[SPN] A Late Delivery from Avalon, 1/1
Oct. 26th, 2007 12:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianTitle: A Late Delivery from Avalon
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Spoilers: Vague AHBL/season 3
Summary: Dean has a ticket home.
Author’s Notes: Follows The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, Confessions and Lamentations, Passing Through Gethsemane and Moments of Transition. For my Babylon 5 mind challenge.
It was cold out there by the side of the road. Cold, damp and dark. Fog hung heavy in the air and clung to Dean’s clothes and hair. He sneezed, disoriented by his sudden appearance exactly in the place he had disappeared from. He spun in a tight circle, and swore as he realised the Impala must have been towed already. Goddamn Highway Patrol. He kicked at a rock, and headed back down the road, remembering that there was a town less than two miles back.
It was cold and damp and dark, and the fog blurred the world further, so that he seemed to be walking through some crazy-ass dream. Dean wondered if maybe the whole thing was a dream. Had he died? Actually, really, died? Cuz he was pretty sure that was what had happened, but thinking about it now, it seemed a little too freaky. Talking hell hounds? A waiting room with limp-leaved plants and scuffed linoleum, the coffee table filled with out-of-date magazines? What the hell was that about?
It was cold and damp and dark, and Dean rubbed a hand up and down his arm, wishing that he hadn’t given his jacket to Jo. The lights of the town suddenly became visible, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, starting to jog towards them. Please, God, let there be a diner. A diner with coffee and food and a phone. He had left his cell in the car. Good thing he kept his wallet in his pocket.
Two cups of coffee and a slice of pie later, Dean ambled towards the payphone, shoved in a quarter, and dialled Sam’s number. Which was, according to the recorded voice, out of service. Huh. He must have misdialled. He tried again, digging into his jeans’ pockets for more change. Still out of service. Confused, and not a little worried, Dean tried Bobby’s number instead, and was relieved when the phone was picked up and he recognised Bobby’s gruff voice.
“Hey, Bobby, it’s Dean.”
There was a silence. Long and drawn out. Dean realised that since he had driven off that day to die, Bobby might be a little taken aback to hear from him. He grinned. Man, he couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when he turned up.
“Dean?”
“Yeah. Look, that whole sacrificing my soul to the devil thing didn’t work out quite like I planned.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Oh, hey – Sam’s OK, though, right?”
“Sam’s fine.”
“Great. Look, Bobby, someone’s already towed my car. I’m in—” Dean craned his neck, trying to find some identifying sign from the vantage point of the phone booth, “Cranston. It’s, uh, a coupla hundred miles away from you. Can you have Sam come get me? Actually, screw that; can I talk to him?”
“Sam’s not here right now, Dean. Any chance you can get here yourself?”
“Oh, come on! I just died! Doesn’t that get some kind of preferential treatment? I went to hell.”
“Hell?”
Dean sighed. “OK, not actually hell. It was… I don’t know what it was. Weird. There’s also the possibility that I may have dreamt it all. Whatever. Seriously, man, I don’t want to hitch my way back to you guys.”
“Get your ass here, Dean.” The phone line went dead. Dean stared at phone, taken aback, and then increasingly worried. Sam. It had to be Sam. Something must have happened. Shit. Shit. If Sam had done something stupid because he thought Dean was dead, Dean was going to kill him. Kill him dead. And not some frouffy hanging-around-reading-old-copies-of-People dead. Actual lying-in-the-ground dead. Visions of Sam lying dead in the mud flew through his mind, and Dean relented. OK. Fine. But he was going to kick his brother’s girly ass.
It took nearly seven hours for him to hitch his way to Bobby’s yard, and the sun had risen, gilding the countryside with a soft, warm glow that seemed to push memories of death and bureaucracy even further into the realm of imagination. Dean had spent the last hour wedged against a door, body twisted like the proverbial pretzel, and after walking another half an hour to finally get to Bobby’s he was in a lousy mood. He was cold. He was hungry. He was pissed off that no-one had come to get him – when he was, to all intents and purposes, a returning hero – and pissed off that Sam had apparently gone insane - or something like it, presumably – in the short space of time between Dean’s departure and his reappearance.
