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spn_summergen2015-08-18 02:56 pm
summergen-mod.livejournal.com) wrote in spn_summergen2015-08-18 02:56 pm
Entry tags:
Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, for winchesterloved
Title: Diners, Drive-ins and Dives
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
winchesterloved
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 6178
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: winchesterloved, I combined two of your prompts:
The law enforcement find out Sam and Dean aren't dead, and are after them again. Cue Sam and Dean on the run. Angst/crack/humour with a dash of genius!badass!boys.
Snapshots of Sam and Dean's life on the road - dingy motels, sleazy bars, greasy diner food, laundromats, getting banged up on hunts... Served with a side of codependency and brother
I hope that you enjoy it.
Summary: All Dean wanted was a hamburger.
Dean just had to have that hamburger. No. McDonald's was good enough for millions of others but not his gourmet hamburger eating brother. He had to go to a spot that was supposed to be out of the way and supposedly only the locals knew about it. He’d seem on Diners, Drive In’s and Dives on the Food Network, and had been in the place when Guy fucking Fieri came back to do a follow up.
Here’s an interesting fact, apparently both hunters and the FBI watched the show.
Sam’s just not sure when or why they were watching the Food Network period, because both groups kept the same shitty hours and neither had the down time to cook. Dean did cook a little now that they had the bunker and food was Dean’s new and socially acceptable porn.
His stupid brother had been one of the customers that the host had asked about a burger topped with ham, eggs and bacon. Sam had shaken his head at the time because he thought that the burger had an identity crisis because it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be breakfast or dinner. What it did do, was get them back on the FBI’s radar.
“Stop bitching about the burger,” Dean demanded. “I’ll bet at no point in that diatribe that is going on in your head do you take blame for wanting to try that vegan thing do you?”
“I,” Sam stressed making sure that Dean knew who was at fault, “did not get on camera while making love to said vegan thing-burger.”
“I don’t care how they dress it up on a menus, unless it’s got meat on it, it ain’t a burger. Okay Sammy,” Dean says, dropping the argument about the burger and focusing on their predicament. “we’re two days away from the bunker, but with the Feds hot on our tails, there’s no way were gonna make it without being detected.”
Sam looked at the landscape and then pulled up the GPS on his phone, he had a hunch but he wanted to be sure. They were a day from the restaurant, and Sam thought that they had been here before, “remember when I was about eleven or twelve and dad poached on another hunter’s job and got rid of the ghost instead of that newbie hunter?”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, “How can I forget one of the few paying jobs we ever had.”
“Well, then you remember that when said hunter came after dad, by trying to hurt us, so we spent a month stowed us away in one of Bobby’s cabins…”
“Around here,” Dean remembered.
“Yeah, should be somewhere around here,” Sam said as he started to see signs that pointed to the cabin. They weren’t this way to the cabin signs; they were coded sigils that only a hunter would recognize.
“We passed a convenience store a couple of miles back, let’s backtrack to get some provisions and hole up until we can come with a plan, or this time we might die for keeps.”
“Or just go to jail,” Sam said.
“Is there a difference?” Dean asked and Sam didn’t answer because he couldn’t disagree.
When they reached the store, the pair bickered as to whether to go in together.
“We're in the sticks,” Dean argued. “No one is going to recognize us here.”
“Dude, you say that as though there’s no TV or internet out here. We may be a state away, but even here in the sticks, Baby is just as recognizable as we are.”
Dean pet the steering wheel and murmured, “Pretty girls always stand out.”
Once they reached the convenience store the brothers continued to argue about who should go inside. For Sam it was a no brainer, Dean was feeling cocky and would almost dare the clerk to recognize him, or do something to piss the man off. No matter how slow the night was, clerks didn't remember every Tom, Dick or Harry who came in off the highway but a belligerent Dean is something no one would easily forget.
He knew that Dean was going to put up an argument so Sam pulled out an old standard – rock, paper and scissors. Since they were kids Dean made the same play as though the result would be different. When Sam suggested the game, as he expected, the result was the same.
Always with the scissors.
After his millionth win, the men left the car in unison with Dean moving towards the trunk to remove the gas cap and Sam towards the store entrance.
As he made it to the door he saw his reflection in the store window and questioned whether or not he would be recognized, so he pulled the hood of his faded hoodie on his head in hopes to look like someone attempting to ward off the cold rather than attempting to rob the store.
Once inside it was the clerk who made Sam nervous instead of the other way around. The man stared at Sam from the moment he entered the building. Because the clerk’s hands were not visible, Sam moved quickly to make his selections because he wasn’t sure if the man was reaching for a weapon and he really didn’t want to find out.
Despite his hurry to leave the store, Sam still wanted to piss Dean off, give him a little payback for putting them in this position, so he picked the healthiest snacks that a little place this had to offer. When he reached the register and found a selection of brown bananas and overripe apples, Sam added them to his selections as well.
The clerk didn’t say anything, not as much as a how are you, he just stared at Sam, making the hunter’s left eye twitch. The situation reminded him of the time when the leviathans were posing as them and on a killing spree. The clerk had recognized them then and had set the FBI on their ass.
There was no clue that this clerk had recognized them, but Sam was taking no chances and hurried from the store.
The drive back to the cabin was short, and Dean carefully followed the signs to the cabin, they weren’t as visible as they were when Sam was twelve, or even in the fading light of the day, but eventually they made their way back to the cabin.
Years of practice had the doors and windows salted to ward off demons and ghosts and soon they were sleeping.
The brothers were awakened near dawn by the sound of helicopters flying overhead.
“We gotta go…” They said in unison.
Both men grabbed a duffel and threw it in the back seat of the car. By unspoken agreement, they stuck to back roads until they could lose the feds.
“I thought you said that he didn’t make us, Sammy,” Dean accused.
Sam was sure the man didn’t recognize them, and couldn’t understand how he could have been so wrong.
“He didn’t Dean. If he did then he’s the best actor Hollywood has never seen.”
“If he didn’t, then why the fuck are we ruining my car if he didn’t recognize your overgrown ass?”
“He didn’t give a hint that he recognized me,” Sam defended himself. “I’ll turn the scanner on and see if we can figure out what is going on.”
Because they were so far in the woods, the police scanner faded in and out but they were able to figure out what happened. It seemed that the clerk was part time, worked as a mechanic and loved the classics. He'd recognized the car and not Sam.
Even though they were being chased by dicks with better toys, it made Sam fell a little better to know that his senses didn’t fail him. He was feeling a little smug until Dean hit a hole in the road.
“Fuck!” Dean swore.
Sam wasn’t sure if he was swearing because of the hole or the fact that his baby had taken another hit. Sam really didn’t care, he was just gloating that he had been right. Even though Dean couldn’t see it he made a bitch face at his brother because Dean had earned it for doubting him.
The satisfaction of being right didn’t last long because Dean turned away from the cabin and the well-traveled roads on an attempt to elude the agents.
