shining the flashlight down over his shoulder, and clicked it on.
Across Dean’s lap lay a National Geographic, folded out to a gorgeous four-page spread of massive red and brown cliffs stretching across the horizon.
“Isn’t that cool? It’s almost like being there. Just imagine you unzipped that flap and that’s what you saw.”
Sam paused, but Dean was frozen into stillness, afraid to disturb the spell the shaking circle of light made on his lap. Sam started talking again, uncertainly.
“There’s a- there’s a whole article, there, about fossils and stuff. It’s interesting. And other pictures, if you want, like fossils and some modern animals and one of the Indian tribes that live there.”
Sam was reaching down, fumbling to turn the page, but Dean caught his wrist and held it.
“Why’d you bring this? Where’d you get it?”
“I told Ms. Shoal I was seeing the Grand Canyon, and she brought it to school for me. I thought it would be a good, y’know, a souvenir. In case Dad wouldn’t let us- I mean, if he said we couldn’t afford something there. It’s better than a postcard, right? That’s all I have money for. Anyway, she said that was a good idea, she gave it to me. It’s not like I stole it or anything, I just thought-”
Dean felt his throat go tight at the desperate eagerness in Sam’s voice. He reached up to steady the flashlight, moving the light over the graceful lines of land.
“Yeah, Sam. It’s great. Just like being there, that’s awesome.”
Sam propped the magazine up against the side of the tent, wedged the flashlight with pebbles to hold it steady, and they crawled into their sleeping bags.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s Dad hunting?”
“You know I’m not supposed to tell you this stuff. He’d get mad at me. Anyway he doesn’t want you scared.”
“He’s my Dad too. Tell me.”
“It’s a harpy, I think.”
“Those exist?”
“Guess so.”
There’s a long silence, and Dean was just starting to think it was safe to sleep, when Sam spoke again.
“Dean, I’m gonna take you to the Grand Canyon one day. Just like you wanted.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, geek-boy. Sure you will.”
“No, I mean it.” Sam propped himself up on his elbow, and his voice rang with intensity.
“We’re not gonna have to do what Dad says forever. That’s not how it works, kids leave their parents. Sooner or later, he won’t be around-”
Dean saw, horribly, the image of huge strong Caleb lying gutted and weak in a hospital bed, the image of their father somewhere fighting off a whirlwind of wings and cruel snatching claws. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”
“But it’s true! Kids don’t live with their parents forever! They grow up, and they leave, and that’s how it works. I’ll graduate from school, and you and me, we’ll go away together. Anywhere we want, we’ll go anywhere we want, and then I’ll take you-”
Dean whispered, soft but fierce. “That’s how it works for other people. Not for us.”
Sam fell silent, then, but Dean thought it was a long time before he slept. The next morning, just when the first birds started singing, Dean rolled over and took the burned-out flashlight and the magazine and tucked them in his backpack. Sam didn’t seem to notice.
Header post | 8 and 12 | 15 and 19 | 18 and 22 | 20 and 24 | 26 and 30
The Oklahoma plain rolled past, smooth and easy. Sam was in the back, reading (dork) and Dean was stretched out shotgun, feeling the thrum of the engine and road-noise beneath them. They were moving, Oklahoma to Arizona, and they had a whole week of vacation before they would start a new term in a new school, and Sam wasn't even bitching about it. Mostly, he wasn't bitching because Dad had promised them they'd spend the vacation camping at the Grand Canyon, and Dean had spent two solid weeks talking up the joys of America's greatest natural wonder to Sam. Sam was now convinced it was going to be absolutely epic, and Dean figured that was okay because it probably would be pretty cool.
Apparently their new place in Arizona was surrounded by ghost-towns, old abandoned mining outposts, full of safe and easy hunts. Enough to keep Dad busy for a whole school term and give Dean his first chance to shoot a spirit, which, yeah, awesome.
Dad pulled over for gas, some truck stop with a parking lot the size of a football field, 18-wheelers lined up in neat rows between the diner and the little strip of lawn and picnic tables. Dad pumped the gas, then leaned in through the window. "Gonna make a phone call. Sammy, stretch your legs."
Sam tumbled out the back door and onto the grass on his stomach without peeling his eyes away from the book, but Dean was pretty sure he wasn't pouting, just absorbed, so it was okay. He climbed out and followed Dad to the payphone by the diner's door.
Dad's conversation with Pastor Jim was quiet and brisk, but Dean caught "is he gonna be okay?" and "found her lair?" and "how many victims?" and Dad looked more and more worried. Dean felt all his quiet open-road happiness knot into a little ball in his stomach, waiting for the verdict. Dad was getting directions, now, and promising to drop the boys off within 48 hours, and just like that the epic camping trip was up in smoke.
When Dad finally hung up, Dean made his voice carefully neutral and asked, "What's up?"
"Do you remember Caleb?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Pastor Jim pointed him after a harpy, and now he's hurt bad. He’ll be okay, but she’s still out there."
"So we've gotta go."
"I've gotta go. You and Sam are spending the time with Pastor Jim."
He was supposed to say "yes, sir" now, supposed to go back to Sam and break the news to him and make sure Sam didn't whine about it. But he couldn't make himself move.
"What is it?"
"I should go with you. I can watch your back."
"We've been over this. You'll get your first hunt this year, Dean, just like I promised. One I think is safe to start with." Dad sounded annoyed now, was turning back to the car, and Dean had to fix that because he hadn't understood at all.
"No! Dad, this thing got Caleb-"
Dad turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "She got Caleb, but she won't get me. I won’t let her.”
