Atlanta Vacation for 50states_spn
Title: Atlanta Vacation
Author: verucasalt123
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1700
Warnings: abuse of hashbrowns?
State: Georgia
Author's Notes: This was so fun to write, I hope y'all like it. Thanks to Sarah for the beta.
Summary: Dean and Sam stop for a few days.
Exhausted from three back-to-back brutal hunts, Dean called Bobby to tell him that he and Sam were taking a few days off. No calls unless it was an emergency. Bobby was more than happy to hear his boys would be getting a bit of down time, Lord knows no one deserved it more than those two thickheaded idjits.
They were too exhausted even to choose a destination or to drive anywhere else so they just stayed where they had ended up when they’d finished their last job. It turned out that this was a year when mid-October wasn’t still as hot as Independence Day in Atlanta, the temperatures starting to dip down into the 70s most days. Still a bit warm for Dean’s tastes, but not too bad and just right for Sam.
Vacation or no, they still gravitated toward exploring places that had a history of hauntings and ghostly lore. Not like they were working, just out of curiosity and natural tendencies toward seeking out the unknown.
Checked into Highland Inn, a hotel in Virginia Highlands that was much nicer than their usual $49 a night dive, Sam and Dean settled in comfortably, reading up on local attractions and turning on the television long enough to hear Flip Spiceland tell them about this week’s weather forecast.
“Boot up that laptop, Sammy, and Google this joker. If his real name’s Flip Spiceland, you get first shower all week.” Both of them fell into the most restful night of sleep they’d had in as long as they could remember, and slept until almost 11:00 the next morning.
Not shockingly, as Sam was engaged in his “it takes me an hour to wake up” routine, Dean was talking about breakfast. He’d commandeered the laptop, and was jingling the keys to his baby with an absolutely wicked grin on his face before Sam had even gotten dressed.
“What are you so excited about, Dean?” Sam asked with a suspicious look on his face.
“Love me some mapquest, man. Let’s move. We’ve got someplace to be.”
“Care to let me in on your breakfast plans, dude?”
Dean flashed his little-kid grin before he gleefully exclaimed, “Waffle House!”
Sam groaned, but couldn’t deny his brother the satisfaction. It wasn’t like they didn’t eat in greasy diners all the damn time, but Waffle House held a special place in Dean’s heart, so he didn’t argue.
As they sat across from each other in a booth with seats covered in shiny red…something…Dean and Sam perused the laminated menu as they listened to the eight Johnny Cash songs Dean had played on the jukebox. Tammy came over to refill Sam’s sweet tea (he could never resist the siren song of real live brewed sweet tea when it was available) and brought Dean another cup of coffee. Dean shot her a thousand-watt smile and asked her (sweetheart) for pork chops, eggs, bacon, and a double order of the legendary Waffle House hashbrowns - scattered, covered, chunked and extra smothered. Sam had looked over both sides of the menu ten times and decided to treat himself to cheese grits, toast, and a blueberry waffle the size of his head.
“So”, Dean began, “looks like there’s a super cool haunted cemetery in Marietta. Just a little northwest of here. Lots of crazy ghost stories outta there, plus the locals call it the Devil’s Turnaround. Sinister, right? We should check it out.”
Bitchface.
“That the suburbs, Dean. I do have a map, you know. You promised we could hang out in the city, we only have a couple of days.”
“It’s not that far, I swear, and there’s Kennesaw Mountain too, huge Civil War battlefield, I betcha there’s ghosts just sitting in the treetops at that place. Come on!”
Pout.
“What about Oakland Cemetery? It’s only ten minutes from here if we can find parking, and it’s got amazing history. A ton of Civil War stuff, and lots of other city history too. I hear the ghosts there call out the names of the fallen Confederate soldiers like a roll call. Plus, they hung some Union infiltrators right there on the grounds once. That’s creepy as hell. And it’s right here.” To spare himself the humiliation of being teased all day, Sam didn't mention that Margaret Mitchell was interred there. Dean would most certainly spend the entire afternoon calling him Scarlett or Ashley if he'd have said anything.
“First of all, don’t say ‘if we can find parking’. I’m insulted that you think I can’t get my baby into street parking, and if you think I’m paying $20 a day and leaving the Impala in some garage, you’ve lost it. I still think Marietta would be cool. But you want Oakland Cemetery, that’s fine, you got it”, Dean said as he speared a giant forkful of something that was once just an innocent pile of fried potatoes.
