Tag: shotgun

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July 11th excerpt:

“You know he doesn’t mind, right?” Sam asked in a hush. “Really. I’ve sat here pretty much every day since I left.”

Walt couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to Dean’s again. Dean didn’t even twitch at Sam’s words. Maybe he really couldn’t hear them like this.

“It’s just…” Walt kept his voice just as soft as Sam. “You’re used to this. And him. How?”

Sam grinned and couldn’t stop a slight laugh at that. “We make our own normal, Dad. If I can’t ride shotgun like a regular human can, I’ll do it here.”

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August 18th excerpt:

Dean put his foil-wrapped sandwich down next to the small picnic that was set up for Sam and Bowman. “Make sure no ants go after that for me,” he said as he let it go. “And no sneaking any bites, hear me?”

“Sure, Dean. Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam said in the fakest, most syrupy-sweet voice he could muster. He hid a grin underneath his bangs as he stared down at the wrapper his food was on, knowing exactly how his tone would be taken.

Dean scoffed at the sarcastic tone from his brother. “At this rate I might have to find someone else to ride shotgun in the car.”

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May 16th excerpt:

Jacob got into the huge, shining black 1967 Impala parked at the curb, settling onto the bench seat with a sigh. The key was in the ignition before he glanced down at his pocket with a grin. “Back on the road again,” he announced, before turning the key with a roar of the engine.

The flap of the pocket shifted, and Sam was the first one out. Normally, the brothers would already be on Jacob’s shoulder, or hiding in a hoodie to keep out of sight from Mariana. There was no way to know her reaction to finding out that tiny people were real, and with Mike being a cop, the brothers chose to avoid any situations that might result in discovery. He seemed like a nice enough man, but if the police discovered littles, people everywhere could be put in danger.

“Shotgun!” Sam shouted, off like a shot. Dean was left behind in the dust, and Sam used the thick threads of Jacob’s shirt to climb his way over to the right shoulder.

Dean hauled himself up, nowhere near as fast. “Dammit,” he huffed. “That’s my spot.”