Fic: We're On the Road to Nowhere
Title: We’re On the Road to Nowhere
Author: kira
Genre: slice of life
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Meg, Crowley, and a surpise
Pairing: none
Rating: OT for Dean's potty mouth
Word count: 1168
Warning/Spoilers: none
Summary: They were all crowded into the Impala, driving nowhere fast, on the road trip from Hell…
Author’s Note: Thanks to my beta Vexed for looking this over for me.
Disclaimer: Don’t own Supernatural; wish I did!
For just ruth...
They were all crowded into the Impala, driving nowhere fast, on the road trip from Hell. The Winchesters rode in the front as usual, Meg slouched against the door behind Dean, Castiel sat next to her in the middle, and Crowley lounged behind the sound asleep Sam with the map. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” appropriately filled the Impala’s speakers with Castiel, having heard the song often enough to know it, singing along softly.
Dean felt himself start to relax. The bickering had finally stopped, Baby’s tank was full, and everyone had enough snacks to keep them going until the next gas stop/bathroom break. Castiel’s singing was entertaining and Crowley was just as good with a map as Sam. And yet, as the miles rolled by, Dean could not shake the nagging feeling something bad was about to happen. “Crowley?”
“Yes?”the King of Hell said as he studied the map.
“How long until the exit?”
“Two miles…”
There was a rustling of paper, punctuated by a loud snoring noise from Sam, and a snicker from Castiel. Dean ignored it as he concentrated on the road.
Crowley, finding what he was looking for in the Triptik that had seen better days, said, “When you get off make a left and then a right, no then a left, and then another right and a quick left or two, and there should be some motels and a McDonald’s.”
“Dean? Can I get a Big and Fries and a chocolate shake?”
“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean said as he exited the highway. Following Crowley’s directions, he turned left, then right. Dean drove a few blocks, made another left followed by right. “Are you sure this is right, Crowley?” he asked as they had left the outskirts of the town and were now surrounded by cow pastures.
“Yeah…” Crowley flipped between the map and the written directions in the old Triptik. He mumbled softly to himself, but Dean, thinking he was giving directions, did as he said. “…make a left… then a right… drive a mile and a half…” Crowley looked up just as Dean turned off into a field. “Where the hell are we?”
“Dean, I don’t see any McDonald’s,” Castiel added helpfully. “Unless this is a do it yourself one…” He trailed off as a cow lumbered over to them.
Meg chuckled. “Oh, Clarence,” she said softly.
“Crowley,” Dean growled as he turned off the radio, “Give me the god damned Triptik!” He turned in the driver’s seat. “NOW!”
Crowley shrugged and handed it over. “If you had let me wake up Moose an hour ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Dean ignored him and angrily thumbed through the Triptik. He read it over, occasionally stopping to glare over his shoulder at the King of Hell. He grumbled, and throwing the Impala into reverse, backed out onto the old farm road. “We seem to be here,” Dean jabbed a finger at the map in the Triptik, “Do you think you can navigate your way back to the highway?”
Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Well?”
“Yeah,” Crowley said sarcastically in what was to turn out to be an exercise in futility. It started out okay and they actually made it back to town. Finding a motel and a place to eat was another story. While two lefts actually turned out to make a right, it still put them no closer to their destination. Comments like “No, the OTHER left! I distinctly remember it saying something about it in that stupid thing!” and “Are are you sure it said that?” did nothing to improve Crowley’s or Dean’s temper. Castiel’s plaintive “Are we there yet?” and Sam’s occasional loud snore while Meg’s softly hummed “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” also did not help matters.
After driving around in circles for what felt like hours, Sam woke up. He yawned, stretching his large frame as best he could in the cramped space, while Castiel eagerly filled him in on what had happened while he slept. Sam glanced over at his brother, who was silently fuming as he drove. He noticed Dean’s knuckles were so white; he could probably break the Impala’s steering wheel in a million pieces and then proceed to beat the tar out the person who made him do it. Sam sighed. He was sorry he woke up and even sorrier he let Dean talk him into going on this silly summer vacation. He remembered Dean telling him, “It would be fun, Sam!” in the same tone of voice he used when telling him rhubarb pie was heaven on a plate. Sam did not believe him then and he wondered why he ever believed him now.
