Fic: Four Times Dean Ran Out of Gas... | SPN | Dean/Sam | R | 1/1
Title: Four Times Dean Ran Out of Gas, and One Time He Didn't
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R - for language and themes
Word Count: 1,814
Prompt: For rivers_bend at oxoniensis's Fall Fandom Free For All: 5 times Dean ran out of gas
Summary: Dean runs out of gas. A lot. Until he doesn't.
Disclaimer: WB and Kripke own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Warning: General spoilers for S4!!!
Author's Notes: I'm so glad to finally get this one out. ^_^ It didn't quite come out how I'd planned, but I'm happier with it this way, and I hope it's to your liking, too, rivers_bend! :)
Four Times Dean Ran Out of Gas, and One Time He Didn't
1.
Dean's first solo hunt when he was seventeen wasn't exactly well planned out. He'd helped his dad do the research while Sam was busy trying to ace his civics final, and he'd put the pieces together like the jigsaw puzzle they'd been. What formed was a clear picture of a malevolent spirit that needed to be dispatched, like, yesterday. Problem was, his dad thought there was more, wanted to wait and see, take the long approach. Dean couldn't wait. Too much adrenaline and testosterone to sit around while some nasty thing killed people. So off he went.
Three days later, a thousand miles away, and not one, but five spirits finally sent packing, Dean got back on the road, his bullish ego as bruised and tattered as his body. On and on he drove, hating his dad for being right and himself for daring to question the man - never gonna happen again! he vowed - when he'd known he was being a complete brat. So absorbed in his pity party as his eyes were glued to the blacktop stretched out like an arrow pointing toward his doom before him, he never noticed the fuel gauge until the engine of the Impala sputtered and sighed, the car coasting to a halt on a long, faded stretch of empty Iowa highway.
The silence in the wake of running out of gas was like the lid being slammed shut on his coffin, the clarity of his impending ruination startling. His dad was gonna kill him. A lot.
2.
Was never any point in turning the car around to head back to California, never any point in going back to see Sam again, make sure he was okay and settled in and didn't want to miraculously change his mind about college. Nope. No point to it at all. Which was why Dean turned around anyway after he'd gotten almost to Utah. It didn't matter if there was any point to it, Dean just knew he needed to turn around and go back.
He had to make sure Sam was okay, that this was what he really wanted, that he wasn't just rebelling against their dad - which would have been fine with Dean, if Sam wanted to come back with him. But that line of thinking was dangerous. Dean was self-aware enough to know that he wanted Sam in the car next to him, wanted him to come home and hunt with him, maybe even go to a smaller local college part-time. He knew what he wanted.
The thought was enough to make him pull off the road not too far from the Nevada/California border, tires digging into the gravel with the force of the sudden stop. No. No, what Dean wanted and what Sam wanted were two very different things. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much Dean wanted his brother to come home.
Turning around for the second time in three hours, Dean put California, Stanford, and Sam in his rear-view mirror, not daring to look back. For another hour, he warred with himself, feeling like he'd been split down the middle and wanting so badly to turn around again and go back, back to Sam. But he didn't. He drove, ignoring the itch in his fingers that dared him to throw on the turn signal and cut the wheel hard to the left.
Until the Impala made the decision for him, finally halting his indecisive back-and-forth across Nevada, her gas tank empty and engine harrumphing at him in protest.
That settled it.
As soon as he found gas for his baby, he was going back to California.
3.
It wasn't like the others. This fight had been different, in terrible ways that Dean didn't even want to remember, much less contemplate. The way they'd hurled insults at each other, each one sharper and more painful than the last, the way they'd finally come to blows over everything, trading punches and fighting dirty, the way it had all finally ripped tears out of them both... it was too much to bear.
Swiping a hand across his face to clear his vision so he could at least drive unimpeded, Dean tried in vain to tear his thoughts away from the things they'd said to each other. Sam... God, Sam! He hadn't meant to hurt him. Couldn't believe the things he'd said to his brother, after all the soul baring they'd done that night. After everything that had happened.
What the hell was he afraid of? What had Sam so freaked? It wasn't like no one on the face of the Earth had ever had feelings for someone they shouldn't. It wasn't like they were the first to come to that terrifying impasse of 'do we or don't we'. And it sure as hell wasn't like anyone would even care what they did behind closed doors!
So yeah, Dean had been wrong. Sam had been wrong. All those horrible names they'd thrown at each other and at themselves were wrong.
With that sudden clarity, Dean cut a quick u-turn in the empty Illinois back road. He could go back. He could apologize, and hope that maybe... just maybe Sam could forgive him. And they could try to make it work, maybe-
But the harder he pressed on the gas pedal, the slower the Impala went. Panic firing a new wave of adrenaline through him, Dean finally noticed the gas gauge. Empty.
