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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: 2223
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
The bar's the kind of place that would've had dim, smoky air, heavy dark furniture and a hand rubbed finish on a long oak bar, but plastic and vinyl's just so much easier to clean. It would've had sawdust and peanut shells on the floor, really, it would—but that would've been just--unsanitary.
It's the kind of place that wants to be your corner bar, but it's in the middle of a mall parking lot and it's…just…not.
Dean walks in and stops dead. There's some god awful crap pumping out of hidden speakers some where, and this joint had better hope he can't find the god damn things. He wrinkles his nose at the bright red chairs and jet black tables, growls when Pat runs into the back of him.
"Damn it, Winchester—move, will ya? Or at least beep or something when you stop—oh hey, there's your dad."
Dean grabs Pat's wrist. "Wave and I'll cut it off," and ignores Pat's offended snort. There he is—Dad's in the back, standing by a booth, and doing that thing where he doesn’t move his face but he's laughing like hell inside.
"Yeah, laugh it up old man," Dean mutters to himself, "next time it's my pick, we're going with Chucky Cheese's…."
Pat, who has the ears of a fucking bat, snickers. "I don’t think that's a good idea. Two guys who look like serial killers hanging out in a place that caters to kiddies? Good luck with that."
Dean's shocked and a little offended—"serial killers?"
Pat rolls his eyes. "Yeah, get twisted about that, 'cause two grown men hanging out with little kiddies, just fine--ya perv. Hurry up, I'm thirsty."
"Bitch." Dean slides into the booth, the damn thing's so clean and slick, he almost hits the wall and Dad smirks a little before handing them menus.
"They got burgers," he says, not looking at Dean, but that doesn't matter, Dean knows his dad is watching him.
Dean goggles at the menu. hunh? "Goat cheese on a burger? The fuck…avocado?"
Pat murmurs, "It's good, really…"
Yeah. Maybe Pat's gone all California, but Dean's not having it. Cheese burgers are cow and cheese and sometimes when he's feeling adventurous, bacon. Which is just *more meat*, as it should be. "Wait—veggie burgers? What the fuck kind of place is this?" Dad shifts in his seat, and the menu trembles a bit in his hand—he's fucking *laughing* at him. Dean's torn between outrage and…feeling good. Dad doesn't laugh all that much, and Dean loves it when he does, even if it's at his expense. Hell, he'd work his way through a ton of tofu burgers or whatever shit they have here if it makes Dad forget the job for a few minutes….
Pat's over there, biting his lip, huffing through his nose…and *him*, Dean just wants to slap the hell out of, but seeing as how just a short while ago, he was yelling Pat's name like he owned heaven--
Pat looks at him, and blushes, grins down in the menu, the son-of-a-bitch.
Fuck. Dad's looking at him. Now looking at Pat. *Double* fuck, he's got that thinking look…Dean smiles at his dad. 'Kay. He'll play along. "So, what's good here? No wait—what's *edible* here?"
Dad tilts his head and searches Dean's face, the so-and-so's eyes are shining—just full of ha-ha's. "Fuck if I know. I've never eaten at a place like this before." He turns his attention to Pat.
"So, I called your boy. Gave him what I found about the warg…smart boy, that one." He glances at Dean, eyes sliding off him and going back to the menu. Dean's not fooled. Dad always look the most uninterested when he's the most involved. "He says 'hey'. Wants you to call soon as you get the chance." And Pat, Pat slides his eyes over to Dean for a second and Dean feels his stomach cramp. Damn it.
He feels the heat of Pat's gaze for long seconds—keeps his eyes locked on the stupid menu like the map to the holy grail's printed on it. There's this heavy exhale, just full of words that Dean hopes never come out into the light, and Pat says, "Yeah…let me do that right now." He slides out of the booth and walks out. Soon as the door closes on his ass, Dean sighs too. And sure enough Dad's staring at him like he's a bug.
"What are you doing?"
"What? Doing what?"
"What're you doing with Pat? And don’t pretend like you don’t know what I'm talking about—I don't give a shit about whose bed you leave your boots under. But you know—"
"Dad. I don’t know what you're talking about. I didn't—"
"It's not fair. You can't screw up Pat's life on a whim."
