Supernatural Fic: Untitled | Gen | Sam, Dean | 1,300 words | Complete
Title: Untitled
Author: L. Harper (prairie-city)
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and storylines are the property of their writers and producers. No money is being made from this work of amateur fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 1,300
Spoilers: Up to 7x13
Author's Note: Written for a thirty-minute writing exercise from one of a long list of prompts I give myself. This one is Sam's denver scramble, also known as a really bizarre peek into Sam's very confusing head. Make of it what you will, because I have no idea. Truly.
Author's Note dos: Such a mess. 30 minute exercise and oh, it's such a mess. Present tense, where did you come from?? Also, this thing has a very rambling and disconnected style that wasn't really deliberate but I guess...kind of deliberate? I don't know. Denver scramble, okay guys? Denver scramble.
Summary: Sam can't do a lot for his brother right now, but what he can...well. He'll take it.
-----
The faintly glowing numbers on Sam’s digital watch say it’s coming on midnight.
They’ve been driving for a long time - Sam’s cramped legs can attest to that - but neither one of them suggests stopping. Dean’s mind is mostly quiet in the car. It’s one of a long progression of them - car after car after car - but driving is driving even if it’s not Dean’s baby and Sam can still pick up on his brother’s soul-rending grief, but it doesn’t bombard him like it does outside. In that respect, a car is a safe place. Even now, with dead angels behind them and a dead father-figure and monsters ahead (like always).
Sam needs to be in the car, and judging by the soft, trembling way Dean’s emotions are finally settling down, so does his brother (and Sam wishes he could do something more for Dean, Christ, but he’s got his own grief and he can’t handle feeling Dean’s too, he just can’t).
So neither one of them suggests stopping because they both need this - this break from the outside world, and Lucifer...he’s in the car with them but it’s almost like he’s sleeping. Quiet, blurry in the peripheral of Sam’s vision, a blank spot in Sam’s knowing. Sam doesn’t know why, didn’t even really notice for the longest time, but maybe Sam’s hallucination follows the rules, the one that says he can’t read angels even if they aren’t really angels (or maybe it’s just because he isn’t really there, Sam, and that should make it easier but it doesn’t).
Sam’s missed this, too. The driving with no place to go. The quiet of a rumbling engine and music playing through the cassette player, because Dean’s just come back from being strangled almost to death and Sam had lost his brother again and after that, they hadn’t even needed to talk about it, and Dean had thrown their bags in the car and made sure Sam was okay and they’d gotten the hell out of Dodge because at this point, neither of them fucking cared and mostly they both wanted to drive off a pier (Sam had picked up on that one, thanks - didn’t mind the thought at all) but neither of them can do it because they've fucked up the world and still have to fix it.
But they needed this.
This is why.
Sam can bunch up his jacket and prop his head up against the window and maybe even doze a little because Dean’s thoughts are quiet and for the first time since Bobby died Sam can deal with his own, even picking up on Dean’s like he is, because the first Bad Company album is barely audible over the quiet voice of the engine and Dean’s right beside him, not in 1944, and it’s okay here, now, a little bit.
And because Sam can bunch up his jacket and prop his head up against the window and Dean can watch him doze a little, knowing that his brother’s safe and Dean’s here to watch over him, not in 1944 and not dead, and Bobby’s still gone but it seems less sharp in here, in Dean’s car with his brother beside him, still moving and talking and functioning in spite of everything, and there’s music and the rumble of an old car's engine and the road stretching out in front of them in the glow of the headlights, perfectly empty.
Dean’s leg is giving him hell but it’s been doing that a long time (Sam can feel it, it gets into his head and makes itself at home there, like his brain is tenderized and bruised), and he can ignore it, mostly. He kind of wants to take one of the pills the hospital sent home with him afterwards but he doesn’t know where the bottle is and he thinks he took them all, anyway. And he doesn’t want to stop driving, so there’s that too.
Sam wishes he could do something for the pain, but he can’t say anything because nothing in Dean’s face or body language gives it away, and Sam tries to close it off of course he does; Dean doesn’t like it when he knows things, only that kind of bone deep pain stabs through any suppressing techniques he’s got and grinds brutally down into Sam’s head, not as bad as the grief but pretty distracting all the same.
Sam keeps trying to sleep though, because he can’t let on that he knows.
But there’s a thing about cars, right, and it’s that the needle on the gas gauge is always moving right to left, right to left, and as much as they don’t want to they’re going to have to stop sometime, eventually.
That eventuality comes, of course, like things do, and Dean pulls off reluctantly at a roadside truck stop off the highway, and there’s people here even though it’s three in the morning because the world never sleeps, not really.
