Supernatural Fic: Flick
Jan. 15th, 2006 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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picfor1000Title: Flick
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pocketmouse
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Summary: Summer doesn't always mean you're not cold.
Picture: here
------
It’s finally summer in Kansas, apparently, since the hotel they’re staying in tonight has its pool open. It’s May, and only in the mid-80’s, but that counts enough for Sam and Dean, who’ve spent over a month now chasing through the Dakotas on the tail of a train of demons, poltergeists, and sprites. The frost sprite had been the last straw, and Dean had finally turned the car south. While Sam was pretty sure they’d keep going south tomorrow, this was the first sign they’d seen of anything approaching warmth.
Considering the sudden shift in temperature, it felt like stepping directly from winter into summer. Sam can look at his fingers without worrying that they’re going to be blue, and Dean is wearing his leather jacket, instead of the heavier hunting parka.
They don’t get out of the car, though. Maybe it’s the adrenaline – running from one monster to the next, never really slowing down, never having time to relax, never taking the time to let thought catch up with you. Maybe they’re just too tired: Dean has been blasting Black Sabbath and Rush through the speakers for the last three or four hours and Sam hasn’t said a word, because he actually managed to get some sleep the night before, dream-riddled or not. Dean’s been driving all night, fingers tapping on the steering wheel along with the drum line, hands at ten and two, not displaying his usual recklessness.
The sun has been up for about an hour now, and no one has moved, either inside or outside the hotel, even though they’ve been sitting in the parking lot for at least fifteen minutes now. Sam wonders briefly if they could get away with just sleeping in the parking lot, but the lure of actual beds, and maybe a shower is too much. So he shifts forward in his seat, noisily, and Dean startles, snapping out of whatever funk he was in.
“I’m gonna go check us in.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, hopefully in the direction of the front desk. “Cash, or you got a card I can use?”
Dean blinks slowly, his hands still on the wheel. “Uh, cash.” He scrubs at his face with the heel of his hand, then sags back in his seat.
Sam closes the car door quietly, glad for the chance to stretch his legs. Bucket seats are not comfortable places to spend long periods of time, and they’re definitely not meant to be slept in. The air smells like something other than exhaust and dirt, and he breathes deeply.
The first smell to hit him is actually chlorine, coming from the pool, obviously. But underneath that is the stench of blood, and decay. He almost gags – whether he’s that tired, or it’s that strong, he’s not sure. Suddenly, it’s not warm any more. He’s sweating, but he’s cold again. He turns on his heel, forcing himself to walk back to the car slowly.
“We can’t stay here. Let’s go.” The smell of blood still lingers, and he works to keep his breathing under control.
Dean opens his eyes a crack and looks at him. “Sammy, what are you talking about. We’re the only car in the lot.”
Sam just shakes his head. If he explains it to Dean, Dean will want to do something about it, and Sam doesn’t want to deal with anything right now. He closes his eyes, fists clenched. But an image is starting to appear in his head, and faintly he hears splashes from the pool. He knows, though, that it’s actually quiet, and the air is probably as fresh as the still country morning suggests. He presses his hands against his eyes ‘til he sees spots, trying to get rid of the images.
He’s surprised, then, when the engine of the Impala rumbles to life, the vibration cutting through his near-trance, and he opens his eyes with a start. Dean is pulling out of the parking lot, gravel spitting under the tires, smoothing to a whisper as they pull back on the paved road.
“What –” Sam swallows, his throat thick. He picks his head up a little, leaving his elbow resting against the window, one fist raised limply in the air.
“Relax, Sammy.” Then Dean’s making a u-turn across the empty road, and pulling onto the shoulder. The keys jingle as he turns off the engine. Sam twists in his seat, trying to follow Dean’s movements as he gets out of the car, leaving the door open to the road, just out of sight of the hotel. Then he ducks down out of sight. Sam’s confused for a second, until he hears a hissing noise, and the car starts to sink a little. As the car tilts, the sun moves into the window, and Sam starts to warm up again.
The trunk slams, then Dean’s back, tossing a blanket on Sam’s lap. “Here.” He recognizes it, an old fleece blanket that they used a lot when camping, or just sleeping outside if it was warm enough and they were tracking something. He pulls it up to his chin, feeling a little silly, and childish, but warmer. Dean leans over him to lock his door, another gesture that warms him, even though he knows it’s mostly for show.
“Get some sleep.” Dean’s voice is rough, and the leather in his jacket still smells faintly of cigarettes. “We’ll go back later and get rid of whatever it is.” Then Dean smirks at him, erasing the sentimental moment. “I know you need your beauty sleep.”
Sam ignores the comment, just pulls the seat down, getting as comfortable as he can. He can stand another nap in the car. Especially now that summer’s here. Because for the second time today, he feels warm, both inside and outside. He breathes in once more, and there’s nothing more than dust, old tobacco, and warm leather. He closes his eyes to the bright sky, the warm sun pulling him away.