"It's not!" Dean says hotly, forgetting that he's supposed to be acting like he's clueless. "I'm not doing it on purpose--whatever." And Dean feels like shit, because he's completely doing it on purpose.
"Look…whatever's eating you, fucking up Pat's stuff is not the way to go. Leave it be, y'hear? Way I see it, Pat's got the making of a great hunter. Work with him—just work with him—or let it go. And I suggest you confront whatever's screwing up your head."
Fuck—since when did Dad turn into Oprah--"Yes sir," Dean mutters, and Dad knows how much the whole thing is bothering him because he just grunts and turns his attention back to the menu—he's going to let Dean stew in it on his own for a while. A minute or two later, Pat slides back in the seat…and keeps a few inches between them. Dean leaves it.
Confront his problems…Dean thinks about that. Yeah Dad, see, my problem is I'd like to fuck your other son. And saying it so baldly, even silently in the confines of his own fucked up head makes him swim with horrified dizziness for a second. His heart slams in his chest, like Dad's got ESP, like he's going to read the sickness festering inside him.
Damn. Sam made the right move. Got out of Dodge. Got out of the whole sick mess. No matter what Pat said, Sam left first, Sam had the guts to cut Dean off when he just couldn't…Sammy always was the smart one.
~~~o0o~~~
They make plans to meet up in a month outside of Santa Fe, and then they're packing and loading the cars, and getting ready to separate.
Dad's big black truck's more than halfway down the road, when Dean looks away from the trial of dust it's kicking up. Glances over, and Pat's watching him. Pat looks him over, leans on the Gremlin's roof and says, "Instead of hanging around campus another couple of days, come with me. I'll introduce you to the post house crew…" His eyes are clear and empty of anything except friendship and Dean finds he doesn't want to lose that. Even if he'd just implied that Dean was kind of pathetic. The catch though, is meeting Pat's friends, and that Alex guy…Dean wants to meet those guys like he wants to shoot himself in the foot, but he figures he deserves the penance, and he owes Pat to do it.
"Okay," he hears himself saying and wishes…he was just a little more selfish, 'cause if he was, he'd shove Pat back into the room and make him forget anything else in the world. He doesn't 'cause there's no way it would work. It never was going to work, not from the first time they met. There's nothing Pat could do to make him forget Sam anything and after a while, Pat would resent sharing headspace with a ghost. Sooner or later, it would become obvious that somewhere along the line what Dean should have done was put a bullet in both their heads so yeah…they were going to this Post House place, and after that, back to whatever their separate futures held for them….
~~~o0o~~~
The joint looks out of place—Dean can imagine it being somewhere deep in the swamps down south, festooned with Spanish moss and gators grunting out in the back. Hard to believe that the road it's on parallels a major highway and a Walmart is within throwing distance, though the trees lining the property masks that. He wonders what the locals think of the string of odd visitors, speaking with so many different accents and quite a few of them probably crazy looking as hell.
The bar is a long wooden building, its paint faded from bright to a dusty green. A narrow porch runs its length, and a couple of kitchen chairs are parked at the far end. There's a big plate glass window besides the double doors, painted over from the inside. A few ad signs, metal and neon, hang over the window. The place is probably dark inside all the time. The sign over the doors is narrow, telling whoever cares they've found the Post House, and the Post House could care less—cool. He liked a place with attitude.
All in all, it didn't look like much…though the neon beer signs probably make it look real cheerful at night, Dean thinks.
Trees overhang a dirt and gravel parking lot out back, and it's there he parks the Impala, trying to keep it in shade. Black's a cool color, yeah, but in the summer his baby turns into a fucking toaster oven, not her fault, but damn, there's nothing like putting your flesh on sun-baked vinyl to make you scream like a little bitch.
So he's heard.
The ground crunches loud underfoot, cicadas are knocking themselves out singing about the coming end of summer. Dean looks around...just him and Pat outside. The air is still and heavy, and other than the cicadas and the occasional drone of a passing small plane, it's really…"Quiet."
