SPN FIC - Alternative Transportation
Getting from one place to another is a lot harder than it used to be - particularly when there are Leviathans keeping an eye on everything they do. Everywhere they go.
And when the car they're supposed to be escaping in is currently deader than a stone.
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1474 words
ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION
By Carol Davis
"What's the matter with it?" Sam asked, and of course there was nothing wrong with him asking that - Dean had been asking himself the same question, over and over, though his version was liberally salted with four-letter words - but right now? Right NOW, thank you very much? The last thing he needed was Sam sitting there beside him, intending to ride shotgun in a car that was currently deader than a damn STONE, frowning and being of no damn use whatsoever.
"Do I LOOK like I know what's wrong with it?" Dean sputtered. "It won't START, is what's wrong with it."
That, right there, was the chief problem with boosting other people's cars.
"Could -"
"Do me a favor. Don't make suggestions."
"We need to get out of here, man."
Dean kept his eyes on the slice of dashboard directly in front of him. Forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Then another.
Then he pushed open the car door and climbed out into the sunlight. Did it easily, leisurely, as if life was a friggin' bowl of cherries. Nah…a big, thick slab of cherry pie. With ice cream. Nice big mug of steaming hot coffee on the side.
He heard the creaks and squeals as Sam got out too. Knew without looking that Sam was still frowning.
Gonna look for the silver lining.
Fake it till you make it, Frank had told him. Let a smile be your freakin' umbrella. He could do that, he supposed, if this day had been a little less challenging. Okay: the sun was shining, after three days' worth of pretty much non-stop rain. He'd gotten a couple of hours sleep last night, and they'd taken time for a quick breakfast before coming over here, to this tiny little cul-de-sac on the north side of town.
Where nobody was home, as near as they could tell.
Nobody to interrupt them as they scoured the home office of a guy named Bill - a guy Frank Devereaux had assured them was a Leviathan. Whether that was true or not, neither Dean nor Sam had been able to determine; what they had discovered was that Bill's home office contained nothing of interest.
Except for a top-of-the-line home security camera that had escaped their notice until about five minutes ago.
"Dean," Sam said.
Eight houses.
No vehicles visible, except for…
"You're not serious," Sam said.
Ignoring him, Dean strode across the cul-de-sac, peered through the window of that one available vehicle, and said without turning, because of course Sam was right there behind him, "Keys are on the floor mat."
When he didn't get a response - though he would have done the same thing even if he had gotten one - he opened the driver's door, reached in and scooped up the keys the car's owner had attached to a blue plastic spiral keyring.
Blue, to match the blue-and-white car.
The blue-and-white, gleaming-like-brand-new Smart Car.
"I can't," Sam said. "I mean - it - God. I could get like half of me into that car, man."
"Try," Dean told him.
"There's got to be something else."
They had the Fed suits on. That was good for something, Dean figured, twitching with the sense that they were being watched. Not by people, but by security cameras, one peering out from each of those eight houses. The suits gave them a little bit of respectability. The phony badges might take them a bit farther, if anyone showed up in response to a triggered alarm.
If?
IF?
"Try," he said to Sam, knowing full well that Sam was right; there was no way on earth the two of them were going to fit into that car's child-sized passenger space. Sam didn't move, just stood there looking woeful, so Dean told him, "We'll…I don't know. Walk. We can cut cross-lots or something."
"Into the ravine?"
"You got a better idea?"
"Take the car."
"You just said -"
"You take the car. Get out of here. Go… down to that strip mall we passed on the way in. Find us something else to drive. I'll meet you there."
"Sam -"
"Go, man. Just go. I'll figure something out."
"I'll go find another car. Come back and get you."
"Yeah," Sam said, and smiled, but it was about as fake a thing as Dean had ever seen. "Do that. I'll lay low."
"You sure you can't -"
"Go. Before somebody shows up. You friggin' know somebody was watching us on that camera."
It was the last thing Dean wanted to do.
The absolute last thing.
But he slid into the driver's seat of the tiny car, shoved the seat back as far as it would go, giving himself a little bit of leg room, and plugged the key into the ignition.
The strip mall they'd spotted was a good five or six miles down the highway - a road that was torn up by construction for at least half its length. Dean fidgeted his way through the slowdown, ignoring the collection of amused looks and outright mockery he got from the other drivers, growing so frustrated that the moment he was past the last construction vehicle, back onto open road, he shoved his foot down on the accelerator, anticipating the burst of speed he would have gotten from…pretty much any other vehicle on the planet.
The little car's engine chirped and whirred at him.
It sounded like a damn blender. Or an electric pencil sharpener.
"Come ON," he growled. "Come ON, you idiotic piece of -"
Cars were passing him. On the left. On the right. Honking at him as they zoomed by. He had the accelerator pressed right to the floor, and the damn car was doing…forty.
Forty-five.
Bill HAD to live in a damn cul-de-sac that was located near exactly NOTHING? Where people couldn't drive something reasonable? A Tahoe, for instance? Or a nice, restored, full-sized Caddy?
