SPN FIC - Moment at a Cowboy Bar
Carpe diem, they tell you. Stop and smell the roses. Good advice -- and no less so when your name is Winchester.
"Burger okay?" he asks, just for the sake of saying something.
CHARACTERS: Sam and Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 756 words
MOMENT IN A COWBOY BAR
By Carol Davis
You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days
Hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this…
-- Trace Adkins
They've avoided cowboy bars for years now - and as they sit here eating a quiet dinner washed down with big mugs of beer, Sam can easily remember why. There's no blonde with red boots and a hulking, angry husband here; his brother isn't hammered and looking for trouble, but there's an atmosphere of immovable gloom hanging over the place like a January fog.
That could be his imagination, but he's pretty sure it's not.
"Burger okay?" he asks, just for the sake of saying something.
Dean considers what's left of his meal for a good long while, as if that's the toughest question he's ever heard - at least, as if it's the toughest he's heard today. As if there's some deep philosophical territory woven into it, something worthy of Sartre, or Camus, and he doesn't want to speak too quickly. Doesn't want to commit his response to the ages unless it's worthy.
"Needs something," he says finally.
Apparently, that covers it.
There's a jukebox over near the alcove that leads to the bathrooms. It's been playing pretty much constantly since they walked in. Another reason to avoid cowboy bars: it's fully loaded with country-western artists.
And there's a guy sitting near it who's literally been crying into his beer for the last half hour.
He's fond of playing the same damn song, over and over again.
You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back…
"My GOD," Sam groans when the song begins yet again. "Couldn't he -"
"Leave it," Dean replies.
"Dude. That's like the eighth time he's played that thing."
Dean's gaze slowly rises from the remains of his burger and fries and locks on Sam. There's a crease between his eyebrows, and his lids are at half-mast. "Poor bastard's having a tough time," he mutters. "Leave it."
Sam's lived a life of very little privacy. There's always been someone nearby: beside him in the car, in the other bed, in the same bed, on the other side of a thin motel room wall. He's been privy to the conversations and quarrels and bodily functions of a lot of people over the years, and a situation like that teaches you how to tune things out. He learned pretty early on how to drop a baffle between himself and the rest of the world.
But the damn song…
He can't not hear it, no matter how hard he tries, so it's nothing less than a gift from On High that Dean gives up on his burger two-thirds of the way through, lays some money on the table and gets up from his side of the booth. Eyes still heavy-lidded, he leads the way out of the bar and across the crunching gravel of the parking lot to their car. Once there, though, he pulls up short and turns to give Sam a long and surprisingly emotional once-over.
"What?" Sam asks, puzzled.
He's no less confused when Dean crosses the bit of ground that separates them, wraps his arms tightly around Sam, and squashes him into a hug.
He holds on for so long that Sam begins to pray no one comes out of that bar.
"Dude," Sam hisses. "What -"
Finally, Dean lets go and steps back. "Insurance policy," he says.
"What?"
"Didn't listen to the damn song, did you?" Dean sighs as he fusses with his ring of keys, looking for the one the actual owner of the Buick they're driving left underneath the floor mat. "This?" he says, and gestures to take in the bar, the parking lot and the road beyond. "This sucks some serious ass. Our lives kinda always - but there's been some good times. Am I right? Could be that one day, this might seem like good times. So I'm sayin'. I'm glad you're here."
Before Sam can respond, Dean has yanked open the car door and has all but leaped into the driver's seat.
"Dean, man," Sam begins as he slides into his accustomed place, riding shotgun.
And Dean waves him off. "You missed the moment," he announces, twisting the key in the ignition. "Movin' on. Next time, try to pay attention."
They roar out of the parking lot, scattering gravel, and Dean reaches out to flip on the car radio. For an instant, Sam is unspeakably grateful the song that explodes out of the speakers isn't the one that was playing on the juke.
Then he realizes he can still hear it playing in the back of his mind.