He slowly climbed the steps up Bobby’s porch, and had just raised his hand to knock on the door, when it opened, and he was the less-than-grateful recipient of a face-full of water. Bobby stood in the doorway, unmoving, an empty pitcher in his hand.
Dean spluttered, and swiped the water away furiously. “What the fuck?” He received no answer, and began stripping out of his saturated shirt. “Seriously, Bobby, what the fuck? You make me hitch-hike my way back from some tiny town in the back of nowhere. I am cold. I am hungry. I am now fucking soaking. I am not in the mood for whatever stupid pranks Sammy put you up to because he’s pissed off at me.”
“You died,” said Bobby, heavily, as if Dean hadn’t been aware of that himself. Dean flashed him a grin.
“Yeah.They loved me up there. Seriously, dude, there was this one chick, I thought she was gonna, you know, just by talking to me.”
“You died.” Dean flapped a hand.
“Yeah, didn’t take. There was this thing, and some forms, and… y’know, I’m really not sure what happened any more. Bobby?”
“Yeah?”
“Firstly, I’m really not in the mood for all this. Secondly, why did you throw holy water over me?” Dean’s voice was serious now, his gaze level as he looked at Bobby. He stood tall on the porch, his jeans muddy, the damp plaid shirt in one hand, lines of fatigue creasing his face. Bobby scrubbed a hand through his hair, and looked away.
“Dean…” Whatever he might have said was torn away as a familiar car raced up to the house and pulled to a brutal stop, fishtailing slightly in the gravel. Dean flinched, and jogged down the steps.
“Dude! Have some respect for her!” He cast a brief glance in Sam’s direction as his brother leapt out of the car, then ran one hand along the front of the car. “Crap, Sam, when did she get so dusty? What did those Highway Patrol guys do to her?”
“Bobby?” Dean looked up from the slightly scratched passenger door panel to see Sam, edge towards the house, his gaze not moving from Dean. “Is he…?” Sam was standing at the bottom of the steps now, and Dean watched as Bobby reached out a hand, clasped Sam on the shoulder.
“I think that’s him, Sam.” It was almost painful to watch Sam’s expression change, to see wariness and pain turn to hope and relief and a blazing joy. Dean had barely opened his mouth to speak when Sam reached him in three giant steps, and enveloped Dean in the kind of hug he hadn’t had since… well, the kind of hug he’d never had. He patted Sam on the back, then gave in and hugged back fiercely. This wasn’t an expression of grief, or mourning the loss to come, as their last encounter had been. This was love, and hope, and faith.
“Dude,” said Dean roughly, “you are such a girl.”
“’M not,” denied Sam, stepping back but never fully letting go. “It’s just… damn, Dean, it’s been…” Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“I know. I’m sorry, Sammy. But hey, it was only a day, right?” He grinned, because he was no longer facing down a year’s sentence, and Sam was okay, and they were young and free and, yeah, Sam was kind of weird-looking, but Dean was hot. But Sam didn’t grin back, and his hands fell away.
“A day?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I got taken off by hell hounds – and wait until I tell you about those guys, cuz, man, you won’t believe it – and then sat around for a bit and then…” He trailed off, taking in Sam’s expression, and Sam’s face, and the scratches on the passenger door, which hadn’t been caused by Highway Patrol. “It’s been longer than a day, hasn’t it?” Sam nodded, mute.
“Been a while,” put in Bobby.
“How much of a while, Bobby? Are we talking, like, a week, or has America colonized the moon?”
“It’s been five years, Dean,” said Sam, his voice low.
“Fi… No way.”
“Dean…”
“It hasn’t been five years.”
“Yeah, Dean, it really has.” Dean pulled a face, his disgust plain.
