Red Rock Fever (Supernatural, Sam)

[sierraplaid]

Hope you enjoy! This is Part 1 of 3.

Title: Red Rock Fever

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Sam, Dean, John (gen)

Summary: Sam and Dean are hauling through the Mojave to get to Winslow. Circumstances could be better.

Time frame: Set a couple of weeks after John and the boys part ways at the end of Shadow.

Warnings: None

AN: I borrowed some dialog directly from Dead Man’s Blood—credited at the end.

Red Rock Fever

Part 1.

They didn’t pick the time and they didn’t pick the place, and yet here they are, in midafternoon in late July in the desert on Interstate 40, driving along on this ribbon of crumbling asphalt like a couple of idiots who don’t know any better. The cloudless sky is a supersaturated blue, dazzling and raw, blazoned with a motionless sun, and below it a sere, dull dustscape lies stricken and brown in the oppressive heat.

It’s too hot for music.

Too hot for silence.

The road a mile ahead shimmers in and out of existence.

The going is maddeningly slow—dragging and sweltering and sticky and endless. The Impala is a sturdy mass of scorching metal and sunbaked leather, an oven on wheels, and God love her, but she’s starting to fuss. Dean eyes the temperature gauge with growing unease and strokes the inside of the steering wheel with his thumb in an absent, worried gesture. He’s long since stripped down to a battered black t-shirt and beside him Sam’s sweating through a faded gray long-sleeve with the cuffs rammed up past his elbows.

Two one-gallon jugs of sloshing lukewarm water share the space between them on the seat.

A bone-dry wind lashes fitfully through the few inches of open window.

In his periphery Dean sees Sam try to suppress a shiver. Despite the heat Sam tugs his sleeves down and grips them tight, crossing his arms, hands tucked in. No sooner is he huddled in on himself than he unfolds again and smothers a wrenching sneeze in his elbow. Dean looks over, the question he’s been asking all week this time left unspoken, and Sam gives him a quick, grim glance in response. That’s enough for Dean to know the score. Sam snuffles wearily and then succumbs to a volley of deep, raking coughs. As the coughing subsides he curls up again with another shudder, fists balled under his arms, and slides down to rest his head on the back of the seat. His eyes are closed, his face flushed, shirt tacky with sweat.

Then he says softly, “This is bad.”

For a second Dean’s head spins with an adrenaline rush and he feels like he’s burning all over.

“I know.”

***

The coordinates from Dad pointed to Winslow, Arizona, and his next text just said: “Hurry.”

It was the first they’d heard from John since a run-in with daevas cut their reunion short two weeks ago, since Dean had forced himself to admit John was stronger without them around, since John hadn’t disagreed. The single word replays itself in Dean’s head, in John’s voice, again and again, thudding like a heartbeat. He’s pushing the car as fast as he dares in this heat.

Dean was all for him and Sam shagging ass out of Barstow where they’d been for the past ten days, but this wasn’t the way they pictured it. They were supposed to be recovering from the last hunt, sleeping it off, waiting for the heat of the day to pass. Come dusk, the plan was to high-tail it west, rinse off the desert grit in the chilly, moonlit Pacific. Instead, at 11:00 a.m. when Dean startled into consciousness at the urgent buzzing of his phone, he found himself reluctantly shaking Sam awake, too, handing him into the car, and beating a dusty trail due east, deeper into the desert.

Sam was supposed to be sleeping off more than just the hunt. What started out as an inconvenient summer cold about a week ago was quickly tail-spinning into full-on flu, and since they bailed out of the motel Sam’s temperature has been keeping pace with the climbing desert heat, digit by rising digit. In the car it’s too hot to sleep, too hot to be awake. Too damn hot for a fever.

Dean hooks Sam’s water jug by the handle and knocks it into his arm.

“Hey,” he says, and Sam’s eyes flicker open.

Sam sits up a little and takes the water from Dean, swallowing a few swigs before twisting the cap back on and setting the jug by his side. Then he draws an uneven breath and sneezes hard into the crook of his arm.

Reflexively Dean grips the steering wheel tighter.

“Hang in there, Sam,” he says.

“I am,” Sam rasps, pulling a tissue from the box beside him and folding it over his nose. He’s obviously miserably sick, fading fast after running on fumes for days now. But he is hanging in there, as long as he can, getting by on plastic-y, warm water and all the aspirin Dean foists on him periodically, pacing himself in case later tonight he has to go salt and burn some bones or hack his way through a vampire nest or plug a shapeshifter or whatever the hell it is they’re supposed to be doing.

