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Now and Zen

Title: Now and Zen
Author:  ferrous_wheeler
Rating:  I dunno, pg?
Word Count: 1,600 ish
Warnings: None. Pretty tame really. I suppose, maybe suicidal thoughts, and that's it.

Summary:Driving long miles in a car can be incredibly dull and boring, but that's never a problem for the Winchesters. Tag, sort of, to 6.12 Like A Virgin. Just a bit of pointless character study, really. Actually I wrote and posted this on ff.net a while ago and wanted to post it here, decided I didn't like my original and reworked it. Bett, but... meh... Reviews always welcomed!

Now and Zen

A/N – Had this idea while I was driving along, kind of zoning out to the radio and thought that with all the driving Sam and Dean do they'd likely have that happen too, except with the Winchesters of course things never go smoothly. Hopefully it isn't total crap.

 It was dark. The dim, blended shapes of trees passed in an endless parade of shadows, broken only by larger, vast blocks of black that seemed to stretch out forever. Where they went, he really didn’t care; maybe sometime it may become important, but not here, not now. The nonstop hum of the asphalt beneath his baby’s tires was soothing as he idly noticed the sign letting him know in its oh so helpful way that his exit was coming up in two miles.

He was warm, comfortable, the seat moulding to him in a way only possible with years of familiarity. The music was quietly flowing from the radio and he felt... at peace, or at least as close to it as he was going to get, and it occurred to him that he was happiest just like this, on the road, driving, with everything as it should be.

The exit appeared and he eased the car smoothly towards its destination as if he was going someplace that he had been many, many times before. Hugging the curve the big black car merged onto the larger highway, the light traffic not slowing it down at all.

Pressing down a bit harder to get past a slow moving truck, his thoughts flowed back in time. He remembered being huddled in the back seat with Sam, in various sizes – sleeping, eating, laughing, fighting... bleeding... Briefly flicking his eyes to the passenger seat, he tore his mind away from the memories of mud and blood and turned the radio down a notch to tone down the liquid metal wail of electric guitars from the tinny speakers.

A billboard flashed by advertising ‘Becky’s Diner - Home of The Better Bagel’ and apparently hugely bosomed waitresses if the picture was anything to go by. His gaze wandered to the rearview mirror and a slow lascivious grin crossed his face as other memories of blondes, brunettes, redheads and the wonders of a wide backseat made him tingle in places....

Beeeeeeeeppppp!!!!!

A crappy green Saturn cut him off before rocketing down the fast lane. Strong, calloused hands easily calmed his baby’s somewhat abrupt swerving even as he silently cursed the driver and grimly smirked as he entertained several, creative forms of revenge, only to reluctantly discard them as the streak of ruby taillights faded to blend with the night.

A vague snuffle and a cough came from the dark haired body slumped awkwardly in the passenger seat beside him and he smiled fondly. At least someone could sleep... and sleep... and sleep. Christ, since he’d been re-souled, the kid had fallen so hard that he’d had to roust him and practically pour him in the car to get to their next gig.

His stomach gurgled and he pawed through the pile of crumpled wrappers on the seat next to him, disappointed when he only came back with something sticky on his fingers. Peanut butter. Oh well, better than nothing, but it didn’t do anything to ease the gnawing hollowness in his gut. He was just thinking that maybe he would just have to take a turn off for the diner and its possibly pneumatic wait-staff when an odd pitch to the now rumbling growls coming from the radio, caught his ear.

The high oscillating whine had nothing to do with the pulsing rhythm and everything to do with the blinking lights he could just make out a short distance behind him. It was past the middle of the night, the road quiet with nothing between him and the rapidly approaching cruiser... make that cruisers. He swallowed as he counted three, no four, sets of strobing blue and red lights coming up rapidly on his tail. Nonononono this was not happening.

His eyes cut briefly to his deeply sleeping passenger as he weighed his options. He wasn’t wanted for anything at the moment that he was aware of, but Sam... He couldn’t take any chances.

Easing his .45 out from where he’d jammed it in the fold of the seat, he breathed deeply as he weighed his options.

