Fairy Lights - Part Three (3 of 3)

“Yes, ma’am,” they said at the same time. And climbed back aboard the pontoon.

The rest of the float down the river was almost the same as the first part had been, except for the fact that the sun was now almost overhead, there was almost no shade except for the times when Kelly steered the pontoon right into the walls of the canyon. Which loomed up hard and red and made Dean’s mouth turn dry. He’d had enough, he really had. The canyon was redder than it had been that morning, the sky was bluer than it should be, and the heat was sucking every last bit of energy he had out of him.

Someone handed him a soda. It was Sam.

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Fairy Lights - Part Two (2 of 3)

Sam seemed to take this in, take it for what it was and probably realized there was more too it, though he didn’t say anything. He looked over the crowd of people which grew and shrank even as they watched and nodded.

“Well,” he said. “I think this is the last point we can get into without taking the bus.”

Dean hated taking busses and both of them knew it.

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Fairy Lights - Part One (1 of 3)

Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
Warnings: Wincest
Word Count: 24,500
Summary: It is three or so days since Dean made his deal with the crossroads demon. As angry as he might be, Sam still loves his brother and decides that they need to take a break from hunting, so he plans one. Dean, on the other hand, thinks they are on their way to hunt a chubacapra down and has no idea where they are really going. This only works because Sam controls the maps and Dean is on auto-pilot.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, because if I did, this story would be true.

*****
Dean had both hands on the wheel as he guided the Impala over Wolf Creek Pass, some distance out of Durango, Colorado, and wondered, as he listened to the Eagles on the radio, what colitas was and if he’d know if he chanced to smell it on some dark, desert highway. Which this most certainly was not. It was a mountain highway, with mostly well-placed passing lanes, and plenty of markings about grades and recommended use of brakes, and the slightly whacky looking runaway truck lanes, which didn’t look like they’d be of use to anyone, let alone a rampant 18-wheeler. The sun was well set, with the high-altitude darkness coming on at an alarming rate. He looked over at Sam, who was buried in his map, but who didn’t quite need a flashlight yet. He wanted to ask, what is colitas, do you know, but then didn’t. He should know. It was in an Eagles song from the seventies, and probably had to do with something illegal. That or a plant commonly found in California. He didn’t know; didn’t want to broadcast his ignorance. So he drove on, he and Sam, in silence. ( Read more... )