Fic: The Road To Detroit (Supernatural) by Lara
Title: The Road To Detroit
Author: Lara (ladyoneill)
Fandom: Supernatural
Spoilers: 5.22, the road to Detroit.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters; if I did, a certain archangel wouldn't be dead.
Pairing: None
Warnings: A bit of language
Rating: PG13
Picture: Apocalyptic
They passed another burned out car, this one some kind of Frankenstein of mini-cooper and station wagon. Dean shuddered at both the sight of another wrecked car with no signs of life or death--which recent history had shown to mean that the occupants had been incinerated down to ash--and the really ugly car itself.
Gently he patted the steering wheel of his beloved Impala and carefully swerved around the top half of a fallen tree.
The road to Detroit was growing more grim every second.
They'd lost the radio stations in the city a good hour behind them and, for once, Dean wasn't in the mood to listen to any of his usual classic rock tapes. Since he'd turned off the static, the car had been silent except for the sounds of three men breathing and the rhythm of the tires on the road.
A glance in the rearview mirror showed him both Bobby following in his van and Castiel, solemn and oddly small looking, huddled in his trench coat on the backseat. The angel was human now. There were deep, dark circles beneath the bloodshot eyes that met his briefly.
Dean knew they all looked rough, running on little to no sleep for weeks, but it bothered him to see Cas like that.
Jerking his attention back to the road, he was gratified to see a couple cars coming from the other direction. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he'd seen any sign of life outside of their own two vehicles.
There weren't even any birds in the sky.
A quick glance to his right showed him that Sam was staring blankly out the front window, his only movement the twitch of his left fingers on his thigh. Dean didn't want to think about what Sam was facing, what he was going to do. When he did, every cell of his body screamed at him to turn the car around. Fuck the world. Let Lucifer and Michael fight it out in inferior vessels. Sam would live. He had to live.
But, Dean's brain had finally accepted that he had to let his brother go. It would destroy him, but this was Sam's decision.
He couldn't be selfish.
A few minutes later they crested the top of a hill and the distant horizon was heavy with smoke, so thick it blotted out the sky.
Detroit was burning.
They passed another burned car and he swerved onto the shoulder to avoid a jack-knifed semi-truck. In the distance the smoke grew thicker and darker. No more cars passed heading out and Dean bleakly wondered if anyone was left alive.
Beneath the smoke the edges of skyscrapers began to take shape and Dean felt more than heard his brother shift beside him.
"Everything's burning or burned out except for the center of the city. It's frozen. He's frozen," Sam mumbled, his fingers now tightening around his knee. "We'll find him where there's no sign of fire."
"Okay, Sammy. We'll find a way in."
"It is unlikely there will be anyone blocking our path," Castiel added. "Lucifer will want Sam's way to be clear and direct."
Silence fell and, as they drove closer to what was left of Detroit, the detritus of the firestorms became thicker. Dean found himself driving mostly on the shoulder and sometimes off the highway all together. A few cars looked abandoned but most were burned shells. Now, similar destruction dotted the other side of the road. Cars and trucks had been hit with fireballs, leaving behind smoking boulders. As they Impala drew ever closer to Detroit, they passed trees and buildings burned to blackened ruin. Lucifer had unleashed a wave of flame from the city outwards.
When they reached the suburbs, the fires were still burning spottily. Cars blocked the roads, making them impassible. Dean backtracked, trying to find a different highway into the inner city and it took nearly two hours before he found one.
It was clear of vehicles and only falling ash drifted into the silence. Nothing lived, but nothing burned.
"Follow the yellow brick road?" he quipped humorlessly. A few miles later, he stopped. The highway ahead was blocked and cars were still on fire, but there was a clear off ramp.
"If this ramp leads to Lucifer, I need to...I need to get ready."
Swallowing down bitterness and holding in his growing terror, Dean nodded and turned off the engine. A glance backwards showed him Bobby was doing the same. Sam got out and opened the trunk.
Dean turned his attention back towards the burning and crumbling buildings all around them. Sam's opening of the door had let in ash and the smell of char, and Dean wrinkled his nose and coughed harshly.
Ignoring the thought of how much demon blood his brother was drinking, he took out his flask, draining the cheap whisky.
"Can you really let him do this?" Castiel softly asked.
Dean let his shoulders slump and, when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I have to. It's his decision. It goes against everything I've been taught my whole life, but..."
"He is strong." But there was doubt in the former angel's voice and they both lapsed into silence and their own dark thoughts.
It took nearly a half an hour--there were four gallon jugs, something a normal human could never consume at one time--but Sam finally retook his seat. He was nearly vibrating. Dean could feel the power buzzing around him.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Dean turned the key in the ignition and pulled the Impala off the highway and down onto an eerily clear street.
"I can do this," Sam whispered. "I have to do this, Dean."
"I know, Sammy. I know," he said soothingly and tried to smile, but his heart was shattering. Taking one hand off the wheel, he slid it into his pocket, felt the joined rings, and said a silent prayer, knowing full well that no one was listening.
