fic: Simple as that
title: Simple as that
words: 1k
summary: Dean tracks Sam's cellphone GPS and sits awkwardly in the Impala in every motel parking lot Sam stays in until Sam storms out and asks him if he thinks he's being subtle.
a/n: written for the 7x06 reuniting meme for lazy-daze's prompt.
podfic: PODFIC, what!!! by oddishly
Sam has excellent instincts, an impressive attention for detail, and a tendency to push aside the curtains before walking out motel room doors. Dean, on the other hand, happens to be the most obvious undercover staker-outer in the history of stake outs, always has been.
"Jesus," Sam sighs. "You'd think he wanted to be seen."
Dean's pulled up across the motel parking lot. Sam's seated at the half-table, working his way through a bag of pistachios.
He lets the lacey drapes fall over the window again and pulls out his new, empty laptop to wait it out and by one o'clock Dean's gone. Probably for a late lunch. Even so, Sam feels like a thief stealing out of his room, looking both ways and then clicking the door softly behind him, his toothbrush in one hand and his laptop bag in the other. He jogs to the tangerine Mustang he hotwired one town over, tosses his stuff in the passenger seat, and eases out onto the road.
Dean can't have gone far. Sam knows that he'll want to be as close as possible while not settling for a sub-par burger, which means the first block on the main drag is out, but on the next is situated a squat diner that boasts the juiciest quarter pounder in the midwest. Sure enough, the Impala sits outside like an omen.
Satisfied, Sam drives on.
Three towns later and Sam's less pissed, more intrigued. It hadn't even crossed his mind to wonder what Dean thought he was doing here, tracking Sam down just to sit around and wait. Usually Dean gets pissed and tells him to fine, leave, and Sam makes his getaway, trying to put it all behind him for good and expecting the past to stay gone. This time around, however, it seems only natural that Dean won't leave him alone; this feels more like a waiting game.
Somewhere along the line, then, something changed. Sam ponders this as he looks out the window and spots Dean, unwrapping pieces of candy and chewing with his mouth open.
"You're going to pull out a filling," Sam wants to tell him. Dean always bites candy rather than sucks on it.
He only lets the curtain drop when he starts to feel like a jerk, laughing while Dean sullenly tries to wedge the candy apple pop off his teeth. It could take hours, but Dean definitely has time.
Five randomly chosen towns in twice as many days and Sam knows three things for certain: Dean wants to stick with Sam, Dean has obviously been tracking him using his phone GPS, and finally, despite the previous conclusion, Sam has yet to ditch his phone.
Sam forces his way out the bathroom window and jimmies the lock of the closest car, and screeches out of the alley.
After two weeks, they're in Missouri and it's blustery. It's three o'clock in the afternoon, Thanksgiving, with maybe two cars Sam's seen skim by on the road. Everyone else is at home with family, watching ovens.
The parking lot is black with rain-wet asphalt, completely empty save the Impala. Sam has to avoid puddles when he strides across to the car. He thumps on the roof and sticks his head in the open window to ask, "Do you think you're being subtle?"
Dean jerks.
"Wait, were you sleeping?"
He fumbles off his sunglasses. "No, course not." and rubs at an eye with the back of his hand. "Maybe a little."
Sam sighs, ignoring how good it feels to be talking to his brother in favor of feeling put-upon. "Dean, what are you even doing here?"
"What does it look like? You never leave your room and although I've finished a ton of reading, it's boring hanging out here, okay?"
Sam rolls his eyes. They always pick up right where they left off.
"And to answer your question," Dean says. "Yeah I think I'm being subtle. What, you think I'm not?"
"Uh, I don't know, maybe there's the fact that it's our car." Dean makes a conceding gesture which Sam takes as leave to continue. "Next, it's the way you just pull up, sit there all day reading skin mags and eating candy for anyone to see. And finally, it's me, Dean. Of course I'm going to recognize your posture, clothes, and I don't know, your freaking face, maybe? From a mile away."
"Aw, Sammy, you just named everything I like about me."
Sam stands to look around the parking lot. "I don't believe this."
When he leans an arm on the roof to look in again, to tell Dean to leave or maybe apologize, something, the tone's abruptly changed. Dean's staring him down. He says, calmly, "Get in the car, Sam."
"No." Sam frowns.
It's started raining a little on the back of his neck, and the car smells familiar, but he's putting his foot down.
"In fact, Hell no. I'm still pissed." He's not really. "And maybe I've got other stuff to do." He doesn't. "And you and I both know, I've got some pretty good reasons." Although he doesn't sound convincing, even to himself.
But they've still got a lot to talk about, and even though Sam feels like he's gotten his thoughts in line and like maybe Dean's contrite, and those two things could go a long way in the necessary discussion, that doesn't mean he's not hurt.
Which is when Dean yanks him in by the collars and kisses him. It's all of two seconds and more of a wet smack on the lips, but when it's over, Sam's hold is limp on the window frame and Dean's smirking. He repeats, "Get in the car, Sam."
"Okay."
Sam's around to the passenger side before he notices his legs moving.
