![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Dark On The Ridge (4parts/complete)
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
1
Dark out on the ridge, up by the look-out. So dark not a bit of light showed through the trees, the lights from the dashboard looked like the klieg lights in front of the Odeon, that's how bright they were in the blackness. He could see wet spreading in his palm, the head of Trey's cock pushed across it, and the way it looked made him want to groan. The Wolfman whispered out of the radio, he could just barely hear him over the rasp of their breath. Trey's hand on him made him want to cry, to scream but he kept quiet—it was wrong enough, what they were doing. Wrong but…Trey's hand squeezed, rode up and down his cock and he was seconds from coming, pushed over the edge when Trey came first, moaning into his neck, "I love you, I love you," but he was too afraid to say it back….
"We can go to New York, there are places for people like us there, I know it. Come with me, please?" Trey zipped up, passed his t-shirt over and shrugged his letter jacket back on.
He wiped up the mess with a grimace and balled the messy t-shirt as small and tight as he could, shoved it under Trey's front seat. "I can't just go, what about school, what about my parents…what about yours?"
"Mine? I don’t have any, not any more." Trey laughed, harshly, but there were tears in his voice and that more than anything scared him.
"I—I got a girlfriend, I'm supposed to—Donna said—"
"God—shut up. Just…shut the hell up and get in the car."
Trey drove him back home, and only broke silence when they pulled up in the driveway, begged him one more time to come away with him, told him one more time that he loved him. Tried to kiss him but they were right in front of his parents house, and what if anyone saw? What if anyone saw…?
After that night, he didn't see Trey again.
2
"Haunted road, hunh?" Dean swiped a towel under his armpits and tossed it back through the bathroom door, bent over and dug around in his duffel for a fresh pair of boxers. Bare ass. Sam frowned and concentrated on the screen in front of him.
"Do you have to parade around naked? And yes, looks like." He glanced sideways and Dean was dressed from the waist down at least. He was pulling a t-shirt over his head and it muffled his reply, but Sam was pretty sure he'd said, "Need a band and more than one ass to make it a parade." Something like that.
"Anyway, haunted road. Over the course of a couple of decades, there's been at least one death every few months, cars lose control, spin out—no reason for it."
Dean dropped down to the bed, eyes on Sam, slipped tube socks on and his disreputable boots…Sam grimaced. Dean knew without looking down just what brought that face on. "Shut up. So, what makes this different than a bunch of careless yokels?"
"Because the few people who didn’t die, claim a car shoved them off the road, a car that disappeared afterwards."
Dean shrugged, "Pissed off ghost car? Angry dead driver taking revenge? What?" He dropped back onto his elbows and looked down his nose at Sam, knees spread wide. "We're kind of spinning our wheels right now, waiting…"
Sam swallowed, hating being reminded, again. "Well. You want to take a look at it?"
Dean looked thoughtful. "Well, guess I'm up for anything that's not going to bleed stinkin' caustic fluids or explode into stinkin' chunks or dissolve into stinkin' puddles, yeah. Let's check it out…slowly, okay?" He rolled upright and flexed his hands, knuckles still raw and red from graveyard work a few days ago.
Sam smiled. "Sounds perfect. We need a little break. No traipsing around in the night after things that go—"
"Whoa, whoa, Samantha—there's no traipsing. We don’t traipse."
Sam just snorted and went back to his laptop.
Three days to get there.
3
The motel was…pretty nice, actually. Two double beds with a football field between them. Room to stretch out. Sam smiled and dropped his bag at the foot of the bed farthest from the door. He wasn't even going to argue with Dean. "This is nice. It'll be nice to stretch out and not touch a wall or furniture or you. Not that you would understand my pain."
Dean tossed him a look. "I'm not short, dude. I wish you'd stop acting like I'm some kind of midget, you freakishly tall bastard."
"Did I say anything?" Sam laughed, and grabbed his kit bag, headed to the bathroom, which ended up being a pleasant surprise too. It was roomy, and the tub looked almost big enough from him to use without having to crouch in it, limbs all drawn up like a dead spider. The whole room was brightly white, and all it smelled of was cleaner and raspberries. He checked out the little bottles of shampoo and bath gel lined up on the toilet tank—yeah, those were coming with when they left.