“Thanks. And hey, one night we can check out this nightclub Masquerade. Same neighborhood as our hotel. It used to be some kind of mill and there’s lots of stories about the spirits of people who died working there still hanging around, supposed to be haunted as a motherfucker. Plus, goth chicks.” He shot Dean a meaningful look.
Dean pondered the idea of a haunted nightclub with goth chicks and relented. “All right. Let’s just walk around today, see the sights, and we’ll hit the cemetery tonight, okay?”
Tammy blessed their hearts at the twenty percent tip they left her as though it was the best thing that would happen to her all day, maybe even all week.
Their exploration took them through some eccentric neighborhoods with everything from crystal shops and lesbian bookstores to stately old mansions being restored to their former glory, even though there were guys openly selling crack on the street two blocks over. An interesting city, to say the least. There were some big attractions, World of Coke, the ginormous new aquarium, some fancy museums in midtown, but those weren’t the kinds of places the Winchesters were looking for. They stopped for dinner at Ten High, where there were girls on stage covering old Aerosmith and Foreigner songs to a live karaoke band, and listened to the music as they enjoyed excellent pub food with honest to God fried green tomatoes.
By the time they stealthily made their way onto the grounds of Oakland Cemetery, they were amped up for a spirit-sighting or two, at least some freaky sounds or suspicious rustling in the leaves that were already starting to pile up on the ground. Surprisingly, it was completely quiet. They still made the rounds, though, noting how maybe some things really didn’t ever change as they observed the separate-but-equal burial areas; one for Jews, one for Christians, one for black people, even a Potter’s Field. The architecture was breathtaking, statues and memorials and testaments to the brave Confederate soldiers who’d given their lives defending their home against the War of Northern Aggression. All in all, though it was a quiet night, it was just what they needed. Spending time together, seeing new things, and of course not having to actually dig up any of the graves…that was a nice bonus.
As the sun began to rise over the Cabbagetown neighborhood, Sam spotted something promising right across the street from where they’d caught a little sleep in the car (which Dean, true to his word, parked impeccably in free street parking less than a block from the cemetery).
Now, promising to Sam wasn’t exactly the same as promising to Dean. Sam saw a place that looked like it would have an amazing breakfast, and he could smell it from where they were standing. Dean saw a line of urban hipsters, half of them pushing baby strollers, lining up on the sidewalk waiting for the place to open.
Ria’s Bluebird. “Come on, Dean. Let’s just try it.”
“We’re going to have to wait in line.”
“I don’t care. Please? I don’t want eat at Waffle House again.” He snuck in a tiny flash of that look that had always gottten him the last of Dean's fries or an extra handful of marshmallows in his hot chocolate when they were kids.
As usual, Dean gave in and walked across the street to mill around with the populace who’d been busy “gentrifying” the neighborhood for the past couple of years. Once they were seated, Sam immediately decided he’d have the Georgia pecan pancakes with a side of sliced tomatoes, and Dean was thrilled to see they offered biscuits and gravy (ok, so maybe the place was pretentious, but this was still Georgia), which he ordered with the highly recommended Bluebird Burrito. Over breakfast and coffee, Dean started talking about plans for the rest of their day.
“Let’s go get some real sleep back at the hotel, Sammy. We’ve got a haunted nightclub full of goth chicks waiting for us later.”
With that, Dean smiled, a real true smile, the kind Sam remembered from when they were really little kids, and he’d never been so happy to have decided on an Atlanta vacation.
He thought about how easy it would be to walk to the zoo the next day, and found himself grinning like a kid right along with his brother.
~fin~
Footnotes:
Waffle House: Dean's hashbrowns are scattered on the grill with cheese, ham, and extra onions. And a 20% tip is like a winning lottery ticket to Waffle House waitresses. If you ever eat there, tip your waitress big-time. Their job sucks.
Dark Horse Tavern/Ten High Club: really does serve fried green tomatoes and have a karaoke night with a live band.
Marietta: There is all kinds of haunted shit here. This is where I live,we even have our very own live ghost tour and there really is a huge civil war battlefield memorial and a place called the Devil's Turnaround, which is supposedly crawling with restless spirits.
Flip Spiceland: It's our local weather guy's name. Seriously.
Ria's: Totally worth waiting in line for Sunday brunch.
