A/N: I wrote this ficlet while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd's song "Simple Man", the one we hear at the beginning of episode 5.03 "Free To Be You And Me". This is a bit different from my usual writing, kind of weird, but Wave Obsura seemed to like it, so... You'll just have to trust her! And thank her for giving to the story the polish it needed.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
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One, two.
Sam turns, looks around him. He feels the cute waitress's eyes on him – Lindsey, her name is Lindsey – but she's quick, she's already looking elsewhere. Sam shrugs, lowers his head to the counter he's wiping.
It's just a question of rhythm.
Dean is always tapping the tempo when he's worried or lost in thought. If Sam listens only to his heartbeat, he can pretend he's Keith. He can pretend the outside world doesn't matter. Think about it, he and the rest of the world are facing the end every damn day. There's nothing to worry about.
Sam's hair falls in his eyes. One day, he'll just take some scissors, and…
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Fucking vampire.
Dean hates vampires. Well, no more than he fucking hates demons, of course. Or witches. Or leprechauns though to be honest, he's never met any of the little bitches. But still.
The fucker snarls and shows his fangs, looks Dean right in the eyes. His eyes are black, black like coal, or… But it takes more than that to impress Dean, yes ma'am. I've faced some assholes tougher than you are, dude.
The blood splashing on his face is warm. It tastes like iron in his mouth.
Hey, déjà-vu.
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Sam is an insomniac. It's funny, in a twisted way. Despite all the nightmares that have plagued his nights for years, he's never have any trouble falling asleep.
He can't shut his brain off, but nothing new here. You think too much, that's your problem. You think way too much – except when you're not thinking at all.
Sometimes, when there aren't too many cars outside, no noise to distract him, he feels like he's the only living soul in the world. Like he's completely, utterly alone. And sometimes, for terrifying seconds that last forever, he doesn't know who he is anymore. It's like he's screaming, his mouth open and his breath short, but no sound is coming out.
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The car is bigger than she used to be; Dean could swear it. He closes his eyes for one second – or maybe two, but not for any longer because he's driving. He imagines his car is some kind of transdimensional portal, and that at some specific moments, like say, the summer solstice, she stops being a simple car and becomes an opening to the unknown.
He feels dizzy, all of a sudden. His grip on the wheel tightens, and he's sure that if he lets go he's going to fall.
The horn of the car coming the other way is deafening. Dean swears and almost drives himself out of the road. Fuck, he has to stop thinking about bullshit like that while he's driving or he'll end up in a ditch.
There's a human-shaped shadow on the side of the road, but Dean drives past it too fast to have a good look at it. Someone hitchhiking, probably. Hey, is God hitchhiking if he's going across the country incognito? Because that would be hilarious. He has to tell this one to… Castiel, though he probably won't see why it's funny. For an angel dressed like a tax accountant, the guy doesn't have much of a sense of humor.
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Every morning, Sam looks at the sky to see what the weather is like. Not that it really matters to him, he's in the bar all day. But there are people outside, he knows. People on the road.
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Dean's music is a little louder every day. He's free, so free he could fly. It's a little frightening, a little exhilarating.
And he's tapping the tempo on the wheel of the Impala.
One, two.