executive fangirl (coiledsoul) wrote in csfandomthings,
executive fangirl
coiledsoul
csfandomthings

SPN Fic: For the Good Times - PG-13, Gen


Title: For the Good Times
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Pairing/Characters: Gen - Sam, Dean
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: spoilers through season 2
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Sam needs to honor the dead. This is how. 

For more about Dia de los Muertos, go here. Title and cut tag are from the Kris Kristofferson ballad "For the Good Times". Complete lyrics here. If anyone has an .mp3 of this (or the Ray Price version) I'd be much oblidged to get a copy. I'm only working off the memory of my dad singing this song when I was a little girl. 

Thanks go to my betas

onelittlesleep and darksybarite. Couldn't have done it without you, gals.

 

 

 




“Can we head to Texas for awhile?”
 
“What? Why?”
 
“La Llorona, just outside San Antonio. “
 
“Saddle up.”


31 October
 
The first night is for John.
 
Sam tells Dean he’ll be back in a bit as he grabs the keys off the table by the door. They’re in one of the million seedy motels along Austin Highway outside of Fort Sam Houston. He hits the Wal-Mart and a liquor store down the road and gets what he needs. When he returns, he gets a second room at the motel.
 
“Dean?”
 
“Yeah. Where’d you go?”
 
“Out. Look, I got a second room, next door. Take advantage. There’s a bar down the road, Rascals I think? Looked promising.”
 
It wasn’t the first time he'd done that, got a separate room for a night or two, but it was the first time since – after. Dean wasn’t buying it and gave him the eyebrow. “I appreciate you looking out for my welfare and all. Right Christian of you, but what the fuck? What’s wrong?”
 
“Ask me again in two days?”
 
“Sam…”
 
“Please, Dean. Trust me.”
 
“Okay. I don’t like it, but okay.”
 
He hears the Impala peel out of the lot as he begins to put it together. The photo of the three of them when Sam was around 4, red cheeked and bundled tight goes at the top of the hastily assembled altar of cardboard boxes draped with a white hotel sheet.  He doesn’t remember where they were in the photo. Dean’s told him, but he doesn’t have the actual memory within him.
 
Marigolds at each corner next. He knows there are better ways to deter evil spirits, but he likes the tradition of it, the ritual.
 
The knife he places just under the photo was the first knife John ever let Sam hold and wield. “Careful, Sam. The blade’s real sharp. You’ll learn how to keep it that way in a minute. Now hold it like this…”
 
A pack of cards goes next. When Sam was 8, he and Dean both got chicken pox. They were holed up in another small town, in another crappy motel for nearly three weeks in the middle of the hottest summer he can remember. Too hot and itchy to sleep half the time, John had taught them every card game he knew to keep their hands that wanted to scratch and scratch occupied.
 
A bottle of Jack and his wedding ring complete the tribute. Sam lights the candles he picked up and places a small calavera in the center.
 
He thinks he should say something. But there’s no one to listen. Maybe.
 
“When I got to Palo Alto, I only lasted a week before I started trolling the papers for anything out of the ordinary. I never found much, or anything really dangerous, but every once in a while …”


1 November
 

The second night is for Mary
 
At dusk, they hop on the interstate and head out to the spot where the I-10 crosses over Woman Hollering Creek. They wait, backs to each other, perched on the Impala’s hood with shotguns loaded and resting across their thighs.
 
Dean makes whispered small talk. Sam listens as his eyes sweep his vector. When the moon’s risen and there’s no sign of her, Sam asks Dean to take him to Southtown. Dean doesn’t have anything better to do and Sam gives him the earnest face, so they go.
 
As they cruise through downtown and into King William, the crowds become harder to navigate. The appreciative glances and nods the Impala gets from the locals as they search for parking put a grin on Dean’s face. They find a spot just off Durango and head towards the cacophony of sounds close by in the night air.
 
At South Presa, they are swept up into the revelry and fanfare of the parade. Skeletons dance everywhere and the music pulses through them. It’s possibly the strangest thing they’ve ever seen, and, well, they’ve seen some strange things. The crowd turns and heads briefly down Perida before turning on to Saint Mary’s and heading north again. Dean stops for carne guisada and beer at one of the sidewalk stands. It takes Sam a minute to work his way out of the crowd and double back to his brother.
 
The dark skinned, dark haired woman running the booth smiles at Dean and hands them cans of light beer from a red igloo cooler at her feet, then ladles the stew from an ancient electric crock-pot into tortillas made on a hot plate by the little girl standing behind her. Dean‘s eye follows the bright orange extension cord coming from the shabby house behind them to power their little operation. 
 
They take seats on the street curb and balance beers and food on bent knees.
 
“No one saw La Llorona, or any kind of wailing woman, did they, Sam.” It’s not a question.
 
Sam bites into the taco Dean’s handed him, chews and swallows as he watches the river of bodies continue to flow by.
 
“Tomorrow’s the full moon. There’s a good chance then.”
 