Anything else: ask if you're curious.
Author: verucasalt123
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1700
Warnings: abuse of hashbrowns?
State: Georgia
Author's Notes: This was so fun to write, I hope y'all like it. Thanks to Sarah for the beta.
Summary: Dean and Sam stop for a few days.
Exhausted from three back-to-back brutal hunts, Dean called Bobby to tell him that he and Sam were taking a few days off. No calls unless it was an emergency. Bobby was more than happy to hear his boys would be getting a bit of down time, Lord knows no one deserved it more than those two thickheaded idjits.
They were too exhausted even to choose a destination or to drive anywhere else so they just stayed where they had ended up when they’d finished their last job. It turned out that this was a year when mid-October wasn’t still as hot as Independence Day in Atlanta, the temperatures starting to dip down into the 70s most days. Still a bit warm for Dean’s tastes, but not too bad and just right for Sam.
Vacation or no, they still gravitated toward exploring places that had a history of hauntings and ghostly lore. Not like they were working, just out of curiosity and natural tendencies toward seeking out the unknown.
Checked into Highland Inn, a hotel in Virginia Highlands that was much nicer than their usual $49 a night dive, Sam and Dean settled in comfortably, reading up on local attractions and turning on the television long enough to hear Flip Spiceland tell them about this week’s weather forecast.
“Boot up that laptop, Sammy, and Google this joker. If his real name’s Flip Spiceland, you get first shower all week.” Both of them fell into the most restful night of sleep they’d had in as long as they could remember, and slept until almost 11:00 the next morning.
Not shockingly, as Sam was engaged in his “it takes me an hour to wake up” routine, Dean was talking about breakfast. He’d commandeered the laptop, and was jingling the keys to his baby with an absolutely wicked grin on his face before Sam had even gotten dressed.
“What are you so excited about, Dean?” Sam asked with a suspicious look on his face.
“Love me some mapquest, man. Let’s move. We’ve got someplace to be.”
“Care to let me in on your breakfast plans, dude?”
Dean flashed his little-kid grin before he gleefully exclaimed, “Waffle House!”
Sam groaned, but couldn’t deny his brother the satisfaction. It wasn’t like they didn’t eat in greasy diners all the damn time, but Waffle House held a special place in Dean’s heart, so he didn’t argue.
As they sat across from each other in a booth with seats covered in shiny red…something…Dean and Sam perused the laminated menu as they listened to the eight Johnny Cash songs Dean had played on the jukebox. Tammy came over to refill Sam’s sweet tea (he could never resist the siren song of real live brewed sweet tea when it was available) and brought Dean another cup of coffee. Dean shot her a thousand-watt smile and asked her (sweetheart) for pork chops, eggs, bacon, and a double order of the legendary Waffle House hashbrowns - scattered, covered, chunked and extra smothered. Sam had looked over both sides of the menu ten times and decided to treat himself to cheese grits, toast, and a blueberry waffle the size of his head.
“So”, Dean began, “looks like there’s a super cool haunted cemetery in Marietta. Just a little northwest of here. Lots of crazy ghost stories outta there, plus the locals call it the Devil’s Turnaround. Sinister, right? We should check it out.”
Bitchface.
“That the suburbs, Dean. I do have a map, you know. You promised we could hang out in the city, we only have a couple of days.”
“It’s not that far, I swear, and there’s Kennesaw Mountain too, huge Civil War battlefield, I betcha there’s ghosts just sitting in the treetops at that place. Come on!”
Pout.
“What about Oakland Cemetery? It’s only ten minutes from here if we can find parking, and it’s got amazing history. A ton of Civil War stuff, and lots of other city history too. I hear the ghosts there call out the names of the fallen Confederate soldiers like a roll call. Plus, they hung some Union infiltrators right there on the grounds once. That’s creepy as hell. And it’s right here.” To spare himself the humiliation of being teased all day, Sam didn't mention that Margaret Mitchell was interred there. Dean would most certainly spend the entire afternoon calling him Scarlett or Ashley if he'd have said anything.
“First of all, don’t say ‘if we can find parking’. I’m insulted that you think I can’t get my baby into street parking, and if you think I’m paying $20 a day and leaving the Impala in some garage, you’ve lost it. I still think Marietta would be cool. But you want Oakland Cemetery, that’s fine, you got it”, Dean said as he speared a giant forkful of something that was once just an innocent pile of fried potatoes.
