50scenes!fic - Jericho
Title: Jericho
Prompt: 50scenes prompt table 3, number 14, 'passenger'
Warnings: Umm. Rambly? Present tense? Yeah, I got nothing.
Characters/Pairings: Sam and Dean Winchester.
Summary: Inspired by, of all things, the Hilary Duff song "Jericho", in particular the lines: "I can't remember why I came / then I hear you whisper low / one more mile to Jericho." Sam during the Pilot, that long stretch of road between his home and Jericho, the metaphorical journey between Sam-the-student and Sam-the-hunter. Returning and unraveling. Musings on the little tricks of destiny, the future laid out in the scars they collect and the exits they take on the highway.
"Almost there," he hears Dean mumble low, barely audible over the blaring music currently attempting to ruin his eardrums for life. If he needs hearing aids before he's thirty, he knows who to blame. It's not bad enough that Dean seems to think the speed limit is more of a generous suggestion than a rule, especially on these long back roads with few other drivers and no cops. He's pushing it so hard Sam thinks the engine's gonna blow (it's an old car) or something, and wouldn't that just be their luck? He knows it's because Dean's worried and tense up about Dad, about being in the car with him again, but so far it's been a quiet ride and he wishes Dean would stop holding on white-knuckled to the steering wheel, like it's all that's holding him there.
It's been quiet between them, except for the music which was quite obviously not, and nobody's saying too much because, Sam thinks, they're both afraid it'll only get worse if they do. At first, Dean had tried talking, like it'd maybe help if he talked about things, where he'd been, the whatever hoodoo thing in New Orleans he'd been working on. Sam finally had to tell him, No, quit it, I don't want to hear about hunting, you know I'm out of that, and then he had to pretend not to see the hurt look on his brother's face. He knows that's why Dean's been quiet, because there's nothing else for him to talk about, and he's not sure he should feel a little sad for that, his brother's life all wrapped up in the one thing, the hunt, that was it, nothing else.
He doesn't feel bad, though. He made his choice. They both did. Yeah, right. He pretends for the sake of his sanity, his distance, that it had ever even had the illusion of a choice for Dean. It hadn't exactly, but that wasn't Sam's fault and he sure as hell wasn't going to feel bad about it.
Sam wasn't going to think about that, looking out the window at the blank California scenery passing them by. They were going way too fast for counting games, so he fell back into thinking, running over the interview on Monday like it was a meeting with a king, focusing: What will I say, what will I do, what will I wear. It was important, moreso than Dean would ever understand, and he knew that. It was his future, his door, his way out, once and forever. Undergrad was one thing, law school was entirely another. He had a full ride if he got through the interview. A full ride. And he'd make something of himself that wasn't this, sitting in the passenger seat, hunting, credit card scams and rock music almost as old as the car.
He isn't sure why he almost feels guilty for thinking about it like that, and chalks it up to Dean sitting there beside him, the surity in those green eyes, his destiny already mapped out in the scars he was sure he had accumulated more of in the last two years since he'd seen or spoken to him. Yeah, that was pretty much it, the difference between them. Different paths, like the choice between turning off at the Jericho exit and just keeping on going down the highway. Sam almost wants to keep driving, but he knows, and it's inevitable and there, it happens, that Dean takes the turn-off.
Sam knows it's not his fault and it's not his problem, but sometimes he remembers being fourteen, asking Dean if he was going to do "that college thing" and being told off, not in so many words, but his brother had made it clear that it wasn't even an option. He remembers wondering about futures that would never exist. But Dean was never getting out of this, and he couldn't feel bad about that - he had to keep his distance. It was a necessity. He had to stand back so he could let him go and attend his interview on Monday and be a person, not a hunter.
There's a sign by the side of the road that says Jericho - 1, and Dean relaxes some, tapping something out on the steering wheel, matching the percussion on the tape playing loud. They're close enough that it's okay for a minute. It's funny how it's everything that was tolerable about life before, lacking what he'd run from, and Sam still keeps quiet, because he knows he can't afford to think about it like that, or he'll never be able to leave.
