SPN portion of fic for Amothea

[icarus]

What? I know it's not done.

Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm aware it leaves off in an awkward place.

Huh? Oh, of course I'm continuing it. But I've been encouraging amothea to just write snippets of her own stories in her LJ, and this is me putting my money where my mouth is.



It's amazing how quiet it is in a cemetery after a shotgun blast. It takes Sam a moment to realize this is because all the crickets, the owls, the rustling animals in the bushes, paused. There's only the heavy thump of Dean's foot as he gets up from his knees, his heavy breaths in counterpoint with Sam's, and then the wet sound of Dean drawing his knife from the creature's throat, like he's pulling it out of peanut butter. Sam lowered the gun.

"Fuck," Dean said. "That thing was hard to kill."

"Given it was never technically alive in the first place, yeah," Sam agreed and let out the breath he'd been holding. The sounds of the crickets begin again. Dean staggered forward a step. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine." Deans tipped his head in a gesture of amazement, rolling broad shoulders as if trying to get a crick out. "Burn it?"

"And scatter the ashes to the ten directions."

"There are only eight points on a compass, Sam." Dean's head dropped and he sounded annoyed, though they were both tired and wanted the night to be over.

"Up and down, too." Sam pointed to illustrate and gave him a tight, thin-lipped smile. But Dean had a hand over his face. "Dean?"

"Whoa. Dizzy. That thing missed its calling in life -- should've been a middle linebacker," Dean said, running his hand through the short bristle of his hair. He squinted at Sam. "A bonfire, huh? Too bad we can't have a weenie roast. Bring us some marshmallows, make s'mores...."

Sam chuckled and gave him a wide, white grin, hooking his thumb in his belt loop. "Yeah, maybe next time."



They made a game of scattering the ashes, pretending it was confetti and saying "Happy New Year!" to the gravestones -- "Man, this is a dead party," Dean complained – then they cheated a little when the bigger pieces flat-out refused to burn. They broke them up into pieces with heavy hits from the shovels and threw them, remembering to toss some straight up into the air, and to slam some into the ground. Dean crushed those underfoot for good measure.

Dean dusted off his hands on his jeans and said, "Okay. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"No argument here." Shovel slung over his shoulder, Sam stretched and looked around at the mess they'd made with a snort, shaking his head. A big black burn mark in the middle of the cemetery, chalky gray dust decorating a dozen graves. It was neatly kept, as these places went, if not as tidy as the time they burned a soldier's bones at Arlington National Cemetery with their dad; that place was laid out with a slide rule. If there was any caretaker this job would be noticed, though the dust should settle.

He peered over at Dean, soft eyes narrowing. "You sure that's everything? I mean, it's a little weird that an undead creature would be stumbling around with no master."

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. "It checks out. You saw the thing. It had no plan, out of control. Kill this, trip over that."

Sam made a wincing face, breathing in through his teeth. "It had to come from somewhere."

"I'm telling you, I looked into it," Dean said with sharp gesture and a glare. "Whoever summoned it is long gone. Hell, the creature probably killed him first."

"Or her."

"Or it." He slapped Sam on the back, squeezing his shoulder before he shoved him forward. "Come on. I need a drink. I've got ashes in my mouth, and that's just disgusting."



The Impala cruised down the two-lane highway, past farmland on either side, until the road changed from rugged pavement to silky silent blacktop at the outskirts of suburbia, a bright streetlight over every intersection. They turned left onto a four-lane divided highway lined with strip malls, weeds, and cheap motels. They flowed right past theirs without so much as a stutter of hesitation, and Sam frowned over at Dean. "You awake? Our turn's back there."

"We'll hit the bars first," Dean said, without looking over.

"Dude, I need a shower. I'm like, covered in undead dust."

The gravel crunched under the tires as Dean pulled into a wide parking lot with only a few scattered cars and pick-up trucks. The blinking red sign read Artie's Bar & Grill. They jerked to a stop. "I need to wet my whistle. These people aren't picky, so long as they like the color of your money." He winked as he swung the car door shut. He left an ash-colored imprint on the seat.

Sam spread his hands in disbelief, torn between embarrassment, annoyance and laughter.

Dean turned around, walking backward as he flashed him a shameless grin. He bellowed, "Just wash your face off in the men's room. It'll be fine."

With a helpless glance skyward, Sam followed. Though he dusted himself off as best as he could and stamped his feet outside the door.



It was the middle of the week, and other than a disdainful up and down glance from a waitress, Dean was right. No one cared. Halfway through his second beer, Sam decided this was a good idea after all, because he was really too wired to sleep.