“Hell, Sam, d’you know what this means?”
Sam looked at him blankly. His brother was back. What else could there be? “Er, no?”
“How old are you?”
“What? Thirty? Wh--? Oh, man.”
“Shut up.”
“Dean.”
“If you want to live another day, you will not say another word.”
“I’m totally the big brother.”
“Sammy, I’m warning you…”
“Hell, little brother, what’re you going to do?”
“Bitch.”
Instead of the expected “jerk,” Sam reached forward and pulled Dean into another embrace. He had been gone for five years, and right now Sam wasn’t going to spend a minute more of their new-found time trading insults. Maybe later. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having his brother back, relish in the feel of warmth and strength under his hands.
“I’m still the big brother.” So, that moment was over.
“In your dreams, Dean. You’re a midget who’s a year younger than I am. It’s tough, but you’ve got to come to terms with it.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m here to help. Counselling, whatever it takes.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“I love you, Dean.”
“Love you too, dude. Even if you are a girl.”
“Whatever.”
“And younger.”
“Get over it.”
“Bite me.”
Author:
chaletianFandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Spoilers: Vague AHBL/season 3
Summary: Dean has a ticket home.
Author’s Notes: Follows The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, Confessions and Lamentations, Passing Through Gethsemane and Moments of Transition. For my Babylon 5 mind challenge.
It was cold out there by the side of the road. Cold, damp and dark. Fog hung heavy in the air and clung to Dean’s clothes and hair. He sneezed, disoriented by his sudden appearance exactly in the place he had disappeared from. He spun in a tight circle, and swore as he realised the Impala must have been towed already. Goddamn Highway Patrol. He kicked at a rock, and headed back down the road, remembering that there was a town less than two miles back.
It was cold and damp and dark, and the fog blurred the world further, so that he seemed to be walking through some crazy-ass dream. Dean wondered if maybe the whole thing was a dream. Had he died? Actually, really, died? Cuz he was pretty sure that was what had happened, but thinking about it now, it seemed a little too freaky. Talking hell hounds? A waiting room with limp-leaved plants and scuffed linoleum, the coffee table filled with out-of-date magazines? What the hell was that about?
It was cold and damp and dark, and Dean rubbed a hand up and down his arm, wishing that he hadn’t given his jacket to Jo. The lights of the town suddenly became visible, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, starting to jog towards them. Please, God, let there be a diner. A diner with coffee and food and a phone. He had left his cell in the car. Good thing he kept his wallet in his pocket.
Two cups of coffee and a slice of pie later, Dean ambled towards the payphone, shoved in a quarter, and dialled Sam’s number. Which was, according to the recorded voice, out of service. Huh. He must have misdialled. He tried again, digging into his jeans’ pockets for more change. Still out of service. Confused, and not a little worried, Dean tried Bobby’s number instead, and was relieved when the phone was picked up and he recognised Bobby’s gruff voice.
“Hey, Bobby, it’s Dean.”
There was a silence. Long and drawn out. Dean realised that since he had driven off that day to die, Bobby might be a little taken aback to hear from him. He grinned. Man, he couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when he turned up.
“Dean?”
“Yeah. Look, that whole sacrificing my soul to the devil thing didn’t work out quite like I planned.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Oh, hey – Sam’s OK, though, right?”
“Sam’s fine.”
“Great. Look, Bobby, someone’s already towed my car. I’m in—” Dean craned his neck, trying to find some identifying sign from the vantage point of the phone booth, “Cranston. It’s, uh, a coupla hundred miles away from you. Can you have Sam come get me? Actually, screw that; can I talk to him?”
“Sam’s not here right now, Dean. Any chance you can get here yourself?”
“Oh, come on! I just died! Doesn’t that get some kind of preferential treatment? I went to hell.”
“Hell?”
Dean sighed. “OK, not actually hell. It was… I don’t know what it was. Weird. There’s also the possibility that I may have dreamt it all. Whatever. Seriously, man, I don’t want to hitch my way back to you guys.”
