SPN FIC - Grounded
Simple enough: go interview the witness. Gather some intel.
But...you'd think the guy would have the courtesy to have a job that's not thirty stories in the air. On a damn GIRDER.
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 878 words
GROUNDED
By Carol Davis
"See? I'm fine," Sam says when he gets back down to ground level.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Hair blown every which-ways. He's chipper, and there's something grossly wrong with that.
"Uh-huh," Dean mutters.
"Dude. Seriously. Look - I'm all in one piece. I didn't fall. And actually? It was kind of fun. There's a hell of a view from up there."
"Uh-huh."
Sometimes, Dean thinks, the universe lives to jack him around. No, scratch that: it's the times when the universe isn't trying to jack him around that are noteworthy. He and Sam took this case because it looked like a simple one: figure out who the pissed-off spirit used to be, dig up the bones, salt and burn, get out of town. They've done that so many times, it's almost tedious. Like brushing your teeth, when what you really want to do is get horizontal and sleep.
But the universe is a bitch. It handed them a witness who pounds rivets. Into girders. In high-rise office buildings. Like eight thousand feet up in the air.
Dean's stomach does a tuck-and-flip that would probably score a 9.2 from the Russian judges.
"You okay?" Sam asks.
"Yeah," Dean mumbles. "I'm awesome."
"Take deep breaths."
Dean mutters something else. It makes Sam chuckle, which wasn't Dean's intention. When Dean lifts his gaze from the ground - the nice, solid ground - Sam's leaning against the car, basking in the sun, not a care in the world.
And…okay. That helps more than it ought to - seeing Sam standing there safe and sound.
"Not funny," Dean informs him.
Sam heaves a sigh. Then he smiles. It's either genuinely sympathetic, or he's leading up to being an ass about this. Which would be completely over the line - because, Dean thinks, it's not his freaking fault he's terrified of heights.
"Take deep breaths," Sam says again. "Slow, so you don't hyperventilate."
"Bite me."
Sam disappears for a minute. Because he'd rather not look around (not in this place, with its ten-mile-high collection of girders, people running around on them like ants, like there's no such thing as gravity, or wind, or losing your footing and falling sixty thousand feet to the damn GROUND), Dean tracks him by sound alone. Hears him open the car door and close it again a few seconds later.
"Here."
It's a bottle of water, the cap already twisted off.
Dean shrugs, nods. Accepts the offer. "Thanks."
The sun feels good on his back as he drinks. Feels comforting. Soothing. By the time the water's half gone he feels reasonably in control again. Can't bring himself to look up, but really, how often do you need to do that?
"You used to think they were birds," he tells his brother.
"I - what?"
"When you were little. I forget where we were. You caught a look at a construction site like this, and you thought the people up there were birds. 'Cause they were way up, and nothing belonged up that high, you said, but birds and planes." He shudders, suddenly chilled. It's because there's a little bit of a bite in the breeze, that's all - he's Dean Winchester, dammit. "Which is a reasonable philosophy, if you ask me," he says around another gulp of water.
"It would be, if you could I Dream of Jeannie skyscrapers into existence, and you didn't actually have to build them."
"Nothing wrong with decent-sized buildings. Five, six floors. That's all you need."
"Welcome to eighteen eighty-five," Sam says.
"Bite -"
"Dude."
"I'm just saying."
"I think I'd be an eagle," Sam muses. "If I was a bird. I'd be an eagle."
Dean shakes his head, grimacing. "No way. They eat bunnies."
"Bunnies?"
"On all those nature shows. They always show 'em going after some little fuzzy thing. Like bunnies. And baby whatevers."
"So what would you be?'
Seriously? There's only one choice. "Velociraptor," Dean says, grinning. "Every fugly thing we go after? I'd just bite the son of a bitch in half."
"And get a mouthful of monster goo."
Okay, there's that. But still. "I'd kick ass. Tell me I wouldn't."
Sam laughs - the kind of laugh Dean loves to hear. Has, ever since they were kids. The kind of laugh that says things are good. That the sun's out, they're both safe (relatively speaking), and for the time being they can convince themselves that life's a friggin' bowl of cherries.
"So," Dean says after a minute. "You actually get any information out of that guy?"
"I did."
"And?"
"We're golden. I got the name, and where he's buried. Not cremated, for a change, and it's close by. We'll have this wrapped up by midnight."
Of course, that means they'll be moving on to the next thing, then the next.
But the sun's out. Sam's back on the ground. Things could be a lot worse.
"All right, then," Dean says.
Nodding, Sam reaches for the doorhandle, ready to assume his customary place, riding shotgun. Then he stops, grins again at Dean, tips his head back a little and lets out a jaw-droppingly impressive velociraptor cry.
For a moment, all Dean can do is gape at him.
"Let's go kick ass," Sam says.