Prompt: 50scenes prompt table 3, number 14, 'passenger'
Warnings: Umm. Rambly? Present tense? Yeah, I got nothing.
Characters/Pairings: Sam and Dean Winchester.
Summary: Inspired by, of all things, the Hilary Duff song "Jericho", in particular the lines: "I can't remember why I came / then I hear you whisper low / one more mile to Jericho." Sam during the Pilot, that long stretch of road between his home and Jericho, the metaphorical journey between Sam-the-student and Sam-the-hunter. Returning and unraveling. Musings on the little tricks of destiny, the future laid out in the scars they collect and the exits they take on the highway.
"Almost there," he hears Dean mumble low, barely audible over the blaring music currently attempting to ruin his eardrums for life. If he needs hearing aids before he's thirty, he knows who to blame. It's not bad enough that Dean seems to think the speed limit is more of a generous suggestion than a rule, especially on these long back roads with few other drivers and no cops. He's pushing it so hard Sam thinks the engine's gonna blow (it's an old car) or something, and wouldn't that just be their luck? He knows it's because Dean's worried and tense up about Dad, about being in the car with him again, but so far it's been a quiet ride and he wishes Dean would stop holding on white-knuckled to the steering wheel, like it's all that's holding him there.
It's been quiet between them, except for the music which was quite obviously not, and nobody's saying too much because, Sam thinks, they're both afraid it'll only get worse if they do. At first, Dean had tried talking, like it'd maybe help if he talked about things, where he'd been, the whatever hoodoo thing in New Orleans he'd been working on. Sam finally had to tell him, No, quit it, I don't want to hear about hunting, you know I'm out of that, and then he had to pretend not to see the hurt look on his brother's face. He knows that's why Dean's been quiet, because there's nothing else for him to talk about, and he's not sure he should feel a little sad for that, his brother's life all wrapped up in the one thing, the hunt, that was it, nothing else.
He doesn't feel bad, though. He made his choice. They both did. Yeah, right. He pretends for the sake of his sanity, his distance, that it had ever even had the illusion of a choice for Dean. It hadn't exactly, but that wasn't Sam's fault and he sure as hell wasn't going to feel bad about it.
Sam wasn't going to think about that, looking out the window at the blank California scenery passing them by. They were going way too fast for counting games, so he fell back into thinking, running over the interview on Monday like it was a meeting with a king, focusing: What will I say, what will I do, what will I wear. It was important, moreso than Dean would ever understand, and he knew that. It was his future, his door, his way out, once and forever. Undergrad was one thing, law school was entirely another. He had a full ride if he got through the interview. A full ride. And he'd make something of himself that wasn't this, sitting in the passenger seat, hunting, credit card scams and rock music almost as old as the car.
He isn't sure why he almost feels guilty for thinking about it like that, and chalks it up to Dean sitting there beside him, the surity in those green eyes, his destiny already mapped out in the scars he was sure he had accumulated more of in the last two years since he'd seen or spoken to him. Yeah, that was pretty much it, the difference between them. Different paths, like the choice between turning off at the Jericho exit and just keeping on going down the highway. Sam almost wants to keep driving, but he knows, and it's inevitable and there, it happens, that Dean takes the turn-off.
Sam knows it's not his fault and it's not his problem, but sometimes he remembers being fourteen, asking Dean if he was going to do "that college thing" and being told off, not in so many words, but his brother had made it clear that it wasn't even an option. He remembers wondering about futures that would never exist. But Dean was never getting out of this, and he couldn't feel bad about that - he had to keep his distance. It was a necessity. He had to stand back so he could let him go and attend his interview on Monday and be a person, not a hunter.
There's a sign by the side of the road that says Jericho - 1, and Dean relaxes some, tapping something out on the steering wheel, matching the percussion on the tape playing loud. They're close enough that it's okay for a minute. It's funny how it's everything that was tolerable about life before, lacking what he'd run from, and Sam still keeps quiet, because he knows he can't afford to think about it like that, or he'll never be able to leave.