Author:
pocketmouseFandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Summary: Summer doesn't always mean you're not cold.
Picture: here
It’s finally summer in Kansas, apparently, since the hotel they’re staying in tonight has its pool open. It’s May, and only in the mid-80’s, but that counts enough for Sam and Dean, who’ve spent over a month now chasing through the Dakotas on the tail of a train of demons, poltergeists, and sprites. The frost sprite had been the last straw, and Dean had finally turned the car south. While Sam was pretty sure they’d keep going south tomorrow, this was the first sign they’d seen of anything approaching warmth.
Considering the sudden shift in temperature, it felt like stepping directly from winter into summer. Sam can look at his fingers without worrying that they’re going to be blue, and Dean is wearing his leather jacket, instead of the heavier hunting parka.
They don’t get out of the car, though. Maybe it’s the adrenaline – running from one monster to the next, never really slowing down, never having time to relax, never taking the time to let thought catch up with you. Maybe they’re just too tired: Dean has been blasting Black Sabbath and Rush through the speakers for the last three or four hours and Sam hasn’t said a word, because he actually managed to get some sleep the night before, dream-riddled or not. Dean’s been driving all night, fingers tapping on the steering wheel along with the drum line, hands at ten and two, not displaying his usual recklessness.
The sun has been up for about an hour now, and no one has moved, either inside or outside the hotel, even though they’ve been sitting in the parking lot for at least fifteen minutes now. Sam wonders briefly if they could get away with just sleeping in the parking lot, but the lure of actual beds, and maybe a shower is too much. So he shifts forward in his seat, noisily, and Dean startles, snapping out of whatever funk he was in.
“I’m gonna go check us in.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, hopefully in the direction of the front desk. “Cash, or you got a card I can use?”
Dean blinks slowly, his hands still on the wheel. “Uh, cash.” He scrubs at his face with the heel of his hand, then sags back in his seat.
Sam closes the car door quietly, glad for the chance to stretch his legs. Bucket seats are not comfortable places to spend long periods of time, and they’re definitely not meant to be slept in. The air smells like something other than exhaust and dirt, and he breathes deeply.
The first smell to hit him is actually chlorine, coming from the pool, obviously. But underneath that is the stench of blood, and decay. He almost gags – whether he’s that tired, or it’s that strong, he’s not sure. Suddenly, it’s not warm any more. He’s sweating, but he’s cold again. He turns on his heel, forcing himself to walk back to the car slowly.
“We can’t stay here. Let’s go.” The smell of blood still lingers, and he works to keep his breathing under control.
Dean opens his eyes a crack and looks at him. “Sammy, what are you talking about. We’re the only car in the lot.”
Sam just shakes his head. If he explains it to Dean, Dean will want to do something about it, and Sam doesn’t want to deal with anything right now. He closes his eyes, fists clenched. But an image is starting to appear in his head, and faintly he hears splashes from the pool. He knows, though, that it’s actually quiet, and the air is probably as fresh as the still country morning suggests. He presses his hands against his eyes ‘til he sees spots, trying to get rid of the images.
He’s surprised, then, when the engine of the Impala rumbles to life, the vibration cutting through his near-trance, and he opens his eyes with a start. Dean is pulling out of the parking lot, gravel spitting under the tires, smoothing to a whisper as they pull back on the paved road.
“What –” Sam swallows, his throat thick. He picks his head up a little, leaving his elbow resting against the window, one fist raised limply in the air.
“Relax, Sammy.” Then Dean’s making a u-turn across the empty road, and pulling onto the shoulder. The keys jingle as he turns off the engine. Sam twists in his seat, trying to follow Dean’s movements as he gets out of the car, leaving the door open to the road, just out of sight of the hotel. Then he ducks down out of sight. Sam’s confused for a second, until he hears a hissing noise, and the car starts to sink a little. As the car tilts, the sun moves into the window, and Sam starts to warm up again.
The trunk slams, then Dean’s back, tossing a blanket on Sam’s lap. “Here.” He recognizes it, an old fleece blanket that they used a lot when camping, or just sleeping outside if it was warm enough and they were tracking something. He pulls it up to his chin, feeling a little silly, and childish, but warmer. Dean leans over him to lock his door, another gesture that warms him, even though he knows it’s mostly for show.
“Get some sleep.” Dean’s voice is rough, and the leather in his jacket still smells faintly of cigarettes. “We’ll go back later and get rid of whatever it is.” Then Dean smirks at him, erasing the sentimental moment. “I know you need your beauty sleep.”
Sam ignores the comment, just pulls the seat down, getting as comfortable as he can. He can stand another nap in the car. Especially now that summer’s here. Because for the second time today, he feels warm, both inside and outside. He breathes in once more, and there’s nothing more than dust, old tobacco, and warm leather. He closes his eyes to the bright sky, the warm sun pulling him away.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-05 02:07 pm (UTC)Very nice!