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citrusjavaTitle: Took my chances on a big jet place
Pairing: >Dean & Sam
Words: 850
Warnings:recreational drug and alcohol use, brief mention of sex work
Spoilers: small spoiler for 11x19
Summary:
It was probably oregano anyway
Dean feels around the cooler for his last beer. It's warm and damp, but it's not like he's wearing a top hat either. Tried to get all the dust and mud off his clothes before touching Baby, but even stripped half naked he's dragging some forest onto her leather. He pats the seat, swipes the filth away with a gentle thumb. Gonna give her a nice tuneup when they're outta there, he promises her, himself.
Five days he hasn't seen a living soul, or a dead one for that matter, trail's cold, and he's getting twitchy in all that nothin. Dad's in Colorado, looking into reports of localizes hurricanes, coming out of nowhere, going nowhere, plenty of eyewitnesses but no blip on the meteorological radar. Dean hasn't heard from him since he left. Tells himself it's the reception in the forest, but he knows it's crystal.
He thumbs the phone, good five bars of reception.
Drinks his beer.
He could step right out of the world, no blip. He might not even notice if he did.
Calls information, asks for the number of one Robert Singer. Listens to his voice, unsure for a moment, that he still knows how to talk with anyone. There is a lot of empty in the forest.
Information hangs up. Shoulda kept the number of the girl with the cowboy boots from the bar last year. Or the chat line card someone stuck on his windshield wiper.
He's asleep by the time his phone rings. The tinny cellphone notes of Brown Eyed Girl. Hasn't played it in almost two years, and Dean's heart is beating hard before he's awake, before he registers the sound.
"Sammy? You ok?"
"Dean?" The voice sounds small and distant.
There's some rustling, then Sam swallows.
"What's going on?"
"Dean, did you ever- The parties you went to, did you never- The girls you-"
Dean's mind is racing. Halloween haunted house come to life? College succubus? Pregnant college succubus?"
"Sam, spit it out!"
Sam's voice goes meeker. "Did you ever try-"
Orgies? A girl's underwear on?
"Did you ever try smoking?"
Dean sputters. "Sammy!"
"Like - weed?"
"You smoke now?" California takes Dean's geek baby brother, it should have the decency to give him back the way it got him.
"Dean" Sam's voice is part way between annoyed and pleading. "I don't know if - if it feels right".
"What's it feel like?"
"I just - I - I - wanna puke and throw up, and" Sam's breathing gets sharp, and Dean can't hear if it's fear or tears. Dean knows shit about getting high, but he knows his brother, and he knows his Mick Jagger Mars Bar lore.
"Listen, Sammy, you got anything with sugar on you?"
"No, but it's fine, Dean, I'm fine".
"the hell you are. Listen, Sammy" Dean does Dad voice, like there's no doubt in the world. "You're stoned, you're paranoid, that's all. You don't gotta fight it, you're golden. All you gotta do is ride this out. Will be over in an hour".
Sam swallows. "What if it was - you know, what if there was something in it?"
Dean's thinking about the same lines, but that's not comin out of his mouth. "Dude, you're not in Em City, you're in college, it was probably overpriced oregano. You jonesing for pizza?"
Sam snorts, but he's still breathing wrong. "Dean, there was - in the paper - about someone like you, missing and I know it wasn't you because - but his picture looked a little - and I started thinking what if you or Dad - and I - you are missing and I - this guy Don had a joint and I - I just didn't want to think about it"
"Woah, woah, Sammy" Dean says, quiet. "Didn't go missing". I didn't go missing. "'m right here, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I know" Sam tries to sound grown up, and only misses by a few years. Like Dean's voice sounded in his ears when that spirit had Dean by the throat, and Dad was bleeding out - grown up and messed up and scared. "Just you're not here, and I just, I didn't want - if something wasn't gonna be ok with you - or - me - I didn't want to never - just wanted to I wanted to-"
"'s alright"
Sam's breathing a bit better now, and Dean's chest unclenches. "So what, you're embracing the ways of the locals? Flowers in your hair?"
Dean can hear the weak smile in Sam's voice. "You'd love it. They put broccoli on their pizza".
Dean makes the expected a disgusted voice, like it's a normal conversation, like they still know how to talk with each other proper.
"It's better than fried spam for breakfast".
"It's good enough for Commander Sheers, it's good enough for me".
"Commander Sheers never ate fried spam".
"You're high".
Sam laughs.
Dean tries for more.
"Little Sammy, a space cowboy, riding shotgun on the Great Red Shark!"
"You're such an ass" Sam's voice is warm, and he sounds ok, sounds regular.
"Rock on gold dust woman! Don’t Step on the Grass, Sam"
"Dean" Sam asks, like there's too much space in his world too, too many miles of room.