“Thanks. And hey, one night we can check out this nightclub Masquerade. Same neighborhood as our hotel. It used to be some kind of mill and there’s lots of stories about the spirits of people who died working there still hanging around, supposed to be haunted as a motherfucker. Plus, goth chicks.” He shot Dean a meaningful look.
Dean pondered the idea of a haunted nightclub with goth chicks and relented. “All right. Let’s just walk around today, see the sights, and we’ll hit the cemetery tonight, okay?”
Tammy blessed their hearts at the twenty percent tip they left her as though it was the best thing that would happen to her all day, maybe even all week.
Their exploration took them through some eccentric neighborhoods with everything from crystal shops and lesbian bookstores to stately old mansions being restored to their former glory, even though there were guys openly selling crack on the street two blocks over. An interesting city, to say the least. There were some big attractions, World of Coke, the ginormous new aquarium, some fancy museums in midtown, but those weren’t the kinds of places the Winchesters were looking for. They stopped for dinner at Ten High, where there were girls on stage covering old Aerosmith and Foreigner songs to a live karaoke band, and listened to the music as they enjoyed excellent pub food with honest to God fried green tomatoes.
By the time they stealthily made their way onto the grounds of Oakland Cemetery, they were amped up for a spirit-sighting or two, at least some freaky sounds or suspicious rustling in the leaves that were already starting to pile up on the ground. Surprisingly, it was completely quiet. They still made the rounds, though, noting how maybe some things really didn’t ever change as they observed the separate-but-equal burial areas; one for Jews, one for Christians, one for black people, even a Potter’s Field. The architecture was breathtaking, statues and memorials and testaments to the brave Confederate soldiers who’d given their lives defending their home against the War of Northern Aggression. All in all, though it was a quiet night, it was just what they needed. Spending time together, seeing new things, and of course not having to actually dig up any of the graves…that was a nice bonus.
As the sun began to rise over the Cabbagetown neighborhood, Sam spotted something promising right across the street from where they’d caught a little sleep in the car (which Dean, true to his word, parked impeccably in free street parking less than a block from the cemetery).
Now, promising to Sam wasn’t exactly the same as promising to Dean. Sam saw a place that looked like it would have an amazing breakfast, and he could smell it from where they were standing. Dean saw a line of urban hipsters, half of them pushing baby strollers, lining up on the sidewalk waiting for the place to open.
Ria’s Bluebird. “Come on, Dean. Let’s just try it.”
“We’re going to have to wait in line.”
“I don’t care. Please? I don’t want eat at Waffle House again.” He snuck in a tiny flash of that look that had always gottten him the last of Dean's fries or an extra handful of marshmallows in his hot chocolate when they were kids.
As usual, Dean gave in and walked across the street to mill around with the populace who’d been busy “gentrifying” the neighborhood for the past couple of years. Once they were seated, Sam immediately decided he’d have the Georgia pecan pancakes with a side of sliced tomatoes, and Dean was thrilled to see they offered biscuits and gravy (ok, so maybe the place was pretentious, but this was still Georgia), which he ordered with the highly recommended Bluebird Burrito. Over breakfast and coffee, Dean started talking about plans for the rest of their day.
“Let’s go get some real sleep back at the hotel, Sammy. We’ve got a haunted nightclub full of goth chicks waiting for us later.”
With that, Dean smiled, a real true smile, the kind Sam remembered from when they were really little kids, and he’d never been so happy to have decided on an Atlanta vacation.
He thought about how easy it would be to walk to the zoo the next day, and found himself grinning like a kid right along with his brother.
~fin~
Footnotes:
Waffle House: Dean's hashbrowns are scattered on the grill with cheese, ham, and extra onions. And a 20% tip is like a winning lottery ticket to Waffle House waitresses. If you ever eat there, tip your waitress big-time. Their job sucks.
Dark Horse Tavern/Ten High Club: really does serve fried green tomatoes and have a karaoke night with a live band.
Marietta: There is all kinds of haunted shit here. This is where I live,we even have our very own live ghost tour and there really is a huge civil war battlefield memorial and a place called the Devil's Turnaround, which is supposedly crawling with restless spirits.
Flip Spiceland: It's our local weather guy's name. Seriously.
Ria's: Totally worth waiting in line for Sunday brunch.
Anything else: ask if you're curious.