[NaNo] Ass Out of You and Me: Visit (Sam/Dean) 28/30
Series: Ass Out of You and Me
Title: Visit
Author: destial
Pairing: Past Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Theme: 30 NaNo-Shots Special Table 2010
Prompt: Visit
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Complete disregard for all factual geography of Palo Alto. Angst and schmoop.
Spoilers: Pre-series, so if you saw episode one, you're good to go.
Word Count: 2000
Notes: Takes place at the same time as Silence. Now being made into awesome podfic by the lovely and talented weimar27 found here! Check often for updates!
Summary: He spent yesterday sitting in the Impala, snug to a curb, and people watching. Not a single one had been who he was looking for.
Visit
Dean lasts two years.
That's twenty four months, one hundred and four weeks, something like seven hundred days.
It doesn't sound like much when Dean thinks about it in terms of days. Days are short, they're nothing. Seven hundred days is nothing. He's weak for caving that quickly, for giving in after only two years. His father wasn't going to break like this.
But, then again, dad never had the same stakes invested in this particular venture.
Dean doesn't like anything about breaking. He especially doesn't like being in California right now. He's never liked anyplace that could vaguely be described as the American south west. It is hot, all year round. Even where he is right now, on the border of that vague territory, it's way too warn to be comfortable. Dean has never minded a little sweat, but you get caught in these parts in the wrong month and there's no little about it; you're sweating by the buckets.
And monsters get weird in the heat. They have a tendency of smelling like rotten flesh from the get go and that's not something anyone with at least an ounce of sanity ever gets used to. It's hard to properly defend against the ones with claws, too - hunters wear leather for more than how it looks, but leather doesn't wear well in that kind of heat.
So, California? Not Dean's ideal vacation spot.
And Palo Alto is the second to last place Dean's ever wanted to go (the first or more aptly the last, of course, being the place where he'd lost his mom all those years ago, that place Dean still calls home). But that's where he is.
Stanford isn't hard to find, once he locates the university town. There are signs everywhere, not so subtly directing all traffic along the main road that boarders the campus. Dean ignores that road - as the main road, that's probably where everyone is and even if he wants to find someone here, he doesn't want to get trapped in by other cars.
No, Dean wants the option of having a fast getaway.
He had finished his solo hunt two days ago and spent half the time since sitting alone in a hotel room in San Jose, debating how monumentally stupid this would be.
He spent yesterday sitting in the Impala, snug to a curb, and people watching. Not a single one had been who he was looking for.
Dean has been telling himself he doesn't want to come here, that he doesn't need this, for months now. For months, he's been hit suddenly with the urge to jump in his baby and go. But he'd always been with dad and how was he supposed to explain that?
But two days ago when he'd finished that hunt, he'd been hit with that urge again, that old itch and Dean realized that, this time, nothing was going to stop him from scratching.
So it wasn't even like he'd resisted for two years because the only difference between this time and all the others was that now he had the opportunity. He'd barely lasted a year before being hit by the need to go, to leave dad and come here and he's not sure now what's worse. Needing to be here, to come crawling here like some needy bitch, or being such a coward he can't let his dad know.
That's when his phone rings.
Dean's heart skips a beat and for a moment he can't help reliving the terror of the night dad caught them. He feels now how he felt then, as if he's betrayed some sacred trust and has just been called on it. For a very real moment, Dean considers not picking up but that's not an option. Dad could be hurt or need help. Not answering is never an option.
"Hello?" Dean answers gruffly. He feels guilty for staring at the campus when he's on the phone with his dad, but he can't draw his eyes away from that stone building across the field, just in case.
"Nest of Chupacabra in New Mexico. Seems like a two man job," his dad says, always right to the point.
Dean bites his lip. He loves hunting Chupacabra.
"It'll take me another day or so," he finally says, and the lie that follows leaves a dirty feeling behind. "This hunt's been giving me trouble."
"Need backup?" his dad asks.
Dean pushes down the panic at the thought of dad being there and shakes his head before remembering dad can't see him.
"No, not that kind of trouble. Just need some time."
John grunts and the noise is familiar and almost comforting, except Dean's world just came to a stop.
Across the field, he sees shaggy brown hair and a great slouching figure, long legs carrying the boy - man, little Sammy's a man now - in great strides. His hands are stuffed low in his jeans' pockets.
He's smiling and Dean's breath catches because it's been a very long time since he saw that. He needs dad off the phone now.
"So meet you in New Mexico in a day?" he says in a rush, hoping his dad doesn't pick up on his breathlessness.
"Yea, Rio Rancho, just outside of Albuquerque."
"I'll call when I'm near."
Dean snaps the phone shut before dad can reply, eyes not even able to blink in fear that Sam will disappear.