"Yeah," he tells his brother. "I will."
* * * * *
"Burger okay?" he asks, just for the sake of saying something.
CHARACTERS: Sam and Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 756 words
MOMENT IN A COWBOY BAR
By Carol Davis
You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days
Hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this…
-- Trace Adkins
They've avoided cowboy bars for years now - and as they sit here eating a quiet dinner washed down with big mugs of beer, Sam can easily remember why. There's no blonde with red boots and a hulking, angry husband here; his brother isn't hammered and looking for trouble, but there's an atmosphere of immovable gloom hanging over the place like a January fog.
That could be his imagination, but he's pretty sure it's not.
"Burger okay?" he asks, just for the sake of saying something.
Dean considers what's left of his meal for a good long while, as if that's the toughest question he's ever heard - at least, as if it's the toughest he's heard today. As if there's some deep philosophical territory woven into it, something worthy of Sartre, or Camus, and he doesn't want to speak too quickly. Doesn't want to commit his response to the ages unless it's worthy.
"Needs something," he says finally.
Apparently, that covers it.
There's a jukebox over near the alcove that leads to the bathrooms. It's been playing pretty much constantly since they walked in. Another reason to avoid cowboy bars: it's fully loaded with country-western artists.
And there's a guy sitting near it who's literally been crying into his beer for the last half hour.
He's fond of playing the same damn song, over and over again.
You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back…
"My GOD," Sam groans when the song begins yet again. "Couldn't he -"
"Leave it," Dean replies.
"Dude. That's like the eighth time he's played that thing."
Dean's gaze slowly rises from the remains of his burger and fries and locks on Sam. There's a crease between his eyebrows, and his lids are at half-mast. "Poor bastard's having a tough time," he mutters. "Leave it."
Sam's lived a life of very little privacy. There's always been someone nearby: beside him in the car, in the other bed, in the same bed, on the other side of a thin motel room wall. He's been privy to the conversations and quarrels and bodily functions of a lot of people over the years, and a situation like that teaches you how to tune things out. He learned pretty early on how to drop a baffle between himself and the rest of the world.
But the damn song…
He can't not hear it, no matter how hard he tries, so it's nothing less than a gift from On High that Dean gives up on his burger two-thirds of the way through, lays some money on the table and gets up from his side of the booth. Eyes still heavy-lidded, he leads the way out of the bar and across the crunching gravel of the parking lot to their car. Once there, though, he pulls up short and turns to give Sam a long and surprisingly emotional once-over.
"What?" Sam asks, puzzled.
He's no less confused when Dean crosses the bit of ground that separates them, wraps his arms tightly around Sam, and squashes him into a hug.
He holds on for so long that Sam begins to pray no one comes out of that bar.
"Dude," Sam hisses. "What -"
Finally, Dean lets go and steps back. "Insurance policy," he says.
"What?"
"Didn't listen to the damn song, did you?" Dean sighs as he fusses with his ring of keys, looking for the one the actual owner of the Buick they're driving left underneath the floor mat. "This?" he says, and gestures to take in the bar, the parking lot and the road beyond. "This sucks some serious ass. Our lives kinda always - but there's been some good times. Am I right? Could be that one day, this might seem like good times. So I'm sayin'. I'm glad you're here."
Before Sam can respond, Dean has yanked open the car door and has all but leaped into the driver's seat.
"Dean, man," Sam begins as he slides into his accustomed place, riding shotgun.
And Dean waves him off. "You missed the moment," he announces, twisting the key in the ignition. "Movin' on. Next time, try to pay attention."
They roar out of the parking lot, scattering gravel, and Dean reaches out to flip on the car radio. For an instant, Sam is unspeakably grateful the song that explodes out of the speakers isn't the one that was playing on the juke.
Then he realizes he can still hear it playing in the back of his mind.
"Yeah," he tells his brother. "I will."
* * * * *