“Get your ass here, Dean.” The phone line went dead. Dean stared at phone, taken aback, and then increasingly worried. Sam. It had to be Sam. Something must have happened. Shit. Shit. If Sam had done something stupid because he thought Dean was dead, Dean was going to kill him. Kill him dead. And not some frouffy hanging-around-reading-old-copies-of-People dead. Actual lying-in-the-ground dead. Visions of Sam lying dead in the mud flew through his mind, and Dean relented. OK. Fine. But he was going to kick his brother’s girly ass.
It took nearly seven hours for him to hitch his way to Bobby’s yard, and the sun had risen, gilding the countryside with a soft, warm glow that seemed to push memories of death and bureaucracy even further into the realm of imagination. Dean had spent the last hour wedged against a door, body twisted like the proverbial pretzel, and after walking another half an hour to finally get to Bobby’s he was in a lousy mood. He was cold. He was hungry. He was pissed off that no-one had come to get him – when he was, to all intents and purposes, a returning hero – and pissed off that Sam had apparently gone insane - or something like it, presumably – in the short space of time between Dean’s departure and his reappearance.
He slowly climbed the steps up Bobby’s porch, and had just raised his hand to knock on the door, when it opened, and he was the less-than-grateful recipient of a face-full of water. Bobby stood in the doorway, unmoving, an empty pitcher in his hand.
Dean spluttered, and swiped the water away furiously. “What the fuck?” He received no answer, and began stripping out of his saturated shirt. “Seriously, Bobby, what the fuck? You make me hitch-hike my way back from some tiny town in the back of nowhere. I am cold. I am hungry. I am now fucking soaking. I am not in the mood for whatever stupid pranks Sammy put you up to because he’s pissed off at me.”
“You died,” said Bobby, heavily, as if Dean hadn’t been aware of that himself. Dean flashed him a grin.
“Yeah.They loved me up there. Seriously, dude, there was this one chick, I thought she was gonna, you know, just by talking to me.”
“You died.” Dean flapped a hand.
“Yeah, didn’t take. There was this thing, and some forms, and… y’know, I’m really not sure what happened any more. Bobby?”
“Yeah?”
“Firstly, I’m really not in the mood for all this. Secondly, why did you throw holy water over me?” Dean’s voice was serious now, his gaze level as he looked at Bobby. He stood tall on the porch, his jeans muddy, the damp plaid shirt in one hand, lines of fatigue creasing his face. Bobby scrubbed a hand through his hair, and looked away.
“Dean…” Whatever he might have said was torn away as a familiar car raced up to the house and pulled to a brutal stop, fishtailing slightly in the gravel. Dean flinched, and jogged down the steps.
“Dude! Have some respect for her!” He cast a brief glance in Sam’s direction as his brother leapt out of the car, then ran one hand along the front of the car. “Crap, Sam, when did she get so dusty? What did those Highway Patrol guys do to her?”
“Bobby?” Dean looked up from the slightly scratched passenger door panel to see Sam, edge towards the house, his gaze not moving from Dean. “Is he…?” Sam was standing at the bottom of the steps now, and Dean watched as Bobby reached out a hand, clasped Sam on the shoulder.
“I think that’s him, Sam.” It was almost painful to watch Sam’s expression change, to see wariness and pain turn to hope and relief and a blazing joy. Dean had barely opened his mouth to speak when Sam reached him in three giant steps, and enveloped Dean in the kind of hug he hadn’t had since… well, the kind of hug he’d never had. He patted Sam on the back, then gave in and hugged back fiercely. This wasn’t an expression of grief, or mourning the loss to come, as their last encounter had been. This was love, and hope, and faith.
“Dude,” said Dean roughly, “you are such a girl.”
