LAS Challenge #12

[glasslogic]

Story Title: Never Ending, U.S.A.  (LAS Prompt #12 -  Never Ending [insert word])
Name: glasslogic
Characters: Sam, Dean
Disclaimer: I have no rights to any of the copyrighted characters/material in this fic, and I make no profit from it.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Warnings/Spoilers: Character death, allusions to past trauma. No real spoilers, or set any specific place in the SPN canon timeline.

This story is for the SPN Last Author Standing challenge, one prompt a week, one story per prompt, one author voted off each cycle until only one is left. Stories must be between 100 - 1000 words. No betas allowed, voting is completely blind.


“Toad Suck, Deadhorse, Evermore, Parachute. Can you believe the names of some of these towns?” Dean was grinning. The sunlight glinting off his glass of ice water reflected brightly in his eyes as he ran fingers over the laminated map on their table. “But my favorite has to be Buck Snort. When I retire I want to live there, just so I can have it in my address.”

Sam rolled his eyes, amused despite himself. “I would think you would have been more a fan of Climax.”

Dean was genuinely happy and Sam couldn’t help but be drawn in. Unrelenting stress had taken them near the breaking point, leaving dim recollections of fights, yelling and the constant thrum of fear that had finally led them to ...this place. It had been a good idea to take some time for themselves.

Dean raised a hand to signal the waitress. “Oh, I’m definitely a fan, but I think Monkey’s Eyebrow really says something about a town, you know?”

~~~~~
Sam stood in the dressing room, trying on new jeans that were rich with dye and stiff in a way that would fade at the first wash. In the trifold mirrors his reflection stretched out in infinite copies. He pressed his hand to the glass, watching the mimicry of his duplicates. Something odd about the more distant figures made him squint. Their clothes seemed darker, like they were wet... He jerked his hands free and balled his fists into his pockets, suddenly cold.

“Sam?” His brother’s voice floated down the hallway, distracting him.

“I’m coming.” Sam gave the mirror another hard look, but saw nothing unusual in the glass.

~~~~~
“What do you think about heaven?” Sam asked abruptly, one sunny afternoon. He was slouched shotgun in the Impala. They weren’t heading anywhere particular, just ...driving. Enjoying their break and each other’s company. He wished he could remember whose idea it had been so he would know if he should be congratulating himself or envious that Dean had thought of it first.

He watched his brother’s face as Dean struggled with the question for a moment.

“That’s kind of from left field, isn’t it, Sam? You die and get bumped upstairs or sent down. What’s there to think about?” Something dark rippled under Dean’s expression; something that evoked in Sam images of twisted metal and acrid smoke, air heavy with the iron tang of blood and water that was cold and fast. He was suddenly deeply sorry he had asked.

“What brought that up?” Dean frowned.

Sam turned to look out the window at the golden haze of ripe wheat stretching out across fields. “Don’t worry about it.”

He was aware of Dean’s gaze shifting between him and the road, but all his brother said was, “I’m only worried about lunch. You want to try something new, or go for the diner again?”

~~~~~
The motel was unusual for them. The mattresses were comfortable and the blankets were thick. Water spots didn’t stain the ceiling and the carpet looked almost new. It was a nice place, and they had been staying there for awhile, content. Sam couldn’t remember how long exactly, but it didn’t really matter. As they lay in their beds in the warm darkness of the shared night, Sam could hear the soft ticking of his watch, the occasional car on the street outside, and Dean’s even breathing in the bed a few feet away. That was more important to Sam than all the water stains and lumpy mattresses in the world.

“What do you think happens when you die?”

Dean sighed heavily. Sam heard the rustle of linens as his brother turned over to face him. Sam stayed on his back, imagining he could see stars in the shadows of the ceiling.

“What’s up with you today, man? It’s one weird question after another.”

“I’m just thinking.”

A pillow landed on Sam’s arm. “You’re thinking too loud. We’re on vacation!”

“So you never think about it?” Sam pressed, ignoring a sudden impulse to drop the matter.

He could hear the indulgence in Dean’s voice when he answered, and the love. “I don’t think anything, Sam. I think ...it just happens, and then you take what you’ve got coming.”

“Like heaven or hell?”

“Seriously, Sam. What’s going on?”

Sam didn’t answer. After a moment Dean caved. “I don’t know. And I’m not wasting my time worrying about it. You shouldn’t either. Whatever happens, you know I’ve got your back.”

Sam thought about that for a few minutes, but the uncertain restlessness he had been feeling all day was still there. “What would you want heaven to be like?”

Dean groaned. “Sleep, Sam. It’s not just for other people.”

“If you were sleeping, you wouldn’t be talking. Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. I guess driving some open road, my baby in her pristine prime, you riding shotgun, lazy afternoons and a warm bed.”

“No girls?” Sam was skeptical.

“They’re in the heaven next door. I think I’d want to catch my breath for awhile before I invited complications. We live a rough life, Sam. I like to think that when we die there would be some time to just ...relax.”

Sam thought that over.

“So you’re idea of heaven is ...kind of like this?”

“Yes, Sam,” Dean answered in overly patient tones. “Kinda like this. Aren’t vacations grand? Can I sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly, something other than sleep still tugging at his mind, niggling for his attention. Something, something... Reflections in broken glass, scarlet on white, the roar of angry waters...

The mattress dipped beside him, and then Dean was there, breaking his concentration.

“It’s cold,” Dean grumbled. “And you’re in a weird mood. I wouldn’t want to wake up and find you gone or something.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said firmly, almost too loud in the darkness. Then with his brother beside him, Sam closed his eyes and finally let it go.