Sam used the terms roads loosely because they were really just paths that had been well worn by vehicles.
Even though Dean cursed the trees, Sam could tell that he was grateful for them because their thickness gave them coverage shielding them from the helicopter above. Sam held his breath and trusted his brother’s driving skills to get them out of the tight spot they were in.
Thankfully Dean had filled the tank at their last stop because they evaded the helicopters for over an hour until the rising sun helped by blessing them with light so they couldn’t be tracked by their headlights.
“There’s a road about a 100 yards ahead,” Sam told Dean as he consulted the G.P.S on his phone, and briefly showed it to his brother whose concentration was on getting them out of the woods.
When the daylight creeped through the dense trees, and a quick glance at Sam’s phone, Dean made an unexpected right turn. Knowing that the F.B.I was relying on marked roads, and was most likely waiting for them at the end of that 100 yards, Dean found an unmarked trail that was more for hiking than cars and blazed through at lightning speed.
Sam just held on and prayed that there were no trees to block their path.
According to Sam’s phone, they came out of the woods twenty miles away from the cabin, well past that fucking convenience store.
Dean drove until he found a truck stop where they could refuel the car and their bodies.
Once they were able to stop, Dean gripped the steering wheel with both hands, breathing hard as though he had just completed a two mile run. He took a minute to get his breathing under control before getting out to inspect the damage.
“Fuck!” Dean cursed as he inspected the damage to the car.
Sam didn’t think it was that bad, but then to his brother bird shit was major damage. Besides he wasn’t sure if Dean was cursing because of the damage or their predicament, so he just kept quiet and let his brother vent.
The minute he was sure Dean had vented all of his frustration, Sam said softly, “We have to park her Dean. They know what she looks like and will be looking for the car.”
Like most things in their lives, this was not the first time they had to give up something precious to them. They would have to hide their car, their home. A few years ago when the leviathans were trying to take over the world and kill him and Dean, they imitated the brothers by stealing their DNA and becoming them right down to the car. The fake brothers went on a killing spree that garnered the attention of the FBI.
The Impala was such a part of who they were, at the time Sam wondered if the car they used was born from their DNA as well.
A small town cop whose misfortune it was to have witnessed the monsters feeding helped them escape and convince the feds that they were dead. As far as the government knew, they had been cremated and buried in a Potter’s Field.
They would still be dead if it wasn’t for Dean needing his god-damned hamburger.
They were a day’s drive from where they stored the Impala before, so they drove through night, only stopping to siphon gas from parked SUV’s and trucks, until they reached baby’s sanctuary.
After making sure the car was secure, the pair now had to find alternate transportation, so Sam made the first score with a 1975 yellow Mustang.
“I thought the idea was to be low key, not drive around in a neon car that says here we are,” Dean snarked. “If you had to steal a Mustang, you could have chosen a better year than this. This looks like a grandpa car.”
“Dean must you be elitist about everything? First the hamburger, now the car?” Sam snapped. “It’s still a Mustang so it’s bad ass.”
“There’s nothing badass about a candy colored car,” Dean argued as he got behind the wheel and put one of his tapes in the cassette player. “I’ll bet some little old dude named Elmer owns this piece of shit.”
Determined to prove his brother wrong, Sam opened the glove box and found the insurance information and read, “His name is Henry…” Sam muttered hoping that Dean couldn’t hear him over the opening strains of Smoke on the water.
Of course the little shit heard.
He gave Sam a smirk and punched the gas only getting a sputter in response proving Dean’s point.
The Mustang didn’t last long because Dean wanted to feel power under his hands, and besides they had to ditch the monster after they walked out of a diner (no gourmet burgers or Guy Fieri this time) and the car was being inspected by someone.
They weren’t sure if they recognized the car or if they were a Mustang enthusiast, but they weren’t going to take any chances.
“Get our shit and wait for me Dean while I find us a new ride,” Sam told him as he jogged away. He knew that if given the chance Dean would argue, so he jogged away giving his older brother no choice in the matter.
A few minutes later Sam was back driving a big fuck you to Dean- a 2014 black Impala. For the first time in his life Sam witnessed a speechless Dean Winchester. If they weren’t in a hurry, he would take a picture.
“C’mon Dean, we don’t have all day,” Sam ordered as he reached over and threw the door open. He was relieved when Dean finally snapped out of his shock and threw their duffels in the back and climbed in.
“This,” Dean hissed as he waved his arms in the manner of a game show hostess showing off a prize, “was the only car you could find, Baby’s, like great-grandchild?”
The look of hurt on Dean’s face almost had Sam apologizing, but then he remembered why they weren’t driving Baby and punched the gas.
It didn’t have the same satisfaction as with Dean’s Baby, there was no rumble of the engine and now Sam was wearing the same hangdog look as Dean.
They didn’t talk for the first five miles, and the silence was wearing on him so he reached over and turned the radio on.
A quick glance told Sam that it was a cd and not the radio and judging from what was now playing, this car didn’t belong to a little old man, and Sam may or may not have begun to hum along, but at least he didn’t start singing.
Dean did however.
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
and I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
“And you call me a big girl, at least I’m not singing Taylor Swift songs,” Sam lied.
“You are a big girl, Sammy and like all of you and your little girlfriends, you knew that this was Taylor Swift. You president of her fan club Sammy?”
“Jerk.” Sam muttered.
“Bitch,” Dean replied.
They then looked at one another shrugged their shoulders and began to belt out the lyrics together:
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
You've got that long hair slick back, white t-shirt
And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
They were soon running out of cash and needed a place to sleep. This car was not Baby and it wouldn’t be a comfortable sleep for either of them. Normally they would hustle pool but that wasn’t the best idea because if they walked into the wrong bar, in the wrong town they could end up in jail. There was always that one cop trying to make a name for himself, so after ditching the Impala (the fake one), they found a rust-bucket masquerading as an F150 to get them to Colorado to their post office box and hopefully a fresh credit card.
Okay, this time Sam had no one to blame but himself. Dean had wanted to wait until it was dark before they went inside the post office, but Sam was tired and hungry and he wanted to sleep, so he tried to slip unnoticed into the small post office and fuck.
The first thing he saw was a giant poster of him and his brother and two women looking at it and then back at him.
In less than a minute the two women and the post office clerk had their cells out calling the number on the poster. Apparently there was a huge reward for information that led to the capture of some on the FBI’s top ten list. At this point Sam was almost desperate enough to turn them in for the reward.
Rushing back to the truck, Sam hit the hood telling Dean to go, but then he noticed that the police station was across the street. If they tried to drive their way out, they would be trapped.
The great thing about growing up in each other’s space was that they learned to read one another’s mind. When Dean heard the commotion from across the street, he grabbed the duffels and they were off and running.
“Told you it would be better to wait ‘til after dark, but no, your girly ass needed to get some real sleep,” Dean groused in a huff, pausing to use air quotes before running.
“Hamburger, Dean. All of this because you wanted a god-damned hamburger,” Sam reminded him as he ran beside his brother.
