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verucasalt123Fic Title: And The Road Swallows Their Names
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
verucasalt123
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Wincest, case fic
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6,588
Warnings: consensual sibling incest, language, light angst, reference to underage sex
Summary: The Winchesters follow a story from the Roadhouse to Singer Auto Salvage, then to a case that’s tougher - and much scarier - than it looks.
Morning is bright and not too terribly hot. Bobby’s back at the house with coffee and breakfast sandwiches from Josiah’s before the boys are fully awake. He even had time to exchange pleasantries with his favorite sheriff’s deputy. She’s kind of new, and doesn’t seem to think he’s a drunken weirdo hermit quite yet.
Having struck out on the previous victims of whatever-this-is, Bobby figures they’ll dig deep into lore today. Lord knows he has enough information in his house, and he’s also got a network of hunters and occult experts larger and more complex than Dean and Sam can imagine. He uses that network sparingly, and with proficiency.
After breakfast they start spitballing, just throwing ideas around.
Dean brings up the airplane first, of course, because he’s still a little traumatized. “I know it was a demon, but not one like Meg, and definitely not like the one - you know, that we’re still looking for.” He has to stop for a minute to let the dark shadow pass by his eyes before he can continue speaking. “It was stronger without a host. Some Japanese thing that seems to latch onto travelers.”
“I hadn’t heard that story, you two can fill me in later. There aren’t any demonic signs around this thing - not this time or the last. No sulfur, but nothin else either. I don’t know”, Bobby says.
Sam recalls their weekend in Jericho. “What about Constance Welch? She’s not the only Woman in White that ever existed, there are lots of similar stories all over the place. I guess she’s kind of the opposite, though, right? A hitchhiker taking away drivers who pick her up.”
Bobby sends Dean and Sam into the kitchen with a fresh set of books. A few ideas get tossed back and forth, discussed and discarded, hypothesized and ruled out. After more than two hours, they’re fairly certain this is either a spirit, something from another realm, or both.
Meanwhile, Bobby’s been making phone calls. A few strike-outs, a few suggestions, a few “hey, why don’t you ask this guy”s. Two hours of this have yielded much more information than what the brothers are learning from their books. Crossing the room to one of his many bookshelves, he finds what he’s looking for and does some more reading just to make sure his puzzle-pieces of random tidbits fit together in the way he thinks they might.
Then he takes a minute or two to decide whether or not he should put this book away and pretend he never found it. He knocks back what’s left in his glass and decides that John’s boys are going to Chadron no matter what, so they might as well go with as much information as possible. He knows he can’t talk them off this one, though he wishes like hell he could.
“Alright boys, I think I got somethin in here”, Bobby hollers. Sam and Dean gratefully close their books and head into the other room.
Standing on the opposite side of Bobby’s desk, they lean in to get a look at the notes Bobby’s taken and the book he’s got open. The page features a drawing of something called Ijiraq. There are two other pictures on the opposite page, but all three look completely different. Bobby points to the name and starts explaining.
“This thing is loosely tied to some very old Arctic lore. The indigenous tribes passed along the story of an evil spirit that could take the shape of anything it wanted - human, animal, half and half, whatever - and target travelers with danger. Some stories say it takes people into an unknown realm. Some say it causes disorientation and hallucinations, which it uses to make people get lost in the tundra.
Once the Inuit started moving south and interacting with other tribes and with Europeans, the Ijiraq started branching out. The most likely scenario based on the folks I’ve talked to is that it’s a combination of the different stories. Its target is people traveling on foot. Best I can tell, the victims hallucinate a car and a driver that look and feel completely solid and real. But as soon as the Ijiraq gets a hold of them, the people disappear. Never seen alive again, no bodies ever recovered.”
Bobby looks up at Dean and Sam, who’ve been quiet so far. Sam, of course, is the first one with a question, and it’s the one Bobby anticipated.
“So, the six people in the 1980s are definitely gone for good, but the ones from the past couple of months-”
“There’s no saving these people, Sam. You and your brother can’t save them. You boys need to understand that. You go after this thing, the best you can hope for is killing it. And if you don’t kill it, nobody’s ever gonna find your ugly mugs either.”
Dean nods, clearly disturbed by this news. “So if we pass on this job, it’ll just come back again in twenty years, right? Kill another six people? Maybe more?”
“Right. So I want y’all to think on this. You’re not riding to anyone’s rescue here. And the stakes are...well, they’re a bit too high for my taste”, Bobby tells them. He knows he wouldn’t have to have this conversation with other hunters.
“Okay”, Dean replies. “Is there at least a fairly reliable way to take this thing out?”
Bobby takes another look at his notes. “It gonna sound real easy. There’s an incantation, you just have to speak it out loud while you’re connected to the spirit.”
“So while we’re inside the, uh, hallucination car?”, Sam asks. “That’s it, just say the words?”
Dean thinks “Halluci-car”. He doesn’t say it.
“I just said it’s gonna sound easy. There’s a way to keep you at least partly protected from some of the disorientation and confusion, but you’re still going to be under the thing’s very powerful effects. It’s not a milk run.”