“Aw, fuck,” he spat, his heart thundering wildly as he glanced up to the horizon.
The last gas station he'd passed was at least a good five miles away.
Swallowing the remainder of his pride, Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam. For whatever it was worth, at least he could let him know that he was on his way back, however delayed the trip would be due to the long walk ahead.
The last thing he expected, however, was for his brother to show up in a rental car just as Dean was about halfway back to the gas station. His heart gave a drum solo in his chest as Sam got out and swept him up in a tight hug, murmuring his own apologies. Maybe they could make it work, after all.
4.
No. Sammy. God, no...
His hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, Dean stole a glance at his brother, slumped over in the passenger seat with his head against the window, mostly unconscious. “Sammy? Wake up!” he ordered, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.
Sam only barely stirred, groaning a little with the pain of his wounds.
“Sam!”
This time only a twitch at the corner of one eye.
“Jesus...” Dean breathed, looking back at the road. The hunt had gone all sorts of wrong, Sam getting caught beneath an old truck that the werewolf had flipped over at them, after taking a thrashing from the thing before Dean could get there. It was disaster after disaster, and if the damn car didn't get them to the hospital in time...
No. He wasn't gonna think it. No way, no how.
Glancing at the fuel gauge, Dean pressed his lips together and heaved a breath through his nostrils. Almost empty. And another ten miles to go, at least. “C'mon, baby,” he urged the Impala quietly. “C'mon...”
Shifting, Sam whimpered beside him, and Dean reached out to smooth his blood-streaked hair back from his face.
“It's all right, baby brother, we'll be there soon,” he promised.
The miles and the minutes stretched out infinitely as they drove, the short trip feeling like forever, Dean watching Sam and the fuel gauge and the road with his heart in his throat. “C'mon...” he repeated over and over, scared as hell and ready to run Sam the final distance to the hospital himself if he had to. “C'mon...”
Then, finally, the tall brick building emerged from the trees as they turned a corner, and the pit of Dean's stomach flipped in relief. They'd made it. Sam would be okay. They'd ma-
Sputtering and coughing, the Impala coasted to a halt, still at least a quarter mile from the hospital.
His panic suddenly doubled, Dean tore the keys from the ignition and leaped from the car, rounding the front to get to Sam. If he had to carry him, so be it. “C'mon, Sammy,” he whispered as he hefted his brother from the seat. “I've got you.” They'd get there in time. He'd get Sam there in time. “I've got you.”
5.
Dean stared at Sam from the passenger seat, watching the way the late morning sun occasionally reflected in and lit up his brother's face as he drove, the way it shone in his hazel eyes. Hazel. Never yellow anymore, not for a long time now. It had been at least a handful of years since they'd killed Lilith and sent Lucifer and his minions packing. Long enough for the sting of the consequences of their actions to fade to a dull regret. The things they'd done to each other, in the name of God and the devil themselves... they could never be undone, only apologized for with every new day, every reassuring whisper, every kiss.
They'd spent a lot of time making up for the things that had happened then. But in the end, the past was left behind them as they carried on, hunting as only the Winchesters could hunt, caring for each other as only brothers and lovers could. They'd made good names for themselves in the broader community after a long struggle down from the top of everyone's hit list, taking out every evil thing they could get their hands on. And for the last few years, it had been a decent ride.
But now it was time to be done.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” his younger brother glanced over at him.
Dean exhaled slowly. “Here.”
“Are you sure?” Question shone in those hazel eyes.
A soft smile. “Yeah.”
Turning his gaze back to the road with a small grin of his own, Sam flipped on the turn signal and took the Impala off the highway at the next exit. Wherever 'here' was, Dean was content to finally set aside the roaming hunt and put down a few roots. Sure, there was bound to be the occasional weekend excursion, but to be grounded - finally - was something they'd needed for a long time.
Relaxing back in the seat, Dean continued to watch his brother as they passed through the small town. “Love you,” he murmured.
“Love you, too,” Sam smiled at him sideways, before reaching over and clasping his hand. “Welcome home.”
Dean agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly, feeling completely eased for the first time in forever. “Welcome home, Sammy.”
* * * * *
Bonus Ficlet!!
Title: Five Things Dean Keeps in the Glove Box
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Dean/Sam implied
Rating: R
Word Count: 108
Summary: Just what the title says. :p Prompt given by dragojustine.
Five Things Dean Keeps in the Glove Box
1. Fake IDs and accompanying vehicle registrations
2. Condoms and lube, because you just never know when you'll need them
3. Emergency money, emergency credit cards - hidden beneath a panel, of course
4. Pouch with protective items in it: St. Christopher medal blessed by Father Michael, vial of holy water, crystals and herbs blessed by High Priestess Angeline, vial of salt, a small candle with protective runes and sigils carved into it, matches, lucky penny, and a lone tarot card - the Chariot (for the Impala, of course)
5. His pearl-handled pistol with a box of extra ammo, also appropriately blessed
* * * * *
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R - for language and themes
Word Count: 1,814
Prompt: For rivers_bend at oxoniensis's Fall Fandom Free For All: 5 times Dean ran out of gas
Summary: Dean runs out of gas. A lot. Until he doesn't.