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Stay on the phone with me till the hour's over?"
"Sure, kid".
Pairing: >Dean & Sam
Words: 850
Warnings:
Spoilers: small spoiler for 11x19
Summary:
It was probably oregano anyway
Dean feels around the cooler for his last beer. It's warm and damp, but it's not like he's wearing a top hat either. Tried to get all the dust and mud off his clothes before touching Baby, but even stripped half naked he's dragging some forest onto her leather. He pats the seat, swipes the filth away with a gentle thumb. Gonna give her a nice tuneup when they're outta there, he promises her, himself.
Five days he hasn't seen a living soul, or a dead one for that matter, trail's cold, and he's getting twitchy in all that nothin. Dad's in Colorado, looking into reports of localizes hurricanes, coming out of nowhere, going nowhere, plenty of eyewitnesses but no blip on the meteorological radar. Dean hasn't heard from him since he left. Tells himself it's the reception in the forest, but he knows it's crystal.
He thumbs the phone, good five bars of reception.
Drinks his beer.
He could step right out of the world, no blip. He might not even notice if he did.
Calls information, asks for the number of one Robert Singer. Listens to his voice, unsure for a moment, that he still knows how to talk with anyone. There is a lot of empty in the forest.
Information hangs up. Shoulda kept the number of the girl with the cowboy boots from the bar last year. Or the chat line card someone stuck on his windshield wiper.
He's asleep by the time his phone rings. The tinny cellphone notes of Brown Eyed Girl. Hasn't played it in almost two years, and Dean's heart is beating hard before he's awake, before he registers the sound.
"Sammy? You ok?"
"Dean?" The voice sounds small and distant.
There's some rustling, then Sam swallows.
"What's going on?"
"Dean, did you ever- The parties you went to, did you never- The girls you-"
Dean's mind is racing. Halloween haunted house come to life? College succubus? Pregnant college succubus?"
"Sam, spit it out!"
Sam's voice goes meeker. "Did you ever try-"
Orgies? A girl's underwear on?
"Did you ever try smoking?"
Dean sputters. "Sammy!"
"Like - weed?"
"You smoke now?" California takes Dean's geek baby brother, it should have the decency to give him back the way it got him.
"Dean" Sam's voice is part way between annoyed and pleading. "I don't know if - if it feels right".
"What's it feel like?"
"I just - I - I - wanna puke and throw up, and" Sam's breathing gets sharp, and Dean can't hear if it's fear or tears. Dean knows shit about getting high, but he knows his brother, and he knows his Mick Jagger Mars Bar lore.
"Listen, Sammy, you got anything with sugar on you?"
"No, but it's fine, Dean, I'm fine".
"the hell you are. Listen, Sammy" Dean does Dad voice, like there's no doubt in the world. "You're stoned, you're paranoid, that's all. You don't gotta fight it, you're golden. All you gotta do is ride this out. Will be over in an hour".
Sam swallows. "What if it was - you know, what if there was something in it?"
Dean's thinking about the same lines, but that's not comin out of his mouth. "Dude, you're not in Em City, you're in college, it was probably overpriced oregano. You jonesing for pizza?"
Sam snorts, but he's still breathing wrong. "Dean, there was - in the paper - about someone like you, missing and I know it wasn't you because - but his picture looked a little - and I started thinking what if you or Dad - and I - you are missing and I - this guy Don had a joint and I - I just didn't want to think about it"
"Woah, woah, Sammy" Dean says, quiet. "Didn't go missing". I didn't go missing. "'m right here, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I know" Sam tries to sound grown up, and only misses by a few years. Like Dean's voice sounded in his ears when that spirit had Dean by the throat, and Dad was bleeding out - grown up and messed up and scared. "Just you're not here, and I just, I didn't want - if something wasn't gonna be ok with you - or - me - I didn't want to never - just wanted to I wanted to-"
"'s alright"
Sam's breathing a bit better now, and Dean's chest unclenches. "So what, you're embracing the ways of the locals? Flowers in your hair?"
Dean can hear the weak smile in Sam's voice. "You'd love it. They put broccoli on their pizza".
Dean makes the expected a disgusted voice, like it's a normal conversation, like they still know how to talk with each other proper.
"It's better than fried spam for breakfast".
"It's good enough for Commander Sheers, it's good enough for me".
"Commander Sheers never ate fried spam".
"You're high".
Sam laughs.
Dean tries for more.
"Little Sammy, a space cowboy, riding shotgun on the Great Red Shark!"
"You're such an ass" Sam's voice is warm, and he sounds ok, sounds regular.
"Rock on gold dust woman! Don’t Step on the Grass, Sam"
"Dean" Sam asks, like there's too much space in his world too, too many miles of room.
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Stay on the phone with me till the hour's over?"
"Sure, kid".