Something that wasn't a frigging…
"Dean! DEAN!"
Sam?
Over there. On the shoulder of the road, keeping pace with the little blue-and-white car. Sam, on a goddamn BICYCLE.
"Are you good?" Sam called out. "Are you okay?"
A BICYCLE?????
Sam beat him to the strip mall. When Dean finally eased into a parking space and jammed the (%$#!%$&%$#&#$%) car into park, Sam was walking off his burst of exercise, pacing back and forth near the bike he'd leaned up against the low wall at the edge of the parking lot. And damn if he didn't look happy. Full right up to the gills with endorphins.
Like his world was a freaking bowl of cherries.
"That's a nice bike," he said as Dean squirmed out of the car. "Titanium. You know how much those things cost?"
Dean slammed the car door shut.
"You want a turn?" Sam asked.
No, Dean thought. Because I'm too busy deciding who I want to kill first - you, or Frank freaking DEVEREAUX.
Or MYSELF.
Then he looked at his brother, who had turned to admire the sleek, gleaming bicycle, and remembered another day, sunny, like this one, and a pair of bikes Sam had finagled a classmate into loaning him for the afternoon.
"What, are you kidding me?"
"It's a nice day. We can ride. C'mon, Dean. Out to the reservoir and back. We can swim. Huh?"
"Not much on bikes," Dean muttered.
"Yeah," Sam said. "I remember."
Leviathans, Dean thought. World hanging off the edge of a precipice.
But his brother was smiling. Flushed and sweaty with exertion, hair blown wild and crazy, his suit rumpled, pants legs rolled halfway up to keep the cuffs out of the bike's chain and gears. But smiling.
"Got any idea what you look like right now?" Dean asked him.
"Yeah. I kind of do."
"So…what? You want to keep that thing?"
Sam gave the bike a good long look. When he turned back to Dean his expression had lost some wattage, as if this were the last day of the type of summer vacation they'd both heard about but had never experienced.
"Nah," he said quietly, and bent down to fix the legs of his pants.
"Sammy -"
Sam straightened up slowly. He'd gone back to smiling - just a little. "I know you would," he said quietly. "I know you would have, back then, and you still would. If you could."
He let Dean ponder that for a moment, the two of them standing in a pool of sunshine in between the bike and that stupid little car. Then he nodded toward a cluster of cars parked farther down the wall, closer to the stores. "We better find something. Get out of here, before the big-mouths catch up with us."
"Dude," Dean said. "You beat me here on a friggin' bicycle."
"Whatever works," Sam grinned, and headed off toward the row of cars.
Dean fell quickly into step behind him.
* * * * *
And when the car they're supposed to be escaping in is currently deader than a stone.
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1474 words
ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION
By Carol Davis
"What's the matter with it?" Sam asked, and of course there was nothing wrong with him asking that - Dean had been asking himself the same question, over and over, though his version was liberally salted with four-letter words - but right now? Right NOW, thank you very much? The last thing he needed was Sam sitting there beside him, intending to ride shotgun in a car that was currently deader than a damn STONE, frowning and being of no damn use whatsoever.
"Do I LOOK like I know what's wrong with it?" Dean sputtered. "It won't START, is what's wrong with it."
That, right there, was the chief problem with boosting other people's cars.
"Could -"
"Do me a favor. Don't make suggestions."
"We need to get out of here, man."
Dean kept his eyes on the slice of dashboard directly in front of him. Forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Then another.
Then he pushed open the car door and climbed out into the sunlight. Did it easily, leisurely, as if life was a friggin' bowl of cherries. Nah…a big, thick slab of cherry pie. With ice cream. Nice big mug of steaming hot coffee on the side.
He heard the creaks and squeals as Sam got out too. Knew without looking that Sam was still frowning.
Gonna look for the silver lining.
Fake it till you make it, Frank had told him. Let a smile be your freakin' umbrella. He could do that, he supposed, if this day had been a little less challenging. Okay: the sun was shining, after three days' worth of pretty much non-stop rain. He'd gotten a couple of hours sleep last night, and they'd taken time for a quick breakfast before coming over here, to this tiny little cul-de-sac on the north side of town.
Where nobody was home, as near as they could tell.
Nobody to interrupt them as they scoured the home office of a guy named Bill - a guy Frank Devereaux had assured them was a Leviathan. Whether that was true or not, neither Dean nor Sam had been able to determine; what they had discovered was that Bill's home office contained nothing of interest.
Except for a top-of-the-line home security camera that had escaped their notice until about five minutes ago.
"Dean," Sam said.
Eight houses.
No vehicles visible, except for…
"You're not serious," Sam said.
Ignoring him, Dean strode across the cul-de-sac, peered through the window of that one available vehicle, and said without turning, because of course Sam was right there behind him, "Keys are on the floor mat."
When he didn't get a response - though he would have done the same thing even if he had gotten one - he opened the driver's door, reached in and scooped up the keys the car's owner had attached to a blue plastic spiral keyring.
Blue, to match the blue-and-white car.