“Want to grab some coffee?” Dean asks after they’ve pulled into place beside the pumps, and Sam nods yes even though he doesn’t want to get out (don't wake the devil), and stares at the bright lights, the moving figures.
Dean’s leg aches.
Sam blinks and looks at the lights again, feels his own head throb and knows that this kind of headache can’t be relieved with pain medication but Dean’s hurt can be, and maybe he can help his brother and then he'll try to sleep, and that’ll help his brother again because Sam knows Dean likes it when he can sleep.
So Sam shoves himself out of the car and hesitates long enough to make sure nothing is too close to Dean or the car before he goes, and it’s three in the morning and the gas station is quiet except for two other people, the attendant and another nighttime traveler, and this is easy. Sam can do this. Two coffees, the biggest size they’ve got, even though Sam probably won’t drink his and Dean’ll do it for him, and Sam gets some ibuprofen too even though he has to pretend they’re not for Dean (because even though Dean wants painkillers he’s always going to be Dean), and he gets a couple of those pre-packaged sandwiches because he thinks Dean might be hungry, even though he didn’t pick up any hunger pangs from him when they were in the car, because even if he’s not hungry he might get so later.
He tosses a sandwich at Dean’s face when he gets back to the car and Dean catches it with a flash of startled disbelief and Sam can’t help but grin just a little at Dean’s utter surprise, and he hands off one of the coffees but he can’t give Dean the pills, he knows that, so he pops a couple himself and says, “Headache,” when Dean looks at him questioningly and it’s even true, Sam does have a headache, and then he sets the pill bottle in the middle of the bench seat where they rattle quietly with the vibration of a car rolling over tarmac.
He drinks his coffee for a little while but not fast enough to beat the cooling process, so twenty minutes later he hands the remaining half to his brother, and Dean takes it with the thoughtlessness of every older brother, ever, finishing the younger sibling’s leftovers, and Sam bunches up his jacket against the window and lets himself drift off to the sound of the rumbling engine, the quiet rattle of pills, the soft strumming of Bad Company.
He’s not so far down into sleep though that he doesn’t hear the tone of the rattle change, as Dean picks the bottle up - vaguely transmitting an intention, something like be very quiet, don’t wake Sam - and shakes a few of them into his hand.
Sam’s facing the window, his face hidden from Dean’s line of vision, so he doesn’t try to stop his mouth curling up, just a little where Dean can’t see.
He can’t do a lot for his brother right now, but what he can…well. He’ll take it.
Author: L. Harper (prairie-city)
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and storylines are the property of their writers and producers. No money is being made from this work of amateur fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 1,300
Spoilers: Up to 7x13
Author's Note: Written for a thirty-minute writing exercise from one of a long list of prompts I give myself. This one is Sam's denver scramble, also known as a really bizarre peek into Sam's very confusing head. Make of it what you will, because I have no idea. Truly.
Author's Note dos: Such a mess. 30 minute exercise and oh, it's such a mess. Present tense, where did you come from?? Also, this thing has a very rambling and disconnected style that wasn't really deliberate but I guess...kind of deliberate? I don't know. Denver scramble, okay guys? Denver scramble.
Summary: Sam can't do a lot for his brother right now, but what he can...well. He'll take it.
-----
The faintly glowing numbers on Sam’s digital watch say it’s coming on midnight.
They’ve been driving for a long time - Sam’s cramped legs can attest to that - but neither one of them suggests stopping. Dean’s mind is mostly quiet in the car. It’s one of a long progression of them - car after car after car - but driving is driving even if it’s not Dean’s baby and Sam can still pick up on his brother’s soul-rending grief, but it doesn’t bombard him like it does outside. In that respect, a car is a safe place. Even now, with dead angels behind them and a dead father-figure and monsters ahead (like always).
Sam needs to be in the car, and judging by the soft, trembling way Dean’s emotions are finally settling down, so does his brother (and Sam wishes he could do something more for Dean, Christ, but he’s got his own grief and he can’t handle feeling Dean’s too, he just can’t).
So neither one of them suggests stopping because they both need this - this break from the outside world, and Lucifer...he’s in the car with them but it’s almost like he’s sleeping. Quiet, blurry in the peripheral of Sam’s vision, a blank spot in Sam’s knowing. Sam doesn’t know why, didn’t even really notice for the longest time, but maybe Sam’s hallucination follows the rules, the one that says he can’t read angels even if they aren’t really angels (or maybe it’s just because he isn’t really there, Sam, and that should make it easier but it doesn’t).