The straight, flat stretch of highway had no exits in sight and unless he wanted to play hide and seek with a bunch of practically invisible in the dark, huge goddamn trees, off-roading was out even if the Impala could make it over the rough terrain. The Impala had speed, but this was Montana where the cop cars were super-charged and was that the tell-tale searchlight of a helicopter he could see just ahead?

His heart hammered in beat with the approaching headlights. No way would they take them; no way he would let somebody stick Sammy in a cage again - for any reason.

There were what, one or two cops per car, so four to eight trained armed men to get past, all he had to do was distract them long enough for Sam to get away... A loud snore erupted from Sam as he twisted and shifted to a more comfortable position... They were so screwed.

He fought the urge to laugh. After all that had happened, all the blood and pain and death... No more.

He reached out to shake his lightly snoring brother awake and stopped, hand hovering just over his shoulder. Even asleep he could see the difference in Sam’s face now that his soul was back where it belonged. It was worn, jaded, and a little bit faded sure, but it was his little bro, the center of his universe and nothing, nothing, would split them apart again. If this went down the way that he feared maybe it would be better if he didn’t wake up. Sam had done enough, they’d both done enough. He’d make sure it was quick.

Dropping his hand his fingers found purchase on the well worn grip of his gun; its cool, worn metal a comfort as he cocked it and shifted it to his lap. The trees, which had been potentially menacing, now in their form and bulk offered him the ultimate escape. There were plenty to pick from and he would not miss.

Decision made, pulse and respiration evened out as the lead-most police car drew even with his back bumper…

Sam muttered, coat rustling as he shifted awkwardly in his sleep.

He couldn’t do it.

The first cruiser sped forward, creeping up on his side of the car until he could see the sandy hair and pale moustache of the officer as he turned his head to stare at him as he swept past.

Dean could barely breathe.

In a sucking vortex of air the remaining cruisers flashed past, rocking the Impala slightly with their passing, backlights streaking off into the distance.

“Shit.”

Gently easing the hammer back down on his gun he tucked it back onto the seat beside him and rubbed a shaking hand through his hair and down his face. Where they were going he didn’t care so long as it was away from him, but just in case he checked his speed to give nobody any reason to take a second look at them.

As the harsh wails of the sirens became fainter until they abruptly stopped, the annoying radio tire jingle now blaring cheerily from the radio barely filtered past the thudding echo of his heart.

Cresting a shallow rise he had to slam on the brakes at the cop cars splayed across the road and helicopter hovering directly over the roadway. Throwing an arm out to halt his out for the count brother from sliding into a tangled heap in the wheel-well, a smile grew across his face and he resisted the urge to laugh.

There in the middle of the road was a sight he would treasure for a long, long while: all the cops were out of their cars pointing their guns at a snarling man caught in the beam of the helicopter, yelling and swearing until tackled by one of the men in uniform and there, just behind him, forlorn and doors askew, was his crappy green Saturn.

Edging his way past, waved on by a pissed off cop who looked sorry to have missed all the action, he eased his way back onto the road, gradually giving gas until the scene became a dim blur of moving dots and then nothing at all.

Cracking his window open, he let the almost stingingly cool air wash over his face, tangling through his hair, clearing his thoughts. Not so mellow notes crooned through the speakers and he again felt the hum of the open road, on his way to somewhere, as it should be, with his brother by his side.

“D’n?” Bleary eyes looked at him through long shaggy hair. “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. ‘Nother hour.” He took a careful look at the younger hunter’s still tired face. Being awake for a year took a toll. “Go back to sleep, Sam. I’ll wake you up when we stop for food.”

“’Kay.” Squirming back against the door Sam drifted off again.

Dean smiled. Yeah, sometimes life was good.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
brokenhighways
Jan. 29th, 2015 11:18 am (UTC)
This is really sweet! I think that you captured Dean’s thoughts and feelings for Sam very well, and the subtle descriptions and actions (like Dean rummaging through the wrappers) really set the scene wonderfully. You are a great writer! :D

I especially liked this part: No way would they take them; no way he would let somebody stick Sammy in a cage again - for any reason. - Aww!

And of course, overall, I enjoyed all of it ;)
ferrous_wheeler
Jan. 30th, 2015 12:10 am (UTC)
Thank-you! You really are sweet *hugs*, and I'm so glad that you liked it! Writing is tough for me, and it's good to know that the story came out okay :)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )