SPN FIC - Just Another Auld Lang Syne
Happy New Year - or, a melancholy New Year, anyway. Counting down to midnight, 12/31/07.
Characters: Dean, Sam, and Metallicar
Pairings: none
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG, for language
Length: 755 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns. I play.
Just Another Auld Lang Syne
By Carol Davis
The mild weather didn’t end when the Carrigans died.
“You remember the first time?” Dean asked.
“Hmm?”
“First time Dad took us out to look at the stars.” He paused, reconsidered. Shifted a little to make himself more comfortable. As much as he loved his girl, reclining against the windshield with only a blanket for cushioning (really, to keep from scratching her paint) wasn’t much competition for a chaise lounge by the pool. “You must’ve been pretty little. I guess I was maybe six. We were out in Arizona for…I dunno. Something. Dad took us out where there weren’t any city lights. It all looked like glitter to me. Like somebody threw glitter all over the sky.”
He paused again and sipped at his beer.
“Like this,” he said. “We sat up here on the car. Just like this.”
And before anyone - living or not - could accuse him of being maudlin, he tossed a grin at Sam. “You kept tryin’ to throw yourself off. Couldn’t sit still for nothin’. God, you were a royal pain in the ass.”
“I aim high,” Sam said dryly.
“I could find the Big Dipper. Shit like that. I don’t think Dad knew a whole lot more.”
Still aiming high, Sam pointed out a handful of constellations.
“You study that stuff?” Dean asked. “At Stanford.”
“Jess did. She loved astronomy.” Sam considered his beer for a moment, picking at the label with his thumbnail. “Her dad had - has, I guess - a telescope set up out on their deck. Pretty good one. She picked up the interest from him.” He gestured with the bottle, pointing its nose at the sky. “Some of those things that look like stars? Are whole galaxies.”
“Can’t…that’s way too big. All of that.”
“Makes you feel pretty small.”
“Yeah. Well.”
Dean closed his eyes against the unseasonal breeze. Cool, but more October-cool than almost January.
“Time’s it?” he asked.
“Ten of.”
Almost January.
“World seems big enough,” he said after a minute. “Don’t need to throw galaxies into it. Kinda seems like science fiction. Star Trek, all that shit.”
“Yeah,” Sam said.
“Wouldn’t want to do that. Go way out there.”
Sam didn’t reply.
“You would?” Dean asked, brow scrunched into a frown. “Go out there? That’s nuts.” It took him a moment to get what Sam was thinking. “Oh,” he said.
“I said I’d go.”
“Yeah. With her.”
“With her.”
“Kinda moot, though. Nobody’s going out there.” He fiddled with the bottle for a moment, blew a low, sad note across its mouth, then stuck it in the cardboard holder, pulled out another and popped the cap with his ring. “Things’re pretty well crapped up, even without the demon army from hell. Casey called it. World’s a mess, Sam.”
Sam smiled fleetingly. “Not beyond redemption.”
“You think?”
“I have to.”
Dean took a long gulp of his beer, ran his tongue around his lips. “Thought about it, you know.” When Sam tipped his head, asking for more, he went on, “After you said ‘law school.’ Thought about it one night when I couldn’t sleep. Lot of those politicians start out as lawyers. You ever think about that?”
“Public office? No.”
But Dean knew him much too well. He snickered softly. “Congressman Winchester. Salt and burn on Capitol Hill.”
Sam huffed out a small breath.
“You would’ve been good at it, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “Still could.”
“No. That’s not…”
“Can do anything you want. Sky’s the limit. Always was.”
Dean smiled at his brother in a way that was impossible to read. Then he slid carefully off the hood and stood beside the car, beer in hand. Rested his free hand on the roof, tipped so he could see the dial of his watch. It wasn’t quite synchronized with Sam’s; when Dean closed his eyes and lifted the beer up in a salute, Sam’s watch still was forty seconds shy of midnight.
Then again, maybe there was no difference. As the second hand of Sam’s watch popped up to midnight, Dean said softly, “Happy new year, man.”
“Happy new year,” Sam replied.
The inscrutable smile turned into the lopsided grin Sam knew all too well as Dean fished his keys out of his pocket. He jingled them in the air as he told Sam, “C’mon - get your ginormous ass off my car. New year, same old shit. Got work to do.”