Reaching a crossroads, Dean was seriously thinking about getting out and summoning its demon for directions, when they spotted it. There, up ahead and to the left, was a broken neon sign that gave off a half assed glow and a run-down looking McDonald’s. Dean made a quick left and drove towards it. He pulled into the motel’s parking lot, skidding to a stop outside the main office. He parked and everyone got out and headed inside to the front desk. Tired and hungry, they none-the-less waited for the guy behind the counter to notice them. Tall and gawky-looking, the guy steadfastly ignored them.
Crowley chuckled.
Dean turned around to glare at him.
The King of Hell shrugged. “He reminds me of the guy on ‘Fawlty Towers.’” He grinned, his expression falling at their blank stares, “It’s a Brit-com, you know, British comedy…? Never mind,” he huffed.
At that moment, the guy apparently decided to notice their presence. As he turned to face them, he said, “Aaah, welcome to Fatty Ow-” He was cut off in mid-sentence by Dean’s scream as he recognized the Trickster.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!”
Sam shook him. “Dean?! Dean!! Are you okay?!”
Dean shook his head. He looked wildly around him while Sam peered at him anxiously. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He panted as reality took hold and the dream faded away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned sheepishly as Sam got back into his own bed. “I think those corn dogs and cotton candy we got on the boardwalk gave me a nightmare.”
“Yeah well, who told you to eat six of them? And since when does cotton candy go with beer?”
“It’s summer vacation, Sammy. Corn dogs, cotton candy, and beer are part of the fun.” He settled back into his bed and grinned wickedly at his brother. “Let’s do it again tomorrow, okay?”
Sam heaved a long suffering sigh. “Really, Dean?” he said, getting his brother’s trademark grin in reply. “Good-night,” he said and turned out the light.
“Night, Sammy.” Dean got comfortable as he closed his eyes. He never noticed, before sleep claimed him again, that Sam when he rolled over in bed was not really Sam, but the Trickster who wanted to have a bit of fun with him and what better place to have fun than on vacation…
Author: kira
Genre: slice of life
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Meg, Crowley, and a surpise
Pairing: none
Rating: OT for Dean's potty mouth
Word count: 1168
Warning/Spoilers: none
Summary: They were all crowded into the Impala, driving nowhere fast, on the road trip from Hell…
Author’s Note: Thanks to my beta Vexed for looking this over for me.
Disclaimer: Don’t own Supernatural; wish I did!
For just ruth...
They were all crowded into the Impala, driving nowhere fast, on the road trip from Hell. The Winchesters rode in the front as usual, Meg slouched against the door behind Dean, Castiel sat next to her in the middle, and Crowley lounged behind the sound asleep Sam with the map. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” appropriately filled the Impala’s speakers with Castiel, having heard the song often enough to know it, singing along softly.
Dean felt himself start to relax. The bickering had finally stopped, Baby’s tank was full, and everyone had enough snacks to keep them going until the next gas stop/bathroom break. Castiel’s singing was entertaining and Crowley was just as good with a map as Sam. And yet, as the miles rolled by, Dean could not shake the nagging feeling something bad was about to happen. “Crowley?”
“Yes?”the King of Hell said as he studied the map.
“How long until the exit?”
“Two miles…”
There was a rustling of paper, punctuated by a loud snoring noise from Sam, and a snicker from Castiel. Dean ignored it as he concentrated on the road.
Crowley, finding what he was looking for in the Triptik that had seen better days, said, “When you get off make a left and then a right, no then a left, and then another right and a quick left or two, and there should be some motels and a McDonald’s.”
“Dean? Can I get a Big and Fries and a chocolate shake?”
“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean said as he exited the highway. Following Crowley’s directions, he turned left, then right. Dean drove a few blocks, made another left followed by right. “Are you sure this is right, Crowley?” he asked as they had left the outskirts of the town and were now surrounded by cow pastures.
“Yeah…” Crowley flipped between the map and the written directions in the old Triptik. He mumbled softly to himself, but Dean, thinking he was giving directions, did as he said. “…make a left… then a right… drive a mile and a half…” Crowley looked up just as Dean turned off into a field. “Where the hell are we?”