"Yo, Sammy, you can rub one out later, let's go eat."
Sam caught a glance of his face in the mirror as Dean's words percolated through his brain. Hunh. Dean really was right; bitch face described it pretty damn well. He was careful to keep that expression pasted on as he stepped out the bathroom.
4
"Okay, here's what's going on locally—" Sam spread the paper he'd snagged from the box outside the diner over the table. "There's a legend, of course—this being the anniversary of the legend, there's a lot of talk about it."
Dean nodded, chewing through a club sandwich, as he skimmed the article. "Lots of interest. Forty years ago…ah, the anniversary is a couple of days from now. It really sounds like a haunting. Hey, you know what would be cool? If it was like Christine." He grinned at Sam.
"Christine?"
"Yeah, you know--haunted car? Killer car?"
"Dean, how would that be cool? And specifically, how would you get rid of a haunted car?"
Dean stopped and pursed his lips…"well…well, naturally, you'd have to exorcise it. Possessed car, right. Spirit in it." His raised eyebrows said 'duh' and the half shrug nailed it home. Idiot. He chewed some more, and fixed Sam with a glare. "Besides—we've already killed a haunted car."
"Oh. Right." Sam coughed discreetly and stared into his menu like it held the secrets of the universe."
"Asshole." Dean scuffed a foot across the small space, and under cover of the table kicked Sam so hard, he almost yelled out loud—jumped hard enough to draw looks anyway. Dean barely stifled annoying sniggers and did a truly lousy impression of an innocent five-year-old.
Sam loved his brother, God knew, loved him like nothing else in the world, and the proof of that was that his brother was still breathing. The thought took form before he could squash it, stabbed him hard in his ribcage. Dean. Damn it....Sam leaned back against the red vinyl back of his chair, and took a deep breath. "Anyway! Yeah. Forty years gone past doesn't leave us with a lot of leads, not a lot pf people to talk to. Memories that old tend to get fuzzy. We'll have to get what we can out of the legend, check old newspapers…yeah. 'Sure, Sam. We'll do that'." Sam mimicked Dean speaking in a high pitched whiney voice. Nothing.
He sighed, tracking the direction Dean's head swiveled in. He had his eyes glued to portions of their waitress, and Sam knew Dean hadn't heard a damn thing he'd said probably since "possessed car". A pinch of irritation, and something he put down to anger, snapped behind his breastbone before dissolving. "Anyway, I guess I'll run back to the motel, and meet you there later?"
"What? No, if you're leaving, I'm leaving. Might be a game on TV…say, did you know there's a judge show on every freakin' channel at this time of day? What the hell is it with people and these shows, man—"
Sam tossed a twenty on the table and smiled as he grabbed his jacket. Screw the tip.
5
It was dark out on the ridge; Sam watched Dean's breath puff out by the yellow glare of the Impala's headlights. They were lucky enough that not only was it ass freezing cold, it was also starting to spit big, wet flakes. Wonderful. "The cars skidded out on this curve, dropped over the side. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Dean's boots scuffed across the gravel on the side of the road. He looked down. "This curve really isn't sharp enough, not for the amount of fatalities racking up. Man, I'm not a psychic kid but it feels…weird here, right? You feel it?" He looked at Sam, his eyes just a little wide. Sam shook his head.
"No, not feeling a thing. Wait." He walked back to the car, and rummaged about in the back seat. "Here." He jogged back to the curve, stood next to Dean and swept the area with the EMF meter. It booped quietly to itself, the signal swooping up and down. Sam shrugged. "Kinda sorta," he said, "But there are power lines higher up on the mountain, too…it just keeps jumping around too much to tell."
"That usually means no spooks, no weird stuff…I don’t know, man. I…*feel* something." Dean glanced around with a frown, searching the trees, farther up the road.
Sam shrugged. "Well, I think we froze our asses off enough for one night. Feel like a beer or something? I could use one."
"Sammy! Good ideas, you have them sometimes."
"Fuck you," Sam muttered, made bitch face, but mostly just to try and cover the grin trying to break out.