He was in the driver’s seat before Sam’s feet hit the ground.
Characters: Dean, Sam, and Metallicar
Pairings: none
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG, for language
Length: 755 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns. I play.
Just Another Auld Lang Syne
By Carol Davis
The mild weather didn’t end when the Carrigans died.
“You remember the first time?” Dean asked.
“Hmm?”
“First time Dad took us out to look at the stars.” He paused, reconsidered. Shifted a little to make himself more comfortable. As much as he loved his girl, reclining against the windshield with only a blanket for cushioning (really, to keep from scratching her paint) wasn’t much competition for a chaise lounge by the pool. “You must’ve been pretty little. I guess I was maybe six. We were out in Arizona for…I dunno. Something. Dad took us out where there weren’t any city lights. It all looked like glitter to me. Like somebody threw glitter all over the sky.”
He paused again and sipped at his beer.
“Like this,” he said. “We sat up here on the car. Just like this.”
And before anyone - living or not - could accuse him of being maudlin, he tossed a grin at Sam. “You kept tryin’ to throw yourself off. Couldn’t sit still for nothin’. God, you were a royal pain in the ass.”
“I aim high,” Sam said dryly.
“I could find the Big Dipper. Shit like that. I don’t think Dad knew a whole lot more.”
Still aiming high, Sam pointed out a handful of constellations.
“You study that stuff?” Dean asked. “At Stanford.”
“Jess did. She loved astronomy.” Sam considered his beer for a moment, picking at the label with his thumbnail. “Her dad had - has, I guess - a telescope set up out on their deck. Pretty good one. She picked up the interest from him.” He gestured with the bottle, pointing its nose at the sky. “Some of those things that look like stars? Are whole galaxies.”
“Can’t…that’s way too big. All of that.”
“Makes you feel pretty small.”
“Yeah. Well.”
Dean closed his eyes against the unseasonal breeze. Cool, but more October-cool than almost January.
“Time’s it?” he asked.
“Ten of.”
Almost January.
“World seems big enough,” he said after a minute. “Don’t need to throw galaxies into it. Kinda seems like science fiction. Star Trek, all that shit.”
“Yeah,” Sam said.
“Wouldn’t want to do that. Go way out there.”
Sam didn’t reply.
“You would?” Dean asked, brow scrunched into a frown. “Go out there? That’s nuts.” It took him a moment to get what Sam was thinking. “Oh,” he said.
“I said I’d go.”
“Yeah. With her.”
“With her.”
“Kinda moot, though. Nobody’s going out there.” He fiddled with the bottle for a moment, blew a low, sad note across its mouth, then stuck it in the cardboard holder, pulled out another and popped the cap with his ring. “Things’re pretty well crapped up, even without the demon army from hell. Casey called it. World’s a mess, Sam.”
Sam smiled fleetingly. “Not beyond redemption.”
“You think?”
“I have to.”
Dean took a long gulp of his beer, ran his tongue around his lips. “Thought about it, you know.” When Sam tipped his head, asking for more, he went on, “After you said ‘law school.’ Thought about it one night when I couldn’t sleep. Lot of those politicians start out as lawyers. You ever think about that?”
“Public office? No.”
But Dean knew him much too well. He snickered softly. “Congressman Winchester. Salt and burn on Capitol Hill.”
Sam huffed out a small breath.
“You would’ve been good at it, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “Still could.”
“No. That’s not…”
“Can do anything you want. Sky’s the limit. Always was.”
Dean smiled at his brother in a way that was impossible to read. Then he slid carefully off the hood and stood beside the car, beer in hand. Rested his free hand on the roof, tipped so he could see the dial of his watch. It wasn’t quite synchronized with Sam’s; when Dean closed his eyes and lifted the beer up in a salute, Sam’s watch still was forty seconds shy of midnight.
Then again, maybe there was no difference. As the second hand of Sam’s watch popped up to midnight, Dean said softly, “Happy new year, man.”
“Happy new year,” Sam replied.
The inscrutable smile turned into the lopsided grin Sam knew all too well as Dean fished his keys out of his pocket. He jingled them in the air as he told Sam, “C’mon - get your ginormous ass off my car. New year, same old shit. Got work to do.”
He was in the driver’s seat before Sam’s feet hit the ground.