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avandell2007-09-18 03:12 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2007-09-18 03:12 pm
Entry tags:
Rocky Mountain High (Desolation Angels)
Title: Rocky Mountain High
Characters: Dean, OFC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 977
Summary: He pops the trunk, the familiar motion an old friend. “Take this.” He hands her a pistol and grabs a handful of bullets.
Notes: Third story in the Desolation Angels series, though you can possibly get by without reading the first two. AU after AHBL1. Many thanks tobrin_bailey and ada_c_eliana for their assistance. Title is from the song by John Denver.
Characters: Dean, OFC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 977
Summary: He pops the trunk, the familiar motion an old friend. “Take this.” He hands her a pistol and grabs a handful of bullets.
Notes: Third story in the Desolation Angels series, though you can possibly get by without reading the first two. AU after AHBL1. Many thanks to
brin_bailey and ada_c_eliana for their assistance. Title is from the song by John Denver.
Rocky Mountain High
He understands now why Sam was so reticent for so long after Jess died. It’s been months since the world ended, but it feels like yesterday still, and the only thing keeping him alive is the girl in the seat beside him. He’s a little afraid to think about what that might mean (everyone he’s ever cared about is dead), and he tries to ignore the nagging little voice that whispers that she’ll leave him (he’ll fail and she’ll leave him).
*
He’s not sure what they’re going to do if – when – they run into a hostile group of survivors. He knows he could get out alive, but he doesn’t even know if she’s ever seen a gun outside of television, let alone a whole arsenal like the one he’s got in the trunk. He thinks about asking her if she knows how to shoot, but isn’t quite sure how to work it into conversation. Not that they have much in the way of conversation—it’s not like there’s much to talk about beyond whether they should switch roads or stay in a house instead of a hotel or eat beans instead of canned soup.
But when they start seeing signs for Denver, he finally breaks down and asks, “You know how to shoot?”
“Like, a gun?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Why?”
He pulls over instead of answering, gets out of the car and gestures for her to do the same. He pops the trunk, the familiar motion an old friend. “Take this.” He hands her a pistol and grabs a handful of bullets.
The rest of the day is spent teaching her how to aim and fire. She misses more than she hits their bean-can targets, but she doesn’t complain about the sound or the recoil and it’s a start.
*
He knows her hands must ache the next day, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Instead she asks him why now, after they’ve been on the road for so long.
He doesn’t really have an answer for her, except that Colorado looks too much like Oregon and a town of rabid people who disappeared without a trace and it makes him nervous that they’ve had months of driving across the country and only seen a few frightened people. He shrugs and says, “Just thought that you should know how.”
She accepts his answer with a nod, but he can tell she expects a better one later.
*
She asks him again that night while they wait for their dinner (beans and soup) to finish heating over the fire, “Why now?” He still doesn’t have an answer, not really, so he shrugs again and says, “It was time you learned.”
“Bull shit,” she answers. “Why now, Dean?”
It startles him that she uses his name; they almost never actually call each other by name – no need when they’re the only two people for miles. Startles him so much he says, “Because we don’t know what’s out there, Jamie, and when I die, you gotta be able to take care of yourself” - says it without even thinking and that shuts her up quick.
*
The next morning she wakes him up just as the sun’s rising. She’s got the pistol tucked in her belt and his trusty sawed-off is resting on her shoulder. “If you’re gonna teach me, you better teach me right,” she says, a small smile on her face.
He smiles back, runs a hand through his hair (getting too long, but no time or reason to cut it), and gathers up the cans from supper before following her out to their makeshift shooting range.
*
He catches her watching him one sunny afternoon as they drive through the Rockies, her mouth quirked into a smile.
“What?” he snaps, his eyes narrowing but a small grin tugging at his lips.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s just – how old are you?”
She has this habit of asking questions he doesn’t always remember the answers to.
“What’s the date?” he asks after a brief moment of trying to count the days in his head. He figures she probably knows – she’s the one who keeps track of the passage of time.
“Dunno. March something-or-other, I guess. It’s early spring, at any rate.”
He’s missed his birthday. Not that it matters (it’s been almost a year since Cold Oak). Besides, it’s been perpetual summer it seems like, the seasons all fucked up, no snow even here in the mountains. “Twenty-nine, then. I turned twenty-nine in January. You?”
“I’ll be twenty in July,” she answers, and it comes as a bit of a surprise to him – that she’s so young – and yet it doesn’t surprise him at all.
*
She fits against him smoothly, her spine sliding into place against his chest as he helps her line up a shot (she’s progressed past the lightest of his firearms, moved on to the shotguns). She smells like expensive shampoo, one of the few vanities that’s actually easier to maintain now than before the world ended. He lets himself have a moment of weakness, reveling in the feel of having someone so close that he can feel her hair tickling his face.
“Dean?” Jamie turns and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”
He blinks. “Sorry, yeah.” He shakes his head as she turns away, reminds himself that she’s only nineteen, younger than Sammy, younger than Jo, even, and she had seemed pretty young to him all those ages ago. She’s almost ten years younger than him, and if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, he’d probably go to jail for just thinking about her.
“Okay?” she repeats.
“Yeah, okay,” he replies, and he steps back from her. “Got it?” She nods almost imperceptibly, eyes on the target, and he says, “Go for it.”
The crack of the bullet echoes against the mountains.
