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tamingthemuse2006-09-23 11:50 pm
meredevachon) wrote in tamingthemuse2006-09-23 11:50 pm
Entry tags:
Back in Business (Supernatural) Prompt #11
Title: Back in Business
Author: meredevachon
Fandom: Supernatural
tamingthemuse Prompt #11: Orion
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1731
Spoilers/Warnings: none beyond what’s mentioned in the summary’s pull quote.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, its characters and situations do not belong to me. This is all in fun and for love of the characters. I also make no claim to the songs mentioned herein.
Summary: Sam knew when he decided to keep hunting after Dean’s death that things would not be the same.
~*~*~
Sam knew when he decided to keep hunting after Dean’s death that things would not be the same. But knowing something and experiencing it firsthand were two very different things. When cash ran low, it wasn’t Dean scamming the credit card companies or hustling pool. It was Sam. When things went bad on a hunt or the locals took offense at losing a week’s pay at the pool table, it wasn’t Dean and Sam back to back against all comers. It was Sam. Alone.
It was Sam sneaking out the backdoor trying to avoid the good ol’ boy he’d fleeced… and all his friends. It was Sam cursing himself for having parked a couple of blocks away rather than circle around looking for a closer spot.
It was Sam drawing up short beside the Impala now sitting alongside the curb just outside the bar, wondering how he could have forgotten where he parked. Dean always knew exactly where he left his car; no matter how many drinks he had or blows to the head he had taken. Sam shrugged as he slid behind the wheel; he had gotten confused, that’s all. He just forgot. The couple of beers he had had, when added to his lack of sleep and his inability to remember what and when he ate last, could account for him forgetting something as simple as where the car was. Couldn’t it?
~*~*~
For as long as Sam could remember, the Impala had been home. There had never been any question that the rental houses, apartments, and motel rooms of his youth were nothing more than a temporary roof over his head. The only constants were his father, Dean, and their car. It really was their car now. First it had been Dad’s. Then Dean’s – and in Sam’s mind it always would be Dean’s car. And with Dean’s death, it became Sam’s.
So he kept it running with the same care and attention that Dean had in the past. He handled all the regular maintenance himself, and most of the repairs when they were necessary. The things he didn’t known how to do – the things he had no interest in when Dad and Dean had tried to teach him -- he learned, from books or the internet when he could, from a mechanic when the usual sources failed him. He just felt better taking care of the car himself, instead of trusting it to someone else’s hands. A stranger’s hands.
In time he came to almost enjoy the simple pleasure of working on the car. Lying on his back on warm, rough, parking lot asphalt as he checked and replaced the brake shoes. Remembering to duck his head so he didn’t bean himself after checking the oil or putting in a new fan belt. He took care of the Impala, and it took care of him. It was all the family he had left now, and as long as it was running, a part of Dean lived on.
~*~*~
Most of the time Sam drove in silence, no music but the hum of the engine and the sound of the tires. At first he had tried listening to his CDs, but the music seemed out of place. Besides, Dean would have never let up if he heard what kind of “emo pop shit” Sam was listening to. Then there were the times when the day ran as long as the highway. The times when all Sam wanted to do was find a place to stop and sleep the night away, but he knew he had to get where he was going. An open window and the radio were the only things keeping him awake at times like that. When things got really rough, and Sam was wondering how he could possibly go on without his brother at his side, he would pull a cassette at random from Dean’s collection, pop it in, and turn the volume up as high as he could stand it.
It took awhile for Sam to notice that sometimes the radio would be on when he started the ignition even though he had left it off when he stopped the car earlier. It took longer still for him to realize he had his own personal soundtrack at those times. Sometimes after a routine salt-and-burn, it would be Fuel for Fire. A few times on the way to the library for research it was Who Are You? That one time down in the Carolina Low Country, I’m Your Witch Doctor came on so many times Sam thought he was going crazy. He still killed the son of a bitch, though, and as soon as he did, the song stopped playing. Black Dog, Gallows Pole, and In the Year of the Wolf clued him in to what he was hunting more than once, too. They got to be hard to ignore after about the fifth time in a row. But one song, well, it got to the point that one song started playing every time he headed out to kill, destroy, exorcise, or otherwise get rid of whatever it was he was after. Orion by Metallica.