“But it was a good hamburger, Sam,” Dean said with his patented cockiness as though a piece of meat was worth all of the hell thet they were experiencing now. “It was…”
“Through here,” Sam cut off his brothers’ rant about the perfect burger when he spotted an alley behind the pharmacy that led to some woods.
The pair ran through the woods as though hell hounds were after them and came up short when the path in the woods ended at a lake.
There was no way that they would get out of those woods before night fall, and that was something Sam didn’t want to do. They hadn’t planned on staying in Manning, because of a vampire hunt with their dad years ago. Even though they killed the leader the nest was still there and they still had Sam and Dean’s scents and retribution was high on the vamp’s list. Walking in the woods at night in an enemy’s territory was not that appealing.
“Fuck, Dean, what now?”
“The shortest route is always a straight line,” was Dean’s reply.
Sam was confused by the answer until Dean pointed out a boat at the dock.
It was not just any boat, it was a beautiful Chris Craft Continental, and as usual Dean jumped behind the steering wheel- or the helm in this case. For once luck was on their side and the key was in the boat. Sam stood back and watched as Dean struggled to start the boat.
Living in San Francisco allowed him to learn things that their dad had thought unnecessary, like driving a boat. He and Jessica and her family had spent several weekends in the bay, and Mr. Moore liked Sam enough to let him take over at the helm.
“Sam it seems that we’re going to have to hoof it,” Dean signed as he reached for his bag.
Sam stepped to the helm, turned the key and the throttle and had the boat purring to life. As he looked back to make sure that they weren’t still moored to the dock, Sam caught the bitch face Dean was giving him and smiled.
The ride across the lake was nice, something they as brothers never got a chance to do before and it was sad that the one time they did, had to be turned into a remember when we were running from something story.
“If we get out of this, let’s go the Grand Canyon,” Sam told Dean. He didn’t look at his brother but he knew that there was surprise on his face. Dean has been suggesting this for years, but Sam always blew him off.
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean agreed. “Let’s.”
Dean didn’t argue or try to turn the trip to see a giant hole in the ground into a trip to Mexico for illegal sex shows. That’s when Sam knew that they were really in trouble, that Dean thought that this was something from which they weren’t going to walk away.
They docked quickly, while Sam moored the boat, Dean looked for a ride, something that wouldn’t stick out, but the only car he found was a 1950’s era woody station wagon. When Sam hopped in, Dean was singing an off key rendition of the Beach Boys Surf City.
Dean drove the woody longer than he should have, they were just over the border of Colorado in some little town in Kansas, when Dean pulled into a chain drive in and a group of young boys gathered around them and admired the car.
Sam watched as Dean showed the car to the boys in a way he had never been able to with the Impala, and for a moment, Sam remembered all of the things that Dean had lost. His childhood, his home and any semblance of normalcy and was determined that his freedom would not be one of them.
It wouldn’t be long before the FBI knew they were in Kansas but he didn’t blame Dean for that.
Two streets over, they ditched the classic car for a twenty year old Volvo.
Their plan was to find a hotel, but with the attention from the young boys, they drove four hours more before stopping at a motel. It wasn’t their usual type of dump, because to call it a dump would be an insult to dumps, this was a dive at its finest. And it charged by the hour.
The hotel was old-most likely built in the 1940’s, art nouveau. It was so old that it was back in style. Not that anyone would bother in this neighborhood. Gentrification was so not happening here. This was where the outcasts of society lived.
He swore he saw a needle on the ground by the door, but they needed a place to stay and if he verified it, then they would be back on the road.
“Two queens,” Sam told the clerk as he place money down on the counter.
“Cute,” the clerk smirked. “It’s either one queen or a king.”
“The king,” Dean told the man.
“Lube and condoms are extra,” he told them as he held out his hand for more money.
“We’re brothers!” Sam barked annoyed at the man’s assumption. “You know what just give me the key.”
“Hey, I don’t judge,” The clerk held up his hands and smirked.
“Why does everyone think we’re gay?” Dean mumbled as they walked out.
“I’ve been telling you for years that you over compensate, too butch,” Sam laughed as they walked out the door.
The room was horrible, just like the rest of the place. When he turned on the lights Sam had to adjust his eyes because the room was neon green. Sam was willing to bet that the paint was chosen for its price and not the effects it had on the hourly clientele.
As they salted the doors and windows, Dean said, “This probably isn’t necessary because no self-respecting ghost would want to haunt this room.”
The paint was the only thing new in the room. The furniture and bedding looked as though it hadn’t been upgraded since the 1990’s, and that was being generous. From the look of disdain on Dean’s face he shared Sam’s thoughts.
By a nod of the head, they reached an agreement to sleep on top of the covers because Sam was sure that the furniture was not the only thing they hadn’t changed.
If they used a black light in this room he was sure that it would resemble a Jackson Pollock painting.
“You can shower first,” Sam told his brother. If Dean wanted to chance it then he could, but sleep was good enough for him.
“I’d rather hunt down a Wendigo than take my clothes off in this petri dish,” Dean snarked as he took off his boots.
Mirroring his brother’s actions, Sam took of his boots as well and laid down on the bed near the bathroom and Dean facing the door that led outside. It was a habit borne from protection and Sam had spent his teenage years telling Dean he didn’t need that anymore, but it was a habit now.
He wouldn’t admit to Dean that now it would feel weird to sleep on the other side. Even for the brief time he was with his girlfriend, Amelia, Sam still slept on the side furthest from the door.
For all of his protesting that he needed to sleep in a real bed, this was not what he had in mind. The mattress was lumpy and hard and he had a hell of a time going to sleep, and just when he drifted into a light slumber, Dean was up his gun drawn at an unseen enemy.
Sam tried to focus as Dean held his Taurus with one hand as he wiped something from his face. Had they unknowingly trapped a ghost in the room with them?
There was no evidence that anything was in the room with them until he saw something crawl down Dean’s arm.
Roaches.
The vermin had the brothers moving faster than anything supernatural ever had. The duffels were fetched and shoes were carried not worn as they both made their way to the door. Sam was there first and despite the things he was carrying he was able to pull the door open with such force that he almost hit Dean.
Remembering the needle, Sam stopped to put his boots on telling Dean to do the same, because after what he’d just experienced, if he stepped on a needle he’d be in the mood to shoot someone. Based on the smirk on the face of the clerk, Roger his name tag clearly visible this time, he’d do just fine.
“Came back for the lube and condoms,” He grinned as he put down the book he was reading.
“Where's the head?” Dean asked still flicking imaginary roaches from his clothes.
“It’s not for public use,” the little shit told them.
“That’s fine, I’ll just piss right here then,” Dean informed him as he shrugged his shoulders and made to unbuckle his belt.
Sam didn’t think that Dean really had to urinate, but wanted to check his clothes for more roaches, but with the challenge in clerks voice he was sure the older man would just to prove a point.
