5-oh-5 Coda
450 words
They’d been driving for nearly an hour when Dean finally settled his head against the window and closed his eyes to sleep. Sam looked over at the sight and finally felt the nerves wither away. Yes, Dean gave him the keys, and yes, Dean finally owned up to breaking the first seal and being too hard on him. But it wasn’t an instant fix. Now, instead of double secret probation, it felt like single secret … or maybe double not-secret. Sam wasn’t sure, but he knew he still felt anxious and nervous.
So when Dean finally stopped trying to make small talk and moved against the door to sleep, Sam leaned forward and spun the radio knob to find a new channel. Something alt rock, and the song had a bit of a twangy guitar to it. But he liked it. Sam sat up in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, and stared into the dark sky before them, finally feeling comfortable with things … at least in this moment.
The radio jangled and a Zeppelin song came through the speakers, one Sam didn’t know and didn’t care to figure out. He frowned at Dean, who wasn’t even looking at him, but moving back from the radio and settling at the window again.
Sam’s lips screwed together, and he clenched fingers around the wheel, trying to not stir up the typical Dean complaint.
He waited another twenty minutes before he changed the channel back to the local station he’d found before. A broken piano accompanied a weak voice that talked about early mornings and people he missed … and then it was gone and replaced by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Sam didn’t even have to look over, he knew that Dean was already back at the window and acting like this was perfectly normal.
Another fifteen minutes and it happened again. And that’s when Sam finally snapped with a short but pissy, “Dean!”
“Shut it, Sammy. M’tryin’ to sleep.”
He stewed for a few moments before finally breaking with mockery in his tone. “Thought it was ‘driver gets the tunes, shotgun shuts his cake- ”
“We really gonna argue again?”
Sam looked over and Dean was curling himself in towards the door, arms crossed and eyes still shut.
“You can’t just give me the radio?” he asked with some whininess, but mostly in real curiosity. Dean didn’t answer, so Sam went on again. “Thought we were okay. That the keys said you trusted me.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“It’s just the radio.”
“Don’t trust you that much.”
Sam glanced again, and that’s when he saw Dean’s little punchy smile, so he smiled a little, too.
They’d been driving for nearly an hour when Dean finally settled his head against the window and closed his eyes to sleep. Sam looked over at the sight and finally felt the nerves wither away. Yes, Dean gave him the keys, and yes, Dean finally owned up to breaking the first seal and being too hard on him. But it wasn’t an instant fix. Now, instead of double secret probation, it felt like single secret … or maybe double not-secret. Sam wasn’t sure, but he knew he still felt anxious and nervous.
So when Dean finally stopped trying to make small talk and moved against the door to sleep, Sam leaned forward and spun the radio knob to find a new channel. Something alt rock, and the song had a bit of a twangy guitar to it. But he liked it. Sam sat up in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, and stared into the dark sky before them, finally feeling comfortable with things … at least in this moment.
The radio jangled and a Zeppelin song came through the speakers, one Sam didn’t know and didn’t care to figure out. He frowned at Dean, who wasn’t even looking at him, but moving back from the radio and settling at the window again.
Sam’s lips screwed together, and he clenched fingers around the wheel, trying to not stir up the typical Dean complaint.
He waited another twenty minutes before he changed the channel back to the local station he’d found before. A broken piano accompanied a weak voice that talked about early mornings and people he missed … and then it was gone and replaced by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Sam didn’t even have to look over, he knew that Dean was already back at the window and acting like this was perfectly normal.
Another fifteen minutes and it happened again. And that’s when Sam finally snapped with a short but pissy, “Dean!”
“Shut it, Sammy. M’tryin’ to sleep.”
He stewed for a few moments before finally breaking with mockery in his tone. “Thought it was ‘driver gets the tunes, shotgun shuts his cake- ”
“We really gonna argue again?”
Sam looked over and Dean was curling himself in towards the door, arms crossed and eyes still shut.
“You can’t just give me the radio?” he asked with some whininess, but mostly in real curiosity. Dean didn’t answer, so Sam went on again. “Thought we were okay. That the keys said you trusted me.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“It’s just the radio.”
“Don’t trust you that much.”
Sam glanced again, and that’s when he saw Dean’s little punchy smile, so he smiled a little, too.