Fic: Positive Reinforcement
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First of all, Dean wanted to know who named things in Minnesota, and how high they had had to get before deciding that "Climax" and "Fertile" were really great names for neighboring towns. Second, he wanted to know how Sam could have failed to see the humor inherent in the newspaper headline Dean had found while they were archive-diving in the county library: "Fertile Woman Dies In Climax."
C'mon, that was comedy gold.
Sam, however, had been born without a sense of humor, and was not amused. He may still have been holding a grudge over that thing with his coffee the day before, too. At any rate, after shushing Dean's half-suppressed snorts of laughter for the third time, Sam had rolled his eyes impatiently and sent him on a milk-run for death records at the county seat, seventeen miles away.
Dean accepted the errand with a minimum of protest. Given that it was spring, and the one week out of the year when Minnesota was neither god-awful hot nor friggin' freezing, forty minutes on the road and a routine scam for document copies were hardly the worst fate Sam could have cooked up to get Dean out of his hair.
Dean was cruising back toward Climax (ha ha) with the sun-warmed air whipping past the open windows and the hopelessly optimistic chords of "Don't Look Back" blaring from the Impala's speakers when the cop appeared out of nowhere. He checked his speed. He was barely over the limit because it was nice out, and early-era Boston was just too happy-go-lucky to make breaking 80 feel worth it. But the second a turn-off came up, the cop turned his lights on and whooped the siren for a half-second.
"What's your deal, man?" Dean squinted at the cop in his rear-view mirror, annoyed. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged, decided to play along on this one, and pulled neatly off the road, trying to think of any reason the county fuzz could have to pull him over. The Impala's tags were current (they always were, because when your trunk is filled with guns and ammo and weird shit, you just don't let your tags go out of style) and there were no broken lights in the rear array, thank you very much. He didn't think he had any outstanding tickets or warrants in Minnesota. With any luck, the guy was just bored enough to ticket him for one-to-ten over and send him on his way.
The cop climbed out of his cruiser and Dean watched him in the side mirror as he walked up to the Impala. He didn't do that condescending cop saunter that pissed Dean off so much, which was nice, but he was still a cop. Dean was feeling obliging, so he put his hands at ten and two, but didn't bother turning down the radio. Brad Delp was singing about the clouds breaking and the sun shining when the cop drew level with the window.
"What can I do for you, officer?" Dean gave his best corn-fed smile. These are not the droids you're looking for.
The officer didn't answer at once, choosing instead to look at a half-sheet of paper in his hand. "Well, sir..." the guy started and trailed off. He was young, probably no older than Sam, and Dean suspected he'd never used the sidearm he wore on anything but paper targets. The Boy Wonder shook his head and said, "You are not going to believe why I stopped you."
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "You might be surprised." The guy's body language was throwing Dean off; he wasn't giving off any of the usual policeman signals, and his stance was anything but uniform-worthy.
Finally, the cop gave a chagrined chuckle, held out the half-sheet, and said in a monotone fit for classroom recitation, "Polk County has instituted a new program for rewarding drivers who demonstrate safe driving practices. The County Police Department would like you to have this in thanks for keeping our highways safe."
Dean blinked at him. "You're right, I don't believe you." He grinned a little. "Which, coming from me, is really something."
The cop sighed. "We didn't believe Crookston when they told us we'd be doing this, either," he replied, and Dean realized that the thing throwing him about the guy was the fact that he was broadcasting embarrassment on all frequencies. "We thought it must be some kind of joke: pull people over to tell them that they're not breaking the law? Like anyone needs that. And this?" He gestured with the half-sheet still extended in his hand. "Hardly makes up for the hassle of being pulled over in the first place."
Dean looked from the guy's hand to his earnest, nervous face, and back again, trying to decide exactly where this fell on the Winchester Scale of Weird-assedness. Freakier than that thing with no face in Idaho but less freaky than that time Sam tried to give himself a mohawk when he was twelve. He took the proffered half-sheet in lieu of actually saying anything. It was a certificate for a free sundae at someplace called "Tina's Creamery." Dean contemplated it for a long moment, and turned back to the cop.
"Dude, are you for real?"