Sam’s missed this, too. The driving with no place to go. The quiet of a rumbling engine and music playing through the cassette player, because Dean’s just come back from being strangled almost to death and Sam had lost his brother again and after that, they hadn’t even needed to talk about it, and Dean had thrown their bags in the car and made sure Sam was okay and they’d gotten the hell out of Dodge because at this point, neither of them fucking cared and mostly they both wanted to drive off a pier (Sam had picked up on that one, thanks - didn’t mind the thought at all) but neither of them can do it because they've fucked up the world and still have to fix it.
But they needed this.
This is why.
Sam can bunch up his jacket and prop his head up against the window and maybe even doze a little because Dean’s thoughts are quiet and for the first time since Bobby died Sam can deal with his own, even picking up on Dean’s like he is, because the first Bad Company album is barely audible over the quiet voice of the engine and Dean’s right beside him, not in 1944, and it’s okay here, now, a little bit.
And because Sam can bunch up his jacket and prop his head up against the window and Dean can watch him doze a little, knowing that his brother’s safe and Dean’s here to watch over him, not in 1944 and not dead, and Bobby’s still gone but it seems less sharp in here, in Dean’s car with his brother beside him, still moving and talking and functioning in spite of everything, and there’s music and the rumble of an old car's engine and the road stretching out in front of them in the glow of the headlights, perfectly empty.
Dean’s leg is giving him hell but it’s been doing that a long time (Sam can feel it, it gets into his head and makes itself at home there, like his brain is tenderized and bruised), and he can ignore it, mostly. He kind of wants to take one of the pills the hospital sent home with him afterwards but he doesn’t know where the bottle is and he thinks he took them all, anyway. And he doesn’t want to stop driving, so there’s that too.
Sam wishes he could do something for the pain, but he can’t say anything because nothing in Dean’s face or body language gives it away, and Sam tries to close it off of course he does; Dean doesn’t like it when he knows things, only that kind of bone deep pain stabs through any suppressing techniques he’s got and grinds brutally down into Sam’s head, not as bad as the grief but pretty distracting all the same.
Sam keeps trying to sleep though, because he can’t let on that he knows.
But there’s a thing about cars, right, and it’s that the needle on the gas gauge is always moving right to left, right to left, and as much as they don’t want to they’re going to have to stop sometime, eventually.
That eventuality comes, of course, like things do, and Dean pulls off reluctantly at a roadside truck stop off the highway, and there’s people here even though it’s three in the morning because the world never sleeps, not really.
“Want to grab some coffee?” Dean asks after they’ve pulled into place beside the pumps, and Sam nods yes even though he doesn’t want to get out (don't wake the devil), and stares at the bright lights, the moving figures.
Dean’s leg aches.
Sam blinks and looks at the lights again, feels his own head throb and knows that this kind of headache can’t be relieved with pain medication but Dean’s hurt can be, and maybe he can help his brother and then he'll try to sleep, and that’ll help his brother again because Sam knows Dean likes it when he can sleep.
So Sam shoves himself out of the car and hesitates long enough to make sure nothing is too close to Dean or the car before he goes, and it’s three in the morning and the gas station is quiet except for two other people, the attendant and another nighttime traveler, and this is easy. Sam can do this. Two coffees, the biggest size they’ve got, even though Sam probably won’t drink his and Dean’ll do it for him, and Sam gets some ibuprofen too even though he has to pretend they’re not for Dean (because even though Dean wants painkillers he’s always going to be Dean), and he gets a couple of those pre-packaged sandwiches because he thinks Dean might be hungry, even though he didn’t pick up any hunger pangs from him when they were in the car, because even if he’s not hungry he might get so later.
He tosses a sandwich at Dean’s face when he gets back to the car and Dean catches it with a flash of startled disbelief and Sam can’t help but grin just a little at Dean’s utter surprise, and he hands off one of the coffees but he can’t give Dean the pills, he knows that, so he pops a couple himself and says, “Headache,” when Dean looks at him questioningly and it’s even true, Sam does have a headache, and then he sets the pill bottle in the middle of the bench seat where they rattle quietly with the vibration of a car rolling over tarmac.
He drinks his coffee for a little while but not fast enough to beat the cooling process, so twenty minutes later he hands the remaining half to his brother, and Dean takes it with the thoughtlessness of every older brother, ever, finishing the younger sibling’s leftovers, and Sam bunches up his jacket against the window and lets himself drift off to the sound of the rumbling engine, the quiet rattle of pills, the soft strumming of Bad Company.
He’s not so far down into sleep though that he doesn’t hear the tone of the rattle change, as Dean picks the bottle up - vaguely transmitting an intention, something like be very quiet, don’t wake Sam - and shakes a few of them into his hand.
Sam’s facing the window, his face hidden from Dean’s line of vision, so he doesn’t try to stop his mouth curling up, just a little where Dean can’t see.
He can’t do a lot for his brother right now, but what he can…well. He’ll take it.