Sam remembered as a kid, sitting in motel rooms with Dean, waiting for their dad to get back from a hunt. Dean would play Orion over and over, saying it would bring Dad luck. Dean told him Orion had been a hunter too, until he was thrown into the night sky to watch over the other constellations and people on Earth. Dean had always played fast and loose with ancient myths unless he had – to him – a good reason not to. When they were little and on the road late at night, Sam and Dean would compete to be the first to find Orion. Combined, the song and the stars played a big part of their childhood superstitions. Then they got older, and left such silliness behind. Or at least, they stopped talking about it. Sam often found himself searching the skies for Orion’s Belt, and smiling to himself when he did. He wondered if Dean had done the same thing. When Sam was at Stanford and Dean was on his own, did he listen to Burton’s bass for luck before heading out on a job?
Of course, the bigger question was who – or what – was picking the songs now. Sam knew he should probably be concerned. Whatever was going on was definitely supernatural, and he needed to look into it. But the songs were all so Dean-like, and it only happened in the Impala. To check, he borrowed a car from someone he had helped, and there were no unusual songs at all, even when he drove it all the way to North Carolina to look for a Woman in White in Jamestown. Dean’s music in Dean’s car. Sam couldn’t bring himself to investigate too closely. And he didn’t mention it to any of his contacts for fear they would tell him something he really didn’t want to hear.
~*~*~
It was supposed to be just a simple banishing. A poltergeist had driven a family out of their home, and Sam was going to get rid of the annoying spirit for them. Things went far from smoothly, though, and after dodging flying knick-knacks, a lamp, and a whole set of kitchen knives – mostly successfully – Sam ended up getting thrown through a wall. An exterior wall. On the second floor.
Sam regained consciousness in the azaleas by the back porch sometime later. He had no idea how long he had be out, but he was pretty sure he had some broken ribs to go along with the doozy of a concussion. Other than that, he couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. Just that it was bad.
He managed to half stumble, half crawl back to the Impala, and it started up with no trouble. Never Say Die blared out of the speakers before the volume dropped to just loud enough to be heard while still soft enough to keep from sending pain spiking through his skull. Sam blinked over and over, trying to get the road’s double yellow lines to stay in focus. The last thing he remembered was a dark shape looming ahead of the car and the whole world fading into darkness.
The next thing he knew, Sam woke up to the beeps and hisses of a medical monitor and ventilator. It took awhile to find out what had happened – the hospital staff needed to know what he remembered before they would add anything to the story – but eventually he found out that he had been found just outside the Emergency Room, unconscious and in the Impala. The car’s horn appeared to be stuck on – although it stopped as soon as a nurse opened the driver side door to check on Sam – and that was what had caught the attention of the ER staff in the first place. Even stranger than the horn was the fact that they could find no sign of a key in the ignition or anywhere in the car. Sam’s keychain – with the Impala’s key – was in the pocket of his jeans when they were removed in the ER.
~*~*~
A week later, the doctors decided Sam was recovered enough to be released from the hospital. Their only concern was that he would be leaving alone, with no one to take care of him. Sam just smiled as he assured them he would be meeting up with his brother very soon, and that Dean would take the very best care of his little brother. Always had and always would. As usual, Sam’s puppy dog eyes and trust-building smile were enough to convince the doctor, and soon an orderly led him out to the parking deck where the Impala had been since Sam’s admittance.
Sam gingerly folded himself into the driver’s seat and waved at the orderly as he closed the door. He stuck the key in the ignition, but did not turn it. Instead he let go of it and place his hand in his lap.
“Dean?”