Sam looks at Dean and states the obvious. “Assuming this is a repeat of its last appearance, it’s going to be looking for two guys. If we’re there at the right time, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting to it.” He’s already starting to feel very anxious, and he hopes it’s not showing.
Dean’s not feeling any better about the risk they’re taking, but he sounds confident when he says, “Sam and me have a good shot at this, Bobby. We need to take this one.”
“Yeah, I know you do. You’ve got a couple days, though, and it’s a short drive. How about I grill us up some steaks and you can stay here, leave in the morning?”
Bobby’s sure the boys know what he’s doing, though he doesn’t much care. He hasn’t had them back in his life for very long, but he’s already kind of used to having them around.
They try to make it a nice evening. Sam makes pornographic noises while eating Bobby’s steaks. Dean pokes fun at him for not demanding a salad. They laugh and tell stories. Dean fills Bobby in on the airplane hunt, Sam performs a dramatic recreation of his brother’s terror, and Bobby almost chokes on his dinner. The clink of beer bottles and the sound of toasts and the low thrum of what they’re not talking about fill the house.
It’s a late start in the morning. No one really has much to say. Dean and Sam drink their coffee slowly, both silently wondering about the worst case scenario for this hunt. They’re not stalling. Really. Just taking their time. It’s not going to be one of those 12-plus hours on the road days.
As the boys are packing up, Bobby brings them a dozen bottles of water. “The water’s spelled. Make sure you keep plenty of it on you, and drink while you’re out there walking around. This is going to mitigate the effects of the spirit, not shield you from it completely.”
“Well, we have to be able to see this thing to have a shot at taking it out, right?”, Sam half-asks as he bounces one of the plastic bottles in his palm. “If we’re not vulnerable, we can’t get to it.”
Dean hates the word vulnerable, even though that’s exactly what he and his brother are on every single hunt. They do what they can to limit it, but chasing after monsters makes them automatically susceptible to more danger than the average Joe. He doesn’t say anything, keeps loading bottled water into his duffle.
“Yeah. But the hallucination won’t seem as real to you. As long as you’ve got some of this in your system, it should keep your mind from completely buying into what you’re seeing so you’ll have time to recite the banishing spell.”
Bobby’s a certified expert at masking emotions, better than Sam or Dean. He knows keeping on the mask is the only thing stopping him from hollering at the boys to just leave this one alone, goddamnit.
Dean makes the call to leave his Baby at the salvage yard. If they’re going to be roaming the side of the interstate on foot for two days, he doesn’t want to try hiding her in the woods any more than he wants to leave her unattended for so long in what will surely be the parking lot of a sketchy motel.
No one says what they’re all thinking. If Dean and Sam don’t come back from this, Bobby might not get to her before she gets towed or stolen.
They hold it together for the business-as-usual “see you in a couple of days” part. Watching the boys load up the trunk, Bobby’s happy to see signs of emotional fractures repairing themselves. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and makes a joke; Dean smiles like he means it and tousles Sam’s hair like he’s still a kid. He stays outside until the dust settles, then retreats to get an early start on his drinking for the day.
Chadron’s a good six hours from Sioux Falls. The trip is fairly quiet. Dean’s cassette tape collection remained in the Impala; the AMC Hornet they’re currently borrowing only has an AM/FM radio anyway. They manage to find music along the dial for most of the ride and Sam never has to ask Dean to turn down the volume.
Sam goes over the notes they brought with them for a little while. Dean still marvels at the way his brother is able to read in the car without getting sick.
The thoughts are there, in both their minds, kind of hanging in the air. The risk they’re taking is dangerous and terrifying in a much different way than the prospect of death or injury via monster attack.
Sam reaches over to squeeze Dean’s knee, and Dean places his hand on top of Sam’s. It’s a small but reassuring gesture - affection and physical proximity. I’m here, I’m with you. They share a smile and Sam turns toward the passenger window, staring out at the non-existent scenery.
Without any traffic or road construction, they’re approaching Chadron sooner than they anticipated. It appears as if the entire town, excepting the university, is made up of several consecutive blocks on one street.
The Bunkhouse Motel is as spartan as it gets. No coffee pot, no mini fridge, no microwave. The television doesn’t work, and Sam has to piggyback onto the network of the restaurant next door to get a wireless connection. But it has a first-floor room at the end of a row available. They don’t even get a “two queens” joke because the rooms with two beds have doubles.
Dean thinks he and Sam will definitely not be sleeping in the same bed while they’re there. Neither of them mind being close while they sleep, but there are practical matters - Dean’s a big guy himself; Sam’s ridiculously tall and nowhere near the same skinny kid he picked up in California last year. And moving the beds is a pain in the ass.
After they finish a quick take-out dinner, Sam suggests scoping out the highway. The precise date for the Ijiraq is tomorrow, but there’s more than an hour of daylight left and it won’t hurt to check it out.
Carrying only small backpacks, Dean and Sam are both surprised at how quickly the town seems to be far behind them. The weather’s still warm and they both have some of the water Bobby gave them just in case.