6
After a drink or two, and a not very serious game of pool, Sam wandered back to the motel all yawns, and Dean had another beer. He glanced over the crowd. There were a few possible candidates twitching their hips around the bar, but….Dean sighed. After it first sank in, that he was going to hell, he'd gone a little nuts. Just seemed like it didn't matter--nothing mattered. What the fuck, he was going to die and he knew when, and he *knew* he was going to hell—what difference could it possibly make if he snorted coke off a whore's ass, or fist fucked a chick while her friend blew him…okay, maybe that didn't happen but it could have if he'd wanted it to. He had kind of tried to fuck everything on two feet that jiggled and smelled good. Man, he still remembered the twins…that was some freaky shit there—Dean shook his head. But that was then.
He chugged the beer warming in his grip, and called for another. Thing was, he'd changed since then—there came a moment when he realized what he was doing was—stupid. It was almost as if something had dribbled out of him and left him empty. Craving something, and craving it *bad*, but he didn’t know what it was he wanted. Needed. The more it ached the more he turned inward, away from everyone, especially Sam.
Good old Sam, whose quiet suffering was so—so complete, it was driving him *crazy*. He twirled the bottle in his fingers and wondered idly if it'd help if he beat the shit out of his brother….
"Is it okay if I sit here? S'getting kind of crowded…"
Dean looked up into Captain America's face. Huge blue eyes blinked slowly, a big paw swept thick bangs back off a wide forehead. Except for a beat up old leather jacket, the guy looked like…like the big blonde hero captain of the football team, or some shit. Swear, he'd thought Sam was a white bread lookin' kind of guy—this dude took the cake. "Go ahead. I'm not staying."
"Oh." The guy looked vaguely disappointed, but smiled. "Thanks." He ordered a beer for himself, and for Dean anyway, ignoring his protests. Dean figured, what the fuck, he was in walking distance of the motel….
7
Sam woke up at two, and Dean was a loud lump under the covers in the next bed. He lay still, listening to him snore…knuckled the tears away and said another short prayer for his brother.
8
Sam was dressed in his Mr. Normal Guy uniform—tweed jacket and tie, khakis. He always felt like an imposter, probably because, y'know, he was. But it was freeing too, being dressed like a civilian. He smiled sympathetically at the girl behind the counter, and asked her what she thought about the accidents lately, hoped sincerely that no one she knew had been injured, and did she think it had something to do with the ghost? "I'm writing a book about haunted roadways…"
"Writing a ghost story? Really?" She eyed him with a bit more interest. "Well…" The accident involved no one she knew personally, but…her friend, her friend's cousin had died on that stretch of road. He'd been out there by himself for some odd reason, no one knew why. It was weird. She eyed him up and down, a sort of appraising look in her eye. "So…are you staying in town?"
He smiled wide, knowing dimples popped when he did that and he had a perfect knowledge how deadly they were, no matter what Dean said, and hell, no matter how much the guy tried to deny it, they worked on Dean, too. "I was hoping to look at articles about the accidents?"
"Sure." She hopped up and led him to a small study room, showed him to a desk and a microfiche viewer. She leaned her hip against the desk and looked at him, twirled a long lock of dyed blonde hair around her finger. "Let me know if I can do anything for you. *Any*-thing…the library's pretty dead this time of day…."
He took a deep, relieved breath when she shut the door behind her. Dean might have taken that offer up—and an unwelcome vision of Dean doing just that on one of the desks flashed through his mind like an electric shock--pictured Dean's ass flexing as he drove into—someone, the little blonde, the waitress from lunch—it didn't matter much. The thought punched right through to his dick, and he had to blink hard a few times to rid himself of it.
He sucked in a calming gasp of air, closed his eyes and counted to ten. His nose twitched, and without wanting to, he smiled. Like the rest of the library, the study room smelled of old wood and baloney sandwiches. He liked the smell; it made him nostalgic, it made him feel comfortable, and hungry. Reminded him of one school district he'd been in that had provided breakfast and lunch to their students. Back in the day, he'd liked sitting on the old wood benches, eating free breakfast and reading whatever book had caught his interest at the time….