“Okay-jeez, where were you raised in a barn? It’s through there,” the clerk pointed to a door behind him.
“Give me my money back,” Sam demanded. “We did not pay to stay in a roach motel.”
Grinning the bastard pointed to a sign behind him and went back to reading his book.
No Refunds, is what the sign read.
“For a room with roaches, there will be a refund,” Sam told the young man.
Drawing himself up to his full six foot four frame, Sam told the man, “Give me my money back, or I will come back there and get it.”
“I’m sorry that James Dean didn’t live up to his promise, but as the sign says no refund,” the clerk grinned as he pointed a shotgun at Sam.
The door behind the young man opened and he turned to point the weapon at Dean. Sam wanted to take the opportunity to attack, but the desk separated him and the gunman. But that was okay because Dean was now pulling out his gun.
“Roger,” he read the kids name, “other than the obvious, do you know the difference between my gun and your shotgun? Of course you don’t so let me help you,” he offered.
Sam watched in disbelief as Dean showed the kid his gun.
“I don’t have the safety on,” he educated Roger before place the gun in the back of his pants, hitting Roger and taking the shotgun from him. “And you do.”
There was some satisfaction watching the dazed kid squirm on the floor, but then reality set in.
“Dean you know he’s going to call the police,” Sam informed his brother, giving him a bitch face that had been perfected over the years.
“Yeah, but by the time he gets loose, we’ll be half way to Lawrence by then,” he grinned as he held up a roll of box twine.
Once they had the kid tied up, Sam retrieved their precious cash and they made their way to the Volvo and headed back towards Colorado.
The first few miles were in silence, before Sam broke it, “What are we doing here Dean? We can’t hunt if we’re being hunted. “And if we keep doing stupid shit like that, we’re gonna lead them right to us. This isn’t like the leviathans, where we have body doubles to placate them. They want us, and this time they’re not stopping until they have us.”
Dean pulled over and looked at Sam and said matter of factly, “then let’s give them us.”
Sam looked at his brother to see id maybe the roaches had been demon possessed and muttered, Christo, just to be sure.
“Not possessed, but think Sam you had the answer, Leviathans,” Dean repeated as though saying it again was going to make sense to Sam.
“Those bastards replicated, us Sam. Our faces. Our DNA. We know what the feds don’t, Sam. We know that the sheriff Osborne didn’t cremate the bodies, and more importantly we know where the bodies and the heads are. Now that Dick has lost his juice, it won’t be a problem to put them together.”
“And the car,” Sam added finally catching on.
“Yeah, and the car,” Dean agreed.
Ankeny, Iowa was just like any other small town. A main street that’s the heartbeat of the town and the citizens living in suburbs or small farming communities on the outskirts of the town. The difference between Ankeny and most small towns was Sam and Dean Winchester had died there or so the story goes.
Now with the hunt on again the FBI are back as well as the press trying to figure out how these two eluded death a second time. Sam thought about all of the times that they really did die and found it weirdly amusing that he’s more worried about going to jail rather than being killed.
Here they’ll have to be careful, they were notorious in this little town, so notorious in fact that the couple who opened the New York style deli on Main Street named sandwiches after them. The Sam was a hearty hamburger on sourdough bread, while the Dean was portabella melt on rye. Shows you that looks can be deceiving, Sam can’t remember the last time he ate a burger.
Nightfall found the brothers on the outskirts of Ankeny on the Osborne family farm. It wasn’t rundown, but it had all the earmarks of being deserted. The sheriffs’ daughter died at the hand of a Leviathan as well, so perhaps there was no other family to take over the place.
The way the town celebrated Sam and Dean’s death, Sam’s surprised that this place hadn’t been turned into a theme park. Who knew what would happen if they could pull this off.
First they had to dig up body parts and Sam hated that shit. He was going to rock, paper, scissors, but Dean had to make sure that the fake Impala was running and up to the task. It was a little suspect that Dean finished his inspection about five minutes after Sam finished digging.
Maybe Dean finally won a rock, paper, and scissors.
The Volvo had been ditched in Luther, a town a few miles outside of Ankeny and replaced with a Dodge Charger. Sam was surprised at Dean’s choice, but he said they needed something fast and reliable for their getaway.
“Besides, it’s got a hemi,” Dean smiled.
They camped out at the Osborne farm for two days because to pull this off they needed to scout the area and they needed rest. For the first time over a week, the brothers slept in a real bed for a change.
Sam really had the easy part, all he had to do was wait with the getaway car while Dean drove with two dead bodies and evade the FBI long enough to put their plan in motion.
Maybe Dean didn’t win rock, paper, and scissors after all.
It rained the night before and that worried Sam, high speeds on unfamiliar water slick roads was asking for trouble. He wanted to wait make sure that the weather was clear, but Dean said no.
“It’s perfect Sam, if we leave any tracks during out get away, the heavy rains will wash them away,” he countered Sam’s insistence that they wait.
“Then I ride with you Dean,” Sam insisted. There was no way he was going to sit and wait while his brother took all of the risks.
“Sam if something goes wrong…”
“Then they find four bodies instead of two.”
Dean’s answer was a brief nod, that had not Sam been staring, he would have missed.
Before sunrise the next morning, the brothers drove towards the Iron Mountains to an out cropping of trees to park the Charger before Sam slid into the back seat of the fake Impala with Dean and the smell of death and gasoline stole his breath.
At mile marker fifteen, Sam pulled out his phone and dialed 911.
“I swear I see those Winchester boys,” he said excitedly, “on highway 235 towards the mountains. Should I follow them?”
After assuring the police that he would not follow the armed and dangerous Winchesters, Sam sat back and held his breath as Dean picked up speed, because just as they had planned, the Feds were there with their helicopters in less than fifteen minutes.
When they came to their turn, Dean caught Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror and said, “let’s Thelma and Louise this bitch.”
They had a spot where Dean was supposed to jump from the car under the cover of the trees where the helicopter couldn’t see, that’s when Sam jumped from the fast moving car. Once he hit the ground with a thud, Sam lay there and watched in horror as his brother stayed in the car and didn’t jump until the car almost went over the cliff and landed in a fiery explosion.
“Dean!” He cried out. Forgetting that he was supposed to stay under the cover of the trees, Sam ran to his brother, grateful that the FBI didn’t spot him.
He heard a moan and knew that Dean was hurt, but he also knew that meant Dean was alive at this point that was all that mattered. He’d kill him for being stupid later, but right now they had to get out of dodge.
“Fuck,’ Dean muttered as he held his left arm as he watched the car go up in flames. “I wanted to get those rims.”
The jump hurt Dean’s arm, and there was a little blood, but the rain was washing it away. He wanted to check Dean out more thoroughly but from the sound of things the feds were on their ass already, so they ran through the woods to the car they’d stashed earlier.
A day later they ditched the Charger and when they were sure they were no longer being chased, decided to stop for food, instead of going to a local diner they settled for a Waffle House.
