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roxyTitle: Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC
Rating: various by chapter, NC-17 overall
Word Count: 1331
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Dad puts off meeting again for a few days, so Dean drags Patrick along to the Laundromat, makes him keep him company. It's quiet in the afternoon, and there's actually decent air conditioning in the place. In fact, it's cleaner than the damn hotel. Pat sits on the folding table between the dryers, and reads a magazine he found under one of the chairs. It's an entertainment mag, and apparently, it's pretty damn funny. Pat's sitting there smiling, one long black wing hanging along his cheek. Dean swallows. Wipes his fingers on his thigh. He leans back against the bank of dryers and lets the steady whoosh whoosh of tumbling clothes fill his mind. He's just about drifting off, feeling really comfortable and a weird kind of…safe…when, "Hey, when was the last time you went to the movies," Pat asks him out of nowhere.
"Hunh?" It takes Dean a second to kick his brain into gear. "I d'know. Man…um, X-Men, maybe…? Why? You wanna go?" He blushes and scowls at how it sounds. "I mean, got no money to waste on that shit," he says, and grabs his stuff out of the dryer and dumps it on the table.
"Nah," Patrick says, and tosses the magazine aside and digs into the pile of clothes. "Just wondering. Wolverine. That was the last movie I went to. 'Cause I'd fuck Wolverine in a second."
"Jesus! Shit, dude—I don't wanna know that."
Pat pauses with a half-folded t-shirt in his hand, wide eyed with surprise and then his face closes down, the little smile he had goes away. "Yeah. What was I thinking? 'Course you wouldn't."
Dean huffs, and crams folded and unfolded clothes together into a clean garbage bag. Why couldn't Pat just let it go? Mistakes got made and people did things they regretted, did wrong things and…and then had to deal with them and go on. That was life--
"Dean, you know—"
"Patrick. I know once l let myself get talked into—*stuff*. I don’t do *stuff*. I don’t care if you do, not really--just. Keep it to yourself." Because I almost killed it and you bring it back. Don’t want to think like that about Sam….
"Stuff! That's what it was…stuff?" Patrick stands so fast, the table creaks. He looks…like a hunter, Dean thinks. Dangerous. "Yeah. See ya 'round, Dean."
Pat stomps off towards the doors and Dean kind of freaks himself out by grabbing Pat's sleeve. He hardly recognizes his voice when he stammers out, "Don't okay? Not yet—got this case coming up and I really need help—" He channels Sammy like a motherfucker and because he's a cast iron bastard he doesn't mind using it--much—
Patrick blushes, and he huffs. Jerks his sleeve loose from Dean's grip and turns his back on him. But he sits back down. The magazine he tossed away earlier does duty now as a wall between the two of them…Dean marvels how loud Patrick's silences can be.
~~~o0o~~~
"--pie. I'm telling ya, best ever. At least it was last time I was in here…" Dean stops talking and grins with his whole face at some top heavy bimbo, and if this was way back when, Patrick would probably have been bending over the table thinking he was having a heart attack, because for some horrible fucked up reason, Sam was the only person Dean could be with and not make Patrick feel like he was drowning. How fucked up was that?
Instead, Patrick stares out the window, watching heat shimmers waver over the street. Right now, he's just glad he's not fucking Dean, because he's seen the chicks Dean wants to fuck. All the way to the diner, Dean licked his lips and rolled his eyes at bitches who made Patrick glad he was gay—he wouldn't have touched any of them wearing a full body condom and if that's what Dean wanted, then even if something nearly miraculous happened, and Dean wanted it from him, *no* way. He wouldn't fuck Dean wearing five condoms and a hazmat suit. Not that he wanted to fuck Dean. Or that Dean would want to fuck him, what with having forgotten that summer like the guy had fucking amnesia.
Patrick takes a deep breath, counts to ten before giving up. He has no right. No right to be pissed at Dean, no right to be angry that Sam couldn’t see past Dean that summer, or that what happened happened or that…he's pissed at himself that he just can't seem to let it go. Thinking about that shit was just hopping on the bus to Crazy Town and he seriously needed to *stop*.