He shoves his sleeves back up, clears his throat. There’s an uneasy pause before he ventures to say what they’ve both been mulling over since Barstow.

“You think Dad’s gonna be there?”

Dean grits his teeth. On top of the likelihood that both his car and his brother are headed for a breakdown, Dad’s phone has rung to voicemail seven times so far today.

“There’s just… no way this ends well, you get that, right?” he says. “Scenario one: Dad’s there and it’s bad enough he needs two-man back-up….”

“I know,” Sam interrupts him. “Last time we saw him, he said it was too dangerous to be together. And now out of the blue he needs our help? Dean, he wouldn’t call us for back-up, not unless he really needed it.”

“Yeah, and he’s gonna find his two-man back-up team one man short. Or there’s door number two, and he’s throwing us a job, like at Blackwater Ridge or Rockford or Burkitsville, and I handle this solo while trying to keep you from sweating to death back in the motel room.”

Sam doesn’t offer a third option where he miraculously feels up to hunting with Dean and doesn’t in fact sweat to death back in the motel room, and in the heavy silence that follows it dawns on Dean that Sam feels worse than he’s letting on.

“Just promise me something,” Dean says over the rush of blood suddenly coursing in his ears. “If Dad is there, no shouting matches, all right?”

Sam gives him a wan smile. “I don’t have enough energy for this conversation. You think I’d have enough to argue with Dad?”

“I think you’d find some,” Dean says with a cynicism that he knows from experience is not misplaced, but Sam looks a little wounded and Dean is instantly contrite.

“Here,” he says, snagging Sam’s water again and offering it as an olive branch.

Sam accepts it but he doesn’t drink, instead twisting aside first with one sneeze, then another.

Dean looks away and for some reason thinks it’ll calm him down about his brother to distract himself by checking the temp gauge again, and after that bright idea backfires predictably, right then and there he decides it’ll be a miracle if they can all keep it together until they get to Winslow.

“Damnit,” he mutters, and that fairly sums it up.

There’s silence again, but takes the shape of the last unasked, unanswered question, until finally Sam turns to Dean.

“You think it’s the demon?”

Dean doesn’t know what he thinks. Yes. No. Could be. His brain is parboiled from the heat and set to medium simmer in adrenaline—Sam, Baby, hurry, Dad—and clearly he’s starting to lose it because he can’t stop fantasizing about how much he wants to be back in Barstow. What does he think?

Or, what should he say? Sam’s still looking at him with those frank, fevered eyes and Dean knows he should say whatever will make him stop doing that, for the love of God.

It’s too hot to face the truth.

Too hot to lie.

“No way of knowing, Sammy.”

***

End Part 1

Original line from Dead Man's Blood (Cathryn Humphris and John Shiban): "Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue you need our help."

[Anilkex]

In his periphery Dean sees Sam try to suppress a shiver. Despite the heat Sam tugs his sleeves down and grips them tight, crossing his arms, hands tucked in. No sooner is he huddled in on himself than he unfolds again and smothers a wrenching sneeze in his elbow.

Oh Lord, I loved this part. Perfect picture!

Very excited for the next part!

[ginger1]

This is for sure some of the best writing I've seen on here. Can't WAIT for the next part!!

[VividBubbles!]

Wow!

This is really great, sierraplaid! I love your writing style and how descriptive you are. When you describe the heat of the desert, I can almost feel it. Just really wonderful writing. You've also done a marvelous job at getting into Dean's head. You're characterization is spot-on, and everything you describe is something I can see happening in an episode. Seriously, this is great work. I can't wait to read more!

[Zuki]

Whoa! This is amazing, I can't wait for the other parts!

[SexualOddity]

Well this is phenomenal. Wow.

The whole thing just has such a such a feeling of heat. There's such a lazy, lethagic tone to the writing and you just so perfectly capture that frustrating too-hot-to-do-anything feeling. I'm in awe, really.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Well this is phenomenal. Wow.

The whole thing just has such a such a feeling of heat. There's such a lazy, lethagic tone to the writing and you just so perfectly capture that frustrating too-hot-to-do-anything feeling. I'm in awe, really.

Took the words right out of my mouth. I was so hooked in I forgot I was reading and thought I was watching a scene.

The writing is just astonishing! Please deliver more soon to end this commercial break

[untiluntiluntil]

oh man, more please.