“You getting a burger?” Sam asked Dean as he studied the menu.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “I’ll just have a salad.”
Recipient:
winchesterlovedRating: pg-13
Word Count: 6178
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: winchesterloved, I combined two of your prompts:
The law enforcement find out Sam and Dean aren't dead, and are after them again. Cue Sam and Dean on the run. Angst/crack/humour with a dash of genius!badass!boys.
Snapshots of Sam and Dean's life on the road - dingy motels, sleazy bars, greasy diner food, laundromats, getting banged up on hunts... Served with a side of codependency and brother
I hope that you enjoy it.
Summary: All Dean wanted was a hamburger.
Dean just had to have that hamburger. No. McDonald's was good enough for millions of others but not his gourmet hamburger eating brother. He had to go to a spot that was supposed to be out of the way and supposedly only the locals knew about it. He’d seem on Diners, Drive In’s and Dives on the Food Network, and had been in the place when Guy fucking Fieri came back to do a follow up.
Here’s an interesting fact, apparently both hunters and the FBI watched the show.
Sam’s just not sure when or why they were watching the Food Network period, because both groups kept the same shitty hours and neither had the down time to cook. Dean did cook a little now that they had the bunker and food was Dean’s new and socially acceptable porn.
His stupid brother had been one of the customers that the host had asked about a burger topped with ham, eggs and bacon. Sam had shaken his head at the time because he thought that the burger had an identity crisis because it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be breakfast or dinner. What it did do, was get them back on the FBI’s radar.
“Stop bitching about the burger,” Dean demanded. “I’ll bet at no point in that diatribe that is going on in your head do you take blame for wanting to try that vegan thing do you?”
“I,” Sam stressed making sure that Dean knew who was at fault, “did not get on camera while making love to said vegan thing-burger.”
“I don’t care how they dress it up on a menus, unless it’s got meat on it, it ain’t a burger. Okay Sammy,” Dean says, dropping the argument about the burger and focusing on their predicament. “we’re two days away from the bunker, but with the Feds hot on our tails, there’s no way were gonna make it without being detected.”
Sam looked at the landscape and then pulled up the GPS on his phone, he had a hunch but he wanted to be sure. They were a day from the restaurant, and Sam thought that they had been here before, “remember when I was about eleven or twelve and dad poached on another hunter’s job and got rid of the ghost instead of that newbie hunter?”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, “How can I forget one of the few paying jobs we ever had.”
“Well, then you remember that when said hunter came after dad, by trying to hurt us, so we spent a month stowed us away in one of Bobby’s cabins…”
“Around here,” Dean remembered.
“Yeah, should be somewhere around here,” Sam said as he started to see signs that pointed to the cabin. They weren’t this way to the cabin signs; they were coded sigils that only a hunter would recognize.
“We passed a convenience store a couple of miles back, let’s backtrack to get some provisions and hole up until we can come with a plan, or this time we might die for keeps.”
“Or just go to jail,” Sam said.
“Is there a difference?” Dean asked and Sam didn’t answer because he couldn’t disagree.
When they reached the store, the pair bickered as to whether to go in together.
“We're in the sticks,” Dean argued. “No one is going to recognize us here.”
“Dude, you say that as though there’s no TV or internet out here. We may be a state away, but even here in the sticks, Baby is just as recognizable as we are.”
Dean pet the steering wheel and murmured, “Pretty girls always stand out.”
Once they reached the convenience store the brothers continued to argue about who should go inside. For Sam it was a no brainer, Dean was feeling cocky and would almost dare the clerk to recognize him, or do something to piss the man off. No matter how slow the night was, clerks didn't remember every Tom, Dick or Harry who came in off the highway but a belligerent Dean is something no one would easily forget.
He knew that Dean was going to put up an argument so Sam pulled out an old standard – rock, paper and scissors. Since they were kids Dean made the same play as though the result would be different. When Sam suggested the game, as he expected, the result was the same.
Always with the scissors.
After his millionth win, the men left the car in unison with Dean moving towards the trunk to remove the gas cap and Sam towards the store entrance.
As he made it to the door he saw his reflection in the store window and questioned whether or not he would be recognized, so he pulled the hood of his faded hoodie on his head in hopes to look like someone attempting to ward off the cold rather than attempting to rob the store.
Once inside it was the clerk who made Sam nervous instead of the other way around. The man stared at Sam from the moment he entered the building. Because the clerk’s hands were not visible, Sam moved quickly to make his selections because he wasn’t sure if the man was reaching for a weapon and he really didn’t want to find out.
Despite his hurry to leave the store, Sam still wanted to piss Dean off, give him a little payback for putting them in this position, so he picked the healthiest snacks that a little place this had to offer. When he reached the register and found a selection of brown bananas and overripe apples, Sam added them to his selections as well.
The clerk didn’t say anything, not as much as a how are you, he just stared at Sam, making the hunter’s left eye twitch. The situation reminded him of the time when the leviathans were posing as them and on a killing spree. The clerk had recognized them then and had set the FBI on their ass.
There was no clue that this clerk had recognized them, but Sam was taking no chances and hurried from the store.
The drive back to the cabin was short, and Dean carefully followed the signs to the cabin, they weren’t as visible as they were when Sam was twelve, or even in the fading light of the day, but eventually they made their way back to the cabin.
Years of practice had the doors and windows salted to ward off demons and ghosts and soon they were sleeping.
The brothers were awakened near dawn by the sound of helicopters flying overhead.
“We gotta go…” They said in unison.
Both men grabbed a duffel and threw it in the back seat of the car. By unspoken agreement, they stuck to back roads until they could lose the feds.
“I thought you said that he didn’t make us, Sammy,” Dean accused.
Sam was sure the man didn’t recognize them, and couldn’t understand how he could have been so wrong.
“He didn’t Dean. If he did then he’s the best actor Hollywood has never seen.”
“If he didn’t, then why the fuck are we ruining my car if he didn’t recognize your overgrown ass?”
“He didn’t give a hint that he recognized me,” Sam defended himself. “I’ll turn the scanner on and see if we can figure out what is going on.”
Because they were so far in the woods, the police scanner faded in and out but they were able to figure out what happened. It seemed that the clerk was part time, worked as a mechanic and loved the classics. He'd recognized the car and not Sam.
Even though they were being chased by dicks with better toys, it made Sam fell a little better to know that his senses didn’t fail him. He was feeling a little smug until Dean hit a hole in the road.
“Fuck!” Dean swore.
Sam wasn’t sure if he was swearing because of the hole or the fact that his baby had taken another hit. Sam really didn’t care, he was just gloating that he had been right. Even though Dean couldn’t see it he made a bitch face at his brother because Dean had earned it for doubting him.
The satisfaction of being right didn’t last long because Dean turned away from the cabin and the well-traveled roads on an attempt to elude the agents.
Sam used the terms roads loosely because they were really just paths that had been well worn by vehicles.
