fic: cemeteries
Title: cemeteries
Author: puchuupoet
Word Count: ~1100
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: pg-13 (language)
Heads-ups: Takes place pre-S4. Author notes under the cut.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Notes: Thanks to gorgeousnerd for the beta <3 Written for 50states_spn.
More notes: I lived in Oregon for a bit last year and ever since I've wanted to move back. It's full of such gorgeous scenery and highways, and I couldn't get enough of driving around the state. The story location is based on the route a friend and I took for a road trip last summer, where we counted cemeteries as we went to the Newport Aquarium (former home of Keiko from Free Willy). And Dean's frustrations with the state were initially my own, which I grew to love and adjust around <3
"Seven." Sam's voice suddenly cuts into the music, the sound making Dean start. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sam twist towards him and he's reminded of childhood. Of summers spent in the backseat of the Impala, Sam and his questions making the time go by faster. The tone in Sam's voice carries echoes of those questions and Dean readies himself for whatever Sam may be aiming for.
"Huh?"
"This makes the seventh cemetery we've passed so far."
"Seventh sign for one. Doesn't mean they're true." There's a car up ahead that Dean's starting to close in on, and he uses that as an excuse to let up on the gas. There's not going to be another passing lane for awhile, especially since they're finally on the down slope of the range.
"You really think people out here would lie about something like that?"
"Depends. We're in the boonies. Think they count farm animals as family this far out? That could up the number."
"It's the west coast, not the Midwest. And you're a douche."
Dean ignores both Sam and his hypocrisy, instead focusing on keeping the Impala in his lane. The road's tight against the mountain, and if it were just them, Dean would be having a ball. Except they're not, and for some godforsaken reason the powers that be deemed it safe for semis to use the road as well. It'd be a nice road if it was all theirs, but Dean's quickly reminded once again that it's not, a logging truck roaring out at them from around the blind corner.
"You okay there?" Sam seems genuinely concerned, and Dean glances at his grip on the wheel. It's not that tight, but he loosens his fingers anyways.
"Awesome," he mutters, gaze flickering over the signs as they rush by. "Can't wait til this straightens out though."
"Doesn't matter." Sam's looking at the map now, finger tracing over the thin red line. "Bet there's cops waiting around for an out of state plate to speed on by. Besides, it's not that much farther."
"You're lying."
"We're halfway there."
"Knew it. And this state blows."
"Stop pouting. You're taking the speed limit a bit too personally."
"Not my fault they're wrong."
"You're still pissed from earlier, aren't you?"
"...Maybe." Dean tightens his gaze on the road, focusing on the center line. It's still a really annoying solid stripe, and Dean longs for the straight dash of asphalt and its dotted lines even more. It's easier to ignore the fact that they're in Oregon when he's aiming the Impala into on-coming traffic, zipping around the semis in his beast of a car.
"You should've seen the look on the other guy's face..." Sam's voice trails off, but Dean's set on ignoring him still. Especially if he's still bringing this crap up. The only explanation Dean can come up with is that he was on auto-pilot this morning when he pulled into the gas station, his mind already set on the upcoming drive and hunt. It wasn't until after he had swiped his card that he had realized something was off, with the three guys running at him, yelling at him to knock it the fuck off.
"I was tired," Dean offers, more to fill the silence than provide a valid excuse. He already knows it sounds lame.
"You know how many times we've driven through Oregon?" Sam doesn't let go as easily as Dean hopes.
"Blow me." At least thirty. And that's not counting when Dad drove.
"On this road? You'd crash and kill us." Sam straightens the map out before attempting to refold it. "Figures this road is right on the crease."
"Asscrack of the nation."
"Is Oregon?"
"Their speed limit's forty-five and you can't pump your own gas. Who does that?"
"Okay, again? The guy didn't scratch your car, so stop bitching about that. And if it was snowing, you'd be happy. And no one follows the limit anyways, so I don't get why you're complaining about that one. And New Jersey," Sam adds as an afterthought.