Sam's darker now. Not much, but it's noticeable. Dean realizes that Sam had always been paler than he should, in this moment. This is how his brother was meant to look, the shade his brother was meant to be. How he'd never noticed that before, Dean has no idea, but the tan sits as if Sam Winchester's skin is its rightful home.
He's broader, too. Sam had been growing out of his lankiness for a while before he left, but he hadn't yet matched Dean's width. By now he's gone past it. His hands, if Dean could see them, probably wouldn't look so ridiculous in comparison now.
Then Sam's face lights up which causes something in Dean to swell and he suddenly feels this lightness, this bubble deep inside. Sam is striding forward faster now, pulling his hands out of pockets - Dean was right, they don't look like oversized mitts anymore - and…
And he's putting those big hands around a girl's waist, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her in a spinning hug. They're both laughing. Dean can hear them, peals of laughter stretching across the lawn and reaching his ears.
"Oh," Dean says. That lightness is gone but he's not sure what replaced it. He's not sure it was replaced.
Sam is kissing the girl now, a light peck on the lips as her feet dangle at least a good six inches off the ground before he shakes her, once - startling another laugh from her - and sets her down. She catches his hand and then he's bending down and kissing her again, longer this time. Savoring it.
"Oh," Dean says again. He chews on his lip for a second, then taps his ring against the wheel. He suddenly feels restless and he's not sure why.
He wants to smile. He's sending a message to his brain to smile but all that happens is that his brow furrows.
Sam very obviously has a girlfriend.
"Sammy got himself a babe," he mutters and there. There it is. His lips form a smirk around the term babe, muscle memory kicking in.
And she is, too. Blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, one of those snap up, super short sleeved button-downs all the good girls wore back in high school, and a pair of acid washed cut offs make her look just down to earth enough for Sam. Like that girl next door he'd always wanted his brother to have back in the day. He can't make out her face from this far away, not really, but he can see that her lips are a deep coral and showing off those pearly whites, they're caught in such a big smile.
Sam's hand in hers is unselfconscious, his arm straight and swinging their joint hands in a proud arch. His smile is full and absolute. He walks turned towards her as if he can't take his eyes off her.
He used to look at Dean like that.
Dean still can't quite place how he feels right now. Sam is over there with some girl that… that he looks like he's in love with. He's certainly happy with her.
So Dean will be happy for him. It's as simple as that. Whatever it is they have, it looks uncomplicated. It looks like what Dean would have never been able to give him. Such open affection, kisses in public, walking hand in hand and not caring how many people see them.
They could get married, Dean realizes. They could stand up in the front of a church and swear themselves to each other and a preacher would ask them if they do and of course they will and no one will be disgusted, no one will be sickened by it. They could already be engaged; Sam had been gone two years, that was long enough for something like this, right? Sammy always did get attached fast…
This girl could probably give Sam kids. They could get married and move into some cozy little town- no, Sam wants to live in a city. They could move to a hundred different cities in within a hundred miles of campus, settle into an affordable house with a mortgage and have kids, little versions of Sam and this girl running around.
Sam would probably even get a dog.
Dean's got a hand pressed against his mouth and he drags it off his face. This is good. This is really good. This is what Dean always wanted for Sammy. This is what Sammy always wanted. He was just confused before, like Dean had said.
He looks down then, the first time since he saw Sammy and notices how tightly he's gripping the steering wheel. Very deliberately, he flexes his fingers, frowning at the ache in the joints.
He's gotten what he came for. Time to go.
Dean grips the key but can't not look back up as he starts the Impala. He can't not have one more look.
As the car rumbles to life, Sam freezes and he swivels around, turning to face where Dean's been parked for hours now. His head tilts to the side but there's no way he can recognize Dean from this far away, not when he's sitting in the car, right?
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Sam cocks his head. Dean would recognize that motion anywhere. But before he can make anything of what he's considering - please let him not have realized it's Dean, please - the girl says something that has him bursting out laughing, a loud guffaw that Dean's surprised came from his little brother. Sam spins back around and catches his girl around the waist, right as she attempted to dance out of his grasp. He reels her in and buries his face in her neck; Dean can't see what he's doing, but from the way the girl is laughing and gasping and hitting Sam about the shoulders, he can certainly guess.
He shifts the Impala into drive only after Sam releases her - release being a relative term, because now he's got an arm thrown over her shoulder and she has one snaked around his waist, hand tucked brazenly into his front pocket on the opposite side. Why he watches, Dean has no idea.
As he pulls away from the curb, Dean doesn't look up at the rearview mirror, so he doesn't see Sam glance back in his direction. He doesn't see his brother's brow furrow in thought.
He doesn't have to see Sam once more distracted by the blond in his arms. He's seen enough of that already.