Even though Dean cursed the trees, Sam could tell that he was grateful for them because their thickness gave them coverage shielding them from the helicopter above. Sam held his breath and trusted his brother’s driving skills to get them out of the tight spot they were in.
Thankfully Dean had filled the tank at their last stop because they evaded the helicopters for over an hour until the rising sun helped by blessing them with light so they couldn’t be tracked by their headlights.
“There’s a road about a 100 yards ahead,” Sam told Dean as he consulted the G.P.S on his phone, and briefly showed it to his brother whose concentration was on getting them out of the woods.
When the daylight creeped through the dense trees, and a quick glance at Sam’s phone, Dean made an unexpected right turn. Knowing that the F.B.I was relying on marked roads, and was most likely waiting for them at the end of that 100 yards, Dean found an unmarked trail that was more for hiking than cars and blazed through at lightning speed.
Sam just held on and prayed that there were no trees to block their path.
According to Sam’s phone, they came out of the woods twenty miles away from the cabin, well past that fucking convenience store.
Dean drove until he found a truck stop where they could refuel the car and their bodies.
Once they were able to stop, Dean gripped the steering wheel with both hands, breathing hard as though he had just completed a two mile run. He took a minute to get his breathing under control before getting out to inspect the damage.
“Fuck!” Dean cursed as he inspected the damage to the car.
Sam didn’t think it was that bad, but then to his brother bird shit was major damage. Besides he wasn’t sure if Dean was cursing because of the damage or their predicament, so he just kept quiet and let his brother vent.
The minute he was sure Dean had vented all of his frustration, Sam said softly, “We have to park her Dean. They know what she looks like and will be looking for the car.”
Like most things in their lives, this was not the first time they had to give up something precious to them. They would have to hide their car, their home. A few years ago when the leviathans were trying to take over the world and kill him and Dean, they imitated the brothers by stealing their DNA and becoming them right down to the car. The fake brothers went on a killing spree that garnered the attention of the FBI.
The Impala was such a part of who they were, at the time Sam wondered if the car they used was born from their DNA as well.
A small town cop whose misfortune it was to have witnessed the monsters feeding helped them escape and convince the feds that they were dead. As far as the government knew, they had been cremated and buried in a Potter’s Field.
They would still be dead if it wasn’t for Dean needing his god-damned hamburger.
They were a day’s drive from where they stored the Impala before, so they drove through night, only stopping to siphon gas from parked SUV’s and trucks, until they reached baby’s sanctuary.
After making sure the car was secure, the pair now had to find alternate transportation, so Sam made the first score with a 1975 yellow Mustang.
“I thought the idea was to be low key, not drive around in a neon car that says here we are,” Dean snarked. “If you had to steal a Mustang, you could have chosen a better year than this. This looks like a grandpa car.”
“Dean must you be elitist about everything? First the hamburger, now the car?” Sam snapped. “It’s still a Mustang so it’s bad ass.”
“There’s nothing badass about a candy colored car,” Dean argued as he got behind the wheel and put one of his tapes in the cassette player. “I’ll bet some little old dude named Elmer owns this piece of shit.”
Determined to prove his brother wrong, Sam opened the glove box and found the insurance information and read, “His name is Henry…” Sam muttered hoping that Dean couldn’t hear him over the opening strains of Smoke on the water.
Of course the little shit heard.
He gave Sam a smirk and punched the gas only getting a sputter in response proving Dean’s point.
The Mustang didn’t last long because Dean wanted to feel power under his hands, and besides they had to ditch the monster after they walked out of a diner (no gourmet burgers or Guy Fieri this time) and the car was being inspected by someone.
They weren’t sure if they recognized the car or if they were a Mustang enthusiast, but they weren’t going to take any chances.
“Get our shit and wait for me Dean while I find us a new ride,” Sam told him as he jogged away. He knew that if given the chance Dean would argue, so he jogged away giving his older brother no choice in the matter.
A few minutes later Sam was back driving a big fuck you to Dean- a 2014 black Impala. For the first time in his life Sam witnessed a speechless Dean Winchester. If they weren’t in a hurry, he would take a picture.
“C’mon Dean, we don’t have all day,” Sam ordered as he reached over and threw the door open. He was relieved when Dean finally snapped out of his shock and threw their duffels in the back and climbed in.
“This,” Dean hissed as he waved his arms in the manner of a game show hostess showing off a prize, “was the only car you could find, Baby’s, like great-grandchild?”
The look of hurt on Dean’s face almost had Sam apologizing, but then he remembered why they weren’t driving Baby and punched the gas.
It didn’t have the same satisfaction as with Dean’s Baby, there was no rumble of the engine and now Sam was wearing the same hangdog look as Dean.
They didn’t talk for the first five miles, and the silence was wearing on him so he reached over and turned the radio on.
A quick glance told Sam that it was a cd and not the radio and judging from what was now playing, this car didn’t belong to a little old man, and Sam may or may not have begun to hum along, but at least he didn’t start singing.
Dean did however.
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
and I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
“And you call me a big girl, at least I’m not singing Taylor Swift songs,” Sam lied.
“You are a big girl, Sammy and like all of you and your little girlfriends, you knew that this was Taylor Swift. You president of her fan club Sammy?”
“Jerk.” Sam muttered.
“Bitch,” Dean replied.
They then looked at one another shrugged their shoulders and began to belt out the lyrics together:
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
You've got that long hair slick back, white t-shirt
And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
They were soon running out of cash and needed a place to sleep. This car was not Baby and it wouldn’t be a comfortable sleep for either of them. Normally they would hustle pool but that wasn’t the best idea because if they walked into the wrong bar, in the wrong town they could end up in jail. There was always that one cop trying to make a name for himself, so after ditching the Impala (the fake one), they found a rust-bucket masquerading as an F150 to get them to Colorado to their post office box and hopefully a fresh credit card.
Okay, this time Sam had no one to blame but himself. Dean had wanted to wait until it was dark before they went inside the post office, but Sam was tired and hungry and he wanted to sleep, so he tried to slip unnoticed into the small post office and fuck.
The first thing he saw was a giant poster of him and his brother and two women looking at it and then back at him.
In less than a minute the two women and the post office clerk had their cells out calling the number on the poster. Apparently there was a huge reward for information that led to the capture of some on the FBI’s top ten list. At this point Sam was almost desperate enough to turn them in for the reward.
Rushing back to the truck, Sam hit the hood telling Dean to go, but then he noticed that the police station was across the street. If they tried to drive their way out, they would be trapped.
The great thing about growing up in each other’s space was that they learned to read one another’s mind. When Dean heard the commotion from across the street, he grabbed the duffels and they were off and running.
“Told you it would be better to wait ‘til after dark, but no, your girly ass needed to get some real sleep,” Dean groused in a huff, pausing to use air quotes before running.
“Hamburger, Dean. All of this because you wanted a god-damned hamburger,” Sam reminded him as he ran beside his brother.
