(no subject)
Title: Roadside Connection
Author: essenceofmeanin
Rating/Pairing/Word Count: PG, none, 500.
A/N: Happy (belated) birthday, innie_darling! This one's for you. The prompt was "Bittersweet John and Dean - a time when John wanted to say he was proud of Dean, and couldn't spit it out". I hope you like it, and that your birthday was fantastic! Beta'd by girlguidejones.
Sure felt good being back at the helm of his baby again. It’s been a long haul; they’ve driven far enough south for the roadside to be lined with Joshua trees, spindly oil pumps shimmering in the far off. The air’s choked at the fill up station they found squatting in the middle of nowhere, and the smell’s harsh but nothing John can identify. The Impala’s scorching under his hands as he checks the oil. The black steel’s drinking up the sunlight and there’s not a breeze to be found. He worries for the tires, at the thought of a blow out way out here.
Hunt went bad today, caught out in the heat of the damn desert and hadn’t been fast enough at all. Nobody’s fault and even John knows it, but it still doesn’t take away the sickness in his gut. That old man had cooked from the inside out in his old Airstream, another death that the cops would never solve. They’d left the old man’s property with bloody knuckles and knees, dragging the skin of the creature they’d been hunting to bring back to Billy on the rez. He’ll take care of it, another debt paid.
John raises a hand to shade his eyes and look for his son. Inside the station Dean’s found the only pretty thing for miles, a brunette behind the counter he’s leaning on. The sunlight turns the glass blue, like a chip fallen off the blinding sky. John lets himself have a minute to look for signs of his wife in Dean’s face, in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. He sees a lot of himself in his boy. Half an hour ago they were washing the blood off their faces with water pulled hot out of the trunk. Dean had tossed him a tight smile, an apology in his eyes for the way the hunt went along with his another one bites the dust bravado. They’d spent a few minutes out there in the heat, passing the whiskey flask back and forth to take the edge off. John thought about saying something, good job maybe, but it got swallowed down with the booze. Anyway, Dean knows what he’s thinking, always does.
Dean comes out of the gas station waving the girls phone number like a low-winning lotto ticket, exciting but not by all that much. John’s never known him to call but every so often he finds the wads of phone numbers in the glove box or shoved in Dean’s pockets come laundry day. Dean just loves the hunt, he supposes. Dean strolls out slowly enough to see if John’s gonna pick driver or shotgun, and his smile only falters a little when John climbs in behind the wheel. Only three days since they dropped off the truck for safekeeping at the rez and Dean’s already chafing at not driving, even if he thinks he’s hiding it. It always makes John feel good seeing how much Dean loves this old car that’d dismayed Mary so much when she first laid eyes on it. Makes him feel like he’d made a good choice when he passed her on. Not that he’d let Dean get cocky about it. Dean’ll get her back soon enough.
Besides, driver picks the music, and it’s gonna be Zeppelin all the way home.
Author: essenceofmeanin
Rating/Pairing/Word Count: PG, none, 500.
A/N: Happy (belated) birthday, innie_darling! This one's for you. The prompt was "Bittersweet John and Dean - a time when John wanted to say he was proud of Dean, and couldn't spit it out". I hope you like it, and that your birthday was fantastic! Beta'd by girlguidejones.
Sure felt good being back at the helm of his baby again. It’s been a long haul; they’ve driven far enough south for the roadside to be lined with Joshua trees, spindly oil pumps shimmering in the far off. The air’s choked at the fill up station they found squatting in the middle of nowhere, and the smell’s harsh but nothing John can identify. The Impala’s scorching under his hands as he checks the oil. The black steel’s drinking up the sunlight and there’s not a breeze to be found. He worries for the tires, at the thought of a blow out way out here.
Hunt went bad today, caught out in the heat of the damn desert and hadn’t been fast enough at all. Nobody’s fault and even John knows it, but it still doesn’t take away the sickness in his gut. That old man had cooked from the inside out in his old Airstream, another death that the cops would never solve. They’d left the old man’s property with bloody knuckles and knees, dragging the skin of the creature they’d been hunting to bring back to Billy on the rez. He’ll take care of it, another debt paid.
John raises a hand to shade his eyes and look for his son. Inside the station Dean’s found the only pretty thing for miles, a brunette behind the counter he’s leaning on. The sunlight turns the glass blue, like a chip fallen off the blinding sky. John lets himself have a minute to look for signs of his wife in Dean’s face, in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. He sees a lot of himself in his boy. Half an hour ago they were washing the blood off their faces with water pulled hot out of the trunk. Dean had tossed him a tight smile, an apology in his eyes for the way the hunt went along with his another one bites the dust bravado. They’d spent a few minutes out there in the heat, passing the whiskey flask back and forth to take the edge off. John thought about saying something, good job maybe, but it got swallowed down with the booze. Anyway, Dean knows what he’s thinking, always does.
Dean comes out of the gas station waving the girls phone number like a low-winning lotto ticket, exciting but not by all that much. John’s never known him to call but every so often he finds the wads of phone numbers in the glove box or shoved in Dean’s pockets come laundry day. Dean just loves the hunt, he supposes. Dean strolls out slowly enough to see if John’s gonna pick driver or shotgun, and his smile only falters a little when John climbs in behind the wheel. Only three days since they dropped off the truck for safekeeping at the rez and Dean’s already chafing at not driving, even if he thinks he’s hiding it. It always makes John feel good seeing how much Dean loves this old car that’d dismayed Mary so much when she first laid eyes on it. Makes him feel like he’d made a good choice when he passed her on. Not that he’d let Dean get cocky about it. Dean’ll get her back soon enough.
Besides, driver picks the music, and it’s gonna be Zeppelin all the way home.