Sam sighed and reached out for the reader's controls. Dean was right, not all the memories of the old days were bad.
Pathetic maybe, but not all bad.
9
Glenn was humming, and as his headlights swept up the road, something stepped out into the glare…at first he thought it was a deer, but then he saw it was a man…shit. It was that kid from the bar, damn it. He slowed down; the kid was dashing out into the road, arms windmilling. Glenn slowed, came to a stop and the kid rushed up to his window. "Thank God!"
"Hey, it was fun and all, but I've got—"
"Get out of the car; get off the road, now!"
Great, he'd hooked up with some kind of psycho—"Look, kid, whatever your name is, just—just go home, sleep it off, all right?"
"No, you have to get out now, or you'll die—"
What? Glenn shoved the kid away from the car, threw it into drive and roared off. Psycho bitch, he thought…he checked his watch, one o'clock; Barb had to be asleep now…fuck, that kid had ruined it. It was a good fucking evening up until that part…he had a mouth on him, that one—Glenn heard an engine roar behind him. Someone thought they were going to play Death Race on this road? He edged to the shoulder to allow plenty of room for the idiot behind him to pass. They were coming up on that big curve but there was also a real wide shoulder so he wasn't worried—
The impact was glancing but it threw him against the steering wheel and he wished he'd buckled—in the rear view he saw a black Charger, its headlights blinding in the rear view. Impact again and the rear end slewed through gravel and the lights filling the inside of his car flashed from white to red. He could see the headlights bearing down on him, red as devil eyes, felt the next impact. He flew toward the edge of the road and before he could do anything to stop, the Charger shoved him off the edge, end over end into the dark….
part 2
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
Dark out on the ridge, up by the look-out. So dark not a bit of light showed through the trees, the lights from the dashboard looked like the klieg lights in front of the Odeon, that's how bright they were in the blackness. He could see wet spreading in his palm, the head of Trey's cock pushed across it, and the way it looked made him want to groan. The Wolfman whispered out of the radio, he could just barely hear him over the rasp of their breath. Trey's hand on him made him want to cry, to scream but he kept quiet—it was wrong enough, what they were doing. Wrong but…Trey's hand squeezed, rode up and down his cock and he was seconds from coming, pushed over the edge when Trey came first, moaning into his neck, "I love you, I love you," but he was too afraid to say it back….
"We can go to New York, there are places for people like us there, I know it. Come with me, please?" Trey zipped up, passed his t-shirt over and shrugged his letter jacket back on.
He wiped up the mess with a grimace and balled the messy t-shirt as small and tight as he could, shoved it under Trey's front seat. "I can't just go, what about school, what about my parents…what about yours?"
"Mine? I don’t have any, not any more." Trey laughed, harshly, but there were tears in his voice and that more than anything scared him.
"I—I got a girlfriend, I'm supposed to—Donna said—"
"God—shut up. Just…shut the hell up and get in the car."
Trey drove him back home, and only broke silence when they pulled up in the driveway, begged him one more time to come away with him, told him one more time that he loved him. Tried to kiss him but they were right in front of his parents house, and what if anyone saw? What if anyone saw…?
After that night, he didn't see Trey again.
"Haunted road, hunh?" Dean swiped a towel under his armpits and tossed it back through the bathroom door, bent over and dug around in his duffel for a fresh pair of boxers. Bare ass. Sam frowned and concentrated on the screen in front of him.
"Do you have to parade around naked? And yes, looks like." He glanced sideways and Dean was dressed from the waist down at least. He was pulling a t-shirt over his head and it muffled his reply, but Sam was pretty sure he'd said, "Need a band and more than one ass to make it a parade." Something like that.
"Anyway, haunted road. Over the course of a couple of decades, there's been at least one death every few months, cars lose control, spin out—no reason for it."
Dean dropped down to the bed, eyes on Sam, slipped tube socks on and his disreputable boots…Sam grimaced. Dean knew without looking down just what brought that face on. "Shut up. So, what makes this different than a bunch of careless yokels?"
"Because the few people who didn’t die, claim a car shoved them off the road, a car that disappeared afterwards."
