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avandell2007-10-15 10:05 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2007-10-15 10:05 pm
Entry tags:
Watershed (Desolation Angels)
Title: Watershed
Characters: Dean, OFC (Dean/OFC)
Rating: PG-13 (for sex)
Word Count: 957
Summary: It’s the first time in a long time Jamie’s glad there’s an extra bed.
Notes: Sixth and final part of Desolation Angels (links to the first story). Written for the Endings prompt atspn_het_love. AU after AHBL1. Title is from the Indigo Girls song of the same name.
Characters: Dean, OFC (Dean/OFC)
Rating: PG-13 (for sex)
Word Count: 957
Summary: It’s the first time in a long time Jamie’s glad there’s an extra bed.
Notes: Sixth and final part of Desolation Angels (links to the first story). Written for the Endings prompt at
spn_het_love. AU after AHBL1. Title is from the Indigo Girls song of the same name.
Watershed
There are other people in Pennsylvania. They’re on the side of the road, three guys and two girls all looking ragged, like maybe they haven’t slept well in a long time. They’re the first people Jamie’s seen (besides Dean, of course) in weeks, maybe even months.
“Pull over,” she says. He ignores her. “Dean, pull over,” she says again, and he still doesn’t stop, just tightens his jaw and pushes down on the pedal even harder, and all she can do is watch their frightened faces fade into the distance.
When she can no longer see them, she asks quietly, “Why didn’t you stop?”
“They had guns,” he says dismissively. “That makes them dangerous.”
She snorts. “You have guns,” she reminds him. “Does that make you dangerous?”
He doesn’t answer, keeps facing straight forward, won’t even glance her way.
*
It’s the first time in a long time Jamie’s glad there’s an extra bed.
*
Supper is quiet that night.
And then, “Why didn’t you stop, Dean? They’re the first people we’ve seen in months. Maybe they could have helped us or we could have helped them or—”
“Help them what, Jamie?” He overrides her. “We’ve barely got enough food for ourselves, and what little we have is going to spoil eventually. We don’t need them, and we can’t just pick up every person we see on the side of the road.”
“No? Well, newsflash, Dean: you picked me up on the side of the road.”
“That was different!” he insists, his voice rising. “It was you, and not five random people. It’s hard enough as it is, staying out of harm’s way when it’s just the two of us, and I can’t do it. I can’t keep you safe if I have to worry about other people. They would have been a burden I don’t need.”
“A burden you don’t need?” she repeats. “Is that all people are to you? A burden?” He starts to protest, but she shakes him off, standing and grabbing her jacket. “Maybe I should just – I’ll go, so I won’t be a burden anymore.” And she rushes out the door, letting it slam in her wake as she heads for the highway.
*
She doesn’t make it to the highway before exhaustion and frustration take over and she comes to a stop under a tree on the side of the road. She’s still angry and bitterly confused, but her muscles ache from too many hours in the car and not enough movement and sitting under the tree comes as a relief.
She’s cooled off some, the twilight air calming her nerves, but she’s not ready to go back just yet (she doesn’t know if he’ll want to see her). So she sits under the tree, watching the stars appear as the sun finishes its descent.
*
She must drift to sleep, because the next thing she knows the sky is black and huge and the familiar rumble of the car engine finds her. She opens her eyes in time to see Dean stumble frantically toward her in the flare of the headlights.
He falls to his knees beside her, holds her arms and stares at her before wrapping her in a bonecrushing embrace. He has his nose pressed into her hair, she can feel his warm breath against her forehead, and she tries to move back, slip out, but he pulls her even closer.
“Don’t go,” he whispers against her skin. “Please don’t go.” She can’t speak (can hardly breathe he’s holding her so tightly), so she settles for burrowing her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder.
“Not going anywhere,” she murmurs against his leather jacket when he finally lets up a little, and she pulls away so she can look him in the eye.
It’s hard to tell in the half-light of the headlights, but she thinks his eyes are red-rimmed like he’s been crying. She lifts a hand to his face, brushes her fingers across the scrape of beard and under his eyes, lets her palm settle against his cheek. His eyes dart back and forth across her face – like a deer in headlights, she thinks – and then his hands move from her arms to cradle her neck and he’s pulling her close again, but this time his lips find hers.
She freezes for a moment, and he begins to pull away, a muttered, “Sorry,” on his lips, but she grabs his shirt and tugs him back to her.
“Don’t be,” she says, and then she’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, pressing against him, her whole body matched along his, ignoring the tree roots bruising her shins.
She’s starting to slide his jacket off his shoulders when he stops her. “Not here,” he says, and she almost laughs because, seriously, there’s no one to see them, but then he says, “We gotta find a pharmacy. Condoms,” and it hits her. There’s no turning back from here. It could be the end of the line if they’re not careful.
*
It’s a bit like learning to live all over again, she thinks later, after they’ve broken into a Walgreens and raided the birth control and gone back to the motel where, as Dean says, they can do things properly.