Almost by instinct, Sam knows they’re not going to see anything tonight. The sun’s just starting to set over their shoulders, and there are hardly any cars on the road.
“Dean, don’t you think it’s weird that people still hitchhike? I mean, especially like that first couple, two young girls. Seems like all the stranger danger education would make people less likely to take that kind of chance.”
“Sure”, Dean replies. “Hell, as much as we’re on the road we hardly ever see anyone hitching rides. Guess it’s kind of a last resort these days. We used to do it, though, and a lot younger than the people who disappeared out here. Never had any trouble.”
“We had guns, Dean. Guns, knives, hand to hand combat training…”
“Hell yeah we did. Remember that garrotte you made? That thing was badass, you were only like ten years old.” Dean smiles, then laughs at the memory.
Chuckling softly, Sam corrects him. “I was twelve, I think. It was pretty cool, though.”
“Hey wait, you tried to hitchhike to California a while back!”
“I tried to hitchhike to a bus station, Dean, not all the way to California”, Sam says, looking down and away from his brother. “Anyway, I came right back, didn’t I?”
Dean gives himself a moment to recall the feeling of seeing Sam’s face that night in Indiana. “‘Course you did. Come on, there’s nothing going on out here tonight. Let’s head back.”
Back at the motel, Dean knows the time has come. All of the things they need to talk about right now they both already know. But just knowing isn’t enough, not for Sam. Sam needs to say it all out loud and Dean’s trying very hard to improve - not just listening to his brother, but also voicing his own feelings.
Sam returns to the room with his hands full. The ice machine in the office is broken, and even if it hadn’t been, there are no ice buckets. So he’s back from his walk to a convenience store where he’s scored a styrofoam cooler, some ice, and a six pack of El Sol. Sam opens two beers, then hands one to Dean who’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
Dean motions for Sam to sit across from him on his own bed, and says, “Okay, let’s talk about this.”
Sam’s pleasantly surprised, but also at kind of a loss for how to verbalize everything that’s been jumbling around in his mind since yesterday. “Hey, I know I’m not alone in this. Bobby didn’t even want us to take this hunt, and you’re freaked out too.”
“Yeah, I get it, Sam”, Dean says, holding up his hands. “We’re not on an average hunt, if you can call any of our jobs average. We’ve never seen this before, Bobby’s never seen it before. There’s no telling the last time a hunter went after one of these things, or what happened to them. And if we let the Ijiraq get past us, it’ll be back to take more people.”
“That’s part of why I’m so anxious about it. But there’s also - I mean, I know we’re supposed to go in assuming each hunt’s gonna be a win, Lord knows Dad drilled that into us from day one. It’s just...I can’t get my mind off of the alternative. If this thing gets us instead of us getting it, I have no clue what happens to us.”
Dean gets it. On most hunts, you know the consequences of failure. You get hurt, you get turned, you get killed. (Sam thinks he knows what happens to people after they die. Dean’s not so convinced.)
“So it’s not necessarily live or die this time”, Dean says, taking another swig of his beer. “It’s just...gone, I guess.”
Sam finishes his beer and leans in so he can really look at Dean as he expresses the deepest, darkest fear he has. “And gone where? We don’t know. Some other realm? Nowhere? No one ever finds us? Do we even get thrown into wherever together?”, he asks, opening another beer and taking a long drink. “No one here will know what happened to us, and maybe I won’t know what happened to you, and you won’t know what happened to me. Alone, somewhere or nowhere”, he trails off, “forever?”
Dean’s glad Sam was the one to spell it out like this. “Sammy, I know”, he says, setting down his beer and placing Sam’s on the table. “You think I’m not scared shitless? But we can’t worst-case-scenario this one. It’s just going to distract us.”
Leaning in for a soft kiss, Dean continues, “I have a better idea”, as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Let’s take a shower. What do you say?”
Sam never turns down a chance to shower with his brother. Even when there’s no sex, like tonight, they relax under the hot water. Their touches are gentle and thorough and Dean sits on a throne of lies if he still insists Sam’s long hair isn’t one of his favorite things in the world.
Feeling more calm and more confident, they end up pushing the damn beds together after all.
Late in the morning, the clerk points down the road and suggests a place called Helen’s Pancake and Steak House for breakfast. Dean is already wondering if Sam’s eyes will roll all the way out of his head if he actually orders a steak and some pancakes.
They take their time with breakfast, feeling great after several hours of uninterrupted sleep. The food’s great, and they both find moments to reach over for a quick touch of hands over the table.
Back at the Bunkhouse, Sam’s filling their backpacks with water bottles and protein bars and spare burner phones. All packed up and ready for a long wait, he hands Dean his pack and they share a kiss filled with all they know and all they don’t.
Today’s just as beautiful as yesterday. The sky is blue and almost completely cloudless. There’s not much to look at. Hardly any traffic at all, and neither Sam nor Dean are much in the mood for talking about their present situation. They’d said everything already, and dwelling on the risk they’re taking certainly isn’t going to help.
