(no subject)
So: my third fic. Set sometime after Nightshifter but not quite a coda. I wanted it to be some sort of tense, take down the man thing, but the story wanted to go elsewhere. what i have is a sparse, take down the man story that's really more a portrait of the two working as a team. i hope you like it.
Stuck in Lodi Again
gen, no pairings.
disclaimer: if only i owned them.
They drive, scattering their credit cards across the country as they go in case any were being watched. Dean hustles limbo-low under civilian radar for the first time in years, half-smiles and winks instead of his usual roar, netting them just enough cash to slip a county line or two and eat when they need. The cash runs out, though, like it always does, and they end up deeper in a forest than they expect, the Impala muscled up a narrow dirt road and tucked into the shadows.
Dean hasn’t said much in the last few days. He hums ‘Lodi’ under his breath as he coaxes a fire into life instead of ‘Big Balls’, and Sam leaves well enough alone. The forest is dry, and they brick the tiny flames in with rocks. They heat chili straight in the can, mopping it up with day old bread they picked up last week. They crack open lukewarm beers.
Dean hears the mutter of a police radio a second before Sam does, and his body draws up tense across the fire. Sam has a second to hear his brother’s mumbled curse before he vanishes into the trees, taking his cans and spoon with him.
Sam waits for a long, interminable minute as the cop scuffles closer through the brush, deliberately relaxing his body. He can feel Dean out there breathing in the dark, and he hopes to god this’ll be easy. Sam does his best to look surprised when the guy finally shows up, even smiles as he says, “Good evening, officer.”
The man grunts in acknowledgement. He’s lean but older, not so tall that Sam couldn’t look down on him if he stood. His holster is unsnapped, never a good sign.
“Got a report of a fire,” he says without preamble, “You do know this is a no camping zone, don’t you, son?”
“I didn’t, sir.”
The cop plays his flashlight across Sam’s face, motions for his ID. “You alone?”
Sam knows that Dean will circle as the other does, keeping himself behind their back at all times but his brother still in his sights. He thinks that maybe if he looks, he might be able to catch a glimpse of teeth. No use drawing attention, playing it any way but cool.
“Yes, sir.” Sam hands him a brand new ID, knows it’ll come back clean.
The flashlight goes under the bear’s chin as he writes down the information. “What’re you doing out here anyway, kid?”
Sam shrugs, spreads his hands. “Just a bit down on my luck.”
The cop leans down to hand Sam back his card, and as he straightens the light catches the Imapala’s windows, shines back into their eyes. Not hidden anywhere near well enough, really; they should have been more wary; even as concealed as they thought they were, the car’s still traceable to them. He gives the tiniest of nods, knows that Dean will see.
“That your car?” and as if that was the signal, Dean cracks a twig directly behind them. He turns, but not quite fast enough, and Dean catches him under the chin with a brutal uppercut.
Sam watches the man’s head snap back and is across the clearing in an instant. He has just enough time as he wraps an arm around the suddenly vulnerable neck to be suddenly, powerfully reminded of his first woodland training, hide and go seek in the dark. Fighting down silent laughter.
Dean drops back, fists still raised. The sleeper hold works with its usual eerie speed, and Sam can feel the cop’s panicked heartbeat against his skin start to slow even as his hands drop and his knees start to buckle. Sam lowers him gently to the ground.
They hogtie the guy with his own plastic zip ties, wipe down any smooth surface they might have touched. A quick round of the camp, picking up all traces, and Dean is pushing the car at forty through the trees. Sam thinks he should be worried, but he’s not. Dean slides them expertly down the dim road even as hanging branches slap the windows.
“Hey. Remember when Dad and I did that to you?” He remembers his brother’s surprise when John took him down and Sam leapt onto the pile of flailing limbs.
Dean snorts, and grins without looking over.
“Yeah, ‘cept you tickled me afterwards, you little brat.” He laughs, low in his throat. “Dirty fuckin’ trick, man.”
Stuck in Lodi Again
gen, no pairings.
disclaimer: if only i owned them.
They drive, scattering their credit cards across the country as they go in case any were being watched. Dean hustles limbo-low under civilian radar for the first time in years, half-smiles and winks instead of his usual roar, netting them just enough cash to slip a county line or two and eat when they need. The cash runs out, though, like it always does, and they end up deeper in a forest than they expect, the Impala muscled up a narrow dirt road and tucked into the shadows.
Dean hasn’t said much in the last few days. He hums ‘Lodi’ under his breath as he coaxes a fire into life instead of ‘Big Balls’, and Sam leaves well enough alone. The forest is dry, and they brick the tiny flames in with rocks. They heat chili straight in the can, mopping it up with day old bread they picked up last week. They crack open lukewarm beers.
Dean hears the mutter of a police radio a second before Sam does, and his body draws up tense across the fire. Sam has a second to hear his brother’s mumbled curse before he vanishes into the trees, taking his cans and spoon with him.
Sam waits for a long, interminable minute as the cop scuffles closer through the brush, deliberately relaxing his body. He can feel Dean out there breathing in the dark, and he hopes to god this’ll be easy. Sam does his best to look surprised when the guy finally shows up, even smiles as he says, “Good evening, officer.”
The man grunts in acknowledgement. He’s lean but older, not so tall that Sam couldn’t look down on him if he stood. His holster is unsnapped, never a good sign.
“Got a report of a fire,” he says without preamble, “You do know this is a no camping zone, don’t you, son?”
“I didn’t, sir.”
The cop plays his flashlight across Sam’s face, motions for his ID. “You alone?”
Sam knows that Dean will circle as the other does, keeping himself behind their back at all times but his brother still in his sights. He thinks that maybe if he looks, he might be able to catch a glimpse of teeth. No use drawing attention, playing it any way but cool.
“Yes, sir.” Sam hands him a brand new ID, knows it’ll come back clean.
The flashlight goes under the bear’s chin as he writes down the information. “What’re you doing out here anyway, kid?”
Sam shrugs, spreads his hands. “Just a bit down on my luck.”
The cop leans down to hand Sam back his card, and as he straightens the light catches the Imapala’s windows, shines back into their eyes. Not hidden anywhere near well enough, really; they should have been more wary; even as concealed as they thought they were, the car’s still traceable to them. He gives the tiniest of nods, knows that Dean will see.
“That your car?” and as if that was the signal, Dean cracks a twig directly behind them. He turns, but not quite fast enough, and Dean catches him under the chin with a brutal uppercut.
Sam watches the man’s head snap back and is across the clearing in an instant. He has just enough time as he wraps an arm around the suddenly vulnerable neck to be suddenly, powerfully reminded of his first woodland training, hide and go seek in the dark. Fighting down silent laughter.
Dean drops back, fists still raised. The sleeper hold works with its usual eerie speed, and Sam can feel the cop’s panicked heartbeat against his skin start to slow even as his hands drop and his knees start to buckle. Sam lowers him gently to the ground.
They hogtie the guy with his own plastic zip ties, wipe down any smooth surface they might have touched. A quick round of the camp, picking up all traces, and Dean is pushing the car at forty through the trees. Sam thinks he should be worried, but he’s not. Dean slides them expertly down the dim road even as hanging branches slap the windows.
“Hey. Remember when Dad and I did that to you?” He remembers his brother’s surprise when John took him down and Sam leapt onto the pile of flailing limbs.
Dean snorts, and grins without looking over.
“Yeah, ‘cept you tickled me afterwards, you little brat.” He laughs, low in his throat. “Dirty fuckin’ trick, man.”