"Yeah, not always. You can't hear the road real well from here but sometimes it gets loud. Evenings, things get busy—some of the braver locals come out. The beer's cheap but decent and the food's not fancy but it's real good," he says, and cuts his eyes at Dean like he's offering something to make up for—whatever. "Daytime though, it's mostly just us."
Dean shrugs. There's the sound of a door opening and a guy scuffs on the porch, black rubber slides sighing over the rough wood, and an impressive scowl darkening his features. He's a light skinned guy—young—short, stiff braids cover his head and he's sporting a close cut beard. He's shorter than both of them, stocky, and the arms he crosses over a thick chest are impressive. Dean looks him up and down. He's pretty sure he could take him, and pretty sure it wouldn't be easy, not for a minute.
"Pat." He comes to the edge of the porch, leans to scratch the inch of skin showing between the tops of his tube sock and the bottom edge of baggy nylon shorts. "Winchester." His arms slide down his chest until his fists come to rest on his hips. "Nice meeting you," and cold grey eyes say it's nothing of the sort.
"Alex," Pat says, with an edge of exasperation and fondness, and with just that one word, Dean feels like he's standing on the outside. His heart clutches and memory serves up "Dean"—one word full of—everything. Makes him feel guilty about Pat all over again, what they did to him that summer…Dean feels the possibilities flying about here. This place, this was Pat's home—if it wasn't now, it would be.
Dad was right. Dean lowers his eyes and takes a step back.
"Come on in, both of you." Alex jerks his chin towards the bar. "Get some lunch, we can talk shop."
Dean holds back and lets Pat take the way, keeps a good few steps between them. Pat leaps up onto the porch and pulls Alex into a quick hug. Alex gives it back, throws an arm around his neck, all 'dude' and 'hey man'—best buddies--and Dean smirks. Sure…give Pat a couple of days to get it right. Or for Alex to buy a clue.
He slides a butt out of the pack he squirreled away in the inside pocket of his leather, tucks it behind his ear before climbing the porch stairs. Alex nods when he steps up to him. "Dean, right?" And this time, his eyes are a degree or two warmer.
"Yeah, Dean. Your partner's letting me hang around for a bit," he says and Alex smiles, and wow…Dean has to blink. Oo-kaay. He might not check guys out like that but, damn…..
"We come across something very interesting—maybe you guys wanna take a look at it?" Alex is talking and moving, "It's right around SD. Singer—you know Bobby, right?—sent us some stuff about it—"
Dean follows Alex inside, not really paying that much attention but lured in by the promise of food and cold beer…he smiles. This is what it's all about in the end, right? He hasn't lost anything. He's still got the job, he has Dad. He has a friend and a purpose. What the fuck--he's good with that.
final part 13
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC
Rating: various by chapter, NC-17 overall
Word Count: 2223
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
The bar's the kind of place that would've had dim, smoky air, heavy dark furniture and a hand rubbed finish on a long oak bar, but plastic and vinyl's just so much easier to clean. It would've had sawdust and peanut shells on the floor, really, it would—but that would've been just--unsanitary.
It's the kind of place that wants to be your corner bar, but it's in the middle of a mall parking lot and it's…just…not.
Dean walks in and stops dead. There's some god awful crap pumping out of hidden speakers some where, and this joint had better hope he can't find the god damn things. He wrinkles his nose at the bright red chairs and jet black tables, growls when Pat runs into the back of him.
"Damn it, Winchester—move, will ya? Or at least beep or something when you stop—oh hey, there's your dad."
Dean grabs Pat's wrist. "Wave and I'll cut it off," and ignores Pat's offended snort. There he is—Dad's in the back, standing by a booth, and doing that thing where he doesn’t move his face but he's laughing like hell inside.
"Yeah, laugh it up old man," Dean mutters to himself, "next time it's my pick, we're going with Chucky Cheese's…."
Pat, who has the ears of a fucking bat, snickers. "I don’t think that's a good idea. Two guys who look like serial killers hanging out in a place that caters to kiddies? Good luck with that."
Dean's shocked and a little offended—"serial killers?"