As time passes, Dean starts walking backward like an actual hitchhiker would. They walk a couple of miles away from town, then stop and head back a little closer. Eventually Sam starts a game of I Spy to relieve his boredom and distract him from the fear he’s still trying to hide. Dean’s scared too, but he plays along.
It’s really obvious when the thing they’re looking for starts to get close right at sunset. Maybe hunting gives them a sixth sense or just heightened awareness, it’s just a feeling that hits Dean and Sam at once. Something’s coming.
They both take a long pull on their water bottles when they see the car. It’s certainly not what either of them expected, if they had any idea of what to expect. A late model four-door gray sedan, likely the most boring car ever produced. It doesn’t look even the slightest bit sinister. But it does, in fact, look like an actual car, casting a shadow, making engine noises.
Dean’s heart rate rises as the car (Halluci-car) slows. Sam’s hand is in his pocket, fingers clenched around the incantation that he’s memorized but still brought along on paper just in case.
The passenger side window slides down to reveal the form of a generic middle aged man with a smile on his face. Because of the protective water, his features are blurred in the brothers’ vision, as if they could blend into any background..
“You boys headed toward town? I’m going that way, I can give you a lift.” It’s a completely normal, even-toned, accentless voice.
This is the Ijiraq, Dean thinks. No one would ever guess it wasn’t real, or wasn’t safe. Then he looks over at Sam.
Sam’s smiling, a real smile, sincere. His pupils are dilated. “That would be great, sir, if you don’t mind. It’s almost dark, and…”, he trails off.
Dean elbows him, pushing his arm up so that his bottle of water is directly in his line of sight. He breathes a sigh of relief when Sam takes a few swallows and his eyes come back into focus. Jesus Christ.
As the creature invites them into the car, Sam opens the back door with shaking hands. Bobby’s words float through his mind - “I just said it’s gonna sound easy.” This is insane. He’s sitting on the bench seat in the back of this car. He touches the upholstery. Damn, this is so real.
With the door closed behind them, the Ijiraq looks in the rear-view. “Hope y’all haven’t been on the road too long”, it says. The voice does sound a little weird now, Dean thinks. In an instant, though, he’s trying to remember why they need a ride. Where’s Baby?
He looks at Sam, who takes his turn reminding Dean to drink again. Shit, the plan, okay, remember the plan. Try to carry on some kind of normal conversation while Sam attempts to recite the spell quietly enough not to arouse suspicion.
Sam’s getting confused again. He feels disoriented, like when you drink too much and get the spins. He drinks again and remembers that neither of them have any idea how much time they have.
The car shifts back into drive and starts moving slowly, still halfway on the grassy shoulder of the highway. Sam starts whispering with his eyes closed and his hand holding on to the inside of the door.
Dean’s telling the thing to hold on a sec while he gets something out of his bag when Sam goes quiet and drops his bottle of water. It splashes into the footwell and soaks his backpack. In an instant, Dean pulls another bottle out of the outside pouch of his own pack and shoves it into Sam’s chest.
The whispering picks back up, and Dean starts apologizing for the spill, saying he’s got a towel. He’s stuttering, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the driver and the wet backpack. Something’s in his mind, just out of his reach, and he panics.
There’s a shimmer in the air like heat waves coming up from the asphalt. Dean’s vision starts to blur around the edges. Or maybe it’s the car that’s starting to blur around the edges. Once again, the Ijiraq looks into the rear-view and Sam sees the facade beginning to fall away.
It knows.
With one hand tight around Dean’s arm and the other steadying himself against the door, Sam manages to complete the incantation. There’s another disturbance, the air feels heavy, almost like it’s holding on to them. Fuck, fuck, please don’t let it be too late, Sam thinks.
Then it’s gone without a sound. Not a trace left behind. Just Dean and Sam sitting on the grass breathing heavily. They reach for each other and move close together, but don’t even bother standing before Dean pulls his phone out of his front pocket and dials Bobby on speaker.
“Dean. Sam. You’re both alright?”
Just the sound of Bobby’s voice makes them both feel a little more grounded, a little less scattered.
“Think so, Bobby”, Sam says, still holding on to his brother. “It just...disappeared. Nothing, no fight, no noise, no supernatural gunk anywhere.”
“Nothing to leave behind, Sam. It’s not from our world. Or should I say, it wasn’t from our world. Now it’s not anything. The Ijiraq no longer exists.”
Dean finally speaks up so he can tell Bobby that of course it no longer exists because of how kick-ass he and Sam are.
Bobby laughs, tinny over the speaker. “Sounds like you two are just fine. Be careful, stay another night to make sure you’re alright to drive. Then get yourselves back here and pick up this shiny-ass car. It’s making all the other ones feel bad.”
A wave of relief washes over Dean and Sam as they open the door to their crappy motel room. As terrifying as this experience has been, they know it won’t be the last. Not the last time they risk their lives, together or apart. Not the last time neither of them knows what’s going to happen next. But the adrenaline has worn off and they’re crashing.