Disclaimer: WB and Kripke own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Warning: General spoilers for S4!!!
Author's Notes: I'm so glad to finally get this one out. ^_^ It didn't quite come out how I'd planned, but I'm happier with it this way, and I hope it's to your liking, too, rivers_bend! :)
Four Times Dean Ran Out of Gas, and One Time He Didn't
1.
Dean's first solo hunt when he was seventeen wasn't exactly well planned out. He'd helped his dad do the research while Sam was busy trying to ace his civics final, and he'd put the pieces together like the jigsaw puzzle they'd been. What formed was a clear picture of a malevolent spirit that needed to be dispatched, like, yesterday. Problem was, his dad thought there was more, wanted to wait and see, take the long approach. Dean couldn't wait. Too much adrenaline and testosterone to sit around while some nasty thing killed people. So off he went.
Three days later, a thousand miles away, and not one, but five spirits finally sent packing, Dean got back on the road, his bullish ego as bruised and tattered as his body. On and on he drove, hating his dad for being right and himself for daring to question the man - never gonna happen again! he vowed - when he'd known he was being a complete brat. So absorbed in his pity party as his eyes were glued to the blacktop stretched out like an arrow pointing toward his doom before him, he never noticed the fuel gauge until the engine of the Impala sputtered and sighed, the car coasting to a halt on a long, faded stretch of empty Iowa highway.
The silence in the wake of running out of gas was like the lid being slammed shut on his coffin, the clarity of his impending ruination startling. His dad was gonna kill him. A lot.
2.
Was never any point in turning the car around to head back to California, never any point in going back to see Sam again, make sure he was okay and settled in and didn't want to miraculously change his mind about college. Nope. No point to it at all. Which was why Dean turned around anyway after he'd gotten almost to Utah. It didn't matter if there was any point to it, Dean just knew he needed to turn around and go back.
He had to make sure Sam was okay, that this was what he really wanted, that he wasn't just rebelling against their dad - which would have been fine with Dean, if Sam wanted to come back with him. But that line of thinking was dangerous. Dean was self-aware enough to know that he wanted Sam in the car next to him, wanted him to come home and hunt with him, maybe even go to a smaller local college part-time. He knew what he wanted.
The thought was enough to make him pull off the road not too far from the Nevada/California border, tires digging into the gravel with the force of the sudden stop. No. No, what Dean wanted and what Sam wanted were two very different things. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much Dean wanted his brother to come home.
Turning around for the second time in three hours, Dean put California, Stanford, and Sam in his rear-view mirror, not daring to look back. For another hour, he warred with himself, feeling like he'd been split down the middle and wanting so badly to turn around again and go back, back to Sam. But he didn't. He drove, ignoring the itch in his fingers that dared him to throw on the turn signal and cut the wheel hard to the left.
Until the Impala made the decision for him, finally halting his indecisive back-and-forth across Nevada, her gas tank empty and engine harrumphing at him in protest.
That settled it.
As soon as he found gas for his baby, he was going back to California.
3.
It wasn't like the others. This fight had been different, in terrible ways that Dean didn't even want to remember, much less contemplate. The way they'd hurled insults at each other, each one sharper and more painful than the last, the way they'd finally come to blows over everything, trading punches and fighting dirty, the way it had all finally ripped tears out of them both... it was too much to bear.
Swiping a hand across his face to clear his vision so he could at least drive unimpeded, Dean tried in vain to tear his thoughts away from the things they'd said to each other. Sam... God, Sam! He hadn't meant to hurt him. Couldn't believe the things he'd said to his brother, after all the soul baring they'd done that night. After everything that had happened.
What the hell was he afraid of? What had Sam so freaked? It wasn't like no one on the face of the Earth had ever had feelings for someone they shouldn't. It wasn't like they were the first to come to that terrifying impasse of 'do we or don't we'. And it sure as hell wasn't like anyone would even care what they did behind closed doors!
So yeah, Dean had been wrong. Sam had been wrong. All those horrible names they'd thrown at each other and at themselves were wrong.
With that sudden clarity, Dean cut a quick u-turn in the empty Illinois back road. He could go back. He could apologize, and hope that maybe... just maybe Sam could forgive him. And they could try to make it work, maybe-
But the harder he pressed on the gas pedal, the slower the Impala went. Panic firing a new wave of adrenaline through him, Dean finally noticed the gas gauge. Empty.
“Aw, fuck,” he spat, his heart thundering wildly as he glanced up to the horizon.
The last gas station he'd passed was at least a good five miles away.