Pat rolls his eyes. "Yeah, get twisted about that, 'cause two grown men hanging out with little kiddies, just fine--ya perv. Hurry up, I'm thirsty."
"Bitch." Dean slides into the booth, the damn thing's so clean and slick, he almost hits the wall and Dad smirks a little before handing them menus.
"They got burgers," he says, not looking at Dean, but that doesn't matter, Dean knows his dad is watching him.
Dean goggles at the menu. hunh? "Goat cheese on a burger? The fuck…avocado?"
Pat murmurs, "It's good, really…"
Yeah. Maybe Pat's gone all California, but Dean's not having it. Cheese burgers are cow and cheese and sometimes when he's feeling adventurous, bacon. Which is just *more meat*, as it should be. "Wait—veggie burgers? What the fuck kind of place is this?" Dad shifts in his seat, and the menu trembles a bit in his hand—he's fucking *laughing* at him. Dean's torn between outrage and…feeling good. Dad doesn't laugh all that much, and Dean loves it when he does, even if it's at his expense. Hell, he'd work his way through a ton of tofu burgers or whatever shit they have here if it makes Dad forget the job for a few minutes….
Pat's over there, biting his lip, huffing through his nose…and *him*, Dean just wants to slap the hell out of, but seeing as how just a short while ago, he was yelling Pat's name like he owned heaven--
Pat looks at him, and blushes, grins down in the menu, the son-of-a-bitch.
Fuck. Dad's looking at him. Now looking at Pat. *Double* fuck, he's got that thinking look…Dean smiles at his dad. 'Kay. He'll play along. "So, what's good here? No wait—what's *edible* here?"
Dad tilts his head and searches Dean's face, the so-and-so's eyes are shining—just full of ha-ha's. "Fuck if I know. I've never eaten at a place like this before." He turns his attention to Pat.
"So, I called your boy. Gave him what I found about the warg…smart boy, that one." He glances at Dean, eyes sliding off him and going back to the menu. Dean's not fooled. Dad always look the most uninterested when he's the most involved. "He says 'hey'. Wants you to call soon as you get the chance." And Pat, Pat slides his eyes over to Dean for a second and Dean feels his stomach cramp. Damn it.
He feels the heat of Pat's gaze for long seconds—keeps his eyes locked on the stupid menu like the map to the holy grail's printed on it. There's this heavy exhale, just full of words that Dean hopes never come out into the light, and Pat says, "Yeah…let me do that right now." He slides out of the booth and walks out. Soon as the door closes on his ass, Dean sighs too. And sure enough Dad's staring at him like he's a bug.
"What are you doing?"
"What? Doing what?"
"What're you doing with Pat? And don’t pretend like you don’t know what I'm talking about—I don't give a shit about whose bed you leave your boots under. But you know—"
"Dad. I don’t know what you're talking about. I didn't—"
"It's not fair. You can't screw up Pat's life on a whim."
"It's not!" Dean says hotly, forgetting that he's supposed to be acting like he's clueless. "I'm not doing it on purpose--whatever." And Dean feels like shit, because he's completely doing it on purpose.
"Look…whatever's eating you, fucking up Pat's stuff is not the way to go. Leave it be, y'hear? Way I see it, Pat's got the making of a great hunter. Work with him—just work with him—or let it go. And I suggest you confront whatever's screwing up your head."
Fuck—since when did Dad turn into Oprah--"Yes sir," Dean mutters, and Dad knows how much the whole thing is bothering him because he just grunts and turns his attention back to the menu—he's going to let Dean stew in it on his own for a while. A minute or two later, Pat slides back in the seat…and keeps a few inches between them. Dean leaves it.
Confront his problems…Dean thinks about that. Yeah Dad, see, my problem is I'd like to fuck your other son. And saying it so baldly, even silently in the confines of his own fucked up head makes him swim with horrified dizziness for a second. His heart slams in his chest, like Dad's got ESP, like he's going to read the sickness festering inside him.
Damn. Sam made the right move. Got out of Dodge. Got out of the whole sick mess. No matter what Pat said, Sam left first, Sam had the guts to cut Dean off when he just couldn't…Sammy always was the smart one.