The beds are still pushed together.
Author:
verucasalt123Fandom/Genre: SPN, Wincest, case fic
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6,588
Warnings: consensual sibling incest, language, light angst, reference to underage sex
Summary: The Winchesters follow a story from the Roadhouse to Singer Auto Salvage, then to a case that’s tougher - and much scarier - than it looks.
Morning is bright and not too terribly hot. Bobby’s back at the house with coffee and breakfast sandwiches from Josiah’s before the boys are fully awake. He even had time to exchange pleasantries with his favorite sheriff’s deputy. She’s kind of new, and doesn’t seem to think he’s a drunken weirdo hermit quite yet.
Having struck out on the previous victims of whatever-this-is, Bobby figures they’ll dig deep into lore today. Lord knows he has enough information in his house, and he’s also got a network of hunters and occult experts larger and more complex than Dean and Sam can imagine. He uses that network sparingly, and with proficiency.
After breakfast they start spitballing, just throwing ideas around.
Dean brings up the airplane first, of course, because he’s still a little traumatized. “I know it was a demon, but not one like Meg, and definitely not like the one - you know, that we’re still looking for.” He has to stop for a minute to let the dark shadow pass by his eyes before he can continue speaking. “It was stronger without a host. Some Japanese thing that seems to latch onto travelers.”
“I hadn’t heard that story, you two can fill me in later. There aren’t any demonic signs around this thing - not this time or the last. No sulfur, but nothin else either. I don’t know”, Bobby says.
Sam recalls their weekend in Jericho. “What about Constance Welch? She’s not the only Woman in White that ever existed, there are lots of similar stories all over the place. I guess she’s kind of the opposite, though, right? A hitchhiker taking away drivers who pick her up.”
Bobby sends Dean and Sam into the kitchen with a fresh set of books. A few ideas get tossed back and forth, discussed and discarded, hypothesized and ruled out. After more than two hours, they’re fairly certain this is either a spirit, something from another realm, or both.
Meanwhile, Bobby’s been making phone calls. A few strike-outs, a few suggestions, a few “hey, why don’t you ask this guy”s. Two hours of this have yielded much more information than what the brothers are learning from their books. Crossing the room to one of his many bookshelves, he finds what he’s looking for and does some more reading just to make sure his puzzle-pieces of random tidbits fit together in the way he thinks they might.
Then he takes a minute or two to decide whether or not he should put this book away and pretend he never found it. He knocks back what’s left in his glass and decides that John’s boys are going to Chadron no matter what, so they might as well go with as much information as possible. He knows he can’t talk them off this one, though he wishes like hell he could.
“Alright boys, I think I got somethin in here”, Bobby hollers. Sam and Dean gratefully close their books and head into the other room.
Standing on the opposite side of Bobby’s desk, they lean in to get a look at the notes Bobby’s taken and the book he’s got open. The page features a drawing of something called Ijiraq. There are two other pictures on the opposite page, but all three look completely different. Bobby points to the name and starts explaining.
“This thing is loosely tied to some very old Arctic lore. The indigenous tribes passed along the story of an evil spirit that could take the shape of anything it wanted - human, animal, half and half, whatever - and target travelers with danger. Some stories say it takes people into an unknown realm. Some say it causes disorientation and hallucinations, which it uses to make people get lost in the tundra.
Once the Inuit started moving south and interacting with other tribes and with Europeans, the Ijiraq started branching out. The most likely scenario based on the folks I’ve talked to is that it’s a combination of the different stories. Its target is people traveling on foot. Best I can tell, the victims hallucinate a car and a driver that look and feel completely solid and real. But as soon as the Ijiraq gets a hold of them, the people disappear. Never seen alive again, no bodies ever recovered.”
Bobby looks up at Dean and Sam, who’ve been quiet so far. Sam, of course, is the first one with a question, and it’s the one Bobby anticipated.
“So, the six people in the 1980s are definitely gone for good, but the ones from the past couple of months-”
“There’s no saving these people, Sam. You and your brother can’t save them. You boys need to understand that. You go after this thing, the best you can hope for is killing it. And if you don’t kill it, nobody’s ever gonna find your ugly mugs either.”
Dean nods, clearly disturbed by this news. “So if we pass on this job, it’ll just come back again in twenty years, right? Kill another six people? Maybe more?”
“Right. So I want y’all to think on this. You’re not riding to anyone’s rescue here. And the stakes are...well, they’re a bit too high for my taste”, Bobby tells them. He knows he wouldn’t have to have this conversation with other hunters.
“Okay”, Dean replies. “Is there at least a fairly reliable way to take this thing out?”
Bobby takes another look at his notes. “It gonna sound real easy. There’s an incantation, you just have to speak it out loud while you’re connected to the spirit.”
“So while we’re inside the, uh, hallucination car?”, Sam asks. “That’s it, just say the words?”
Dean thinks “Halluci-car”. He doesn’t say it.
“I just said it’s gonna sound easy. There’s a way to keep you at least partly protected from some of the disorientation and confusion, but you’re still going to be under the thing’s very powerful effects. It’s not a milk run.”