“But it was a good hamburger, Sam,” Dean said with his patented cockiness as though a piece of meat was worth all of the hell thet they were experiencing now. “It was…”
“Through here,” Sam cut off his brothers’ rant about the perfect burger when he spotted an alley behind the pharmacy that led to some woods.
The pair ran through the woods as though hell hounds were after them and came up short when the path in the woods ended at a lake.
There was no way that they would get out of those woods before night fall, and that was something Sam didn’t want to do. They hadn’t planned on staying in Manning, because of a vampire hunt with their dad years ago. Even though they killed the leader the nest was still there and they still had Sam and Dean’s scents and retribution was high on the vamp’s list. Walking in the woods at night in an enemy’s territory was not that appealing.
“Fuck, Dean, what now?”
“The shortest route is always a straight line,” was Dean’s reply.
Sam was confused by the answer until Dean pointed out a boat at the dock.
It was not just any boat, it was a beautiful Chris Craft Continental, and as usual Dean jumped behind the steering wheel- or the helm in this case. For once luck was on their side and the key was in the boat. Sam stood back and watched as Dean struggled to start the boat.
Living in San Francisco allowed him to learn things that their dad had thought unnecessary, like driving a boat. He and Jessica and her family had spent several weekends in the bay, and Mr. Moore liked Sam enough to let him take over at the helm.
“Sam it seems that we’re going to have to hoof it,” Dean signed as he reached for his bag.
Sam stepped to the helm, turned the key and the throttle and had the boat purring to life. As he looked back to make sure that they weren’t still moored to the dock, Sam caught the bitch face Dean was giving him and smiled.
The ride across the lake was nice, something they as brothers never got a chance to do before and it was sad that the one time they did, had to be turned into a remember when we were running from something story.
“If we get out of this, let’s go the Grand Canyon,” Sam told Dean. He didn’t look at his brother but he knew that there was surprise on his face. Dean has been suggesting this for years, but Sam always blew him off.
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean agreed. “Let’s.”
Dean didn’t argue or try to turn the trip to see a giant hole in the ground into a trip to Mexico for illegal sex shows. That’s when Sam knew that they were really in trouble, that Dean thought that this was something from which they weren’t going to walk away.
They docked quickly, while Sam moored the boat, Dean looked for a ride, something that wouldn’t stick out, but the only car he found was a 1950’s era woody station wagon. When Sam hopped in, Dean was singing an off key rendition of the Beach Boys Surf City.
Dean drove the woody longer than he should have, they were just over the border of Colorado in some little town in Kansas, when Dean pulled into a chain drive in and a group of young boys gathered around them and admired the car.
Sam watched as Dean showed the car to the boys in a way he had never been able to with the Impala, and for a moment, Sam remembered all of the things that Dean had lost. His childhood, his home and any semblance of normalcy and was determined that his freedom would not be one of them.
It wouldn’t be long before the FBI knew they were in Kansas but he didn’t blame Dean for that.
Two streets over, they ditched the classic car for a twenty year old Volvo.
Their plan was to find a hotel, but with the attention from the young boys, they drove four hours more before stopping at a motel. It wasn’t their usual type of dump, because to call it a dump would be an insult to dumps, this was a dive at its finest. And it charged by the hour.
The hotel was old-most likely built in the 1940’s, art nouveau. It was so old that it was back in style. Not that anyone would bother in this neighborhood. Gentrification was so not happening here. This was where the outcasts of society lived.
He swore he saw a needle on the ground by the door, but they needed a place to stay and if he verified it, then they would be back on the road.
“Two queens,” Sam told the clerk as he place money down on the counter.
“Cute,” the clerk smirked. “It’s either one queen or a king.”
“The king,” Dean told the man.
“Lube and condoms are extra,” he told them as he held out his hand for more money.
“We’re brothers!” Sam barked annoyed at the man’s assumption. “You know what just give me the key.”
“Hey, I don’t judge,” The clerk held up his hands and smirked.
“Why does everyone think we’re gay?” Dean mumbled as they walked out.
“I’ve been telling you for years that you over compensate, too butch,” Sam laughed as they walked out the door.
The room was horrible, just like the rest of the place. When he turned on the lights Sam had to adjust his eyes because the room was neon green. Sam was willing to bet that the paint was chosen for its price and not the effects it had on the hourly clientele.
As they salted the doors and windows, Dean said, “This probably isn’t necessary because no self-respecting ghost would want to haunt this room.”
The paint was the only thing new in the room. The furniture and bedding looked as though it hadn’t been upgraded since the 1990’s, and that was being generous. From the look of disdain on Dean’s face he shared Sam’s thoughts.
By a nod of the head, they reached an agreement to sleep on top of the covers because Sam was sure that the furniture was not the only thing they hadn’t changed.
If they used a black light in this room he was sure that it would resemble a Jackson Pollock painting.
“You can shower first,” Sam told his brother. If Dean wanted to chance it then he could, but sleep was good enough for him.
“I’d rather hunt down a Wendigo than take my clothes off in this petri dish,” Dean snarked as he took off his boots.
Mirroring his brother’s actions, Sam took of his boots as well and laid down on the bed near the bathroom and Dean facing the door that led outside. It was a habit borne from protection and Sam had spent his teenage years telling Dean he didn’t need that anymore, but it was a habit now.
He wouldn’t admit to Dean that now it would feel weird to sleep on the other side. Even for the brief time he was with his girlfriend, Amelia, Sam still slept on the side furthest from the door.
For all of his protesting that he needed to sleep in a real bed, this was not what he had in mind. The mattress was lumpy and hard and he had a hell of a time going to sleep, and just when he drifted into a light slumber, Dean was up his gun drawn at an unseen enemy.
Sam tried to focus as Dean held his Taurus with one hand as he wiped something from his face. Had they unknowingly trapped a ghost in the room with them?
There was no evidence that anything was in the room with them until he saw something crawl down Dean’s arm.
Roaches.
The vermin had the brothers moving faster than anything supernatural ever had. The duffels were fetched and shoes were carried not worn as they both made their way to the door. Sam was there first and despite the things he was carrying he was able to pull the door open with such force that he almost hit Dean.
Remembering the needle, Sam stopped to put his boots on telling Dean to do the same, because after what he’d just experienced, if he stepped on a needle he’d be in the mood to shoot someone. Based on the smirk on the face of the clerk, Roger his name tag clearly visible this time, he’d do just fine.
“Came back for the lube and condoms,” He grinned as he put down the book he was reading.
“Where's the head?” Dean asked still flicking imaginary roaches from his clothes.
“It’s not for public use,” the little shit told them.
“That’s fine, I’ll just piss right here then,” Dean informed him as he shrugged his shoulders and made to unbuckle his belt.
Sam didn’t think that Dean really had to urinate, but wanted to check his clothes for more roaches, but with the challenge in clerks voice he was sure the older man would just to prove a point.
“Okay-jeez, where were you raised in a barn? It’s through there,” the clerk pointed to a door behind him.