It’s not perfect – far from it, actually, with more fumbling and awkwardness than she would have expected, even though it’s been, well, a really long time since she (since either of them) did this last.
Still, it’s good in a way that has less to do with pleasure than it does comfort, and she’s surprised to find, as she begins to drift off to sleep, that this isn’t the end of the line; it’s the beginning.
***
Lyrics to “Watershed” can be found here.
Feedback is loved.
There are other people in Pennsylvania. They’re on the side of the road, three guys and two girls all looking ragged, like maybe they haven’t slept well in a long time. They’re the first people Jamie’s seen (besides Dean, of course) in weeks, maybe even months.
“Pull over,” she says. He ignores her. “Dean, pull over,” she says again, and he still doesn’t stop, just tightens his jaw and pushes down on the pedal even harder, and all she can do is watch their frightened faces fade into the distance.
When she can no longer see them, she asks quietly, “Why didn’t you stop?”
“They had guns,” he says dismissively. “That makes them dangerous.”
She snorts. “You have guns,” she reminds him. “Does that make you dangerous?”
He doesn’t answer, keeps facing straight forward, won’t even glance her way.
*
It’s the first time in a long time Jamie’s glad there’s an extra bed.
*
Supper is quiet that night.
And then, “Why didn’t you stop, Dean? They’re the first people we’ve seen in months. Maybe they could have helped us or we could have helped them or—”
“Help them what, Jamie?” He overrides her. “We’ve barely got enough food for ourselves, and what little we have is going to spoil eventually. We don’t need them, and we can’t just pick up every person we see on the side of the road.”
“No? Well, newsflash, Dean: you picked me up on the side of the road.”
“That was different!” he insists, his voice rising. “It was you, and not five random people. It’s hard enough as it is, staying out of harm’s way when it’s just the two of us, and I can’t do it. I can’t keep you safe if I have to worry about other people. They would have been a burden I don’t need.”
“A burden you don’t need?” she repeats. “Is that all people are to you? A burden?” He starts to protest, but she shakes him off, standing and grabbing her jacket. “Maybe I should just – I’ll go, so I won’t be a burden anymore.” And she rushes out the door, letting it slam in her wake as she heads for the highway.
*
She doesn’t make it to the highway before exhaustion and frustration take over and she comes to a stop under a tree on the side of the road. She’s still angry and bitterly confused, but her muscles ache from too many hours in the car and not enough movement and sitting under the tree comes as a relief.
She’s cooled off some, the twilight air calming her nerves, but she’s not ready to go back just yet (she doesn’t know if he’ll want to see her). So she sits under the tree, watching the stars appear as the sun finishes its descent.
*
She must drift to sleep, because the next thing she knows the sky is black and huge and the familiar rumble of the car engine finds her. She opens her eyes in time to see Dean stumble frantically toward her in the flare of the headlights.
He falls to his knees beside her, holds her arms and stares at her before wrapping her in a bonecrushing embrace. He has his nose pressed into her hair, she can feel his warm breath against her forehead, and she tries to move back, slip out, but he pulls her even closer.
“Don’t go,” he whispers against her skin. “Please don’t go.” She can’t speak (can hardly breathe he’s holding her so tightly), so she settles for burrowing her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder.
“Not going anywhere,” she murmurs against his leather jacket when he finally lets up a little, and she pulls away so she can look him in the eye.
It’s hard to tell in the half-light of the headlights, but she thinks his eyes are red-rimmed like he’s been crying. She lifts a hand to his face, brushes her fingers across the scrape of beard and under his eyes, lets her palm settle against his cheek. His eyes dart back and forth across her face – like a deer in headlights, she thinks – and then his hands move from her arms to cradle her neck and he’s pulling her close again, but this time his lips find hers.
She freezes for a moment, and he begins to pull away, a muttered, “Sorry,” on his lips, but she grabs his shirt and tugs him back to her.
“Don’t be,” she says, and then she’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, pressing against him, her whole body matched along his, ignoring the tree roots bruising her shins.
She’s starting to slide his jacket off his shoulders when he stops her. “Not here,” he says, and she almost laughs because, seriously, there’s no one to see them, but then he says, “We gotta find a pharmacy. Condoms,” and it hits her. There’s no turning back from here. It could be the end of the line if they’re not careful.
*
It’s a bit like learning to live all over again, she thinks later, after they’ve broken into a Walgreens and raided the birth control and gone back to the motel where, as Dean says, they can do things properly.
It’s not perfect – far from it, actually, with more fumbling and awkwardness than she would have expected, even though it’s been, well, a really long time since she (since either of them) did this last.
Still, it’s good in a way that has less to do with pleasure than it does comfort, and she’s surprised to find, as she begins to drift off to sleep, that this isn’t the end of the line; it’s the beginning.
***
Lyrics to “Watershed” can be found here.
Feedback is loved.