Sam looks at Dean and states the obvious. “Assuming this is a repeat of its last appearance, it’s going to be looking for two guys. If we’re there at the right time, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting to it.” He’s already starting to feel very anxious, and he hopes it’s not showing.
Dean’s not feeling any better about the risk they’re taking, but he sounds confident when he says, “Sam and me have a good shot at this, Bobby. We need to take this one.”
“Yeah, I know you do. You’ve got a couple days, though, and it’s a short drive. How about I grill us up some steaks and you can stay here, leave in the morning?”
Bobby’s sure the boys know what he’s doing, though he doesn’t much care. He hasn’t had them back in his life for very long, but he’s already kind of used to having them around.
They try to make it a nice evening. Sam makes pornographic noises while eating Bobby’s steaks. Dean pokes fun at him for not demanding a salad. They laugh and tell stories. Dean fills Bobby in on the airplane hunt, Sam performs a dramatic recreation of his brother’s terror, and Bobby almost chokes on his dinner. The clink of beer bottles and the sound of toasts and the low thrum of what they’re not talking about fill the house.
It’s a late start in the morning. No one really has much to say. Dean and Sam drink their coffee slowly, both silently wondering about the worst case scenario for this hunt. They’re not stalling. Really. Just taking their time. It’s not going to be one of those 12-plus hours on the road days.
As the boys are packing up, Bobby brings them a dozen bottles of water. “The water’s spelled. Make sure you keep plenty of it on you, and drink while you’re out there walking around. This is going to mitigate the effects of the spirit, not shield you from it completely.”
“Well, we have to be able to see this thing to have a shot at taking it out, right?”, Sam half-asks as he bounces one of the plastic bottles in his palm. “If we’re not vulnerable, we can’t get to it.”
Dean hates the word vulnerable, even though that’s exactly what he and his brother are on every single hunt. They do what they can to limit it, but chasing after monsters makes them automatically susceptible to more danger than the average Joe. He doesn’t say anything, keeps loading bottled water into his duffle.
“Yeah. But the hallucination won’t seem as real to you. As long as you’ve got some of this in your system, it should keep your mind from completely buying into what you’re seeing so you’ll have time to recite the banishing spell.”
Bobby’s a certified expert at masking emotions, better than Sam or Dean. He knows keeping on the mask is the only thing stopping him from hollering at the boys to just leave this one alone, goddamnit.
Dean makes the call to leave his Baby at the salvage yard. If they’re going to be roaming the side of the interstate on foot for two days, he doesn’t want to try hiding her in the woods any more than he wants to leave her unattended for so long in what will surely be the parking lot of a sketchy motel.
No one says what they’re all thinking. If Dean and Sam don’t come back from this, Bobby might not get to her before she gets towed or stolen.
They hold it together for the business-as-usual “see you in a couple of days” part. Watching the boys load up the trunk, Bobby’s happy to see signs of emotional fractures repairing themselves. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and makes a joke; Dean smiles like he means it and tousles Sam’s hair like he’s still a kid. He stays outside until the dust settles, then retreats to get an early start on his drinking for the day.
Chadron’s a good six hours from Sioux Falls. The trip is fairly quiet. Dean’s cassette tape collection remained in the Impala; the AMC Hornet they’re currently borrowing only has an AM/FM radio anyway. They manage to find music along the dial for most of the ride and Sam never has to ask Dean to turn down the volume.
Sam goes over the notes they brought with them for a little while. Dean still marvels at the way his brother is able to read in the car without getting sick.
The thoughts are there, in both their minds, kind of hanging in the air. The risk they’re taking is dangerous and terrifying in a much different way than the prospect of death or injury via monster attack.
Sam reaches over to squeeze Dean’s knee, and Dean places his hand on top of Sam’s. It’s a small but reassuring gesture - affection and physical proximity. I’m here, I’m with you. They share a smile and Sam turns toward the passenger window, staring out at the non-existent scenery.
Without any traffic or road construction, they’re approaching Chadron sooner than they anticipated. It appears as if the entire town, excepting the university, is made up of several consecutive blocks on one street.
The Bunkhouse Motel is as spartan as it gets. No coffee pot, no mini fridge, no microwave. The television doesn’t work, and Sam has to piggyback onto the network of the restaurant next door to get a wireless connection. But it has a first-floor room at the end of a row available. They don’t even get a “two queens” joke because the rooms with two beds have doubles.
Dean thinks he and Sam will definitely not be sleeping in the same bed while they’re there. Neither of them mind being close while they sleep, but there are practical matters - Dean’s a big guy himself; Sam’s ridiculously tall and nowhere near the same skinny kid he picked up in California last year. And moving the beds is a pain in the ass.
After they finish a quick take-out dinner, Sam suggests scoping out the highway. The precise date for the Ijiraq is tomorrow, but there’s more than an hour of daylight left and it won’t hurt to check it out.
Carrying only small backpacks, Dean and Sam are both surprised at how quickly the town seems to be far behind them. The weather’s still warm and they both have some of the water Bobby gave them just in case.