The waitress saunters past again, swinging her hips so hard, Patrick's amazed that her joints don't pop out the sockets. The look she gives Dean says, 'I'm not wearing underwear', and Patrick wonders just how Dean dares call him a whore. She shrugs a round shoulder towards the back and licks her lips like she learned from the movies, mouths "coming?" just in case Dean was stupider than a brick, Patrick figures, and needs flash cards telling him he's about to get some.
"Oh ma…" Dean swipes his mouth with his napkin and grins at Patrick. Slides out of the booth with a wink. "Back in a sec, Pat. Well," he chuckles--so nasty Patrick flushes and frowns at Dean. "Might be more than a sec. Grab another cup of coffee. Better grab two…." He mutters as he watches McWhore head over to the bathrooms.
Patrick glares after Dean, so pissed off his jaw feels like it's cracking. Seriously--did that asshole just order him to wait until he got off? Fucker! Bastard….
Patrick stares out the window, thinks, I can get back to the hotel in about ten minutes if I walk real fast, take the killer Gremlin and go find Sam and tell him how his brother's acting out like a slut asshole and treating me like shit and…and *what*, you pathetic ass? Patrick sits and sips bitter coffee and waits and tries really hard not to look as pathetic as he knows he is. He tries for a sardonic, world-weary look, been there, done that, like he's just one of the hetero boys, waiting for his bud to come on back and tell him all about how the pussy was.
Horribly, that's just what Dean does. In graphic detail.
~~~o0o~~~
Sam waits until Jess is asleep, and then opens his laptop and composes a long ass letter to Dean, telling him what's happened that week, how he's doing in school, tells him about the ghost cat he put down Saturday, and how he's pretty sure the lady working in the used bookstore downtown is an honest-to-god, familiar having, dance-in-the–moonlight-nekkid witch. There's this way she has of looking at him, like she's snarking right through him…he asks Dean how Dad is, how the car is, does he miss him, ever think of him, and tells Dean how he only thinks of him a million times all day, and then a million times all night.
He sniffs like a bitch, wipes his eyes and grabs a beer instead of his phone; he's not up to listening to saved messages tonight.
Back at his desk, Sam rereads the mail once or twice, nibbles at the mouth of the beer bottle before sighing. Deletes it like he has the one hundred and four letters before this one.
It's good to have a hobby.
He finishes the beer, closes the laptop and checks the room's wards before climbing into bed with Jess, who doesn't wake at all when he does.
part 7
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC
Rating: various by chapter, NC-17 overall
Word Count: 1331
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Dad puts off meeting again for a few days, so Dean drags Patrick along to the Laundromat, makes him keep him company. It's quiet in the afternoon, and there's actually decent air conditioning in the place. In fact, it's cleaner than the damn hotel. Pat sits on the folding table between the dryers, and reads a magazine he found under one of the chairs. It's an entertainment mag, and apparently, it's pretty damn funny. Pat's sitting there smiling, one long black wing hanging along his cheek. Dean swallows. Wipes his fingers on his thigh. He leans back against the bank of dryers and lets the steady whoosh whoosh of tumbling clothes fill his mind. He's just about drifting off, feeling really comfortable and a weird kind of…safe…when, "Hey, when was the last time you went to the movies," Pat asks him out of nowhere.
"Hunh?" It takes Dean a second to kick his brain into gear. "I d'know. Man…um, X-Men, maybe…? Why? You wanna go?" He blushes and scowls at how it sounds. "I mean, got no money to waste on that shit," he says, and grabs his stuff out of the dryer and dumps it on the table.
"Nah," Patrick says, and tosses the magazine aside and digs into the pile of clothes. "Just wondering. Wolverine. That was the last movie I went to. 'Cause I'd fuck Wolverine in a second."
"Jesus! Shit, dude—I don't wanna know that."
Pat pauses with a half-folded t-shirt in his hand, wide eyed with surprise and then his face closes down, the little smile he had goes away. "Yeah. What was I thinking? 'Course you wouldn't."
