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Apr. 10th, 2007 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adiva_calandiaPartly for Star, partly for Sophie, lots for Aspen (Happy birthday!) and Lynne.
This is way longer than I expected it to be.
They'd rolled into the town as the sun was getting low in the sky, glaring off the icy road, and the gas was getting low in the tank. The first gas station they came to was a slick affair complete with 24/7 snack shop.
"Shit," muttered Dean as he flopped back into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him. "Whose bright idea was coming to North Dakota in December?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yours, dumbass. You're the one who wanted to check out the mysterious weeping religious icons in Minnesota."
"You agreed with me!"
"Only after you wouldn't listen to me insisting that nothing ever happens in Minnesota."
"Whatever." Dean blew on his hands and cast a glance towards the snack shop. "I'm gonna go grab sandwiches while the tank fills up. You want something?"
"Yeah, whatever they've got. Hey, leave the keys so I can keep the heater on."
"Yeah, sure." He patted the keys still in the inigtion, then slid out of the car and dashed across the parking lot. Sam shook his head -- it wasn't that much colder out than it got in Kansas in the winters -- and put his hands over the vents, savoring the heat.
Another car pulled up on the other side of the pumps, and Sam glanced over, sizing it and its driver up automatically. Black, some kind of classic, Dean would know; the driver was dressed stylishly, with no coat, and wraparound sunglasses. Sam mentally shrugged and squinted into the sun, looking for Dean's return.
And did a doubletake.
The driver of the other car had the window rolled down and was tapping his fingers impatiently on the edge of the door.
What's he waiting for? Service? Sam wondered. He doesn't look cold.
That was enough to set off red flags, or at least yellow ones. He kept the driver in his peripheral vision and looked for Dean again.
And then the other driver said, audibly, if muffled by the Impala's windows, "Ah. Right," and drove off east, without ever having gotten out of his car or touched the gas pump. Sam watched him drive out of sight in the rearview mirror.
He jumped when Dean tapped on the window and gestured toward the door with one of the bottles in his hand. He leaned over and opened the door.
"What's got you so jumpy?" asked Dean as he sat down and passed Sam a sandwich and a soda.
"Weird guy who pulled up." Sam nodded towards the pumps.
Dean's focus sharpened noticeably. "Weird how?"
"Just . . . weird. Not really suspicious weird, I guess, just . . ." He shook his head. "He went east."
"Think we should follow him?" Dean sounded dubious; Sam knew how much he wanted to get west, out of the cold of the midwest.
"Nah. Probably nothing."
"If you say so. Hey, put on some music while I pay."
Sam blinked at him, then shrugged. "Okay." Dean slammed the door; Sam picked up the box of tapes and started pawing through it. The sun had gotten even lower, and was shining almost directly in his eyes, so that he couldn't see what the tapes were. Finally, he picked something that looked decent -- as decent as Dean's music collection got -- and slid the tape in just as Dean got back into the car. Dean cranked up the volume, picking up his soda.
Brief silence, besides speaker hiss, then--
Here we are
Born to be kings
We're the princes of the universe!
Here we belong--
The brothers stared.
Fighting to survive
In a war with the darkest powers, elaborated Freddie Mercury.
". . . What the hell is this," asked Sam, over the synthesizer.
"I was gonna ask you that."
"I think it's Queen."
"Why'd you ask me what it is if you knew?"
"It was rhetorical!"
"Whatever, college boy."
"Why do you have Queen?"
And here we are, interrupted Freddie, We're the princes of the universe!
Dean gave Sam a suspicious look and ejected the tape. "See, this is why the driver picks the music."
"Asshole."
Dean grabbed another tape and put it in.
--my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come throooough--
Sam suppressed a snicker.
". . . The hell."
Another tape.
--xtraordinarily nice
She's a killer queen--
"The fuck did you do to my tapes?"
"I didn't do anything!"
"Then why the fuck do I have nothing but Queen!"
"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."
"Fine." He ejected the tape. "We'll drive without music, then."
"No way," Sam said instantly. "Last time we drove without music, you fell asleep."
Dean glowered and started to deny it. Sam pointed to the tiny ding in the driver's seat window from the incident in question. Dean subsided and glowered some more.
"Whatever."
"Music it is, then." Sam grabbed a tape, scrutinized the label -- Metallica -- and put it in.
Oooh you gonna take me home tonight
"Hey, this isn't so bad."
"Bite me, bitch."
Sam leaned back, hands behind his head, and warbled, "Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round!"
Dean gunned the engine to drown out the sound, and they continued west.
Somewhere east of them, A. J. Crowley put Vivaldi's Four Seasons into the tapedeck, and blinked at it in mild surprise when it was, in fact, (Don't Fear) The Reaper.
"That seems excessive," he said.