Almost by instinct, Sam knows they’re not going to see anything tonight. The sun’s just starting to set over their shoulders, and there are hardly any cars on the road.
“Dean, don’t you think it’s weird that people still hitchhike? I mean, especially like that first couple, two young girls. Seems like all the stranger danger education would make people less likely to take that kind of chance.”
“Sure”, Dean replies. “Hell, as much as we’re on the road we hardly ever see anyone hitching rides. Guess it’s kind of a last resort these days. We used to do it, though, and a lot younger than the people who disappeared out here. Never had any trouble.”
“We had guns, Dean. Guns, knives, hand to hand combat training…”
“Hell yeah we did. Remember that garrotte you made? That thing was badass, you were only like ten years old.” Dean smiles, then laughs at the memory.
Chuckling softly, Sam corrects him. “I was twelve, I think. It was pretty cool, though.”
“Hey wait, you tried to hitchhike to California a while back!”
“I tried to hitchhike to a bus station, Dean, not all the way to California”, Sam says, looking down and away from his brother. “Anyway, I came right back, didn’t I?”
Dean gives himself a moment to recall the feeling of seeing Sam’s face that night in Indiana. “‘Course you did. Come on, there’s nothing going on out here tonight. Let’s head back.”
Back at the motel, Dean knows the time has come. All of the things they need to talk about right now they both already know. But just knowing isn’t enough, not for Sam. Sam needs to say it all out loud and Dean’s trying very hard to improve - not just listening to his brother, but also voicing his own feelings.
Sam returns to the room with his hands full. The ice machine in the office is broken, and even if it hadn’t been, there are no ice buckets. So he’s back from his walk to a convenience store where he’s scored a styrofoam cooler, some ice, and a six pack of El Sol. Sam opens two beers, then hands one to Dean who’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
Dean motions for Sam to sit across from him on his own bed, and says, “Okay, let’s talk about this.”
Sam’s pleasantly surprised, but also at kind of a loss for how to verbalize everything that’s been jumbling around in his mind since yesterday. “Hey, I know I’m not alone in this. Bobby didn’t even want us to take this hunt, and you’re freaked out too.”
“Yeah, I get it, Sam”, Dean says, holding up his hands. “We’re not on an average hunt, if you can call any of our jobs average. We’ve never seen this before, Bobby’s never seen it before. There’s no telling the last time a hunter went after one of these things, or what happened to them. And if we let the Ijiraq get past us, it’ll be back to take more people.”
“That’s part of why I’m so anxious about it. But there’s also - I mean, I know we’re supposed to go in assuming each hunt’s gonna be a win, Lord knows Dad drilled that into us from day one. It’s just...I can’t get my mind off of the alternative. If this thing gets us instead of us getting it, I have no clue what happens to us.”
Dean gets it. On most hunts, you know the consequences of failure. You get hurt, you get turned, you get killed. (Sam thinks he knows what happens to people after they die. Dean’s not so convinced.)
“So it’s not necessarily live or die this time”, Dean says, taking another swig of his beer. “It’s just...gone, I guess.”
Sam finishes his beer and leans in so he can really look at Dean as he expresses the deepest, darkest fear he has. “And gone where? We don’t know. Some other realm? Nowhere? No one ever finds us? Do we even get thrown into wherever together?”, he asks, opening another beer and taking a long drink. “No one here will know what happened to us, and maybe I won’t know what happened to you, and you won’t know what happened to me. Alone, somewhere or nowhere”, he trails off, “forever?”
Dean’s glad Sam was the one to spell it out like this. “Sammy, I know”, he says, setting down his beer and placing Sam’s on the table. “You think I’m not scared shitless? But we can’t worst-case-scenario this one. It’s just going to distract us.”
Leaning in for a soft kiss, Dean continues, “I have a better idea”, as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Let’s take a shower. What do you say?”
Sam never turns down a chance to shower with his brother. Even when there’s no sex, like tonight, they relax under the hot water. Their touches are gentle and thorough and Dean sits on a throne of lies if he still insists Sam’s long hair isn’t one of his favorite things in the world.
Feeling more calm and more confident, they end up pushing the damn beds together after all.
Late in the morning, the clerk points down the road and suggests a place called Helen’s Pancake and Steak House for breakfast. Dean is already wondering if Sam’s eyes will roll all the way out of his head if he actually orders a steak and some pancakes.
They take their time with breakfast, feeling great after several hours of uninterrupted sleep. The food’s great, and they both find moments to reach over for a quick touch of hands over the table.
Back at the Bunkhouse, Sam’s filling their backpacks with water bottles and protein bars and spare burner phones. All packed up and ready for a long wait, he hands Dean his pack and they share a kiss filled with all they know and all they don’t.
Today’s just as beautiful as yesterday. The sky is blue and almost completely cloudless. There’s not much to look at. Hardly any traffic at all, and neither Sam nor Dean are much in the mood for talking about their present situation. They’d said everything already, and dwelling on the risk they’re taking certainly isn’t going to help.