Dean shrugged, "Pissed off ghost car? Angry dead driver taking revenge? What?" He dropped back onto his elbows and looked down his nose at Sam, knees spread wide. "We're kind of spinning our wheels right now, waiting…"
Sam swallowed, hating being reminded, again. "Well. You want to take a look at it?"
Dean looked thoughtful. "Well, guess I'm up for anything that's not going to bleed stinkin' caustic fluids or explode into stinkin' chunks or dissolve into stinkin' puddles, yeah. Let's check it out…slowly, okay?" He rolled upright and flexed his hands, knuckles still raw and red from graveyard work a few days ago.
Sam smiled. "Sounds perfect. We need a little break. No traipsing around in the night after things that go—"
"Whoa, whoa, Samantha—there's no traipsing. We don’t traipse."
Sam just snorted and went back to his laptop.
Three days to get there.
The motel was…pretty nice, actually. Two double beds with a football field between them. Room to stretch out. Sam smiled and dropped his bag at the foot of the bed farthest from the door. He wasn't even going to argue with Dean. "This is nice. It'll be nice to stretch out and not touch a wall or furniture or you. Not that you would understand my pain."
Dean tossed him a look. "I'm not short, dude. I wish you'd stop acting like I'm some kind of midget, you freakishly tall bastard."
"Did I say anything?" Sam laughed, and grabbed his kit bag, headed to the bathroom, which ended up being a pleasant surprise too. It was roomy, and the tub looked almost big enough from him to use without having to crouch in it, limbs all drawn up like a dead spider. The whole room was brightly white, and all it smelled of was cleaner and raspberries. He checked out the little bottles of shampoo and bath gel lined up on the toilet tank—yeah, those were coming with when they left.
"Yo, Sammy, you can rub one out later, let's go eat."
Sam caught a glance of his face in the mirror as Dean's words percolated through his brain. Hunh. Dean really was right; bitch face described it pretty damn well. He was careful to keep that expression pasted on as he stepped out the bathroom.
"Okay, here's what's going on locally—" Sam spread the paper he'd snagged from the box outside the diner over the table. "There's a legend, of course—this being the anniversary of the legend, there's a lot of talk about it."
Dean nodded, chewing through a club sandwich, as he skimmed the article. "Lots of interest. Forty years ago…ah, the anniversary is a couple of days from now. It really sounds like a haunting. Hey, you know what would be cool? If it was like Christine." He grinned at Sam.
"Christine?"
"Yeah, you know--haunted car? Killer car?"
"Dean, how would that be cool? And specifically, how would you get rid of a haunted car?"
Dean stopped and pursed his lips…"well…well, naturally, you'd have to exorcise it. Possessed car, right. Spirit in it." His raised eyebrows said 'duh' and the half shrug nailed it home. Idiot. He chewed some more, and fixed Sam with a glare. "Besides—we've already killed a haunted car."
"Oh. Right." Sam coughed discreetly and stared into his menu like it held the secrets of the universe."
"Asshole." Dean scuffed a foot across the small space, and under cover of the table kicked Sam so hard, he almost yelled out loud—jumped hard enough to draw looks anyway. Dean barely stifled annoying sniggers and did a truly lousy impression of an innocent five-year-old.
Sam loved his brother, God knew, loved him like nothing else in the world, and the proof of that was that his brother was still breathing. The thought took form before he could squash it, stabbed him hard in his ribcage. Dean. Damn it....Sam leaned back against the red vinyl back of his chair, and took a deep breath. "Anyway! Yeah. Forty years gone past doesn't leave us with a lot of leads, not a lot pf people to talk to. Memories that old tend to get fuzzy. We'll have to get what we can out of the legend, check old newspapers…yeah. 'Sure, Sam. We'll do that'." Sam mimicked Dean speaking in a high pitched whiney voice. Nothing.
He sighed, tracking the direction Dean's head swiveled in. He had his eyes glued to portions of their waitress, and Sam knew Dean hadn't heard a damn thing he'd said probably since "possessed car". A pinch of irritation, and something he put down to anger, snapped behind his breastbone before dissolving. "Anyway, I guess I'll run back to the motel, and meet you there later?"
