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avandell2007-10-27 11:04 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2007-10-27 11:04 pm
Entry tags:
Braver Newer World (Desolation Angels)
Title: Braver Newer World
Characters: Dean, OFC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 640
Summary: There’s a girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge (and isn’t there a Bruce Springsteen song about that and why the hell is he thinking in song lyrics anyway?), and she looks so lost and alone that he can’t help but pull over.
Notes: Another deleted scene from Desolation Angels. It’s an early draft of what later became the beginning of Jungleland. Written in April, about a month before AHBL aired. Title is from the song by Jimmie Dale Gilmore.
Characters: Dean, OFC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 640
Summary: There’s a girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge (and isn’t there a Bruce Springsteen song about that and why the hell is he thinking in song lyrics anyway?), and she looks so lost and alone that he can’t help but pull over.
Notes: Another deleted scene from Desolation Angels. It’s an early draft of what later became the beginning of Jungleland. Written in April, about a month before AHBL aired. Title is from the song by Jimmie Dale Gilmore.
Braver Newer World
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and that damned song has been stuck in his head ever since yesterday, when the world actually ended, and he’d laugh about it if he weren’t so close to tears. He’s driving nowhere fast, and he’s really not sure where he’s headed, but he knows he’ll know it when he finds it. All along the highways are empty cars – many of them burned out or wrecked – and it’s a wonder he’s able to maneuver between them. The good thing is he doesn’t have to worry about running out of gas – most of the SUVs and sedans sitting on the shoulders have almost-full tanks, and he should probably be concerned about the people who were heading to wherever, but the world ended yesterday and he just can’t find it in himself to care.
It’s a week (a month? a year?) later, and he’s driving through Indiana (or maybe it’s Illinois or Iowa or… he’s lost count of the miles and the days, and it doesn’t really matter anymore anyway), but he’s driving through Indiana when he comes across the first sign of life outside of himself and his car. There’s a girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge (and isn’t there a Bruce Springsteen song about that and why the hell is he thinking in song lyrics anyway?), and she looks so lost and alone that he can’t help but pull over.
“You need help?” he says, leaning his arms on the roof of the car, but his voice sounds rough and awkward, so he coughs and tries again. “You need a ride?”
She shakes her head. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I’m watching for stragglers.”
“Stragglers?”
“Survivors, I guess you could call them,” she says. “You see anyone else on the highway?”
He shakes his head. “Just me. No one else for miles.”
She nods. “I figured. Numbers’ve been getting smaller every day – I guess there’s others in some of the other cities maybe. You want a place to stay? We got beds and food, too. It’s not much, but it keeps us alive.” She doesn’t add the just a little bit longer; it’s understood.
He considers her offer for a moment. He doesn’t know where anyone else is, where any of his friends – any other hunters – might have ended up. He doesn’t even know where his brother is. They’ve scattered – been scattered – to the four winds, every last person he ever knew, and he has no idea whether they’re alive or not. And this girl, she’s offering a place to lay his head that’s not the back seat of the Impala, food that may actually be decent. He looks up at her and says, “I’ll keep driving, thanks.”
He shifts to get back in the car, when she stops him, saying, “Wait.” She hops off the hood of the pick-up and comes to stand opposite him. “Where you headed?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. West, I guess. There’s nothing left of the East coast.”
She nods. “I was going to school out west. I was at home for summer break when it happened.” She looks down and then glances up again. “You won’t be going to California, will you?”
“I might,” he says, though he knows he won’t. That state’s only ever held heartbreak for his family, and he has no interest in going back to it ever again. He’s not even totally sure it survived the end. It might be like the East – all of it sunk under the crashing waves.
She shifts from side to side and then blurts, “Can I come with you?”
“Christo,” he says automatically.
She frowns. “What does that mean? You some kind of religious yahoo?”
“Never mind,” he says and then gestures to the car. “You coming or what?”
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and that damned song has been stuck in his head ever since yesterday, when the world actually ended, and he’d laugh about it if he weren’t so close to tears. He’s driving nowhere fast, and he’s really not sure where he’s headed, but he knows he’ll know it when he finds it. All along the highways are empty cars – many of them burned out or wrecked – and it’s a wonder he’s able to maneuver between them. The good thing is he doesn’t have to worry about running out of gas – most of the SUVs and sedans sitting on the shoulders have almost-full tanks, and he should probably be concerned about the people who were heading to wherever, but the world ended yesterday and he just can’t find it in himself to care.
It’s a week (a month? a year?) later, and he’s driving through Indiana (or maybe it’s Illinois or Iowa or… he’s lost count of the miles and the days, and it doesn’t really matter anymore anyway), but he’s driving through Indiana when he comes across the first sign of life outside of himself and his car. There’s a girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge (and isn’t there a Bruce Springsteen song about that and why the hell is he thinking in song lyrics anyway?), and she looks so lost and alone that he can’t help but pull over.
“You need help?” he says, leaning his arms on the roof of the car, but his voice sounds rough and awkward, so he coughs and tries again. “You need a ride?”
She shakes her head. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I’m watching for stragglers.”
“Stragglers?”
“Survivors, I guess you could call them,” she says. “You see anyone else on the highway?”
He shakes his head. “Just me. No one else for miles.”
She nods. “I figured. Numbers’ve been getting smaller every day – I guess there’s others in some of the other cities maybe. You want a place to stay? We got beds and food, too. It’s not much, but it keeps us alive.” She doesn’t add the just a little bit longer; it’s understood.
He considers her offer for a moment. He doesn’t know where anyone else is, where any of his friends – any other hunters – might have ended up. He doesn’t even know where his brother is. They’ve scattered – been scattered – to the four winds, every last person he ever knew, and he has no idea whether they’re alive or not. And this girl, she’s offering a place to lay his head that’s not the back seat of the Impala, food that may actually be decent. He looks up at her and says, “I’ll keep driving, thanks.”
He shifts to get back in the car, when she stops him, saying, “Wait.” She hops off the hood of the pick-up and comes to stand opposite him. “Where you headed?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. West, I guess. There’s nothing left of the East coast.”
She nods. “I was going to school out west. I was at home for summer break when it happened.” She looks down and then glances up again. “You won’t be going to California, will you?”
“I might,” he says, though he knows he won’t. That state’s only ever held heartbreak for his family, and he has no interest in going back to it ever again. He’s not even totally sure it survived the end. It might be like the East – all of it sunk under the crashing waves.
She shifts from side to side and then blurts, “Can I come with you?”
“Christo,” he says automatically.
She frowns. “What does that mean? You some kind of religious yahoo?”
“Never mind,” he says and then gestures to the car. “You coming or what?”
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I've got at least one non-DA story I want to post, and then I'll get to VS, k?
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