They make plans to meet up in a month outside of Santa Fe, and then they're packing and loading the cars, and getting ready to separate.
Dad's big black truck's more than halfway down the road, when Dean looks away from the trial of dust it's kicking up. Glances over, and Pat's watching him. Pat looks him over, leans on the Gremlin's roof and says, "Instead of hanging around campus another couple of days, come with me. I'll introduce you to the post house crew…" His eyes are clear and empty of anything except friendship and Dean finds he doesn't want to lose that. Even if he'd just implied that Dean was kind of pathetic. The catch though, is meeting Pat's friends, and that Alex guy…Dean wants to meet those guys like he wants to shoot himself in the foot, but he figures he deserves the penance, and he owes Pat to do it.
"Okay," he hears himself saying and wishes…he was just a little more selfish, 'cause if he was, he'd shove Pat back into the room and make him forget anything else in the world. He doesn't 'cause there's no way it would work. It never was going to work, not from the first time they met. There's nothing Pat could do to make him forget Sam anything and after a while, Pat would resent sharing headspace with a ghost. Sooner or later, it would become obvious that somewhere along the line what Dean should have done was put a bullet in both their heads so yeah…they were going to this Post House place, and after that, back to whatever their separate futures held for them….
The joint looks out of place—Dean can imagine it being somewhere deep in the swamps down south, festooned with Spanish moss and gators grunting out in the back. Hard to believe that the road it's on parallels a major highway and a Walmart is within throwing distance, though the trees lining the property masks that. He wonders what the locals think of the string of odd visitors, speaking with so many different accents and quite a few of them probably crazy looking as hell.
The bar is a long wooden building, its paint faded from bright to a dusty green. A narrow porch runs its length, and a couple of kitchen chairs are parked at the far end. There's a big plate glass window besides the double doors, painted over from the inside. A few ad signs, metal and neon, hang over the window. The place is probably dark inside all the time. The sign over the doors is narrow, telling whoever cares they've found the Post House, and the Post House could care less—cool. He liked a place with attitude.
All in all, it didn't look like much…though the neon beer signs probably make it look real cheerful at night, Dean thinks.
Trees overhang a dirt and gravel parking lot out back, and it's there he parks the Impala, trying to keep it in shade. Black's a cool color, yeah, but in the summer his baby turns into a fucking toaster oven, not her fault, but damn, there's nothing like putting your flesh on sun-baked vinyl to make you scream like a little bitch.
So he's heard.
The ground crunches loud underfoot, cicadas are knocking themselves out singing about the coming end of summer. Dean looks around...just him and Pat outside. The air is still and heavy, and other than the cicadas and the occasional drone of a passing small plane, it's really…"Quiet."
"Yeah, not always. You can't hear the road real well from here but sometimes it gets loud. Evenings, things get busy—some of the braver locals come out. The beer's cheap but decent and the food's not fancy but it's real good," he says, and cuts his eyes at Dean like he's offering something to make up for—whatever. "Daytime though, it's mostly just us."
Dean shrugs. There's the sound of a door opening and a guy scuffs on the porch, black rubber slides sighing over the rough wood, and an impressive scowl darkening his features. He's a light skinned guy—young—short, stiff braids cover his head and he's sporting a close cut beard. He's shorter than both of them, stocky, and the arms he crosses over a thick chest are impressive. Dean looks him up and down. He's pretty sure he could take him, and pretty sure it wouldn't be easy, not for a minute.
"Pat." He comes to the edge of the porch, leans to scratch the inch of skin showing between the tops of his tube sock and the bottom edge of baggy nylon shorts. "Winchester." His arms slide down his chest until his fists come to rest on his hips. "Nice meeting you," and cold grey eyes say it's nothing of the sort.
"Alex," Pat says, with an edge of exasperation and fondness, and with just that one word, Dean feels like he's standing on the outside. His heart clutches and memory serves up "Dean"—one word full of—everything. Makes him feel guilty about Pat all over again, what they did to him that summer…Dean feels the possibilities flying about here. This place, this was Pat's home—if it wasn't now, it would be.