"What? No, if you're leaving, I'm leaving. Might be a game on TV…say, did you know there's a judge show on every freakin' channel at this time of day? What the hell is it with people and these shows, man—"
Sam tossed a twenty on the table and smiled as he grabbed his jacket. Screw the tip.
It was dark out on the ridge; Sam watched Dean's breath puff out by the yellow glare of the Impala's headlights. They were lucky enough that not only was it ass freezing cold, it was also starting to spit big, wet flakes. Wonderful. "The cars skidded out on this curve, dropped over the side. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Dean's boots scuffed across the gravel on the side of the road. He looked down. "This curve really isn't sharp enough, not for the amount of fatalities racking up. Man, I'm not a psychic kid but it feels…weird here, right? You feel it?" He looked at Sam, his eyes just a little wide. Sam shook his head.
"No, not feeling a thing. Wait." He walked back to the car, and rummaged about in the back seat. "Here." He jogged back to the curve, stood next to Dean and swept the area with the EMF meter. It booped quietly to itself, the signal swooping up and down. Sam shrugged. "Kinda sorta," he said, "But there are power lines higher up on the mountain, too…it just keeps jumping around too much to tell."
"That usually means no spooks, no weird stuff…I don’t know, man. I…*feel* something." Dean glanced around with a frown, searching the trees, farther up the road.
Sam shrugged. "Well, I think we froze our asses off enough for one night. Feel like a beer or something? I could use one."
"Sammy! Good ideas, you have them sometimes."
"Fuck you," Sam muttered, made bitch face, but mostly just to try and cover the grin trying to break out.
After a drink or two, and a not very serious game of pool, Sam wandered back to the motel all yawns, and Dean had another beer. He glanced over the crowd. There were a few possible candidates twitching their hips around the bar, but….Dean sighed. After it first sank in, that he was going to hell, he'd gone a little nuts. Just seemed like it didn't matter--nothing mattered. What the fuck, he was going to die and he knew when, and he *knew* he was going to hell—what difference could it possibly make if he snorted coke off a whore's ass, or fist fucked a chick while her friend blew him…okay, maybe that didn't happen but it could have if he'd wanted it to. He had kind of tried to fuck everything on two feet that jiggled and smelled good. Man, he still remembered the twins…that was some freaky shit there—Dean shook his head. But that was then.
He chugged the beer warming in his grip, and called for another. Thing was, he'd changed since then—there came a moment when he realized what he was doing was—stupid. It was almost as if something had dribbled out of him and left him empty. Craving something, and craving it *bad*, but he didn’t know what it was he wanted. Needed. The more it ached the more he turned inward, away from everyone, especially Sam.
Good old Sam, whose quiet suffering was so—so complete, it was driving him *crazy*. He twirled the bottle in his fingers and wondered idly if it'd help if he beat the shit out of his brother….
"Is it okay if I sit here? S'getting kind of crowded…"
Dean looked up into Captain America's face. Huge blue eyes blinked slowly, a big paw swept thick bangs back off a wide forehead. Except for a beat up old leather jacket, the guy looked like…like the big blonde hero captain of the football team, or some shit. Swear, he'd thought Sam was a white bread lookin' kind of guy—this dude took the cake. "Go ahead. I'm not staying."
"Oh." The guy looked vaguely disappointed, but smiled. "Thanks." He ordered a beer for himself, and for Dean anyway, ignoring his protests. Dean figured, what the fuck, he was in walking distance of the motel….
Sam woke up at two, and Dean was a loud lump under the covers in the next bed. He lay still, listening to him snore…knuckled the tears away and said another short prayer for his brother.
Sam was dressed in his Mr. Normal Guy uniform—tweed jacket and tie, khakis. He always felt like an imposter, probably because, y'know, he was. But it was freeing too, being dressed like a civilian. He smiled sympathetically at the girl behind the counter, and asked her what she thought about the accidents lately, hoped sincerely that no one she knew had been injured, and did she think it had something to do with the ghost? "I'm writing a book about haunted roadways…"
"Writing a ghost story? Really?" She eyed him with a bit more interest. "Well…" The accident involved no one she knew personally, but…her friend, her friend's cousin had died on that stretch of road. He'd been out there by himself for some odd reason, no one knew why. It was weird. She eyed him up and down, a sort of appraising look in her eye. "So…are you staying in town?"
