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Oct. 22nd, 2010 01:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gavemea_45-click-
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
As the clock radio blares in his ear, Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
Sam transfers his bemused stare from the radio to his brother.
"Dude. Asia?"
Dean just grins and turns up the volume.
"--cause it's the heat of the moment, the HEAT OF THE MOMENT, THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT SHOWED IN YOUR EYES--"
* * * * * * *
It's obviously going to be one of those days, the kind where every little thing gets on his nerves. By the time Sam's dealt with the disgustingly messy toothpaste tube, pointedly ignored Dean's extended gargling session, and waited impatiently at the door of the motel room while Dean searched for his gun, he's about ready to strangle his brother, and they haven't even had breakfast yet.
As they enter the diner, Sam ducks to the side out of the way of the oldster who's meandering toward the door and follows Dean to a booth, trying not to pay attention to the scrawny-looking guy at the counter or the waitress who's telling him he has to order something if he wants to stay. Once they get settled and order breakfast -- the Tuesday special for Dean, pancakes for himself -- Sam pulls out the newspaper clipping about the missing Professor Hasselback and the brochure about the site that the guy'd been investigating when he disappeared.
"The Broward County Mystery Spot," Dean reads. "Where the laws of physics have no meaning." A beat. "You know these places are a joke, right?"
"A lot of them, sure, but you've got to admit the lore's pretty friggin' weird," Sam insists. "The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex -- they say that in some of these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend space and time. And since this Hasselback guy did vanish, maybe there's something to this one."
"Two coffees," the waitress ('Doris,' Sam reads from her nametag) interrupts, leaning over to set the cups down on the table between them, not noticing that her tray's beginning to tilt. "And some hot sauce for the -- "
That's as far as she gets before the bottle overbalances and crashes to the floor, spattering hot sauce all over Sam's shoes.
Yeah. It's one of those days.
* * * * * * *
By the time they actually break in to the Mystery Spot that night after hours, Sam's more than ready to get the hell out of Broward, Florida, case or no case. It doesn't help that the place looks exactly like Dean had said it would -- filled with crappy paint, cheap tricks, and furniture nailed to the ceiling.
The worst part of the whole damn day turns out to be when the owner turns out to live in the upstairs apartment and comes down to investigate.
"Are you robbing me? Hands up!"
It's obvious that the guy doesn't know how to handle the shotgun he's pointing back and forth between them, and sure enough, it goes off. Sam ducks instinctively, then glances over to make sure Dean's okay--
--but Dean's on the floor, and there's blood everywhere.
"Call 911!" Sam yells, and dives to the ground beside his brother, frantically trying to stop the bleeding with his bare hands. "No. No. Dean, no, come on, look at me, you're not gonna die, you can't die, not like this--"
-click-
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
"... Dean." Sam stares at him. He can almost still see the blood, can still feel the slack weight of his brother's dead body in his arms.
As nightmares go, that's got to be one of the worst he's ever had, and that's saying something.
* * * * * * *
He's still trying to shake it off when they get to the diner, and the weird surreal feeling of déjà vu isn't helping any. Sam dodges the old guy ('Mr. Pickett,' the cashier calls him) on his way to the door and follows Dean to the booth.
"Hey, Tuesday," Dean observes, reading the specials listed on the wall. "Pig 'n a poke."
"...It's Tuesday?"
* * * * * * *
"-- listen to me! Yesterday was Tuesday, and today's Tuesday too. I don't know what happened! We were at the Mystery Spot, and then... "
"Then what?"
"Then I woke up," Sam evades. "Look, we have to check that place out."
Dean heaves a sigh. "All right, fine. We'll go tonight, after closing, get a long look--"
"No!" Sam interrupts. "No. Not tonight. Let's go now. Right this minute. Business hours, nice and crowded."
"Okay, whatever. We'll go now." Dean rolls his eyes and steps into the crosswalk. He doesn't even see the car coming as Mr. Pickett slams into him.
"DEAN!"