The engine roared to life before settling into its familiar purr. Sam smiled as he pulled out of the parking space to the opening bars of Back in Business. He had only told the doctors the truth. Dean would always be around to take care of him.
*fin*
Author: meredevachon
Fandom: Supernatural
tamingthemuse Prompt #11: Orion
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1731
Spoilers/Warnings: none beyond what’s mentioned in the summary’s pull quote.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, its characters and situations do not belong to me. This is all in fun and for love of the characters. I also make no claim to the songs mentioned herein.
Summary: Sam knew when he decided to keep hunting after Dean’s death that things would not be the same.
Sam knew when he decided to keep hunting after Dean’s death that things would not be the same. But knowing something and experiencing it firsthand were two very different things. When cash ran low, it wasn’t Dean scamming the credit card companies or hustling pool. It was Sam. When things went bad on a hunt or the locals took offense at losing a week’s pay at the pool table, it wasn’t Dean and Sam back to back against all comers. It was Sam. Alone.
It was Sam sneaking out the backdoor trying to avoid the good ol’ boy he’d fleeced… and all his friends. It was Sam cursing himself for having parked a couple of blocks away rather than circle around looking for a closer spot.
It was Sam drawing up short beside the Impala now sitting alongside the curb just outside the bar, wondering how he could have forgotten where he parked. Dean always knew exactly where he left his car; no matter how many drinks he had or blows to the head he had taken. Sam shrugged as he slid behind the wheel; he had gotten confused, that’s all. He just forgot. The couple of beers he had had, when added to his lack of sleep and his inability to remember what and when he ate last, could account for him forgetting something as simple as where the car was. Couldn’t it?
For as long as Sam could remember, the Impala had been home. There had never been any question that the rental houses, apartments, and motel rooms of his youth were nothing more than a temporary roof over his head. The only constants were his father, Dean, and their car. It really was their car now. First it had been Dad’s. Then Dean’s – and in Sam’s mind it always would be Dean’s car. And with Dean’s death, it became Sam’s.
So he kept it running with the same care and attention that Dean had in the past. He handled all the regular maintenance himself, and most of the repairs when they were necessary. The things he didn’t known how to do – the things he had no interest in when Dad and Dean had tried to teach him -- he learned, from books or the internet when he could, from a mechanic when the usual sources failed him. He just felt better taking care of the car himself, instead of trusting it to someone else’s hands. A stranger’s hands.
In time he came to almost enjoy the simple pleasure of working on the car. Lying on his back on warm, rough, parking lot asphalt as he checked and replaced the brake shoes. Remembering to duck his head so he didn’t bean himself after checking the oil or putting in a new fan belt. He took care of the Impala, and it took care of him. It was all the family he had left now, and as long as it was running, a part of Dean lived on.
Most of the time Sam drove in silence, no music but the hum of the engine and the sound of the tires. At first he had tried listening to his CDs, but the music seemed out of place. Besides, Dean would have never let up if he heard what kind of “emo pop shit” Sam was listening to. Then there were the times when the day ran as long as the highway. The times when all Sam wanted to do was find a place to stop and sleep the night away, but he knew he had to get where he was going. An open window and the radio were the only things keeping him awake at times like that. When things got really rough, and Sam was wondering how he could possibly go on without his brother at his side, he would pull a cassette at random from Dean’s collection, pop it in, and turn the volume up as high as he could stand it.
It took awhile for Sam to notice that sometimes the radio would be on when he started the ignition even though he had left it off when he stopped the car earlier. It took longer still for him to realize he had his own personal soundtrack at those times. Sometimes after a routine salt-and-burn, it would be Fuel for Fire. A few times on the way to the library for research it was Who Are You? That one time down in the Carolina Low Country, I’m Your Witch Doctor came on so many times Sam thought he was going crazy. He still killed the son of a bitch, though, and as soon as he did, the song stopped playing. Black Dog, Gallows Pole, and In the Year of the Wolf clued him in to what he was hunting more than once, too. They got to be hard to ignore after about the fifth time in a row. But one song, well, it got to the point that one song started playing every time he headed out to kill, destroy, exorcise, or otherwise get rid of whatever it was he was after. Orion by Metallica.
