fic: Concrete Memories
Title: Concrete Memories
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam, Dean, others
Summary: Two brothers on a hunt.
"But even at our swiftest speed
We couldn't break from the concrete"
~Death Cab for Cutie
It's 6:30 PM when he steps out of the car and onto the old highway. Something locks into place. He knows the rythym of the road, knows how many steps it will take him to reach the end-just as much as those who passed here before him.
What is it, do you think?
He walks, one-two one-two one-two. His shoes and his heart are in rythym. He can see the men who have walked here before, places his feet carefully in their footsteps like a little kid following his father through snow.
Damned if I know, man. Been on this highway for years.
There's a sort of rumbling growl behind him, a low animal sound, but he doesn't turn, doesn't look back the way he came. He keeps his eye on the path, the ragged half-steps the frightened hikers before him have made as they begin to hurry.
Ghost, maybe?
The sound gets closer, and it gets into his blood, shaking him up like his brother used to-still does-with his Coke bottles. He starts to run-him and every other poor sucker- and the growl picks up, sharp and excited.
Maybe.
His heartbeat roars in his ears and he's running blind and it's catching up. Jesus, he hates Halloween and he hates doing this and he hates his brother for not being here and being at the end of the road.
Outrun 'em and you'll be okay-just get on your running shoes.
Screw that, he's thinking. "SAM!" a voice behind him roars. He whips around.
There's an old black car there, the huge kind that could come out of a wreck with a Hummer and not have a scratch on the paint. There are two guys in it, one at the wheel and the other in the passenger seat. The one in the passenger seat's head snaps back and then forward like he's got whiplash even though the car didn't stop, spray of scarlet on the windshield and over the road. "CHRIST!" the driver screams, "SAM, NO!"
The driver looks right at him and his eyes get all narrow and red and squinty and he punches down on the gas and the car screams towards him, making that awful rumbling growling sound.
Then the ghost car and men go up in smoke, like every other salt and burn. His phone buzzes and beeps and he answers.
"Got 'em!" his brother's voice bellows joyfully, "Dude, you were so screwed, I saved you!"
"What the hell was that?" he demands, "I almost got run over!"
"But you didn't," his brother points out gleefully, "I'm gonna come getcha, hold up."
What were the names of our ghosts again?
Huh? Oh...
Sam and Dean Winchester.