-click-
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
Sam buries his face in his pillow and pulls the covers over his head.
"No."
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
As the clock radio blares in his ear, Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
Sam transfers his bemused stare from the radio to his brother.
"Dude. Asia?"
Dean just grins and turns up the volume.
"--cause it's the heat of the moment, the HEAT OF THE MOMENT, THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT SHOWED IN YOUR EYES--"
It's obviously going to be one of those days, the kind where every little thing gets on his nerves. By the time Sam's dealt with the disgustingly messy toothpaste tube, pointedly ignored Dean's extended gargling session, and waited impatiently at the door of the motel room while Dean searched for his gun, he's about ready to strangle his brother, and they haven't even had breakfast yet.
As they enter the diner, Sam ducks to the side out of the way of the oldster who's meandering toward the door and follows Dean to a booth, trying not to pay attention to the scrawny-looking guy at the counter or the waitress who's telling him he has to order something if he wants to stay. Once they get settled and order breakfast -- the Tuesday special for Dean, pancakes for himself -- Sam pulls out the newspaper clipping about the missing Professor Hasselback and the brochure about the site that the guy'd been investigating when he disappeared.
"The Broward County Mystery Spot," Dean reads. "Where the laws of physics have no meaning." A beat. "You know these places are a joke, right?"
"A lot of them, sure, but you've got to admit the lore's pretty friggin' weird," Sam insists. "The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex -- they say that in some of these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend space and time. And since this Hasselback guy did vanish, maybe there's something to this one."
"Two coffees," the waitress ('Doris,' Sam reads from her nametag) interrupts, leaning over to set the cups down on the table between them, not noticing that her tray's beginning to tilt. "And some hot sauce for the -- "
That's as far as she gets before the bottle overbalances and crashes to the floor, spattering hot sauce all over Sam's shoes.
Yeah. It's one of those days.
By the time they actually break in to the Mystery Spot that night after hours, Sam's more than ready to get the hell out of Broward, Florida, case or no case. It doesn't help that the place looks exactly like Dean had said it would -- filled with crappy paint, cheap tricks, and furniture nailed to the ceiling.
The worst part of the whole damn day turns out to be when the owner turns out to live in the upstairs apartment and comes down to investigate.
"Are you robbing me? Hands up!"
It's obvious that the guy doesn't know how to handle the shotgun he's pointing back and forth between them, and sure enough, it goes off. Sam ducks instinctively, then glances over to make sure Dean's okay--
--but Dean's on the floor, and there's blood everywhere.
"Call 911!" Sam yells, and dives to the ground beside his brother, frantically trying to stop the bleeding with his bare hands. "No. No. Dean, no, come on, look at me, you're not gonna die, you can't die, not like this--"
-click-
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
"... Dean." Sam stares at him. He can almost still see the blood, can still feel the slack weight of his brother's dead body in his arms.
As nightmares go, that's got to be one of the worst he's ever had, and that's saying something.
He's still trying to shake it off when they get to the diner, and the weird surreal feeling of déjà vu isn't helping any. Sam dodges the old guy ('Mr. Pickett,' the cashier calls him) on his way to the door and follows Dean to the booth.
"Hey, Tuesday," Dean observes, reading the specials listed on the wall. "Pig 'n a poke."
"...It's Tuesday?"
"-- listen to me! Yesterday was Tuesday, and today's Tuesday too. I don't know what happened! We were at the Mystery Spot, and then... "
"Then what?"
"Then I woke up," Sam evades. "Look, we have to check that place out."
Dean heaves a sigh. "All right, fine. We'll go tonight, after closing, get a long look--"
"No!" Sam interrupts. "No. Not tonight. Let's go now. Right this minute. Business hours, nice and crowded."
"Okay, whatever. We'll go now." Dean rolls his eyes and steps into the crosswalk. He doesn't even see the car coming as Mr. Pickett slams into him.
"DEAN!"
-click-
"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
Sam buries his face in his pillow and pulls the covers over his head.
"No."