[sierraplaid]

YIKES I haven't been on here in forever. Not sure how that happened.... Sorry for falling off the map! Apart from not posting my own dang part 2, there's a ton of SPN fic that I'm excited to catch up on. Y'all are much more prolific than I am.

And now for some verrrrry overdue thanks....

In his periphery Dean sees Sam try to suppress a shiver. Despite the heat Sam tugs his sleeves down and grips them tight, crossing his arms, hands tucked in. No sooner is he huddled in on himself than he unfolds again and smothers a wrenching sneeze in his elbow.

Oh Lord, I loved this part. Perfect picture!

Very excited for the next part!

I'm really glad you liked that part! Thanks for saying!

This is for sure some of the best writing I've seen on here. Can't WAIT for the next part!!

Oh man, that's awfully nice of you to say! Not sure it's at all true, but thank you!

Wow!

This is really great, sierraplaid! I love your writing style and how descriptive you are. When you describe the heat of the desert, I can almost feel it. Just really wonderful writing. You've also done a marvelous job at getting into Dean's head. You're characterization is spot-on, and everything you describe is something I can see happening in an episode. Seriously, this is great work. I can't wait to read more!

Thank you so much! This made me really happy. I'm glad you've enjoyed so far!

Whoa! This is amazing, I can't wait for the other parts!

Thank you! Next part shamefully late, but coming.

Well this is phenomenal. Wow.

The whole thing just has such a such a feeling of heat. There's such a lazy, lethagic tone to the writing and you just so perfectly capture that frustrating too-hot-to-do-anything feeling. I'm in awe, really.

That smiley is nowhere near blushy enough. Thank you!! I'm really glad you like it.

Well this is phenomenal. Wow.

The whole thing just has such a such a feeling of heat. There's such a lazy, lethagic tone to the writing and you just so perfectly capture that frustrating too-hot-to-do-anything feeling. I'm in awe, really.

Took the words right out of my mouth. I was so hooked in I forgot I was reading and thought I was watching a scene.

The writing is just astonishing! Please deliver more soon to end this commercial break

Aaaahh, thanks!

oh man, more please.

Coming up! Thanks for reading!

[sierraplaid]

Ha, so, not sure if anyone is still interested in a part 2, or has even the vaguest recollection of part 1 from ages ago, but on the off chance that anyone has the incredible patience to stick around, here is the overdue next part.

Part 2.

Baby gets them to Winslow all right.

She’s low on gas, hot under the hood as she crawls through the downtown streets with her windows agape, her grill choked with fine ochre dust. The airless late afternoon aches under the heavy heat of the day, lingering unbearably, gasping for sundown an interminable time away. The sun is low and feverish in the Impala’s rear view mirror and Baby glints all over in its relentless stare, blindingly, like a hero. She feels her years. She takes the corners slow.

Dean pulls up behind a Subaru parked under the only shade tree on the street, keeps the engine running, hops out, and heaves it forward fifteen feet. Then he slides back behind the wheel, coasts into the spot, and throws the Impala into park. He’s in a mood to fight anything that looks at him the wrong way, up to and including the owner of that Subaru, when and if he ever shows up.

“Hell if I care,” Dean grumbles darkly as he pulls the keys from the ignition.

“She deserves it,” Sam agrees.

“Damn straight. She saw us through.”

The Impala clicks angrily as her metal bits start cooling off.

Dean rubs a hand across his forehead, pushing gently at the dull hammering behind his eyes, and mutters, “Can’t believe we had to ditch our credit cards in Barstow. How much cash you got on you?”

“Think I’ve still got a twenty.” Sam snuffles as he digs slowly in his pockets, flips open his wallet, hazily blinks into it. “Wait, sixteen dollars, and seventy… eight cents.”

He tosses the billfold to Dean and then catches a soggy sneeze in a handful of tissues.

“Awesome.” Dean studies a dilapidated motel about a block behind them across the street—uninviting, cheap—while he does a little mental math. “So we got sixty-two bucks and change between the two of us. I doubt they’ve even heard of air conditioning.”

Sam shudders and swallows hard down a dry, painful throat, pushing himself back into the warm black leather, sweaty shirt gripped tight around his ribs. He’s still hanging in there, but only barely. The fever’s up. “I’ll be fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, we’ll work on that.”

Sam sneezes again, sniffs wetly. “Yeah.”

“Sit tight,” Dean orders, shoving open his door, and Sam lets his head fall back on the seat.