“Dean, I don’t see any McDonald’s,” Castiel added helpfully. “Unless this is a do it yourself one…” He trailed off as a cow lumbered over to them.
Meg chuckled. “Oh, Clarence,” she said softly.
“Crowley,” Dean growled as he turned off the radio, “Give me the god damned Triptik!” He turned in the driver’s seat. “NOW!”
Crowley shrugged and handed it over. “If you had let me wake up Moose an hour ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Dean ignored him and angrily thumbed through the Triptik. He read it over, occasionally stopping to glare over his shoulder at the King of Hell. He grumbled, and throwing the Impala into reverse, backed out onto the old farm road. “We seem to be here,” Dean jabbed a finger at the map in the Triptik, “Do you think you can navigate your way back to the highway?”
Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Well?”
“Yeah,” Crowley said sarcastically in what was to turn out to be an exercise in futility. It started out okay and they actually made it back to town. Finding a motel and a place to eat was another story. While two lefts actually turned out to make a right, it still put them no closer to their destination. Comments like “No, the OTHER left! I distinctly remember it saying something about it in that stupid thing!” and “Are are you sure it said that?” did nothing to improve Crowley’s or Dean’s temper. Castiel’s plaintive “Are we there yet?” and Sam’s occasional loud snore while Meg’s softly hummed “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” also did not help matters.
After driving around in circles for what felt like hours, Sam woke up. He yawned, stretching his large frame as best he could in the cramped space, while Castiel eagerly filled him in on what had happened while he slept. Sam glanced over at his brother, who was silently fuming as he drove. He noticed Dean’s knuckles were so white; he could probably break the Impala’s steering wheel in a million pieces and then proceed to beat the tar out the person who made him do it. Sam sighed. He was sorry he woke up and even sorrier he let Dean talk him into going on this silly summer vacation. He remembered Dean telling him, “It would be fun, Sam!” in the same tone of voice he used when telling him rhubarb pie was heaven on a plate. Sam did not believe him then and he wondered why he ever believed him now.
Reaching a crossroads, Dean was seriously thinking about getting out and summoning its demon for directions, when they spotted it. There, up ahead and to the left, was a broken neon sign that gave off a half assed glow and a run-down looking McDonald’s. Dean made a quick left and drove towards it. He pulled into the motel’s parking lot, skidding to a stop outside the main office. He parked and everyone got out and headed inside to the front desk. Tired and hungry, they none-the-less waited for the guy behind the counter to notice them. Tall and gawky-looking, the guy steadfastly ignored them.
Crowley chuckled.
Dean turned around to glare at him.
The King of Hell shrugged. “He reminds me of the guy on ‘Fawlty Towers.’” He grinned, his expression falling at their blank stares, “It’s a Brit-com, you know, British comedy…? Never mind,” he huffed.
At that moment, the guy apparently decided to notice their presence. As he turned to face them, he said, “Aaah, welcome to Fatty Ow-” He was cut off in mid-sentence by Dean’s scream as he recognized the Trickster.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!”
Sam shook him. “Dean?! Dean!! Are you okay?!”
Dean shook his head. He looked wildly around him while Sam peered at him anxiously. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He panted as reality took hold and the dream faded away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned sheepishly as Sam got back into his own bed. “I think those corn dogs and cotton candy we got on the boardwalk gave me a nightmare.”
“Yeah well, who told you to eat six of them? And since when does cotton candy go with beer?”
“It’s summer vacation, Sammy. Corn dogs, cotton candy, and beer are part of the fun.” He settled back into his bed and grinned wickedly at his brother. “Let’s do it again tomorrow, okay?”
Sam heaved a long suffering sigh. “Really, Dean?” he said, getting his brother’s trademark grin in reply. “Good-night,” he said and turned out the light.
“Night, Sammy.” Dean got comfortable as he closed his eyes. He never noticed, before sleep claimed him again, that Sam when he rolled over in bed was not really Sam, but the Trickster who wanted to have a bit of fun with him and what better place to have fun than on vacation…