Dean thought if it was any other hunter, he would have believed that. But he did remember Caleb, and Caleb was as big as Dad and as strong. He remembered Caleb hitting the dead center of every target and pinning Dad to the ground once when they sparred. He made one last, desperate attempt.
“Dad, the trip. It’s my first ever vacation! You promised…”
That was hitting below the belt and they both knew it. Dean didn’t pull what he thought of as the “good dad” card very often, mostly because of the way it made Dad’s face twist in equal parts guilt and anger at Dean for causing that guilt. It never worked before, and it didn’t work now.
“Enough, Dean.” Dad seemed to be making a conscious effort to soften his voice. “Once we’re set up in Arizona, when Sam’s settled into school. On your first hunt, we’ll stop by the Grand Canyon then. Make it a celebration.”
Dean figured it wasn’t Dad’s fault he totally missed the point, on a couple of levels, so he just shrugged roughly. “That part doesn’t matter. It was for Sam anyway.”
Dad looked maybe a little hurt, but he nodded and turned around again, heading back to the car. Dean dropped to the pavement, pretended to tie his shoes while he waited for the tangle of disappointment and fear to unknot inside. Let Dad field Sammy’s questions for once.
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At Pastor Jim's, Sam sulked and whined and was generally completely insufferable. Dean wasn't sulking-- absolutely not, no sir-- but he had to admit he wasn't trying too terribly hard to keep Sam happy and pleasant either. And that probably wasn't fair to Pastor Jim, but whatever.
In his quest to appease them, Jim finally produced a tent and two sleeping bags and suggested that they go camping after all. Dean's first impulse was to be a smart-ass, because camping at a National Park was possibly justified by cool surroundings, but fake backyard camping was inexcusably lame. But it was obviously the sort of lame Sammy fell for, because Dean couldn't even put together a crack about the stunning landscape of Back Yard, Minnesota, before Sam was deep in highly serious negotiations with Pastor Jim about exactly how far from the house they were allowed to set up and how often they had to check in. Dean figured it was about time to buck up, thanked Jim for the idea, and summoned every last bit of enthusiasm he could muster to help Sam figure out the tent.
That night, with the fire out and completely doused in dirt and the s’more makings safely stowed, Sam herded Dean under the canvas. Dean tried to protest, to convince Sam it was way too early to sleep and maybe get him to catch some fireflies in their empty water bottle, but Sam was insistent. He carefully zipped closed every flap until not even a flicker of light from the road and streetlamps could reach them, and then clicked off the flashlight.
Dean pulled a pretty impressive creepy moan (if he did say so himself) and started groping for another light. But Sam was having none of it.
“Dean, just sit still. I have something for you.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just wait.”
There was a fair amount of rustling and Dean felt something laid across his lap. Sam knelt next to Dean, shining the flashlight down over his shoulder, and clicked it on.
Across Dean’s lap lay a National Geographic, folded out to a gorgeous four-page spread of massive red and brown cliffs stretching across the horizon.
“Isn’t that cool? It’s almost like being there. Just imagine you unzipped that flap and that’s what you saw.”
Sam paused, but Dean was frozen into stillness, afraid to disturb the spell the shaking circle of light made on his lap. Sam started talking again, uncertainly.
“There’s a- there’s a whole article, there, about fossils and stuff. It’s interesting. And other pictures, if you want, like fossils and some modern animals and one of the Indian tribes that live there.”
Sam was reaching down, fumbling to turn the page, but Dean caught his wrist and held it.
“Why’d you bring this? Where’d you get it?”
“I told Ms. Shoal I was seeing the Grand Canyon, and she brought it to school for me. I thought it would be a good, y’know, a souvenir. In case Dad wouldn’t let us- I mean, if he said we couldn’t afford something there. It’s better than a postcard, right? That’s all I have money for. Anyway, she said that was a good idea, she gave it to me. It’s not like I stole it or anything, I just thought-”
Dean felt his throat go tight at the desperate eagerness in Sam’s voice. He reached up to steady the flashlight, moving the light over the graceful lines of land.
“Yeah, Sam. It’s great. Just like being there, that’s awesome.”
Sam propped the magazine up against the side of the tent, wedged the flashlight with pebbles to hold it steady, and they crawled into their sleeping bags.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s Dad hunting?”
“You know I’m not supposed to tell you this stuff. He’d get mad at me. Anyway he doesn’t want you scared.”
“He’s my Dad too. Tell me.”
“It’s a harpy, I think.”
“Those exist?”
“Guess so.”
There’s a long silence, and Dean was just starting to think it was safe to sleep, when Sam spoke again.
“Dean, I’m gonna take you to the Grand Canyon one day. Just like you wanted.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, geek-boy. Sure you will.”
“No, I mean it.” Sam propped himself up on his elbow, and his voice rang with intensity.
“We’re not gonna have to do what Dad says forever. That’s not how it works, kids leave their parents. Sooner or later, he won’t be around-”
Dean saw, horribly, the image of huge strong Caleb lying gutted and weak in a hospital bed, the image of their father somewhere fighting off a whirlwind of wings and cruel snatching claws. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”
“But it’s true! Kids don’t live with their parents forever! They grow up, and they leave, and that’s how it works. I’ll graduate from school, and you and me, we’ll go away together. Anywhere we want, we’ll go anywhere we want, and then I’ll take you-”
Dean whispered, soft but fierce. “That’s how it works for other people. Not for us.”
Sam fell silent, then, but Dean thought it was a long time before he slept. The next morning, just when the first birds started singing, Dean rolled over and took the burned-out flashlight and the magazine and tucked them in his backpack. Sam didn’t seem to notice.