SPN FIC: Wishing It Weren't So and two SPN recs
Name: landrews
Story Title: Wishing It Weren't So
Character/Relationships: Sam POV
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: standard SPN content/Set S4
Disclaimer: Not mine :-)
A/N Written for spn_las Round 1, Challenge 3- This story was picked both Best Story and Worst Story of 25 entries for the exact same reason, lolol. As with my RL writer's group, my fic is divisive :-) I might decide I like that, one day. Prompt was: Who knew an Impala could fly?- I also have to rec two of the entries, ratherastory's A Thousand Words and pyrebi's the windex waltz ( Here, the fourth story down- I'll update link if pyrebi posts it)
Wishing It Weren't So
Who knew an Impala could fly?
Well, Dean, when they'd be half-asleep, his head vibrating against the window, watching trees and fence posts click by in a hazy blur while Sam dozed on his lap. He told Sam when you heard the tires hum, you knew she was only skimming along the pavement, pretending to be earth-bound. She could actually fly, high up in the air; Dad just didn't want to tell him because he'd blab it to the wrong person and then where would they be when she got taken from them? But she could, and way better than that stupid Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, so Dad would be back again real soon.
And Ash, maybe. Sam remembers a blueprint Ash whipped out one time after they should've been done drinking for the night, but weren't. He, Sam, had spilled Jack across one corner and Ash had yelped and nearly leapt up onto the bar to sweep it off with the edge of his hand. This is important, man, he whined, as indignant as if they had been NASA's own plans. Ash, Sam said, laughing, but then Dean thumped a hand down on his shoulder with a quick squeeze; their shorthand for shut up, and Sam did. Dean said, show me. And Ash did.
Dad. Dad knew it could fly. That time he was bleeding in the front seat and Dean was bleeding in the back, he'd tapped Sam's thigh. Sam had to lean to the right, trying not to tug the wheel with him, to hear him say, she can fly, Sam, really fly, so lay off the lead foot. Can't afford a ticket when you don't even have a license, yet.
But Sam? Even now, with the Impala airborne on a plume of hot desert wind and dust and sparks off the undercarriage from the rough, broken road before take off, doesn't really believe it can fly. The steering wheel is alive under his palms, the tie rod straining against the loss of solid ground beneath the tires. Sam's bones rattle along with the chassis as it shivers and moans. He clenches his jaw tight and refuses to close his eyes, only slitting them against the certainty of failure, of impact as the car twists to the right and Sam knows, knows, knows that he'll be crushed when it comes to rest on its roof or mangled on its side in the narrow canyon abyss below, but then way too soon, still upright, they hit ground.
The tires wail, Sam folds nearly in half, the wheel meets his chin with a sharp crack that echoes in his head with the clack of his teeth; and then they are rocketing along on broken asphalt with joshua trees streaking by. Sam lifts his knee and crushes the brakes. The Impala skids sideways before jolting to a stop.
Back in Black is still flowing from the speakers like Dean's blood is still flowing in hell. Sam sits up and wipes at the blood still flowing from his nose and now his chin. His muscles are strung so tight, he's shaking. He gets out and leans against the car. From here the abandoned bridge over the narrow pass is barely visible for the shimmering haze. There's a hyundai and a pick-up truck washed up on the far side.
The Impala has soaked up his shakes. Sam slides his hand inside his jacket and draws out the vial waiting there. Ruby's blood glistens inside. He salutes the demons glaring at him from across the divide and drinks. It's almost as good as fresh.
Who knew an Impala could fly?
Not Sam.
He wishes he'd been right.
Story Title: Wishing It Weren't So
Character/Relationships: Sam POV
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: standard SPN content/Set S4
Disclaimer: Not mine :-)
A/N Written for spn_las Round 1, Challenge 3- This story was picked both Best Story and Worst Story of 25 entries for the exact same reason, lolol. As with my RL writer's group, my fic is divisive :-) I might decide I like that, one day. Prompt was: Who knew an Impala could fly?- I also have to rec two of the entries, ratherastory's A Thousand Words and pyrebi's the windex waltz ( Here, the fourth story down- I'll update link if pyrebi posts it)
Wishing It Weren't So
Who knew an Impala could fly?
Well, Dean, when they'd be half-asleep, his head vibrating against the window, watching trees and fence posts click by in a hazy blur while Sam dozed on his lap. He told Sam when you heard the tires hum, you knew she was only skimming along the pavement, pretending to be earth-bound. She could actually fly, high up in the air; Dad just didn't want to tell him because he'd blab it to the wrong person and then where would they be when she got taken from them? But she could, and way better than that stupid Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, so Dad would be back again real soon.
And Ash, maybe. Sam remembers a blueprint Ash whipped out one time after they should've been done drinking for the night, but weren't. He, Sam, had spilled Jack across one corner and Ash had yelped and nearly leapt up onto the bar to sweep it off with the edge of his hand. This is important, man, he whined, as indignant as if they had been NASA's own plans. Ash, Sam said, laughing, but then Dean thumped a hand down on his shoulder with a quick squeeze; their shorthand for shut up, and Sam did. Dean said, show me. And Ash did.
Dad. Dad knew it could fly. That time he was bleeding in the front seat and Dean was bleeding in the back, he'd tapped Sam's thigh. Sam had to lean to the right, trying not to tug the wheel with him, to hear him say, she can fly, Sam, really fly, so lay off the lead foot. Can't afford a ticket when you don't even have a license, yet.
But Sam? Even now, with the Impala airborne on a plume of hot desert wind and dust and sparks off the undercarriage from the rough, broken road before take off, doesn't really believe it can fly. The steering wheel is alive under his palms, the tie rod straining against the loss of solid ground beneath the tires. Sam's bones rattle along with the chassis as it shivers and moans. He clenches his jaw tight and refuses to close his eyes, only slitting them against the certainty of failure, of impact as the car twists to the right and Sam knows, knows, knows that he'll be crushed when it comes to rest on its roof or mangled on its side in the narrow canyon abyss below, but then way too soon, still upright, they hit ground.
The tires wail, Sam folds nearly in half, the wheel meets his chin with a sharp crack that echoes in his head with the clack of his teeth; and then they are rocketing along on broken asphalt with joshua trees streaking by. Sam lifts his knee and crushes the brakes. The Impala skids sideways before jolting to a stop.
Back in Black is still flowing from the speakers like Dean's blood is still flowing in hell. Sam sits up and wipes at the blood still flowing from his nose and now his chin. His muscles are strung so tight, he's shaking. He gets out and leans against the car. From here the abandoned bridge over the narrow pass is barely visible for the shimmering haze. There's a hyundai and a pick-up truck washed up on the far side.
The Impala has soaked up his shakes. Sam slides his hand inside his jacket and draws out the vial waiting there. Ruby's blood glistens inside. He salutes the demons glaring at him from across the divide and drinks. It's almost as good as fresh.
Who knew an Impala could fly?
Not Sam.
He wishes he'd been right.