Swallowing the remainder of his pride, Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam. For whatever it was worth, at least he could let him know that he was on his way back, however delayed the trip would be due to the long walk ahead.
The last thing he expected, however, was for his brother to show up in a rental car just as Dean was about halfway back to the gas station. His heart gave a drum solo in his chest as Sam got out and swept him up in a tight hug, murmuring his own apologies. Maybe they could make it work, after all.
4.
No. Sammy. God, no...
His hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, Dean stole a glance at his brother, slumped over in the passenger seat with his head against the window, mostly unconscious. “Sammy? Wake up!” he ordered, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.
Sam only barely stirred, groaning a little with the pain of his wounds.
“Sam!”
This time only a twitch at the corner of one eye.
“Jesus...” Dean breathed, looking back at the road. The hunt had gone all sorts of wrong, Sam getting caught beneath an old truck that the werewolf had flipped over at them, after taking a thrashing from the thing before Dean could get there. It was disaster after disaster, and if the damn car didn't get them to the hospital in time...
No. He wasn't gonna think it. No way, no how.
Glancing at the fuel gauge, Dean pressed his lips together and heaved a breath through his nostrils. Almost empty. And another ten miles to go, at least. “C'mon, baby,” he urged the Impala quietly. “C'mon...”
Shifting, Sam whimpered beside him, and Dean reached out to smooth his blood-streaked hair back from his face.
“It's all right, baby brother, we'll be there soon,” he promised.
The miles and the minutes stretched out infinitely as they drove, the short trip feeling like forever, Dean watching Sam and the fuel gauge and the road with his heart in his throat. “C'mon...” he repeated over and over, scared as hell and ready to run Sam the final distance to the hospital himself if he had to. “C'mon...”
Then, finally, the tall brick building emerged from the trees as they turned a corner, and the pit of Dean's stomach flipped in relief. They'd made it. Sam would be okay. They'd ma-
Sputtering and coughing, the Impala coasted to a halt, still at least a quarter mile from the hospital.
His panic suddenly doubled, Dean tore the keys from the ignition and leaped from the car, rounding the front to get to Sam. If he had to carry him, so be it. “C'mon, Sammy,” he whispered as he hefted his brother from the seat. “I've got you.” They'd get there in time. He'd get Sam there in time. “I've got you.”
5.
Dean stared at Sam from the passenger seat, watching the way the late morning sun occasionally reflected in and lit up his brother's face as he drove, the way it shone in his hazel eyes. Hazel. Never yellow anymore, not for a long time now. It had been at least a handful of years since they'd killed Lilith and sent Lucifer and his minions packing. Long enough for the sting of the consequences of their actions to fade to a dull regret. The things they'd done to each other, in the name of God and the devil themselves... they could never be undone, only apologized for with every new day, every reassuring whisper, every kiss.
They'd spent a lot of time making up for the things that had happened then. But in the end, the past was left behind them as they carried on, hunting as only the Winchesters could hunt, caring for each other as only brothers and lovers could. They'd made good names for themselves in the broader community after a long struggle down from the top of everyone's hit list, taking out every evil thing they could get their hands on. And for the last few years, it had been a decent ride.
But now it was time to be done.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” his younger brother glanced over at him.
Dean exhaled slowly. “Here.”
“Are you sure?” Question shone in those hazel eyes.
A soft smile. “Yeah.”
Turning his gaze back to the road with a small grin of his own, Sam flipped on the turn signal and took the Impala off the highway at the next exit. Wherever 'here' was, Dean was content to finally set aside the roaming hunt and put down a few roots. Sure, there was bound to be the occasional weekend excursion, but to be grounded - finally - was something they'd needed for a long time.
Relaxing back in the seat, Dean continued to watch his brother as they passed through the small town. “Love you,” he murmured.
“Love you, too,” Sam smiled at him sideways, before reaching over and clasping his hand. “Welcome home.”
Dean agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly, feeling completely eased for the first time in forever. “Welcome home, Sammy.”
* * * * *
Bonus Ficlet!!
Title: Five Things Dean Keeps in the Glove Box
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Dean/Sam implied
Rating: R
Word Count: 108
Summary: Just what the title says. :p Prompt given by dragojustine.
Five Things Dean Keeps in the Glove Box
1. Fake IDs and accompanying vehicle registrations
2. Condoms and lube, because you just never know when you'll need them
3. Emergency money, emergency credit cards - hidden beneath a panel, of course
4. Pouch with protective items in it: St. Christopher medal blessed by Father Michael, vial of holy water, crystals and herbs blessed by High Priestess Angeline, vial of salt, a small candle with protective runes and sigils carved into it, matches, lucky penny, and a lone tarot card - the Chariot (for the Impala, of course)
5. His pearl-handled pistol with a box of extra ammo, also appropriately blessed
* * * * *