“’M not,” denied Sam, stepping back but never fully letting go. “It’s just… damn, Dean, it’s been…” Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“I know. I’m sorry, Sammy. But hey, it was only a day, right?” He grinned, because he was no longer facing down a year’s sentence, and Sam was okay, and they were young and free and, yeah, Sam was kind of weird-looking, but Dean was hot. But Sam didn’t grin back, and his hands fell away.
“A day?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I got taken off by hell hounds – and wait until I tell you about those guys, cuz, man, you won’t believe it – and then sat around for a bit and then…” He trailed off, taking in Sam’s expression, and Sam’s face, and the scratches on the passenger door, which hadn’t been caused by Highway Patrol. “It’s been longer than a day, hasn’t it?” Sam nodded, mute.
“Been a while,” put in Bobby.
“How much of a while, Bobby? Are we talking, like, a week, or has America colonized the moon?”
“It’s been five years, Dean,” said Sam, his voice low.
“Fi… No way.”
“Dean…”
“It hasn’t been five years.”
“Yeah, Dean, it really has.” Dean pulled a face, his disgust plain.
“Hell, Sam, d’you know what this means?”
Sam looked at him blankly. His brother was back. What else could there be? “Er, no?”
“How old are you?”
“What? Thirty? Wh--? Oh, man.”
“Shut up.”
“Dean.”
“If you want to live another day, you will not say another word.”
“I’m totally the big brother.”
“Sammy, I’m warning you…”
“Hell, little brother, what’re you going to do?”
“Bitch.”
Instead of the expected “jerk,” Sam reached forward and pulled Dean into another embrace. He had been gone for five years, and right now Sam wasn’t going to spend a minute more of their new-found time trading insults. Maybe later. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having his brother back, relish in the feel of warmth and strength under his hands.
“I’m still the big brother.” So, that moment was over.
“In your dreams, Dean. You’re a midget who’s a year younger than I am. It’s tough, but you’ve got to come to terms with it.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m here to help. Counselling, whatever it takes.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“I love you, Dean.”
“Love you too, dude. Even if you are a girl.”
“Whatever.”
“And younger.”
“Get over it.”
“Bite me.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 11:50 am (UTC)“I’m totally the big brother.” - LMAO!! Perfect.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 11:58 am (UTC)And Sammy's going to make the very most of being the big brother now, isn't he? lol
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 12:00 pm (UTC)But sometimes I want to have a bit of substance too, and it never seems to happen. Alas for my shallow writing. *sighs*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 12:08 pm (UTC)Also Dean as baby brother is kind of great.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 12:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 01:55 am (UTC)Thanks for spreading that joy and bringing forward some hope in this delightful story.
Whee!
Date: 2007-10-27 04:29 am (UTC)So now we just need a nice follow up, maybe some mellow angst or a little shmoop or both, since, yanno, five years ... and scratches on the Impala ... *G*
Lovely, lovely, and such a treat after the tumult of last night's episode. Good on ya!
Cheers ~
Erin
no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 08:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 01:18 pm (UTC)"Didn't take."
Best. Line. Ever. ROTFLMAO!
I think I may love you.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-28 03:40 am (UTC)Favorite lines:
“Yeah. Look, that whole sacrificing my soul to the devil thing didn’t work out quite like I planned.”
*g*
the sun had risen, gilding the countryside with a soft, warm glow
Lovely description.
“Yeah, didn’t take. There was this thing, and some forms, and… y’know, I’m really not sure what happened any more.
LOL! I love his vague, confused explanation.
Dean had barely opened his mouth to speak when Sam reached him in three giant steps, and enveloped Dean in the kind of hug he hadn’t had since… well, the kind of hug he’d never had
Aww. :)
This wasn’t an expression of grief, or mourning the loss to come, as their last encounter had been. This was love, and hope, and faith.
Oh, boys. :)
“How much of a while, Bobby? Are we talking, like, a week, or has America colonized the moon?”
*g*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 01:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 02:29 pm (UTC)I've mentioned before how much I love this series, right? Cause I do.