Heaven Can Wait Update
Jun. 11th, 2006 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mf_luder_xfMore Heaven Can Wait that had this one sentence that was just kicking my ass today, so it's posted several hours later than planned, but it's only 10:49 and thus posted in the same day still.
Also, a version of the artwork I made for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
siberian_skys' birthday.
CHAPTER 4
Sam drove down the interstate, still shaking. His hands visibly trembled on the steering wheel of his SUV and the random thought occurred to him that he was glad people had been able to make SUV's more fuel-efficient because he wouldn't know what to do without his Escalade. He let out a nervous snicker at himself.
That had really thrown him, tonight. Sure, he'd noticed the kid before, sitting at his table—how could anyone not? Not with the longish, bleached blond hair, and sheer presence. But...
When Sam had taken Andrew's hand, it was like for a minute, he could see into the kid's soul—and saw Dean. Everything had suddenly shouted Dean! at him. And he knew the kid felt something too. Nothing else would account for his reaction, though he'd certainly recovered in a suave way, much quicker than Sam—another Dean-ish thing. There was nothing to explain that feeling, though. Dean had died almost nineteen years before and Sam didn't believe in reincarnation. Not of the non-demon type.
So he was going to chalk it up to a weird sense of deja-vu and the strange resemblance to his brother. The kid even had the same shade of hazel eyes the elder did. Had, he corrected himself.
He flicked his turn signal and headed off the exit for Lawrence. He drummed out a mindless pattern on the steering wheel, mind having gone on auto-pilot the last few miles home.
Finally, he pulled into the driveway, staring up at his house. The house he couldn't get away from. The house he'd never wanted to leave. Where fire had taken his mother and set him and his family on the path that would lead him to outlive both father and brother. He'd had some work done on it: a new white wash, gray shutters, recreated the garden his mother had left behind.
Instead of walking inside right away, he headed to the single garage he'd had built. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, smelling car wax, dust, and leather. He flipped on the light switch.
The black paint gleamed slightly in the light and he couldn't help smiling at Dean's favorite possession.
“How you doing, girl?” Sam said softly, having picked up Dean's habit of talking to the car since Dean, himself, wasn't there to do it anymore. He walked over, laying a hand flat on her hood, caressing it, unnoticed, as memories flooded through his head.
Dean holding a beer and laughing at some stupid joke Sam had told, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they sat on the hood.
Sam watching the muscles in Dean's back as he steadfastly worked over its engine in the hot afternoon sun.
One very heavy make out session in the middle of nowhere.
Sam grinned and if he tried hard enough, he could still feel the Impala's purr under his back. He opened the car door, loving the squeaky sound his own vehicle never made. He slid into the driver's seat and shut the door again.
Here, the smell was really intense. He'd taken good care of Dean's baby, both in memoriam and because he hadn't wanted the elder Winchester haunting his ass if the Impala rusted. He leaned his head back, turning it enough so his nose touched the vinyl, hoping for some trace of Dean. That never changed, though. The smell of his brother had faded after only three months.
His smile fell as he sat there. About ten years after Dean's death, Sam started having dreams. Not the typical walk-into-school-naked type dreams, and not quite the same as the visions. He would dream of some small town, some person who needed saving, who usually was a pretty girl, some creature that needed hunting. The thing that made it different from his visions was the strong sense that Dean was with him in those moments. Sam fancied it was Dean leading him on the few hunting trips he made, either trying to keep Sam going, or else get Sam laid so he could live vicariously through his younger brother. He laughed, the sound swallowed by the Impala's sheer size. He wouldn't put it past Dean.
And even though he had gotten laid a few times—even inviting one girl to live with him for awhile—it was never anything more than comfort or sex. He'd loved only two people in his life—Jess and Dean. That was the one thing Sam understood about his father: his dedication to their mother.
He missed his father, actually. John had died only a few years before, well into his sixties he was still hunting, not ready to give up. He'd gone out fighting, just like Dean, just like he'd wanted, taking the bastard of a water dragon with him. He left Sam to scatter half of him to the wind, and half to rest beside Mary in their impromptu cemetery in the back yard of the house.
Sam looked up from the dashboard as he felt a coolness seep into his skin. It wrapped around him, then touched his cheek, and vanished in an instant, but he swore he heard the words, “keep faith, Sammy,” as it left. He shuddered, blaming it on his clearly over-active imagination that night.
He rubbed his hands on the steering wheel a few times, then stepped out. He glanced once more at the car.
“I'll give you a bath tomorrow, baby. And don't forget, your tune-up's in just over a month.”
He turned off the light, and made his way to the house, to his bed in Dean's old room.