As time passes, Dean starts walking backward like an actual hitchhiker would. They walk a couple of miles away from town, then stop and head back a little closer. Eventually Sam starts a game of I Spy to relieve his boredom and distract him from the fear he’s still trying to hide. Dean’s scared too, but he plays along.
It’s really obvious when the thing they’re looking for starts to get close right at sunset. Maybe hunting gives them a sixth sense or just heightened awareness, it’s just a feeling that hits Dean and Sam at once. Something’s coming.
They both take a long pull on their water bottles when they see the car. It’s certainly not what either of them expected, if they had any idea of what to expect. A late model four-door gray sedan, likely the most boring car ever produced. It doesn’t look even the slightest bit sinister. But it does, in fact, look like an actual car, casting a shadow, making engine noises.
Dean’s heart rate rises as the car (Halluci-car) slows. Sam’s hand is in his pocket, fingers clenched around the incantation that he’s memorized but still brought along on paper just in case.
The passenger side window slides down to reveal the form of a generic middle aged man with a smile on his face. Because of the protective water, his features are blurred in the brothers’ vision, as if they could blend into any background..
“You boys headed toward town? I’m going that way, I can give you a lift.” It’s a completely normal, even-toned, accentless voice.
This is the Ijiraq, Dean thinks. No one would ever guess it wasn’t real, or wasn’t safe. Then he looks over at Sam.
Sam’s smiling, a real smile, sincere. His pupils are dilated. “That would be great, sir, if you don’t mind. It’s almost dark, and…”, he trails off.
Dean elbows him, pushing his arm up so that his bottle of water is directly in his line of sight. He breathes a sigh of relief when Sam takes a few swallows and his eyes come back into focus. Jesus Christ.
As the creature invites them into the car, Sam opens the back door with shaking hands. Bobby’s words float through his mind - “I just said it’s gonna sound easy.” This is insane. He’s sitting on the bench seat in the back of this car. He touches the upholstery. Damn, this is so real.
With the door closed behind them, the Ijiraq looks in the rear-view. “Hope y’all haven’t been on the road too long”, it says. The voice does sound a little weird now, Dean thinks. In an instant, though, he’s trying to remember why they need a ride. Where’s Baby?
He looks at Sam, who takes his turn reminding Dean to drink again. Shit, the plan, okay, remember the plan. Try to carry on some kind of normal conversation while Sam attempts to recite the spell quietly enough not to arouse suspicion.
Sam’s getting confused again. He feels disoriented, like when you drink too much and get the spins. He drinks again and remembers that neither of them have any idea how much time they have.
The car shifts back into drive and starts moving slowly, still halfway on the grassy shoulder of the highway. Sam starts whispering with his eyes closed and his hand holding on to the inside of the door.
Dean’s telling the thing to hold on a sec while he gets something out of his bag when Sam goes quiet and drops his bottle of water. It splashes into the footwell and soaks his backpack. In an instant, Dean pulls another bottle out of the outside pouch of his own pack and shoves it into Sam’s chest.
The whispering picks back up, and Dean starts apologizing for the spill, saying he’s got a towel. He’s stuttering, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the driver and the wet backpack. Something’s in his mind, just out of his reach, and he panics.
There’s a shimmer in the air like heat waves coming up from the asphalt. Dean’s vision starts to blur around the edges. Or maybe it’s the car that’s starting to blur around the edges. Once again, the Ijiraq looks into the rear-view and Sam sees the facade beginning to fall away.
It knows.
With one hand tight around Dean’s arm and the other steadying himself against the door, Sam manages to complete the incantation. There’s another disturbance, the air feels heavy, almost like it’s holding on to them. Fuck, fuck, please don’t let it be too late, Sam thinks.
Then it’s gone without a sound. Not a trace left behind. Just Dean and Sam sitting on the grass breathing heavily. They reach for each other and move close together, but don’t even bother standing before Dean pulls his phone out of his front pocket and dials Bobby on speaker.
“Dean. Sam. You’re both alright?”
Just the sound of Bobby’s voice makes them both feel a little more grounded, a little less scattered.
“Think so, Bobby”, Sam says, still holding on to his brother. “It just...disappeared. Nothing, no fight, no noise, no supernatural gunk anywhere.”
“Nothing to leave behind, Sam. It’s not from our world. Or should I say, it wasn’t from our world. Now it’s not anything. The Ijiraq no longer exists.”
Dean finally speaks up so he can tell Bobby that of course it no longer exists because of how kick-ass he and Sam are.
Bobby laughs, tinny over the speaker. “Sounds like you two are just fine. Be careful, stay another night to make sure you’re alright to drive. Then get yourselves back here and pick up this shiny-ass car. It’s making all the other ones feel bad.”
A wave of relief washes over Dean and Sam as they open the door to their crappy motel room. As terrifying as this experience has been, they know it won’t be the last. Not the last time they risk their lives, together or apart. Not the last time neither of them knows what’s going to happen next. But the adrenaline has worn off and they’re crashing.
The beds are still pushed together.