Dean huffs, and crams folded and unfolded clothes together into a clean garbage bag. Why couldn't Pat just let it go? Mistakes got made and people did things they regretted, did wrong things and…and then had to deal with them and go on. That was life--
"Dean, you know—"
"Patrick. I know once l let myself get talked into—*stuff*. I don’t do *stuff*. I don’t care if you do, not really--just. Keep it to yourself." Because I almost killed it and you bring it back. Don’t want to think like that about Sam….
"Stuff! That's what it was…stuff?" Patrick stands so fast, the table creaks. He looks…like a hunter, Dean thinks. Dangerous. "Yeah. See ya 'round, Dean."
Pat stomps off towards the doors and Dean kind of freaks himself out by grabbing Pat's sleeve. He hardly recognizes his voice when he stammers out, "Don't okay? Not yet—got this case coming up and I really need help—" He channels Sammy like a motherfucker and because he's a cast iron bastard he doesn't mind using it--much—
Patrick blushes, and he huffs. Jerks his sleeve loose from Dean's grip and turns his back on him. But he sits back down. The magazine he tossed away earlier does duty now as a wall between the two of them…Dean marvels how loud Patrick's silences can be.
"--pie. I'm telling ya, best ever. At least it was last time I was in here…" Dean stops talking and grins with his whole face at some top heavy bimbo, and if this was way back when, Patrick would probably have been bending over the table thinking he was having a heart attack, because for some horrible fucked up reason, Sam was the only person Dean could be with and not make Patrick feel like he was drowning. How fucked up was that?
Instead, Patrick stares out the window, watching heat shimmers waver over the street. Right now, he's just glad he's not fucking Dean, because he's seen the chicks Dean wants to fuck. All the way to the diner, Dean licked his lips and rolled his eyes at bitches who made Patrick glad he was gay—he wouldn't have touched any of them wearing a full body condom and if that's what Dean wanted, then even if something nearly miraculous happened, and Dean wanted it from him, *no* way. He wouldn't fuck Dean wearing five condoms and a hazmat suit. Not that he wanted to fuck Dean. Or that Dean would want to fuck him, what with having forgotten that summer like the guy had fucking amnesia.
Patrick takes a deep breath, counts to ten before giving up. He has no right. No right to be pissed at Dean, no right to be angry that Sam couldn’t see past Dean that summer, or that what happened happened or that…he's pissed at himself that he just can't seem to let it go. Thinking about that shit was just hopping on the bus to Crazy Town and he seriously needed to *stop*.
The waitress saunters past again, swinging her hips so hard, Patrick's amazed that her joints don't pop out the sockets. The look she gives Dean says, 'I'm not wearing underwear', and Patrick wonders just how Dean dares call him a whore. She shrugs a round shoulder towards the back and licks her lips like she learned from the movies, mouths "coming?" just in case Dean was stupider than a brick, Patrick figures, and needs flash cards telling him he's about to get some.
"Oh ma…" Dean swipes his mouth with his napkin and grins at Patrick. Slides out of the booth with a wink. "Back in a sec, Pat. Well," he chuckles--so nasty Patrick flushes and frowns at Dean. "Might be more than a sec. Grab another cup of coffee. Better grab two…." He mutters as he watches McWhore head over to the bathrooms.
Patrick glares after Dean, so pissed off his jaw feels like it's cracking. Seriously--did that asshole just order him to wait until he got off? Fucker! Bastard….
Patrick stares out the window, thinks, I can get back to the hotel in about ten minutes if I walk real fast, take the killer Gremlin and go find Sam and tell him how his brother's acting out like a slut asshole and treating me like shit and…and *what*, you pathetic ass? Patrick sits and sips bitter coffee and waits and tries really hard not to look as pathetic as he knows he is. He tries for a sardonic, world-weary look, been there, done that, like he's just one of the hetero boys, waiting for his bud to come on back and tell him all about how the pussy was.
Horribly, that's just what Dean does. In graphic detail.