"That totally makes my point. And it's the principle of things." Another semi rounds the corner, two empty trailers this time, and Dean leans on the horn as the rear corner drifts into their lane. "In a state with no principles."
"Like you're one to talk about principles," Sam teases, twisting around to grab a bottle of water from the backseat. "Give it a rest already."
"I have a strong set of principles, I'll have you know."
"Shoot, burn, fuck?"
"Not in that order, but close enough."
"Standards, Dean. Get some."
"I'd love to, but we're in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere and I don't see a general store anywhere nearby."
"Still tired? Cause that barely makes any sense." Sam glances at the map sitting in his lap. "And there's a town coming up where we can get food, cause you're getting bitchy. It's called Sweet Home."
"Of course it is." Dean rolls his shoulders. "How much longer until we're at the coast?"
"Still have to cross over the five and then some more mountains. It'll straighten out for you though, through the Corvallis area."
"And then the aquarium?"
"Yeah... Looks like there's been a bunch of unexplained deaths there, spread out over the years. They're just starting to happen more frequently now, and the police have no idea what's going on."
"Ghost of Willy has come back to take revenge?"
"For all we know, yeah."
"I was joking..."
"I'm not."
"Really, man? What's there in the journal about killing the ghost of a killer whale? I've seen Animal Planet, I know what sort of dicks those guys are. And that's when they're mortal and happy. Do we even have enough salt to burn a whale corpse?" Dean vaguely remembers Newport as being full of stores selling antiques, sun-dried starfish, and fast food.
"Focus on driving for now, Dean. We don't even know if it's a ghost at this point. Information about the cases seems to have been put on lock down."
"Can you imagine the look on Bobby's face if we sent him a picture of it?" Dean presses harder on the gas, excited about the prospect. Not every day you wake up to this sort of potential.
"Pretty sure his phone doesn't do pictures. And now you do want a dead whale?"
"Only if it died happy. And there's eight."
"Eight?"
"Eight cemeteries." Dean tips his head towards the upcoming sign proclaiming everlasting peace. "Gotta pay attention to your surroundings, Sammy."
Author: puchuupoet
Word Count: ~1100
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: pg-13 (language)
Heads-ups: Takes place pre-S4. Author notes under the cut.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Notes: Thanks to gorgeousnerd for the beta <3 Written for 50states_spn.
More notes: I lived in Oregon for a bit last year and ever since I've wanted to move back. It's full of such gorgeous scenery and highways, and I couldn't get enough of driving around the state. The story location is based on the route a friend and I took for a road trip last summer, where we counted cemeteries as we went to the Newport Aquarium (former home of Keiko from Free Willy). And Dean's frustrations with the state were initially my own, which I grew to love and adjust around <3
"Seven." Sam's voice suddenly cuts into the music, the sound making Dean start. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sam twist towards him and he's reminded of childhood. Of summers spent in the backseat of the Impala, Sam and his questions making the time go by faster. The tone in Sam's voice carries echoes of those questions and Dean readies himself for whatever Sam may be aiming for.
"Huh?"
"This makes the seventh cemetery we've passed so far."
"Seventh sign for one. Doesn't mean they're true." There's a car up ahead that Dean's starting to close in on, and he uses that as an excuse to let up on the gas. There's not going to be another passing lane for awhile, especially since they're finally on the down slope of the range.
"You really think people out here would lie about something like that?"
"Depends. We're in the boonies. Think they count farm animals as family this far out? That could up the number."
"It's the west coast, not the Midwest. And you're a douche."
Dean ignores both Sam and his hypocrisy, instead focusing on keeping the Impala in his lane. The road's tight against the mountain, and if it were just them, Dean would be having a ball. Except they're not, and for some godforsaken reason the powers that be deemed it safe for semis to use the road as well. It'd be a nice road if it was all theirs, but Dean's quickly reminded once again that it's not, a logging truck roaring out at them from around the blind corner.
"You okay there?" Sam seems genuinely concerned, and Dean glances at his grip on the wheel. It's not that tight, but he loosens his fingers anyways.
