FIC: Making Love Out of Nothing At All (Supernatural Gen)
This is my response to maygra's Pop Song Challenge, Supernatural Style. When I saw elynross's lovely entry, it gave me the idea to take what I'd been fiddling with and see if I could make it into a triple drabble (exactly 300 words). I'd hoped to cough up more than that, but when you're making love out of nothing at all, sometimes that's what happens…
Making Love Out of Nothing At All
**
"Dad, why are we listening to this shit?"
It's late. It's dark. His teenage boys sleep like the dead. The backseat's been quiet since Des Moines, so John had figured he was safe. Guess not.
"Watch your mouth, Dean," John says mildly.
"Fine," John hears from the other side of the backseat. "Why are we listening to this junk"?
Of course Sam goes along with Dean, because the alternative would align him with John (and Air Supply) and that's just not going to happen.
John doesn't remember losing Sam, but somewhere between the ages of twelve and fourteen, somewhere between demons, somewhere between Michigan and Georgia and Arkansas, John lost him. When they're not fighting, they're not talking. The only time John's sure of him is when he sleeps, and even then, John wonders where Sam goes sometimes.
They just left something awful; they're headed toward something worse. He welcomes the chance to talk about something normal.
"It's a classic," John says.
He hears snorts in stereo from the peanut gallery. He knows exactly where his old soul children came from, but he's never figured out why Dean only listens to music that's older than his dear old dad, and there's only so much Rush a man can stand in a day.
John waits, and when they finally subside to snickers in the back, he says, "I like it."
He doesn't tell them he remembers hearing it on the radio when Sam was a baby, when Dean was in preschool and Mary still made three dinners - baby food for Sam, macaroni and cheese for Dean, and whatever for the two of them. He remembers the light in the kitchen, the sway of Mary's hips, boy sounds and baby sounds.
It's just a song, notes on air, but he'll take it.
**
The end
You can take the darkness from the pit of the night
And turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright.
I’ve got to follow it, ’cause everything I know, well it’s nothing till I give it to you.
Making Love Out of Nothing At All
**
"Dad, why are we listening to this shit?"
It's late. It's dark. His teenage boys sleep like the dead. The backseat's been quiet since Des Moines, so John had figured he was safe. Guess not.
"Watch your mouth, Dean," John says mildly.
"Fine," John hears from the other side of the backseat. "Why are we listening to this junk"?
Of course Sam goes along with Dean, because the alternative would align him with John (and Air Supply) and that's just not going to happen.
John doesn't remember losing Sam, but somewhere between the ages of twelve and fourteen, somewhere between demons, somewhere between Michigan and Georgia and Arkansas, John lost him. When they're not fighting, they're not talking. The only time John's sure of him is when he sleeps, and even then, John wonders where Sam goes sometimes.
They just left something awful; they're headed toward something worse. He welcomes the chance to talk about something normal.
"It's a classic," John says.
He hears snorts in stereo from the peanut gallery. He knows exactly where his old soul children came from, but he's never figured out why Dean only listens to music that's older than his dear old dad, and there's only so much Rush a man can stand in a day.
John waits, and when they finally subside to snickers in the back, he says, "I like it."
He doesn't tell them he remembers hearing it on the radio when Sam was a baby, when Dean was in preschool and Mary still made three dinners - baby food for Sam, macaroni and cheese for Dean, and whatever for the two of them. He remembers the light in the kitchen, the sway of Mary's hips, boy sounds and baby sounds.
It's just a song, notes on air, but he'll take it.
**
The end
You can take the darkness from the pit of the night
And turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright.
I’ve got to follow it, ’cause everything I know, well it’s nothing till I give it to you.