Sam waits until Jess is asleep, and then opens his laptop and composes a long ass letter to Dean, telling him what's happened that week, how he's doing in school, tells him about the ghost cat he put down Saturday, and how he's pretty sure the lady working in the used bookstore downtown is an honest-to-god, familiar having, dance-in-the–moonlight-nekkid witch. There's this way she has of looking at him, like she's snarking right through him…he asks Dean how Dad is, how the car is, does he miss him, ever think of him, and tells Dean how he only thinks of him a million times all day, and then a million times all night.
He sniffs like a bitch, wipes his eyes and grabs a beer instead of his phone; he's not up to listening to saved messages tonight.
Back at his desk, Sam rereads the mail once or twice, nibbles at the mouth of the beer bottle before sighing. Deletes it like he has the one hundred and four letters before this one.
It's good to have a hobby.
He finishes the beer, closes the laptop and checks the room's wards before climbing into bed with Jess, who doesn't wake at all when he does.
part 7
TBC
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
7/9/09 02:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:10 am (UTC)No reason for the icon except I really like it. :)
(no subject)
7/9/09 02:57 am (UTC)*curls up under the blanket with a teddy bear*
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:14 am (UTC)So, you know.
*sniffles*
*i see where
*gods*
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:25 am (UTC)Gods, your evol.
*pokes you*
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:47 am (UTC)Jokes, she says.
Uh huh.
I think you need to look up 'joke' in the dictionary, my dearest Ms. Thang.
(no subject)
7/9/09 11:03 pm (UTC)And I'm SO NOT WORSE than Tanti Roxy! At least the people in my stories LIVE!
most of the time.
(no subject)
7/9/09 11:08 pm (UTC)You might not be worse *yet*, but you are fast approaching it!!
Evol, evol, evol, evol.
*hides*
(no subject)
7/9/09 02:58 am (UTC)Dean Patrick are so cute. Heh, and Dean really is kind of a whore, isn't he?
Yayz!
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:08 am (UTC)Still enjoying this, babe. All of your schmoop will go unheeded. ;)
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:13 am (UTC)LOL!
*G* Thanks so much! And thanks for looking away from teh shmoop! ;)
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:24 am (UTC)I actually meant to write that your schmoop warnings would go unheeded, but my brain feels like that egg they hit with a frying pan in the "this is your brain on drugs" commercials. But without the fun drugs. I think my job is trying to kill me slowly.
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:41 am (UTC)Oy, jobs are the Devil!
(no subject)
7/9/09 04:53 am (UTC)that made me grin
and the end made me teary
*sigh* you're awesome
(no subject)
7/14/09 02:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 06:37 am (UTC)"It's good to have a hobby."
I don't know why but that just hit home, hard. It's like a perfect, bitter kind of humour filled with a kind of self-scorn and also self-awareness - but not enough to change anything. Spot on Winchester.
(no subject)
7/14/09 02:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 10:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/14/09 02:23 am (UTC)Dean *looks* like an ass, yeah--but Pat's kind of bitter right now. ;)
(no subject)
7/9/09 03:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/14/09 02:23 am (UTC)I love you! Thank you!!
(no subject)
7/14/09 04:28 am (UTC)btw, we started a new book. twinsarein has been posting and we've been blathering in comments. We're reading Entropy Effect now.
(no subject)
7/14/09 04:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/14/09 04:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/9/09 03:52 pm (UTC)*grabby hands*
This is too sad... Dean's so OBNOXIOUS and Sam's so sad and Patrick is 100% awesome.
(no subject)
7/14/09 02:25 am (UTC)Dean's obnoxious? Really? Hunh.
*grin* Yeah, he is a bit.
(no subject)
7/9/09 11:04 pm (UTC)And DAMN Dean's a dick. He really needs to shut it and get with the gayness already. It's PATRICK, for fuck's sake!
(no subject)
7/14/09 02:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/13/09 12:44 am (UTC)Poor Pat for having to put up with compensatey Dean, poor Dean for not being comfortable enough with himself to not compensate, and poor lonely Sammy who just can't reach out to the person he loves most. :(
(no subject)
7/14/09 02:28 am (UTC)