Continued in : Race
Title: Visit
Author: destial
Pairing: Past Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Theme: 30 NaNo-Shots Special Table 2010
Prompt: Visit
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Complete disregard for all factual geography of Palo Alto. Angst and schmoop.
Spoilers: Pre-series, so if you saw episode one, you're good to go.
Word Count: 2000
Notes: Takes place at the same time as Silence. Now being made into awesome podfic by the lovely and talented weimar27 found here! Check often for updates!
Summary: He spent yesterday sitting in the Impala, snug to a curb, and people watching. Not a single one had been who he was looking for.
Visit
Dean lasts two years.
That's twenty four months, one hundred and four weeks, something like seven hundred days.
It doesn't sound like much when Dean thinks about it in terms of days. Days are short, they're nothing. Seven hundred days is nothing. He's weak for caving that quickly, for giving in after only two years. His father wasn't going to break like this.
But, then again, dad never had the same stakes invested in this particular venture.
Dean doesn't like anything about breaking. He especially doesn't like being in California right now. He's never liked anyplace that could vaguely be described as the American south west. It is hot, all year round. Even where he is right now, on the border of that vague territory, it's way too warn to be comfortable. Dean has never minded a little sweat, but you get caught in these parts in the wrong month and there's no little about it; you're sweating by the buckets.
And monsters get weird in the heat. They have a tendency of smelling like rotten flesh from the get go and that's not something anyone with at least an ounce of sanity ever gets used to. It's hard to properly defend against the ones with claws, too - hunters wear leather for more than how it looks, but leather doesn't wear well in that kind of heat.
So, California? Not Dean's ideal vacation spot.
And Palo Alto is the second to last place Dean's ever wanted to go (the first or more aptly the last, of course, being the place where he'd lost his mom all those years ago, that place Dean still calls home). But that's where he is.
Stanford isn't hard to find, once he locates the university town. There are signs everywhere, not so subtly directing all traffic along the main road that boarders the campus. Dean ignores that road - as the main road, that's probably where everyone is and even if he wants to find someone here, he doesn't want to get trapped in by other cars.
No, Dean wants the option of having a fast getaway.
He had finished his solo hunt two days ago and spent half the time since sitting alone in a hotel room in San Jose, debating how monumentally stupid this would be.
He spent yesterday sitting in the Impala, snug to a curb, and people watching. Not a single one had been who he was looking for.
Dean has been telling himself he doesn't want to come here, that he doesn't need this, for months now. For months, he's been hit suddenly with the urge to jump in his baby and go. But he'd always been with dad and how was he supposed to explain that?
But two days ago when he'd finished that hunt, he'd been hit with that urge again, that old itch and Dean realized that, this time, nothing was going to stop him from scratching.
So it wasn't even like he'd resisted for two years because the only difference between this time and all the others was that now he had the opportunity. He'd barely lasted a year before being hit by the need to go, to leave dad and come here and he's not sure now what's worse. Needing to be here, to come crawling here like some needy bitch, or being such a coward he can't let his dad know.
That's when his phone rings.
Dean's heart skips a beat and for a moment he can't help reliving the terror of the night dad caught them. He feels now how he felt then, as if he's betrayed some sacred trust and has just been called on it. For a very real moment, Dean considers not picking up but that's not an option. Dad could be hurt or need help. Not answering is never an option.
"Hello?" Dean answers gruffly. He feels guilty for staring at the campus when he's on the phone with his dad, but he can't draw his eyes away from that stone building across the field, just in case.
"Nest of Chupacabra in New Mexico. Seems like a two man job," his dad says, always right to the point.
Dean bites his lip. He loves hunting Chupacabra.
"It'll take me another day or so," he finally says, and the lie that follows leaves a dirty feeling behind. "This hunt's been giving me trouble."
"Need backup?" his dad asks.
Dean pushes down the panic at the thought of dad being there and shakes his head before remembering dad can't see him.
"No, not that kind of trouble. Just need some time."
John grunts and the noise is familiar and almost comforting, except Dean's world just came to a stop.
Across the field, he sees shaggy brown hair and a great slouching figure, long legs carrying the boy - man, little Sammy's a man now - in great strides. His hands are stuffed low in his jeans' pockets.
He's smiling and Dean's breath catches because it's been a very long time since he saw that. He needs dad off the phone now.
"So meet you in New Mexico in a day?" he says in a rush, hoping his dad doesn't pick up on his breathlessness.
"Yea, Rio Rancho, just outside of Albuquerque."
"I'll call when I'm near."
Dean snaps the phone shut before dad can reply, eyes not even able to blink in fear that Sam will disappear.