Dean circles around to the trunk and props up the false floor. He just stands for a minute, feeling fuzzy and numb. Sam, Baby, hurry, Dad… the refrain in discordant four-part harmony barrages his brain on endless repeat. Heat roils off the blacktop, steams mustily out of the trunk. Dean tries but it’s too hard to take a deep breath. Does he think it’s the demon? Is he too hot to care?

Yes? Maybe? How would he know? Too hot to know his own mind. God, Sam’s not doing well.

Dean is buried in his own head and his head is buried in the trunk as he starts slinging supplies into a duffel, and Sam is slouched back in the seat with his eyes closed so they both miss the big black truck rumbling up and parking across the street, the figure climbing out and striding towards them.

Sam hears the approaching footsteps before Dean does, and just as he opens his eyes the new arrival says, “Hey, Dean.”

Dean’s head snaps up.

It’s John.

***

Sam stands up fast, pulling himself out of the car as John walks up. John is ragged and covered head to toe in a film of dust but he looks like he’s in one piece, his eyes bright and keen in spite of the stupefying heat, his forehead beaded with sweat.

“Hi, Sam,” he says over the roof of the car.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Dad.” Dean’s heart is pounding. “We got here as fast as we could. Are you all right? What’s this hunt, what’s going on?”

“I saw you drive into town,” John explains his sudden appearance. “I knew you boys weren’t too far away. Thought I needed some extra hands. Then everything happened too fast. I took care of it on my own.”

There’s a pause while Sam and Dean wait in expectant silence for John to enlighten them further, but John seems to think he has apprised them of all necessary detail. He’s looking at Sam intently.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam sets his jaw and answers firmly, “Yessir.”

John’s gaze lingers on him a moment longer until Dean stammers, “So… so, what are you saying? You mean there’s no hunt?”

“Not anymore,” John says. “I’m sorry to make you boys drive all this way for nothing. But it could have gone down differently.”

“What were you hunting? Was it the demon?” Dean’s spitting out questions that he only half expects answers to. “Why’d you call us for back-up?”

John’s face softens into a smile. “That’s not important. Like I said, I took care of it.”

Dean accepts this response with only a slight furrowing of his brow and Sam says nothing but shifts from one foot to the other and for a fleeting moment Dean is guiltily grateful that Sam’s so sick and that his instinct to hide it from Dad is stronger than his desire to pick a fight with him.

“So, what do we do now?” Dean asks.

Another faded smile steals across John’s face. “Nothing’s changed. It’s still not safe for us to be together. I shouldn’t be here right now. Just came to let you know what happened and to lay my eyes on you boys, make sure you were all right.”

John glances again at Sam, then shoots Dean a look, and with that, he gives a nod and turns to go. His back is to the boys when he stops and says, “Let me guess. You’re running low on cash?”

“Yessir,” Dean admits, taken aback and wondering how John could have known. “We had to toss all our cards. Last hunt got a little hairy towards the end.”

“Guess you’ll be needing this, then.”

John turns on his heel and extends a wad of doubled-up twenties to Dean, and Dean stares for a moment before taking the money with a quiet, “Thanks.”

Then John’s eyes trail over both his sons and Dean is within reach so he claps him on the shoulder.

“Take care, boys.”

Sam and Dean watch their father cross the street, get in his truck, and drive away.

***

End Part 2

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

......... ..... ...... ...........

I honestly have no words. Just astonished. That has got to be the best father sons meet up I have ever read. Simple, quick, and perfect.

[Anilkex]

The sheer level of Sam's discomfort is staggering. It's not about the sneezing at all (although, yum...), but more that he's just so miserable, and you wanna just be there for him. For Dean. For goodness sake, John, you couldn't text them? (I'm a John fan, so thank the Lord he tossed them that cash!) And you know he knows Sam's sick and they were worried and they drove all that way for him regardless, but he still has to leave because ugughugh!

Did I remember everything? Nope.

Did I reread? Yup.

Did I love it more the second time around? YupYup.

Did you really think no one cared about part 2? Hope not, cuz we do.

[ginger1]

This is definitely the best fanfic I've ever read on this site. Now that I'm thinking about it, it's probably one of the best SPN fanfics I've gotten my hands on. Ever. Good freakin' job.

[iluvemojis]

This is beautiful Welp I guess I'll just sit here and wait for part three now.

[estrelleta]

Damn, you're talented! Incredible writing, thanks so much for sharing.