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
 
 
Sam and Dean only have one picture left of their mother. The one he had at Stanford burned and anything their Dad kept disappeared with his truck in Lincoln. After the wreck, while Dean fixed the Impala, Sam scanned the picture and the handful of other family photos they salvaged from the car into Bobby’s computer and backed them up on a jump drive, the last remnants of a life and a family that never really was. 
 
Sam slides the printout into a tiny gold frame and places it at the top of her altar. Marigolds and a calavera with her name on it that he picked up earlier at the parade are the only decoration.
 
The rest of the altar is covered from top to bottom in tiny little tea candles. The temperature in the room rises noticeably by the time he lights the last one. He’s left the door cracked a little to make sure the smoke alarm doesn’t trigger.
 
Mary left him in fire and came to him one last time surrounded by it. It’s all he really knows of her. His eyes water as he stares at the flames and tries to imagine a life with her in it. He can’t even begin to.
 
“I’m sorry too, Mom.”


November 2

 
The third night is for Jessica.
 
She was the future, the walking, talking embodiment of everything he’d never had as a Winchester. He’d believed if he stayed with her long enough, every ‘we aren’t like other people, Sam’ would be negated by each ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re such a good man, Sam’ until eventually he’d find himself in the black column of normality.
 
He loved her because she was unbelievably sharp witted and never cut him any slack, and because she loved Karaoke, and because she could do that thing with her tongue, and because, and… and none of it matters now. There’s just this stop, this end and it would almost be laughable in its absurdity if it weren’t so fundamentally wrong. ‘Nothing gold can stay’ his ass. If that’s the case then nothing like the fucking demon that killed her can stick around for too long either. It seems only fair and they could use a little bit of fair right about now.
 
The tight thing in his chest that used to be loss stirs and settles. He’s really looking forward to the day he can use the power he feels coiled there. But that’s not what this night is about. Tonight is about honoring and he can’t think of any better way then to share her.
 
More calaveras and marigolds are accompanied by a collage of printed out pictures his phone is still full of. Lavender-scented candles adorn the altar, always her favorite. Next come some Red Vines and a ticket stub from the weird art house film she suggested for their first date that he still carries in his wallet. A toy diamond ring that he paid a quarter for in one of those twisty machines on his way out of HEB Grocery sits near the top. The CD she made him for his birthday their last spring together is in the tiny portable radio Dean keeps stowed in the trunk of the Impala. He remembers sticking the disc in his laptop the night Dean came to get him…his eyes fall closed. 
 
“How did you meet her?”
 
Sam takes a deep breath. “March, sophomore year. She was just standing outside the student union one day. I saw her from across the quad and, it was like a magnet or something. I got up in the middle of a study group meeting and walked over to her, introduced myself.” 
 
Dean cocks a skeptical eyebrow as Sam turns away from the altar and sits Indian style on the bed his brother occupies, mirroring him with their knees touching. Dean reaches down off the side of the bed and grabs a beer from the plastic bag on the floor.
 
“I know, right? I’d never done anything like that before, but I just knew I had to find out who she was. The first 6 months? Man, it was like a dream. She was perfect.”
 
“What happened after 6 months?”
 
“We moved in together.”
 
Dean barks with a laugh louder than Sam’s heard him give in a while. Sam scowls momentarily. “Yuk it up all you want. Have you ever lived with a woman for more than a weekend?”
 
“Sam, that’s the one thing I’ve never done with a woman.”
 
“Dude, I felt like I was on Mars.”
 
“Don’t you mean Venus?”
 
Sam laughs, reaches for his own beer.
 
“I wish I’d gotten to know her.”
 
“Yeah, me too.” Sam pauses, twists the top off his longneck. “It would’ve been you.”
 
Dean is peeling the label off his bottle, not looking at Sam.
 
“My best man.”
 
Dean shrugs his shoulders, doesn’t look up, “I know.” He presses his knee into Sam’s. Sam smiles, presses back as he takes a deep pull.
 
“She was a terrible cook. The first time she made dinner it involved a fire extinguisher and a pizza delivery guy…”


****

Coda # 1 - The morning after

Coda # 2 - A year later



Subscribe

  • Bandpires - In the beginning (FOB)

    So some of you may or may not have been reading the epic vampire fic, Constructive Summer, that Kassie recently finished. This is the prologue sketch…

  • SPN 3x15 - Time is on my Side

    So I think that might have been the best episode this show's ever turned out. In terms of production value, pacing, everything - just a bang-up job…

  • Fic: bandom RPS

    Title: Power Ballad Fandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance Pairing: Pete Wentz/Mikey Way Rating: R for boy sexing and cursing and…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 32 comments

  • Bandpires - In the beginning (FOB)

    So some of you may or may not have been reading the epic vampire fic, Constructive Summer, that Kassie recently finished. This is the prologue sketch…

  • SPN 3x15 - Time is on my Side

    So I think that might have been the best episode this show's ever turned out. In terms of production value, pacing, everything - just a bang-up job…

  • Fic: bandom RPS

    Title: Power Ballad Fandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance Pairing: Pete Wentz/Mikey Way Rating: R for boy sexing and cursing and…