The blue-and-white, gleaming-like-brand-new Smart Car.
"I can't," Sam said. "I mean - it - God. I could get like half of me into that car, man."
"Try," Dean told him.
"There's got to be something else."
They had the Fed suits on. That was good for something, Dean figured, twitching with the sense that they were being watched. Not by people, but by security cameras, one peering out from each of those eight houses. The suits gave them a little bit of respectability. The phony badges might take them a bit farther, if anyone showed up in response to a triggered alarm.
If?
IF?
"Try," he said to Sam, knowing full well that Sam was right; there was no way on earth the two of them were going to fit into that car's child-sized passenger space. Sam didn't move, just stood there looking woeful, so Dean told him, "We'll…I don't know. Walk. We can cut cross-lots or something."
"Into the ravine?"
"You got a better idea?"
"Take the car."
"You just said -"
"You take the car. Get out of here. Go… down to that strip mall we passed on the way in. Find us something else to drive. I'll meet you there."
"Sam -"
"Go, man. Just go. I'll figure something out."
"I'll go find another car. Come back and get you."
"Yeah," Sam said, and smiled, but it was about as fake a thing as Dean had ever seen. "Do that. I'll lay low."
"You sure you can't -"
"Go. Before somebody shows up. You friggin' know somebody was watching us on that camera."
It was the last thing Dean wanted to do.
The absolute last thing.
But he slid into the driver's seat of the tiny car, shoved the seat back as far as it would go, giving himself a little bit of leg room, and plugged the key into the ignition.
The strip mall they'd spotted was a good five or six miles down the highway - a road that was torn up by construction for at least half its length. Dean fidgeted his way through the slowdown, ignoring the collection of amused looks and outright mockery he got from the other drivers, growing so frustrated that the moment he was past the last construction vehicle, back onto open road, he shoved his foot down on the accelerator, anticipating the burst of speed he would have gotten from…pretty much any other vehicle on the planet.
The little car's engine chirped and whirred at him.
It sounded like a damn blender. Or an electric pencil sharpener.
"Come ON," he growled. "Come ON, you idiotic piece of -"
Cars were passing him. On the left. On the right. Honking at him as they zoomed by. He had the accelerator pressed right to the floor, and the damn car was doing…forty.
Forty-five.
Bill HAD to live in a damn cul-de-sac that was located near exactly NOTHING? Where people couldn't drive something reasonable? A Tahoe, for instance? Or a nice, restored, full-sized Caddy?
Something that wasn't a frigging…
"Dean! DEAN!"
Sam?
Over there. On the shoulder of the road, keeping pace with the little blue-and-white car. Sam, on a goddamn BICYCLE.
"Are you good?" Sam called out. "Are you okay?"
A BICYCLE?????
Sam beat him to the strip mall. When Dean finally eased into a parking space and jammed the (%$#!%$&%$#&#$%) car into park, Sam was walking off his burst of exercise, pacing back and forth near the bike he'd leaned up against the low wall at the edge of the parking lot. And damn if he didn't look happy. Full right up to the gills with endorphins.
Like his world was a freaking bowl of cherries.
"That's a nice bike," he said as Dean squirmed out of the car. "Titanium. You know how much those things cost?"
Dean slammed the car door shut.
"You want a turn?" Sam asked.
No, Dean thought. Because I'm too busy deciding who I want to kill first - you, or Frank freaking DEVEREAUX.
Or MYSELF.
Then he looked at his brother, who had turned to admire the sleek, gleaming bicycle, and remembered another day, sunny, like this one, and a pair of bikes Sam had finagled a classmate into loaning him for the afternoon.
"What, are you kidding me?"
"It's a nice day. We can ride. C'mon, Dean. Out to the reservoir and back. We can swim. Huh?"
"Not much on bikes," Dean muttered.
"Yeah," Sam said. "I remember."
Leviathans, Dean thought. World hanging off the edge of a precipice.
But his brother was smiling. Flushed and sweaty with exertion, hair blown wild and crazy, his suit rumpled, pants legs rolled halfway up to keep the cuffs out of the bike's chain and gears. But smiling.
"Got any idea what you look like right now?" Dean asked him.
"Yeah. I kind of do."
"So…what? You want to keep that thing?"
Sam gave the bike a good long look. When he turned back to Dean his expression had lost some wattage, as if this were the last day of the type of summer vacation they'd both heard about but had never experienced.
"Nah," he said quietly, and bent down to fix the legs of his pants.
"Sammy -"
Sam straightened up slowly. He'd gone back to smiling - just a little. "I know you would," he said quietly. "I know you would have, back then, and you still would. If you could."
He let Dean ponder that for a moment, the two of them standing in a pool of sunshine in between the bike and that stupid little car. Then he nodded toward a cluster of cars parked farther down the wall, closer to the stores. "We better find something. Get out of here, before the big-mouths catch up with us."
"Dude," Dean said. "You beat me here on a friggin' bicycle."
"Whatever works," Sam grinned, and headed off toward the row of cars.
Dean fell quickly into step behind him.
* * * * *