Dad was right. Dean lowers his eyes and takes a step back.
"Come on in, both of you." Alex jerks his chin towards the bar. "Get some lunch, we can talk shop."
Dean holds back and lets Pat take the way, keeps a good few steps between them. Pat leaps up onto the porch and pulls Alex into a quick hug. Alex gives it back, throws an arm around his neck, all 'dude' and 'hey man'—best buddies--and Dean smirks. Sure…give Pat a couple of days to get it right. Or for Alex to buy a clue.
He slides a butt out of the pack he squirreled away in the inside pocket of his leather, tucks it behind his ear before climbing the porch stairs. Alex nods when he steps up to him. "Dean, right?" And this time, his eyes are a degree or two warmer.
"Yeah, Dean. Your partner's letting me hang around for a bit," he says and Alex smiles, and wow…Dean has to blink. Oo-kaay. He might not check guys out like that but, damn…..
"We come across something very interesting—maybe you guys wanna take a look at it?" Alex is talking and moving, "It's right around SD. Singer—you know Bobby, right?—sent us some stuff about it—"
Dean follows Alex inside, not really paying that much attention but lured in by the promise of food and cold beer…he smiles. This is what it's all about in the end, right? He hasn't lost anything. He's still got the job, he has Dad. He has a friend and a purpose. What the fuck--he's good with that.
final part 13
TBC
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
8/18/09 12:14 am (UTC)John, shut the fuck up. And Dean all guilty and jealous and unhappy over Alex and Alex bristling up like a tom-turkey.....
And damnit, *wrap up*?? With everybody still unhappy and lonely and *not talking* and guilty and miserable?
I hates you. I do. I doIdoIdo.
*flails*
Gaaaaaah.
*Teeny thing: Dad was right. dean lowers his eyes and takes a step back. Dean needs capitalized.*
(no subject)
8/18/09 02:05 am (UTC)I hates you. I do. I doIdoIdo.
Aww, I know, sweetie! *hughughug* You're so cute when you're hating me! *beams*
And thank you a million times for catching the snafu! See? you know you love me! ;)
(no subject)
8/18/09 06:39 am (UTC)*can haz more pleaz!!*
Seriously, want to know where Dean goes, especially - your Dean is just so well drawn and conflicted, yummy! Love Patrick too! will definitely be reading this from the beginning again!
(no subject)
8/18/09 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/18/09 01:53 pm (UTC)Anyway, awesome. Although I'm none too impressed with this imminent "wrap-up" shit... ;-) *waits for next 30 chapters*
(no subject)
8/18/09 03:36 pm (UTC)As for the wrap-up shit, *G* there might be more to be said about these guys, I think! ;)
(no subject)
8/18/09 05:17 pm (UTC)I have to go back and read the chapters I missed! My flist is getting unmanageably large, but there are so many awesome writers like yourself out there, ironically, I don't want to miss any of it.
(no subject)
8/29/09 04:54 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that bit in the restaurant worked for you! John in this fic was a bit more easy-going then canon John, but I definitely felt Show John had a sense of humor--certainly his younger incarnation seemed to have it!
thanks so much about the OCs. They're so much fun to write because they give you a chance to look at our boys in a different way.
My flist is getting unmanageably large...
I *know* There are so many, many excellent writers that I hate to miss ANYTHING! I angst knowing there's good stuff out there I'm missing!!
Obsessed? Me? Pffft!! :)
(no subject)
8/18/09 08:05 pm (UTC):( I don't want it to end, though. . . *Waaaaaaah*
(no subject)
8/29/09 04:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/19/09 02:10 am (UTC)Also, that whole damn part in the restaurant is just perfect. So funny, and so spot-on. And sure, I want Dean + Pat 4 Eva (or until Sam and Dean run away together...or Sam and Dean and Pat run away together...), but I think this is still satisfying and honest.
Thank you.
(no subject)
8/29/09 04:56 am (UTC)But of course I will.
(no subject)
8/19/09 03:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/19/09 04:04 am (UTC)*clomps* I need my cheering section! :)
(no subject)
8/19/09 08:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/19/09 10:12 pm (UTC)