End
Author: Lara (ladyoneill)
Fandom: Supernatural
Spoilers: 5.22, the road to Detroit.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters; if I did, a certain archangel wouldn't be dead.
Pairing: None
Warnings: A bit of language
Rating: PG13
Picture: Apocalyptic
They passed another burned out car, this one some kind of Frankenstein of mini-cooper and station wagon. Dean shuddered at both the sight of another wrecked car with no signs of life or death--which recent history had shown to mean that the occupants had been incinerated down to ash--and the really ugly car itself.
Gently he patted the steering wheel of his beloved Impala and carefully swerved around the top half of a fallen tree.
The road to Detroit was growing more grim every second.
They'd lost the radio stations in the city a good hour behind them and, for once, Dean wasn't in the mood to listen to any of his usual classic rock tapes. Since he'd turned off the static, the car had been silent except for the sounds of three men breathing and the rhythm of the tires on the road.
A glance in the rearview mirror showed him both Bobby following in his van and Castiel, solemn and oddly small looking, huddled in his trench coat on the backseat. The angel was human now. There were deep, dark circles beneath the bloodshot eyes that met his briefly.
Dean knew they all looked rough, running on little to no sleep for weeks, but it bothered him to see Cas like that.
Jerking his attention back to the road, he was gratified to see a couple cars coming from the other direction. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he'd seen any sign of life outside of their own two vehicles.
There weren't even any birds in the sky.
A quick glance to his right showed him that Sam was staring blankly out the front window, his only movement the twitch of his left fingers on his thigh. Dean didn't want to think about what Sam was facing, what he was going to do. When he did, every cell of his body screamed at him to turn the car around. Fuck the world. Let Lucifer and Michael fight it out in inferior vessels. Sam would live. He had to live.
But, Dean's brain had finally accepted that he had to let his brother go. It would destroy him, but this was Sam's decision.
He couldn't be selfish.
A few minutes later they crested the top of a hill and the distant horizon was heavy with smoke, so thick it blotted out the sky.
Detroit was burning.
They passed another burned car and he swerved onto the shoulder to avoid a jack-knifed semi-truck. In the distance the smoke grew thicker and darker. No more cars passed heading out and Dean bleakly wondered if anyone was left alive.
Beneath the smoke the edges of skyscrapers began to take shape and Dean felt more than heard his brother shift beside him.
"Everything's burning or burned out except for the center of the city. It's frozen. He's frozen," Sam mumbled, his fingers now tightening around his knee. "We'll find him where there's no sign of fire."
"Okay, Sammy. We'll find a way in."
"It is unlikely there will be anyone blocking our path," Castiel added. "Lucifer will want Sam's way to be clear and direct."
Silence fell and, as they drove closer to what was left of Detroit, the detritus of the firestorms became thicker. Dean found himself driving mostly on the shoulder and sometimes off the highway all together. A few cars looked abandoned but most were burned shells. Now, similar destruction dotted the other side of the road. Cars and trucks had been hit with fireballs, leaving behind smoking boulders. As they Impala drew ever closer to Detroit, they passed trees and buildings burned to blackened ruin. Lucifer had unleashed a wave of flame from the city outwards.
When they reached the suburbs, the fires were still burning spottily. Cars blocked the roads, making them impassible. Dean backtracked, trying to find a different highway into the inner city and it took nearly two hours before he found one.
It was clear of vehicles and only falling ash drifted into the silence. Nothing lived, but nothing burned.
"Follow the yellow brick road?" he quipped humorlessly. A few miles later, he stopped. The highway ahead was blocked and cars were still on fire, but there was a clear off ramp.
"If this ramp leads to Lucifer, I need to...I need to get ready."
Swallowing down bitterness and holding in his growing terror, Dean nodded and turned off the engine. A glance backwards showed him Bobby was doing the same. Sam got out and opened the trunk.
Dean turned his attention back towards the burning and crumbling buildings all around them. Sam's opening of the door had let in ash and the smell of char, and Dean wrinkled his nose and coughed harshly.
Ignoring the thought of how much demon blood his brother was drinking, he took out his flask, draining the cheap whisky.
"Can you really let him do this?" Castiel softly asked.
Dean let his shoulders slump and, when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I have to. It's his decision. It goes against everything I've been taught my whole life, but..."
"He is strong." But there was doubt in the former angel's voice and they both lapsed into silence and their own dark thoughts.
It took nearly a half an hour--there were four gallon jugs, something a normal human could never consume at one time--but Sam finally retook his seat. He was nearly vibrating. Dean could feel the power buzzing around him.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Dean turned the key in the ignition and pulled the Impala off the highway and down onto an eerily clear street.
"I can do this," Sam whispered. "I have to do this, Dean."
"I know, Sammy. I know," he said soothingly and tried to smile, but his heart was shattering. Taking one hand off the wheel, he slid it into his pocket, felt the joined rings, and said a silent prayer, knowing full well that no one was listening.
End