Interlude 4
Now this artwork has nothing to do with HCW, just what I made. My first SPN collage. I never claimed to be a fantastic artist. LOL And they always turn out grainy when hosted. *growls*
Credits:
dj_43
Peter Bell--A Tale, by William Wordsworth
Blood Brothers, Bruce Springsteen
Also, a version of the artwork I made for
siberian_skys' birthday.CHAPTER 4
Sam drove down the interstate, still shaking. His hands visibly trembled on the steering wheel of his SUV and the random thought occurred to him that he was glad people had been able to make SUV's more fuel-efficient because he wouldn't know what to do without his Escalade. He let out a nervous snicker at himself.
That had really thrown him, tonight. Sure, he'd noticed the kid before, sitting at his table—how could anyone not? Not with the longish, bleached blond hair, and sheer presence. But...
When Sam had taken Andrew's hand, it was like for a minute, he could see into the kid's soul—and saw Dean. Everything had suddenly shouted Dean! at him. And he knew the kid felt something too. Nothing else would account for his reaction, though he'd certainly recovered in a suave way, much quicker than Sam—another Dean-ish thing. There was nothing to explain that feeling, though. Dean had died almost nineteen years before and Sam didn't believe in reincarnation. Not of the non-demon type.
So he was going to chalk it up to a weird sense of deja-vu and the strange resemblance to his brother. The kid even had the same shade of hazel eyes the elder did. Had, he corrected himself.
He flicked his turn signal and headed off the exit for Lawrence. He drummed out a mindless pattern on the steering wheel, mind having gone on auto-pilot the last few miles home.
Finally, he pulled into the driveway, staring up at his house. The house he couldn't get away from. The house he'd never wanted to leave. Where fire had taken his mother and set him and his family on the path that would lead him to outlive both father and brother. He'd had some work done on it: a new white wash, gray shutters, recreated the garden his mother had left behind.
Instead of walking inside right away, he headed to the single garage he'd had built. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, smelling car wax, dust, and leather. He flipped on the light switch.
The black paint gleamed slightly in the light and he couldn't help smiling at Dean's favorite possession.
“How you doing, girl?” Sam said softly, having picked up Dean's habit of talking to the car since Dean, himself, wasn't there to do it anymore. He walked over, laying a hand flat on her hood, caressing it, unnoticed, as memories flooded through his head.
Dean holding a beer and laughing at some stupid joke Sam had told, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they sat on the hood.
Sam watching the muscles in Dean's back as he steadfastly worked over its engine in the hot afternoon sun.
One very heavy make out session in the middle of nowhere.
Sam grinned and if he tried hard enough, he could still feel the Impala's purr under his back. He opened the car door, loving the squeaky sound his own vehicle never made. He slid into the driver's seat and shut the door again.
Here, the smell was really intense. He'd taken good care of Dean's baby, both in memoriam and because he hadn't wanted the elder Winchester haunting his ass if the Impala rusted. He leaned his head back, turning it enough so his nose touched the vinyl, hoping for some trace of Dean. That never changed, though. The smell of his brother had faded after only three months.
His smile fell as he sat there. About ten years after Dean's death, Sam started having dreams. Not the typical walk-into-school-naked type dreams, and not quite the same as the visions. He would dream of some small town, some person who needed saving, who usually was a pretty girl, some creature that needed hunting. The thing that made it different from his visions was the strong sense that Dean was with him in those moments. Sam fancied it was Dean leading him on the few hunting trips he made, either trying to keep Sam going, or else get Sam laid so he could live vicariously through his younger brother. He laughed, the sound swallowed by the Impala's sheer size. He wouldn't put it past Dean.
And even though he had gotten laid a few times—even inviting one girl to live with him for awhile—it was never anything more than comfort or sex. He'd loved only two people in his life—Jess and Dean. That was the one thing Sam understood about his father: his dedication to their mother.
He missed his father, actually. John had died only a few years before, well into his sixties he was still hunting, not ready to give up. He'd gone out fighting, just like Dean, just like he'd wanted, taking the bastard of a water dragon with him. He left Sam to scatter half of him to the wind, and half to rest beside Mary in their impromptu cemetery in the back yard of the house.
Sam looked up from the dashboard as he felt a coolness seep into his skin. It wrapped around him, then touched his cheek, and vanished in an instant, but he swore he heard the words, “keep faith, Sammy,” as it left. He shuddered, blaming it on his clearly over-active imagination that night.
He rubbed his hands on the steering wheel a few times, then stepped out. He glanced once more at the car.
“I'll give you a bath tomorrow, baby. And don't forget, your tune-up's in just over a month.”
He turned off the light, and made his way to the house, to his bed in Dean's old room.
Interlude 4
Now this artwork has nothing to do with HCW, just what I made. My first SPN collage. I never claimed to be a fantastic artist. LOL And they always turn out grainy when hosted. *growls*
Credits:
dj_43Peter Bell--A Tale, by William Wordsworth
Blood Brothers, Bruce Springsteen