The Boy Wonder laughed a little at that. "Yeah, man, and I've got four more of those things to unload on unsuspecting drivers before the end of the day. They gave us a quota." He spread his hands, palms up, to show how very at a loss he was.
Dean gave a huff of incredulous laughter. "You are seriously trying to give me free ice-cream for not breaking any road rules."
"Well, you were going almost eighty in a seventy-five." The cop grinned at him. "But I like old Chevies and you seemed like you knew how to handle her." He gave the Impala an approving glance from front bumper to back, and added, "Plus, you looked less likely to hit me with a purse for making you late than the last person I stopped."
Dean had to laugh at that, leaning his head back against the seat for a moment, and the cop laughed with him. After a moment, Dean stuck his hand out of the car and said, "Dean Winchester."
"Danny Carrington." They shook hands.
"Well, Officer Carrington, thank you for...singling me out for positive reinforcement." They both chuckled again.
"No problem, Mr. Winchester, that's..." a baffled shrug, "my job, apparently." More chuckling.
Dean waved and said, "I'll let you get back to that," then added, "Nice meeting you."
"You, too, Mr. Winchester. Take care of that car."
"Always!" Dean hit the gas, glancing in the mirror once he was back on the road to see Officer Danny Carrington walking back to his car, grinning. Dean found himself smiling, as well. Boston had moved on to "The Journey" on the stereo, it was the one week of the year when Minnesota was neither god-awful hot nor friggin' freezing, and he had a voucher for free ice-cream. Sam was never, in a million years, going to believe this.
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Note the first: The situation here described is something that actually happened to my dad back when he was in his twenties. True story! His family didn't believe him, either. In contrast, the headline that Dean finds so amusing may, in fact, be an urban legend. I could find no official record of it anywhere, but it shows up just about any time someone starts a bulletin board thread about weird place names. I do know for sure that the towns in question actually exist, at least.
Note the second: I may have sort of fudged on some details about Polk County, MN. After about an hour of researching location, county seat, local highway speed limits and city/county/state police jurisdiction, I started having flashbacks to my old job and had to stop. I decided that no one else was really going to care what speed limit is assigned to the particular stretch of US 75 that runs through Polk County, anyway.
First of all, Dean wanted to know who named things in Minnesota, and how high they had had to get before deciding that "Climax" and "Fertile" were really great names for neighboring towns. Second, he wanted to know how Sam could have failed to see the humor inherent in the newspaper headline Dean had found while they were archive-diving in the county library: "Fertile Woman Dies In Climax."
C'mon, that was comedy gold.
Sam, however, had been born without a sense of humor, and was not amused. He may still have been holding a grudge over that thing with his coffee the day before, too. At any rate, after shushing Dean's half-suppressed snorts of laughter for the third time, Sam had rolled his eyes impatiently and sent him on a milk-run for death records at the county seat, seventeen miles away.
Dean accepted the errand with a minimum of protest. Given that it was spring, and the one week out of the year when Minnesota was neither god-awful hot nor friggin' freezing, forty minutes on the road and a routine scam for document copies were hardly the worst fate Sam could have cooked up to get Dean out of his hair.
Dean was cruising back toward Climax (ha ha) with the sun-warmed air whipping past the open windows and the hopelessly optimistic chords of "Don't Look Back" blaring from the Impala's speakers when the cop appeared out of nowhere. He checked his speed. He was barely over the limit because it was nice out, and early-era Boston was just too happy-go-lucky to make breaking 80 feel worth it. But the second a turn-off came up, the cop turned his lights on and whooped the siren for a half-second.
"What's your deal, man?" Dean squinted at the cop in his rear-view mirror, annoyed. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged, decided to play along on this one, and pulled neatly off the road, trying to think of any reason the county fuzz could have to pull him over. The Impala's tags were current (they always were, because when your trunk is filled with guns and ammo and weird shit, you just don't let your tags go out of style) and there were no broken lights in the rear array, thank you very much. He didn't think he had any outstanding tickets or warrants in Minnesota. With any luck, the guy was just bored enough to ticket him for one-to-ten over and send him on his way.
The cop climbed out of his cruiser and Dean watched him in the side mirror as he walked up to the Impala. He didn't do that condescending cop saunter that pissed Dean off so much, which was nice, but he was still a cop. Dean was feeling obliging, so he put his hands at ten and two, but didn't bother turning down the radio. Brad Delp was singing about the clouds breaking and the sun shining when the cop drew level with the window.