Sam remembered as a kid, sitting in motel rooms with Dean, waiting for their dad to get back from a hunt. Dean would play Orion over and over, saying it would bring Dad luck. Dean told him Orion had been a hunter too, until he was thrown into the night sky to watch over the other constellations and people on Earth. Dean had always played fast and loose with ancient myths unless he had – to him – a good reason not to. When they were little and on the road late at night, Sam and Dean would compete to be the first to find Orion. Combined, the song and the stars played a big part of their childhood superstitions. Then they got older, and left such silliness behind. Or at least, they stopped talking about it. Sam often found himself searching the skies for Orion’s Belt, and smiling to himself when he did. He wondered if Dean had done the same thing. When Sam was at Stanford and Dean was on his own, did he listen to Burton’s bass for luck before heading out on a job?
Of course, the bigger question was who – or what – was picking the songs now. Sam knew he should probably be concerned. Whatever was going on was definitely supernatural, and he needed to look into it. But the songs were all so Dean-like, and it only happened in the Impala. To check, he borrowed a car from someone he had helped, and there were no unusual songs at all, even when he drove it all the way to North Carolina to look for a Woman in White in Jamestown. Dean’s music in Dean’s car. Sam couldn’t bring himself to investigate too closely. And he didn’t mention it to any of his contacts for fear they would tell him something he really didn’t want to hear.
It was supposed to be just a simple banishing. A poltergeist had driven a family out of their home, and Sam was going to get rid of the annoying spirit for them. Things went far from smoothly, though, and after dodging flying knick-knacks, a lamp, and a whole set of kitchen knives – mostly successfully – Sam ended up getting thrown through a wall. An exterior wall. On the second floor.
Sam regained consciousness in the azaleas by the back porch sometime later. He had no idea how long he had be out, but he was pretty sure he had some broken ribs to go along with the doozy of a concussion. Other than that, he couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. Just that it was bad.
He managed to half stumble, half crawl back to the Impala, and it started up with no trouble. Never Say Die blared out of the speakers before the volume dropped to just loud enough to be heard while still soft enough to keep from sending pain spiking through his skull. Sam blinked over and over, trying to get the road’s double yellow lines to stay in focus. The last thing he remembered was a dark shape looming ahead of the car and the whole world fading into darkness.
The next thing he knew, Sam woke up to the beeps and hisses of a medical monitor and ventilator. It took awhile to find out what had happened – the hospital staff needed to know what he remembered before they would add anything to the story – but eventually he found out that he had been found just outside the Emergency Room, unconscious and in the Impala. The car’s horn appeared to be stuck on – although it stopped as soon as a nurse opened the driver side door to check on Sam – and that was what had caught the attention of the ER staff in the first place. Even stranger than the horn was the fact that they could find no sign of a key in the ignition or anywhere in the car. Sam’s keychain – with the Impala’s key – was in the pocket of his jeans when they were removed in the ER.
A week later, the doctors decided Sam was recovered enough to be released from the hospital. Their only concern was that he would be leaving alone, with no one to take care of him. Sam just smiled as he assured them he would be meeting up with his brother very soon, and that Dean would take the very best care of his little brother. Always had and always would. As usual, Sam’s puppy dog eyes and trust-building smile were enough to convince the doctor, and soon an orderly led him out to the parking deck where the Impala had been since Sam’s admittance.
Sam gingerly folded himself into the driver’s seat and waved at the orderly as he closed the door. He stuck the key in the ignition, but did not turn it. Instead he let go of it and place his hand in his lap.
“Dean?”
The engine roared to life before settling into its familiar purr. Sam smiled as he pulled out of the parking space to the opening bars of Back in Business. He had only told the doctors the truth. Dean would always be around to take care of him.