Fic: 300 Sunsets (SPN)
Set about a month after the end of series 3. Sam, gen. 580 words. Unbeta'd but going out to beta shortly.
Summary: the Impala has one last secret.
300 sunsets
It's a month later, two hours after sunset in Wichita, Kansas and all the gun stores in town are closed. Sam's rummaging through the Impala's trunk searching for shotgun cartridges when his fingers slip across a hidden catch and a panel comes away in his hands.
The photographs tumble out and scatter on the tarmac. Sunsets, hundreds of sunsets. Sam kneels to pick them up. He turns one over and Dean's writing hits him like a gut punch.
August 28, 2007. Lookout Mountain, Tennessee
The vengeance spirit on the incline railway. Sam feels his shoulders stiffen as he remembers how the edges of the rails cut into his back. Tied up and left on the track like the heroine of a fucking B-movie. Dean had called him princess for days, until Sam was out of hospital and threatening to beat the crap out of him.
If Dean hadn't been there - He blocks that thought off and lays the photograph down. There are seventeen photographs of Lookout Mountain and ten more from Sam's hospital room. He arranges them in date order and puts them to one side.
The next photograph is an urban one. Rain drips from a dirty awning and a neon No Vacancies sign blinks up at him from a puddle. Sam has no idea where it was taken. He turns it over.
October 6, 2007. Santa Cruz, California.
The Super 8 in Santa Cruz, just down from the boardwalk. Sam wonders what it is with ghosts and tourist attractions. He'd been all for banishing the roller coaster's guardian spirit, but Dean had convinced him to negotiate. 'Hell's getting a little crowded, Sammy boy,' he'd said and turned away, but not before Sam had seen the look in his eyes.
He remembers the cameras now, although he doesn't know which one this was. Dean had bought them from pawnshops, scattering their guts over motel carpets while he experimented with imaging on the EMF meter. For the first time in years Sam had gone shopping for slippers. But then the cameras had disappeared and when he'd asked about them Dean had grunted something that meant shut up, so Sam had shut up.
He recognises the next batch, because he's been there before and since. It's the view from the spare bedroom at the back of Bobby's place, a labyrinth of wrecked cars and hidden tripwires. Sam shakes his head. Two weeks holed up there hiding from Henriksen after a tip-off had them racing out of Des Moines, case abandoned. Two weeks wasted. Three people dead who never should have died.
March 17, 2008. Wilton, Arkansas
The hanging tree by Millwood Lake. Thirteen days in the Arkansas wetlands, fending off alligators. Thirteen photographs.
He flicks through them faster now. They're telling a story Sam doesn't want to read, even though he already knows how it ends. Sunset after sunset, from Illinois to California, Mississippi to North Dakota.
He picks up the last photograph. It's blurred, as if maybe Dean's hands were shaking when he took it. But then Sam wipes his eyes and he realises it's not the photograph that's blurred.
It's a sunny evening in Oklahoma, four days before the summer solstice. There's a grey cloud fading away on the left, but otherwise the sky is bright and Sam can almost smell the freshness that comes after rain. Clear across the centre of the picture is a double rainbow, suspended over the fields and arching towards heaven.
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Summary: the Impala has one last secret.
300 sunsets
It's a month later, two hours after sunset in Wichita, Kansas and all the gun stores in town are closed. Sam's rummaging through the Impala's trunk searching for shotgun cartridges when his fingers slip across a hidden catch and a panel comes away in his hands.
The photographs tumble out and scatter on the tarmac. Sunsets, hundreds of sunsets. Sam kneels to pick them up. He turns one over and Dean's writing hits him like a gut punch.
August 28, 2007. Lookout Mountain, Tennessee
The vengeance spirit on the incline railway. Sam feels his shoulders stiffen as he remembers how the edges of the rails cut into his back. Tied up and left on the track like the heroine of a fucking B-movie. Dean had called him princess for days, until Sam was out of hospital and threatening to beat the crap out of him.
If Dean hadn't been there - He blocks that thought off and lays the photograph down. There are seventeen photographs of Lookout Mountain and ten more from Sam's hospital room. He arranges them in date order and puts them to one side.
The next photograph is an urban one. Rain drips from a dirty awning and a neon No Vacancies sign blinks up at him from a puddle. Sam has no idea where it was taken. He turns it over.
October 6, 2007. Santa Cruz, California.
The Super 8 in Santa Cruz, just down from the boardwalk. Sam wonders what it is with ghosts and tourist attractions. He'd been all for banishing the roller coaster's guardian spirit, but Dean had convinced him to negotiate. 'Hell's getting a little crowded, Sammy boy,' he'd said and turned away, but not before Sam had seen the look in his eyes.
He remembers the cameras now, although he doesn't know which one this was. Dean had bought them from pawnshops, scattering their guts over motel carpets while he experimented with imaging on the EMF meter. For the first time in years Sam had gone shopping for slippers. But then the cameras had disappeared and when he'd asked about them Dean had grunted something that meant shut up, so Sam had shut up.
He recognises the next batch, because he's been there before and since. It's the view from the spare bedroom at the back of Bobby's place, a labyrinth of wrecked cars and hidden tripwires. Sam shakes his head. Two weeks holed up there hiding from Henriksen after a tip-off had them racing out of Des Moines, case abandoned. Two weeks wasted. Three people dead who never should have died.
March 17, 2008. Wilton, Arkansas
The hanging tree by Millwood Lake. Thirteen days in the Arkansas wetlands, fending off alligators. Thirteen photographs.
He flicks through them faster now. They're telling a story Sam doesn't want to read, even though he already knows how it ends. Sunset after sunset, from Illinois to California, Mississippi to North Dakota.
He picks up the last photograph. It's blurred, as if maybe Dean's hands were shaking when he took it. But then Sam wipes his eyes and he realises it's not the photograph that's blurred.
It's a sunny evening in Oklahoma, four days before the summer solstice. There's a grey cloud fading away on the left, but otherwise the sky is bright and Sam can almost smell the freshness that comes after rain. Clear across the centre of the picture is a double rainbow, suspended over the fields and arching towards heaven.
--