He smiled wide, knowing dimples popped when he did that and he had a perfect knowledge how deadly they were, no matter what Dean said, and hell, no matter how much the guy tried to deny it, they worked on Dean, too. "I was hoping to look at articles about the accidents?"
"Sure." She hopped up and led him to a small study room, showed him to a desk and a microfiche viewer. She leaned her hip against the desk and looked at him, twirled a long lock of dyed blonde hair around her finger. "Let me know if I can do anything for you. *Any*-thing…the library's pretty dead this time of day…."
He took a deep, relieved breath when she shut the door behind her. Dean might have taken that offer up—and an unwelcome vision of Dean doing just that on one of the desks flashed through his mind like an electric shock--pictured Dean's ass flexing as he drove into—someone, the little blonde, the waitress from lunch—it didn't matter much. The thought punched right through to his dick, and he had to blink hard a few times to rid himself of it.
He sucked in a calming gasp of air, closed his eyes and counted to ten. His nose twitched, and without wanting to, he smiled. Like the rest of the library, the study room smelled of old wood and baloney sandwiches. He liked the smell; it made him nostalgic, it made him feel comfortable, and hungry. Reminded him of one school district he'd been in that had provided breakfast and lunch to their students. Back in the day, he'd liked sitting on the old wood benches, eating free breakfast and reading whatever book had caught his interest at the time….
Sam sighed and reached out for the reader's controls. Dean was right, not all the memories of the old days were bad.
Pathetic maybe, but not all bad.
Glenn was humming, and as his headlights swept up the road, something stepped out into the glare…at first he thought it was a deer, but then he saw it was a man…shit. It was that kid from the bar, damn it. He slowed down; the kid was dashing out into the road, arms windmilling. Glenn slowed, came to a stop and the kid rushed up to his window. "Thank God!"
"Hey, it was fun and all, but I've got—"
"Get out of the car; get off the road, now!"
Great, he'd hooked up with some kind of psycho—"Look, kid, whatever your name is, just—just go home, sleep it off, all right?"
"No, you have to get out now, or you'll die—"
What? Glenn shoved the kid away from the car, threw it into drive and roared off. Psycho bitch, he thought…he checked his watch, one o'clock; Barb had to be asleep now…fuck, that kid had ruined it. It was a good fucking evening up until that part…he had a mouth on him, that one—Glenn heard an engine roar behind him. Someone thought they were going to play Death Race on this road? He edged to the shoulder to allow plenty of room for the idiot behind him to pass. They were coming up on that big curve but there was also a real wide shoulder so he wasn't worried—
The impact was glancing but it threw him against the steering wheel and he wished he'd buckled—in the rear view he saw a black Charger, its headlights blinding in the rear view. Impact again and the rear end slewed through gravel and the lights filling the inside of his car flashed from white to red. He could see the headlights bearing down on him, red as devil eyes, felt the next impact. He flew toward the edge of the road and before he could do anything to stop, the Charger shoved him off the edge, end over end into the dark….
part 2
TBC
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
1/11/09 09:42 pm (UTC)*cracks whip* They better be, if they know what's good for 'em. *eyes muses*
Hee-hee!! Yay, another great story from ya!!! Woot.
(no subject)
1/12/09 03:01 am (UTC)The best thing about this is that it's all finished and you won;t have to wait! :)
(no subject)
1/11/09 10:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/12/09 03:02 am (UTC)Thank you! And no waiting--it's finished! That's something different for me, eh? *g*
(no subject)
1/12/09 01:06 am (UTC)Ghost story and ust!
I like.
:)
*twirls*
Poor Sammy. Poor Dean! Good start, bay-bee. Good start. Can't wait for more!
(no subject)
1/12/09 03:03 am (UTC)More will come lickety-split! :)
(no subject)
1/12/09 02:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/12/09 03:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/22/09 12:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/22/09 03:11 pm (UTC)*GRIN*