"Awesome," he mutters, gaze flickering over the signs as they rush by. "Can't wait til this straightens out though."
"Doesn't matter." Sam's looking at the map now, finger tracing over the thin red line. "Bet there's cops waiting around for an out of state plate to speed on by. Besides, it's not that much farther."
"You're lying."
"We're halfway there."
"Knew it. And this state blows."
"Stop pouting. You're taking the speed limit a bit too personally."
"Not my fault they're wrong."
"You're still pissed from earlier, aren't you?"
"...Maybe." Dean tightens his gaze on the road, focusing on the center line. It's still a really annoying solid stripe, and Dean longs for the straight dash of asphalt and its dotted lines even more. It's easier to ignore the fact that they're in Oregon when he's aiming the Impala into on-coming traffic, zipping around the semis in his beast of a car.
"You should've seen the look on the other guy's face..." Sam's voice trails off, but Dean's set on ignoring him still. Especially if he's still bringing this crap up. The only explanation Dean can come up with is that he was on auto-pilot this morning when he pulled into the gas station, his mind already set on the upcoming drive and hunt. It wasn't until after he had swiped his card that he had realized something was off, with the three guys running at him, yelling at him to knock it the fuck off.
"I was tired," Dean offers, more to fill the silence than provide a valid excuse. He already knows it sounds lame.
"You know how many times we've driven through Oregon?" Sam doesn't let go as easily as Dean hopes.
"Blow me." At least thirty. And that's not counting when Dad drove.
"On this road? You'd crash and kill us." Sam straightens the map out before attempting to refold it. "Figures this road is right on the crease."
"Asscrack of the nation."
"Is Oregon?"
"Their speed limit's forty-five and you can't pump your own gas. Who does that?"
"Okay, again? The guy didn't scratch your car, so stop bitching about that. And if it was snowing, you'd be happy. And no one follows the limit anyways, so I don't get why you're complaining about that one. And New Jersey," Sam adds as an afterthought.
"That totally makes my point. And it's the principle of things." Another semi rounds the corner, two empty trailers this time, and Dean leans on the horn as the rear corner drifts into their lane. "In a state with no principles."
"Like you're one to talk about principles," Sam teases, twisting around to grab a bottle of water from the backseat. "Give it a rest already."
"I have a strong set of principles, I'll have you know."
"Shoot, burn, fuck?"
"Not in that order, but close enough."
"Standards, Dean. Get some."
"I'd love to, but we're in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere and I don't see a general store anywhere nearby."
"Still tired? Cause that barely makes any sense." Sam glances at the map sitting in his lap. "And there's a town coming up where we can get food, cause you're getting bitchy. It's called Sweet Home."
"Of course it is." Dean rolls his shoulders. "How much longer until we're at the coast?"
"Still have to cross over the five and then some more mountains. It'll straighten out for you though, through the Corvallis area."
"And then the aquarium?"
"Yeah... Looks like there's been a bunch of unexplained deaths there, spread out over the years. They're just starting to happen more frequently now, and the police have no idea what's going on."
"Ghost of Willy has come back to take revenge?"
"For all we know, yeah."
"I was joking..."
"I'm not."
"Really, man? What's there in the journal about killing the ghost of a killer whale? I've seen Animal Planet, I know what sort of dicks those guys are. And that's when they're mortal and happy. Do we even have enough salt to burn a whale corpse?" Dean vaguely remembers Newport as being full of stores selling antiques, sun-dried starfish, and fast food.
"Focus on driving for now, Dean. We don't even know if it's a ghost at this point. Information about the cases seems to have been put on lock down."
"Can you imagine the look on Bobby's face if we sent him a picture of it?" Dean presses harder on the gas, excited about the prospect. Not every day you wake up to this sort of potential.
"Pretty sure his phone doesn't do pictures. And now you do want a dead whale?"
"Only if it died happy. And there's eight."
"Eight?"
"Eight cemeteries." Dean tips his head towards the upcoming sign proclaiming everlasting peace. "Gotta pay attention to your surroundings, Sammy."