He understands now why Sam was so reticent for so long after Jess died. It’s been months since the world ended, but it feels like yesterday still, and the only thing keeping him alive is the girl in the seat beside him. He’s a little afraid to think about what that might mean (everyone he’s ever cared about is dead), and he tries to ignore the nagging little voice that whispers that she’ll leave him (he’ll fail and she’ll leave him).
*
He’s not sure what they’re going to do if – when – they run into a hostile group of survivors. He knows he could get out alive, but he doesn’t even know if she’s ever seen a gun outside of television, let alone a whole arsenal like the one he’s got in the trunk. He thinks about asking her if she knows how to shoot, but isn’t quite sure how to work it into conversation. Not that they have much in the way of conversation—it’s not like there’s much to talk about beyond whether they should switch roads or stay in a house instead of a hotel or eat beans instead of canned soup.
But when they start seeing signs for Denver, he finally breaks down and asks, “You know how to shoot?”
“Like, a gun?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Why?”
He pulls over instead of answering, gets out of the car and gestures for her to do the same. He pops the trunk, the familiar motion an old friend. “Take this.” He hands her a pistol and grabs a handful of bullets.
The rest of the day is spent teaching her how to aim and fire. She misses more than she hits their bean-can targets, but she doesn’t complain about the sound or the recoil and it’s a start.
*
He knows her hands must ache the next day, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Instead she asks him why now, after they’ve been on the road for so long.
He doesn’t really have an answer for her, except that Colorado looks too much like Oregon and a town of rabid people who disappeared without a trace and it makes him nervous that they’ve had months of driving across the country and only seen a few frightened people. He shrugs and says, “Just thought that you should know how.”
She accepts his answer with a nod, but he can tell she expects a better one later.
*
She asks him again that night while they wait for their dinner (beans and soup) to finish heating over the fire, “Why now?” He still doesn’t have an answer, not really, so he shrugs again and says, “It was time you learned.”
“Bull shit,” she answers. “Why now, Dean?”
It startles him that she uses his name; they almost never actually call each other by name – no need when they’re the only two people for miles. Startles him so much he says, “Because we don’t know what’s out there, Jamie, and when I die, you gotta be able to take care of yourself” - says it without even thinking and that shuts her up quick.
*
The next morning she wakes him up just as the sun’s rising. She’s got the pistol tucked in her belt and his trusty sawed-off is resting on her shoulder. “If you’re gonna teach me, you better teach me right,” she says, a small smile on her face.
He smiles back, runs a hand through his hair (getting too long, but no time or reason to cut it), and gathers up the cans from supper before following her out to their makeshift shooting range.
*
He catches her watching him one sunny afternoon as they drive through the Rockies, her mouth quirked into a smile.
“What?” he snaps, his eyes narrowing but a small grin tugging at his lips.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s just – how old are you?”
She has this habit of asking questions he doesn’t always remember the answers to.
“What’s the date?” he asks after a brief moment of trying to count the days in his head. He figures she probably knows – she’s the one who keeps track of the passage of time.
“Dunno. March something-or-other, I guess. It’s early spring, at any rate.”
He’s missed his birthday. Not that it matters (it’s been almost a year since Cold Oak). Besides, it’s been perpetual summer it seems like, the seasons all fucked up, no snow even here in the mountains. “Twenty-nine, then. I turned twenty-nine in January. You?”
“I’ll be twenty in July,” she answers, and it comes as a bit of a surprise to him – that she’s so young – and yet it doesn’t surprise him at all.
*
She fits against him smoothly, her spine sliding into place against his chest as he helps her line up a shot (she’s progressed past the lightest of his firearms, moved on to the shotguns). She smells like expensive shampoo, one of the few vanities that’s actually easier to maintain now than before the world ended. He lets himself have a moment of weakness, reveling in the feel of having someone so close that he can feel her hair tickling his face.
“Dean?” Jamie turns and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”
He blinks. “Sorry, yeah.” He shakes his head as she turns away, reminds himself that she’s only nineteen, younger than Sammy, younger than Jo, even, and she had seemed pretty young to him all those ages ago. She’s almost ten years younger than him, and if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, he’d probably go to jail for just thinking about her.
“Okay?” she repeats.
“Yeah, okay,” he replies, and he steps back from her. “Got it?” She nods almost imperceptibly, eyes on the target, and he says, “Go for it.”
The crack of the bullet echoes against the mountains.
no subject
Excellent progression.
no subject
And also, I think there might be another fic about these two before much longer...
no subject
Just the feel of it all. The isolation and the loneliness, even though they have each other. So beautifully done.
no subject
And I think the next story will deal with how they aren't so lonely anymore... *cough*
no subject
(Anonymous) 2007-09-18 11:57 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
And you're right. Dean does underestimate himself. I think it's because he's never really functioned outside a family setting (with the exception of the Stanford years, which probably just made him more afraid of being left).
and if someone reaches out to him, despite his best intentions, his heart will reach back.
And I think that is the barest essence of Dean. :)
no subject
no subject
P.S. Next one, they are *ahem* not-so-lonely.
no subject
Thanks again for the read. I'm glad I found this :)
no subject
I've been a bit worried about the details in this series - a couple people mentioned in read-throughs that they'd like more description of their surroundings, but I like the ambiguity.
And something big coming up? Maybe? ;)