He smirked at his brother. Not even being covered in dirt with grass stains on his knees dented Dean's chances with women. Dean leaned over a collection of shot glasses and was either too tired or too drunk to notice the brunette with more cleavage than sense angling his way. Sam cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows to get Dean's attention, tipping his head in her direction.

Dean's eyes finally focused. "Oh. Hey there." He gave her a quick fake smile, his business-like 'hi, I'm an FBI agent, don't look too close at my badge' smile, and turned back to the bar.

Sam blinked. Slowly. Then gave her an apologetic cringe, wondering for moment if she was enough his type for him to take up Dean's slack. He checked out her garage door blue eye shadow and could almost hear the bubblegum pop. He wrinkled his nose. Um, no.

It seemed she had her own plans anyway. She snuggled into Dean's space, rocking her shoulders as she leaned forward. Sam could see straight down her halter top, and it didn't matter if those were real or not, because, wow. "Hey, stranger. You came in here a few nights ago, didn't you?"

"What if I did?" Dean said, giving her a look like she was ectoplasm. Then with a sigh that was almost a growl, Dean threw a few bills on the wet bar and said over his shoulder, "C'mon, Sam" as he stalked out.

Whoa. What did this girl do to him?

"Dude, what's your problem?" Sam asked with a snickering laugh as he followed Dean into the chill air.

Dean made an unclassifiable sound. "I'm sick of that place." He climbed behind the wheel, his shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like a cat whose fur had been stroked the wrong way. "Get in the car."

Sam automatically paused at being ordered around like this, his hand on the door handle, so Dean added with a dramatic if not at all contrite spread of his hands, "Please."



They drove in circles for the next forty minutes, passing one third-rate bar after another in the near empty streets. Dean scanned the outside of each before determining, "Nope." Then he'd hit the gas. Sam rubbed dirt off the back of his neck and frowned at his hand in the blink of passing streetlights, and would have said something except it was totally unlike Dean to be picky. Finally, Dean turned onto the expressway and headed straight into downtown.

Sam flashed him a quick, nervous smile. "I don't think we make the dress code for uptown."

"Shut up, Sam."

Swearing over the downtown's frustrating one-way streets -- and Sam could have warned him about that -- bitching over the lack of parking -- Sam had known that, too -- Dean finally parked illegally in a thirty-minute zone. He locked the door and gazed up at the tiny corner bar in the crowded neighborhood with a spreading smile. He moved a little faster, jogging a step, enough so that Sam fell a bit behind. So Sam's focus was on Dean, not the bar, as he stepped through a doorway edged in Christmas lights.

Inside, the place was fairly crowded and cigarette smoke hung in midair. Neon lit everyone's faces in warm, soft light, but that wasn't what pulled Sam up short in the door.

Everyone in here was a guy. And judging by the tight jeans and hungry stares, Sam didn't think it was a pool tournament. Dean had already shouldered his way through the crowd, looking back to give some of the guys an appreciative up and down look. As Sam snapped his mouth shut, his face grew hot with embarrassment because, number one, Dean's his brother and he didn't know, and number two, he didn't know. Sam shrank in himself, trying to make himself small and unnoticeable as he followed Dean's trail to the bar. He couldn't see how he was going to get through tonight without getting hit on.

It was a lost cause from the moment he hit the bar. A short guy with sunglasses and leather jacket over his bare chest said in a lilting voice, "Hello, tall, dark and handsome. What happened to you?"

"Uh, late night at the union," Sam lied.

"A construction worker. How butch."

The guy's eyes dipped lower, and Sam's forced smile cringed and crumbled a little around the edges. He turned his back on the guy as he spun towards Dean, eyes wild with fury. Dean had turned around with his elbows leaned back on the bar, a sensuous smile playing at his lips as he scoped out the room. Sam wasn't not sure if this is funny or not, but he laughed as he said, "So. Uh, Dean. You got something you want to tell me?" He dipped his head in that puppy dog look that always got results when he was a kid.

Dean glanced over at Sam, before quickly looking away. "Don't look at me like that here, you're blowing it for me."

"What? Is this just a walk on the wild side or--" But Dean clapped him on the shoulder and interrupted.

"Catch you in a few." He lifted his chin in that 'hello baby' smile that Sam had seen a million times before. And just like that, he was abandoned at a gay bar, watching Dean follow some black guy in a suit jacket into the men's room. What the fuck?

Comments

[monanotlisa.livejournal.com]

Ooooh.

*v. intrigued now*