"What can I do for you, officer?" Dean gave his best corn-fed smile. These are not the droids you're looking for.
The officer didn't answer at once, choosing instead to look at a half-sheet of paper in his hand. "Well, sir..." the guy started and trailed off. He was young, probably no older than Sam, and Dean suspected he'd never used the sidearm he wore on anything but paper targets. The Boy Wonder shook his head and said, "You are not going to believe why I stopped you."
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "You might be surprised." The guy's body language was throwing Dean off; he wasn't giving off any of the usual policeman signals, and his stance was anything but uniform-worthy.
Finally, the cop gave a chagrined chuckle, held out the half-sheet, and said in a monotone fit for classroom recitation, "Polk County has instituted a new program for rewarding drivers who demonstrate safe driving practices. The County Police Department would like you to have this in thanks for keeping our highways safe."
Dean blinked at him. "You're right, I don't believe you." He grinned a little. "Which, coming from me, is really something."
The cop sighed. "We didn't believe Crookston when they told us we'd be doing this, either," he replied, and Dean realized that the thing throwing him about the guy was the fact that he was broadcasting embarrassment on all frequencies. "We thought it must be some kind of joke: pull people over to tell them that they're not breaking the law? Like anyone needs that. And this?" He gestured with the half-sheet still extended in his hand. "Hardly makes up for the hassle of being pulled over in the first place."
Dean looked from the guy's hand to his earnest, nervous face, and back again, trying to decide exactly where this fell on the Winchester Scale of Weird-assedness. Freakier than that thing with no face in Idaho but less freaky than that time Sam tried to give himself a mohawk when he was twelve. He took the proffered half-sheet in lieu of actually saying anything. It was a certificate for a free sundae at someplace called "Tina's Creamery." Dean contemplated it for a long moment, and turned back to the cop.
"Dude, are you for real?"
The Boy Wonder laughed a little at that. "Yeah, man, and I've got four more of those things to unload on unsuspecting drivers before the end of the day. They gave us a quota." He spread his hands, palms up, to show how very at a loss he was.
Dean gave a huff of incredulous laughter. "You are seriously trying to give me free ice-cream for not breaking any road rules."
"Well, you were going almost eighty in a seventy-five." The cop grinned at him. "But I like old Chevies and you seemed like you knew how to handle her." He gave the Impala an approving glance from front bumper to back, and added, "Plus, you looked less likely to hit me with a purse for making you late than the last person I stopped."
Dean had to laugh at that, leaning his head back against the seat for a moment, and the cop laughed with him. After a moment, Dean stuck his hand out of the car and said, "Dean Winchester."
"Danny Carrington." They shook hands.
"Well, Officer Carrington, thank you for...singling me out for positive reinforcement." They both chuckled again.
"No problem, Mr. Winchester, that's..." a baffled shrug, "my job, apparently." More chuckling.
Dean waved and said, "I'll let you get back to that," then added, "Nice meeting you."
"You, too, Mr. Winchester. Take care of that car."
"Always!" Dean hit the gas, glancing in the mirror once he was back on the road to see Officer Danny Carrington walking back to his car, grinning. Dean found himself smiling, as well. Boston had moved on to "The Journey" on the stereo, it was the one week of the year when Minnesota was neither god-awful hot nor friggin' freezing, and he had a voucher for free ice-cream. Sam was never, in a million years, going to believe this.
-----------------------------------------------------
Note the first: The situation here described is something that actually happened to my dad back when he was in his twenties. True story! His family didn't believe him, either. In contrast, the headline that Dean finds so amusing may, in fact, be an urban legend. I could find no official record of it anywhere, but it shows up just about any time someone starts a bulletin board thread about weird place names. I do know for sure that the towns in question actually exist, at least.
Note the second: I may have sort of fudged on some details about Polk County, MN. After about an hour of researching location, county seat, local highway speed limits and city/county/state police jurisdiction, I started having flashbacks to my old job and had to stop. I decided that no one else was really going to care what speed limit is assigned to the particular stretch of US 75 that runs through Polk County, anyway.