Dean can't think of a single good reason to say no.
* * * * *
But...you'd think the guy would have the courtesy to have a job that's not thirty stories in the air. On a damn GIRDER.
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 878 words
GROUNDED
By Carol Davis
"See? I'm fine," Sam says when he gets back down to ground level.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Hair blown every which-ways. He's chipper, and there's something grossly wrong with that.
"Uh-huh," Dean mutters.
"Dude. Seriously. Look - I'm all in one piece. I didn't fall. And actually? It was kind of fun. There's a hell of a view from up there."
"Uh-huh."
Sometimes, Dean thinks, the universe lives to jack him around. No, scratch that: it's the times when the universe isn't trying to jack him around that are noteworthy. He and Sam took this case because it looked like a simple one: figure out who the pissed-off spirit used to be, dig up the bones, salt and burn, get out of town. They've done that so many times, it's almost tedious. Like brushing your teeth, when what you really want to do is get horizontal and sleep.
But the universe is a bitch. It handed them a witness who pounds rivets. Into girders. In high-rise office buildings. Like eight thousand feet up in the air.
Dean's stomach does a tuck-and-flip that would probably score a 9.2 from the Russian judges.
"You okay?" Sam asks.
"Yeah," Dean mumbles. "I'm awesome."
"Take deep breaths."
Dean mutters something else. It makes Sam chuckle, which wasn't Dean's intention. When Dean lifts his gaze from the ground - the nice, solid ground - Sam's leaning against the car, basking in the sun, not a care in the world.
And…okay. That helps more than it ought to - seeing Sam standing there safe and sound.
"Not funny," Dean informs him.
Sam heaves a sigh. Then he smiles. It's either genuinely sympathetic, or he's leading up to being an ass about this. Which would be completely over the line - because, Dean thinks, it's not his freaking fault he's terrified of heights.
"Take deep breaths," Sam says again. "Slow, so you don't hyperventilate."
"Bite me."
Sam disappears for a minute. Because he'd rather not look around (not in this place, with its ten-mile-high collection of girders, people running around on them like ants, like there's no such thing as gravity, or wind, or losing your footing and falling sixty thousand feet to the damn GROUND), Dean tracks him by sound alone. Hears him open the car door and close it again a few seconds later.
"Here."
It's a bottle of water, the cap already twisted off.
Dean shrugs, nods. Accepts the offer. "Thanks."
The sun feels good on his back as he drinks. Feels comforting. Soothing. By the time the water's half gone he feels reasonably in control again. Can't bring himself to look up, but really, how often do you need to do that?
"You used to think they were birds," he tells his brother.
"I - what?"
"When you were little. I forget where we were. You caught a look at a construction site like this, and you thought the people up there were birds. 'Cause they were way up, and nothing belonged up that high, you said, but birds and planes." He shudders, suddenly chilled. It's because there's a little bit of a bite in the breeze, that's all - he's Dean Winchester, dammit. "Which is a reasonable philosophy, if you ask me," he says around another gulp of water.
"It would be, if you could I Dream of Jeannie skyscrapers into existence, and you didn't actually have to build them."
"Nothing wrong with decent-sized buildings. Five, six floors. That's all you need."
"Welcome to eighteen eighty-five," Sam says.
"Bite -"
"Dude."
"I'm just saying."
"I think I'd be an eagle," Sam muses. "If I was a bird. I'd be an eagle."
Dean shakes his head, grimacing. "No way. They eat bunnies."
"Bunnies?"
"On all those nature shows. They always show 'em going after some little fuzzy thing. Like bunnies. And baby whatevers."
"So what would you be?'
Seriously? There's only one choice. "Velociraptor," Dean says, grinning. "Every fugly thing we go after? I'd just bite the son of a bitch in half."
"And get a mouthful of monster goo."
Okay, there's that. But still. "I'd kick ass. Tell me I wouldn't."
Sam laughs - the kind of laugh Dean loves to hear. Has, ever since they were kids. The kind of laugh that says things are good. That the sun's out, they're both safe (relatively speaking), and for the time being they can convince themselves that life's a friggin' bowl of cherries.
"So," Dean says after a minute. "You actually get any information out of that guy?"
"I did."
"And?"
"We're golden. I got the name, and where he's buried. Not cremated, for a change, and it's close by. We'll have this wrapped up by midnight."
Of course, that means they'll be moving on to the next thing, then the next.
But the sun's out. Sam's back on the ground. Things could be a lot worse.
"All right, then," Dean says.
Nodding, Sam reaches for the doorhandle, ready to assume his customary place, riding shotgun. Then he stops, grins again at Dean, tips his head back a little and lets out a jaw-droppingly impressive velociraptor cry.
For a moment, all Dean can do is gape at him.
"Let's go kick ass," Sam says.
Dean can't think of a single good reason to say no.
* * * * *