After a little while, he shook his head and added, "Needs more cowbell."
Fin.
This is way longer than I expected it to be.
They'd rolled into the town as the sun was getting low in the sky, glaring off the icy road, and the gas was getting low in the tank. The first gas station they came to was a slick affair complete with 24/7 snack shop.
"Shit," muttered Dean as he flopped back into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him. "Whose bright idea was coming to North Dakota in December?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yours, dumbass. You're the one who wanted to check out the mysterious weeping religious icons in Minnesota."
"You agreed with me!"
"Only after you wouldn't listen to me insisting that nothing ever happens in Minnesota."
"Whatever." Dean blew on his hands and cast a glance towards the snack shop. "I'm gonna go grab sandwiches while the tank fills up. You want something?"
"Yeah, whatever they've got. Hey, leave the keys so I can keep the heater on."
"Yeah, sure." He patted the keys still in the inigtion, then slid out of the car and dashed across the parking lot. Sam shook his head -- it wasn't that much colder out than it got in Kansas in the winters -- and put his hands over the vents, savoring the heat.
Another car pulled up on the other side of the pumps, and Sam glanced over, sizing it and its driver up automatically. Black, some kind of classic, Dean would know; the driver was dressed stylishly, with no coat, and wraparound sunglasses. Sam mentally shrugged and squinted into the sun, looking for Dean's return.
And did a doubletake.
The driver of the other car had the window rolled down and was tapping his fingers impatiently on the edge of the door.
What's he waiting for? Service? Sam wondered. He doesn't look cold.
That was enough to set off red flags, or at least yellow ones. He kept the driver in his peripheral vision and looked for Dean again.
And then the other driver said, audibly, if muffled by the Impala's windows, "Ah. Right," and drove off east, without ever having gotten out of his car or touched the gas pump. Sam watched him drive out of sight in the rearview mirror.
He jumped when Dean tapped on the window and gestured toward the door with one of the bottles in his hand. He leaned over and opened the door.
"What's got you so jumpy?" asked Dean as he sat down and passed Sam a sandwich and a soda.
"Weird guy who pulled up." Sam nodded towards the pumps.
Dean's focus sharpened noticeably. "Weird how?"
"Just . . . weird. Not really suspicious weird, I guess, just . . ." He shook his head. "He went east."
"Think we should follow him?" Dean sounded dubious; Sam knew how much he wanted to get west, out of the cold of the midwest.
"Nah. Probably nothing."
"If you say so. Hey, put on some music while I pay."
Sam blinked at him, then shrugged. "Okay." Dean slammed the door; Sam picked up the box of tapes and started pawing through it. The sun had gotten even lower, and was shining almost directly in his eyes, so that he couldn't see what the tapes were. Finally, he picked something that looked decent -- as decent as Dean's music collection got -- and slid the tape in just as Dean got back into the car. Dean cranked up the volume, picking up his soda.
Brief silence, besides speaker hiss, then--
Here we are
Born to be kings
We're the princes of the universe!
Here we belong--
The brothers stared.
Fighting to survive
In a war with the darkest powers, elaborated Freddie Mercury.
". . . What the hell is this," asked Sam, over the synthesizer.
"I was gonna ask you that."
"I think it's Queen."
"Why'd you ask me what it is if you knew?"
"It was rhetorical!"
"Whatever, college boy."
"Why do you have Queen?"
And here we are, interrupted Freddie, We're the princes of the universe!
Dean gave Sam a suspicious look and ejected the tape. "See, this is why the driver picks the music."
"Asshole."
Dean grabbed another tape and put it in.
--my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come throooough--
Sam suppressed a snicker.
". . . The hell."
Another tape.
--xtraordinarily nice
She's a killer queen--
"The fuck did you do to my tapes?"
"I didn't do anything!"
"Then why the fuck do I have nothing but Queen!"
"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."
"Fine." He ejected the tape. "We'll drive without music, then."
"No way," Sam said instantly. "Last time we drove without music, you fell asleep."
Dean glowered and started to deny it. Sam pointed to the tiny ding in the driver's seat window from the incident in question. Dean subsided and glowered some more.
"Whatever."
"Music it is, then." Sam grabbed a tape, scrutinized the label -- Metallica -- and put it in.
Oooh you gonna take me home tonight
"Hey, this isn't so bad."
"Bite me, bitch."
Sam leaned back, hands behind his head, and warbled, "Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round!"
Dean gunned the engine to drown out the sound, and they continued west.
Somewhere east of them, A. J. Crowley put Vivaldi's Four Seasons into the tapedeck, and blinked at it in mild surprise when it was, in fact, (Don't Fear) The Reaper.
"That seems excessive," he said.
After a little while, he shook his head and added, "Needs more cowbell."