When it comes down to it, it's as simple as that.
words: 1k
summary: Dean tracks Sam's cellphone GPS and sits awkwardly in the Impala in every motel parking lot Sam stays in until Sam storms out and asks him if he thinks he's being subtle.
a/n: written for the 7x06 reuniting meme for lazy-daze's prompt.
podfic: PODFIC, what!!! by oddishly
Sam has excellent instincts, an impressive attention for detail, and a tendency to push aside the curtains before walking out motel room doors. Dean, on the other hand, happens to be the most obvious undercover staker-outer in the history of stake outs, always has been.
"Jesus," Sam sighs. "You'd think he wanted to be seen."
Dean's pulled up across the motel parking lot. Sam's seated at the half-table, working his way through a bag of pistachios.
He lets the lacey drapes fall over the window again and pulls out his new, empty laptop to wait it out and by one o'clock Dean's gone. Probably for a late lunch. Even so, Sam feels like a thief stealing out of his room, looking both ways and then clicking the door softly behind him, his toothbrush in one hand and his laptop bag in the other. He jogs to the tangerine Mustang he hotwired one town over, tosses his stuff in the passenger seat, and eases out onto the road.
Dean can't have gone far. Sam knows that he'll want to be as close as possible while not settling for a sub-par burger, which means the first block on the main drag is out, but on the next is situated a squat diner that boasts the juiciest quarter pounder in the midwest. Sure enough, the Impala sits outside like an omen.
Satisfied, Sam drives on.
Three towns later and Sam's less pissed, more intrigued. It hadn't even crossed his mind to wonder what Dean thought he was doing here, tracking Sam down just to sit around and wait. Usually Dean gets pissed and tells him to fine, leave, and Sam makes his getaway, trying to put it all behind him for good and expecting the past to stay gone. This time around, however, it seems only natural that Dean won't leave him alone; this feels more like a waiting game.
Somewhere along the line, then, something changed. Sam ponders this as he looks out the window and spots Dean, unwrapping pieces of candy and chewing with his mouth open.
"You're going to pull out a filling," Sam wants to tell him. Dean always bites candy rather than sucks on it.
He only lets the curtain drop when he starts to feel like a jerk, laughing while Dean sullenly tries to wedge the candy apple pop off his teeth. It could take hours, but Dean definitely has time.
Five randomly chosen towns in twice as many days and Sam knows three things for certain: Dean wants to stick with Sam, Dean has obviously been tracking him using his phone GPS, and finally, despite the previous conclusion, Sam has yet to ditch his phone.
Sam forces his way out the bathroom window and jimmies the lock of the closest car, and screeches out of the alley.
After two weeks, they're in Missouri and it's blustery. It's three o'clock in the afternoon, Thanksgiving, with maybe two cars Sam's seen skim by on the road. Everyone else is at home with family, watching ovens.
The parking lot is black with rain-wet asphalt, completely empty save the Impala. Sam has to avoid puddles when he strides across to the car. He thumps on the roof and sticks his head in the open window to ask, "Do you think you're being subtle?"
Dean jerks.
"Wait, were you sleeping?"
He fumbles off his sunglasses. "No, course not." and rubs at an eye with the back of his hand. "Maybe a little."
Sam sighs, ignoring how good it feels to be talking to his brother in favor of feeling put-upon. "Dean, what are you even doing here?"
"What does it look like? You never leave your room and although I've finished a ton of reading, it's boring hanging out here, okay?"
Sam rolls his eyes. They always pick up right where they left off.
"And to answer your question," Dean says. "Yeah I think I'm being subtle. What, you think I'm not?"
"Uh, I don't know, maybe there's the fact that it's our car." Dean makes a conceding gesture which Sam takes as leave to continue. "Next, it's the way you just pull up, sit there all day reading skin mags and eating candy for anyone to see. And finally, it's me, Dean. Of course I'm going to recognize your posture, clothes, and I don't know, your freaking face, maybe? From a mile away."
"Aw, Sammy, you just named everything I like about me."
Sam stands to look around the parking lot. "I don't believe this."
When he leans an arm on the roof to look in again, to tell Dean to leave or maybe apologize, something, the tone's abruptly changed. Dean's staring him down. He says, calmly, "Get in the car, Sam."
"No." Sam frowns.
It's started raining a little on the back of his neck, and the car smells familiar, but he's putting his foot down.
"In fact, Hell no. I'm still pissed." He's not really. "And maybe I've got other stuff to do." He doesn't. "And you and I both know, I've got some pretty good reasons." Although he doesn't sound convincing, even to himself.
But they've still got a lot to talk about, and even though Sam feels like he's gotten his thoughts in line and like maybe Dean's contrite, and those two things could go a long way in the necessary discussion, that doesn't mean he's not hurt.
Which is when Dean yanks him in by the collars and kisses him. It's all of two seconds and more of a wet smack on the lips, but when it's over, Sam's hold is limp on the window frame and Dean's smirking. He repeats, "Get in the car, Sam."
"Okay."
Sam's around to the passenger side before he notices his legs moving.
When it comes down to it, it's as simple as that.