“Give me my money back,” Sam demanded. “We did not pay to stay in a roach motel.”
Grinning the bastard pointed to a sign behind him and went back to reading his book.
No Refunds, is what the sign read.
“For a room with roaches, there will be a refund,” Sam told the young man.
Drawing himself up to his full six foot four frame, Sam told the man, “Give me my money back, or I will come back there and get it.”
“I’m sorry that James Dean didn’t live up to his promise, but as the sign says no refund,” the clerk grinned as he pointed a shotgun at Sam.
The door behind the young man opened and he turned to point the weapon at Dean. Sam wanted to take the opportunity to attack, but the desk separated him and the gunman. But that was okay because Dean was now pulling out his gun.
“Roger,” he read the kids name, “other than the obvious, do you know the difference between my gun and your shotgun? Of course you don’t so let me help you,” he offered.
Sam watched in disbelief as Dean showed the kid his gun.
“I don’t have the safety on,” he educated Roger before place the gun in the back of his pants, hitting Roger and taking the shotgun from him. “And you do.”
There was some satisfaction watching the dazed kid squirm on the floor, but then reality set in.
“Dean you know he’s going to call the police,” Sam informed his brother, giving him a bitch face that had been perfected over the years.
“Yeah, but by the time he gets loose, we’ll be half way to Lawrence by then,” he grinned as he held up a roll of box twine.
Once they had the kid tied up, Sam retrieved their precious cash and they made their way to the Volvo and headed back towards Colorado.
The first few miles were in silence, before Sam broke it, “What are we doing here Dean? We can’t hunt if we’re being hunted. “And if we keep doing stupid shit like that, we’re gonna lead them right to us. This isn’t like the leviathans, where we have body doubles to placate them. They want us, and this time they’re not stopping until they have us.”
Dean pulled over and looked at Sam and said matter of factly, “then let’s give them us.”
Sam looked at his brother to see id maybe the roaches had been demon possessed and muttered, Christo, just to be sure.
“Not possessed, but think Sam you had the answer, Leviathans,” Dean repeated as though saying it again was going to make sense to Sam.
“Those bastards replicated, us Sam. Our faces. Our DNA. We know what the feds don’t, Sam. We know that the sheriff Osborne didn’t cremate the bodies, and more importantly we know where the bodies and the heads are. Now that Dick has lost his juice, it won’t be a problem to put them together.”
“And the car,” Sam added finally catching on.
“Yeah, and the car,” Dean agreed.
Ankeny, Iowa was just like any other small town. A main street that’s the heartbeat of the town and the citizens living in suburbs or small farming communities on the outskirts of the town. The difference between Ankeny and most small towns was Sam and Dean Winchester had died there or so the story goes.
Now with the hunt on again the FBI are back as well as the press trying to figure out how these two eluded death a second time. Sam thought about all of the times that they really did die and found it weirdly amusing that he’s more worried about going to jail rather than being killed.
Here they’ll have to be careful, they were notorious in this little town, so notorious in fact that the couple who opened the New York style deli on Main Street named sandwiches after them. The Sam was a hearty hamburger on sourdough bread, while the Dean was portabella melt on rye. Shows you that looks can be deceiving, Sam can’t remember the last time he ate a burger.
Nightfall found the brothers on the outskirts of Ankeny on the Osborne family farm. It wasn’t rundown, but it had all the earmarks of being deserted. The sheriffs’ daughter died at the hand of a Leviathan as well, so perhaps there was no other family to take over the place.
The way the town celebrated Sam and Dean’s death, Sam’s surprised that this place hadn’t been turned into a theme park. Who knew what would happen if they could pull this off.
First they had to dig up body parts and Sam hated that shit. He was going to rock, paper, scissors, but Dean had to make sure that the fake Impala was running and up to the task. It was a little suspect that Dean finished his inspection about five minutes after Sam finished digging.
Maybe Dean finally won a rock, paper, and scissors.
The Volvo had been ditched in Luther, a town a few miles outside of Ankeny and replaced with a Dodge Charger. Sam was surprised at Dean’s choice, but he said they needed something fast and reliable for their getaway.
“Besides, it’s got a hemi,” Dean smiled.
They camped out at the Osborne farm for two days because to pull this off they needed to scout the area and they needed rest. For the first time over a week, the brothers slept in a real bed for a change.
Sam really had the easy part, all he had to do was wait with the getaway car while Dean drove with two dead bodies and evade the FBI long enough to put their plan in motion.
Maybe Dean didn’t win rock, paper, and scissors after all.
It rained the night before and that worried Sam, high speeds on unfamiliar water slick roads was asking for trouble. He wanted to wait make sure that the weather was clear, but Dean said no.
“It’s perfect Sam, if we leave any tracks during out get away, the heavy rains will wash them away,” he countered Sam’s insistence that they wait.
“Then I ride with you Dean,” Sam insisted. There was no way he was going to sit and wait while his brother took all of the risks.
“Sam if something goes wrong…”
“Then they find four bodies instead of two.”
Dean’s answer was a brief nod, that had not Sam been staring, he would have missed.
Before sunrise the next morning, the brothers drove towards the Iron Mountains to an out cropping of trees to park the Charger before Sam slid into the back seat of the fake Impala with Dean and the smell of death and gasoline stole his breath.
At mile marker fifteen, Sam pulled out his phone and dialed 911.
“I swear I see those Winchester boys,” he said excitedly, “on highway 235 towards the mountains. Should I follow them?”
After assuring the police that he would not follow the armed and dangerous Winchesters, Sam sat back and held his breath as Dean picked up speed, because just as they had planned, the Feds were there with their helicopters in less than fifteen minutes.
When they came to their turn, Dean caught Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror and said, “let’s Thelma and Louise this bitch.”
They had a spot where Dean was supposed to jump from the car under the cover of the trees where the helicopter couldn’t see, that’s when Sam jumped from the fast moving car. Once he hit the ground with a thud, Sam lay there and watched in horror as his brother stayed in the car and didn’t jump until the car almost went over the cliff and landed in a fiery explosion.
“Dean!” He cried out. Forgetting that he was supposed to stay under the cover of the trees, Sam ran to his brother, grateful that the FBI didn’t spot him.
He heard a moan and knew that Dean was hurt, but he also knew that meant Dean was alive at this point that was all that mattered. He’d kill him for being stupid later, but right now they had to get out of dodge.
“Fuck,’ Dean muttered as he held his left arm as he watched the car go up in flames. “I wanted to get those rims.”
The jump hurt Dean’s arm, and there was a little blood, but the rain was washing it away. He wanted to check Dean out more thoroughly but from the sound of things the feds were on their ass already, so they ran through the woods to the car they’d stashed earlier.
A day later they ditched the Charger and when they were sure they were no longer being chased, decided to stop for food, instead of going to a local diner they settled for a Waffle House.
“You getting a burger?” Sam asked Dean as he studied the menu.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “I’ll just have a salad.”