Sam's darker now. Not much, but it's noticeable. Dean realizes that Sam had always been paler than he should, in this moment. This is how his brother was meant to look, the shade his brother was meant to be. How he'd never noticed that before, Dean has no idea, but the tan sits as if Sam Winchester's skin is its rightful home.
He's broader, too. Sam had been growing out of his lankiness for a while before he left, but he hadn't yet matched Dean's width. By now he's gone past it. His hands, if Dean could see them, probably wouldn't look so ridiculous in comparison now.
Then Sam's face lights up which causes something in Dean to swell and he suddenly feels this lightness, this bubble deep inside. Sam is striding forward faster now, pulling his hands out of pockets - Dean was right, they don't look like oversized mitts anymore - and…
And he's putting those big hands around a girl's waist, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her in a spinning hug. They're both laughing. Dean can hear them, peals of laughter stretching across the lawn and reaching his ears.
"Oh," Dean says. That lightness is gone but he's not sure what replaced it. He's not sure it was replaced.
Sam is kissing the girl now, a light peck on the lips as her feet dangle at least a good six inches off the ground before he shakes her, once - startling another laugh from her - and sets her down. She catches his hand and then he's bending down and kissing her again, longer this time. Savoring it.
"Oh," Dean says again. He chews on his lip for a second, then taps his ring against the wheel. He suddenly feels restless and he's not sure why.
He wants to smile. He's sending a message to his brain to smile but all that happens is that his brow furrows.
Sam very obviously has a girlfriend.
"Sammy got himself a babe," he mutters and there. There it is. His lips form a smirk around the term babe, muscle memory kicking in.
And she is, too. Blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, one of those snap up, super short sleeved button-downs all the good girls wore back in high school, and a pair of acid washed cut offs make her look just down to earth enough for Sam. Like that girl next door he'd always wanted his brother to have back in the day. He can't make out her face from this far away, not really, but he can see that her lips are a deep coral and showing off those pearly whites, they're caught in such a big smile.
Sam's hand in hers is unselfconscious, his arm straight and swinging their joint hands in a proud arch. His smile is full and absolute. He walks turned towards her as if he can't take his eyes off her.
He used to look at Dean like that.
Dean still can't quite place how he feels right now. Sam is over there with some girl that… that he looks like he's in love with. He's certainly happy with her.
So Dean will be happy for him. It's as simple as that. Whatever it is they have, it looks uncomplicated. It looks like what Dean would have never been able to give him. Such open affection, kisses in public, walking hand in hand and not caring how many people see them.
They could get married, Dean realizes. They could stand up in the front of a church and swear themselves to each other and a preacher would ask them if they do and of course they will and no one will be disgusted, no one will be sickened by it. They could already be engaged; Sam had been gone two years, that was long enough for something like this, right? Sammy always did get attached fast…
This girl could probably give Sam kids. They could get married and move into some cozy little town- no, Sam wants to live in a city. They could move to a hundred different cities in within a hundred miles of campus, settle into an affordable house with a mortgage and have kids, little versions of Sam and this girl running around.
Sam would probably even get a dog.
Dean's got a hand pressed against his mouth and he drags it off his face. This is good. This is really good. This is what Dean always wanted for Sammy. This is what Sammy always wanted. He was just confused before, like Dean had said.
He looks down then, the first time since he saw Sammy and notices how tightly he's gripping the steering wheel. Very deliberately, he flexes his fingers, frowning at the ache in the joints.
He's gotten what he came for. Time to go.
Dean grips the key but can't not look back up as he starts the Impala. He can't not have one more look.
As the car rumbles to life, Sam freezes and he swivels around, turning to face where Dean's been parked for hours now. His head tilts to the side but there's no way he can recognize Dean from this far away, not when he's sitting in the car, right?
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Sam cocks his head. Dean would recognize that motion anywhere. But before he can make anything of what he's considering - please let him not have realized it's Dean, please - the girl says something that has him bursting out laughing, a loud guffaw that Dean's surprised came from his little brother. Sam spins back around and catches his girl around the waist, right as she attempted to dance out of his grasp. He reels her in and buries his face in her neck; Dean can't see what he's doing, but from the way the girl is laughing and gasping and hitting Sam about the shoulders, he can certainly guess.
He shifts the Impala into drive only after Sam releases her - release being a relative term, because now he's got an arm thrown over her shoulder and she has one snaked around his waist, hand tucked brazenly into his front pocket on the opposite side. Why he watches, Dean has no idea.
As he pulls away from the curb, Dean doesn't look up at the rearview mirror, so he doesn't see Sam glance back in his direction. He doesn't see his brother's brow furrow in thought.
He doesn't have to see Sam once more distracted by the blond in his arms. He's seen enough of that already.
Continued in : Race