All the Roads That Lead You There (Mile by Mile Extended Dance Mix) [Supernatural; Sam, Dean, Jess]

[busta-ryoma.livejournal.com]

Title: All the Roads That Lead You There (Mile by Mile Extended Dance Mix)
Author: victoria p. [musesfool]
Summary: Sam gets the atlas on his twelfth birthday.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings; Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore; Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. I own nothing.
Original story: Red Lines and Black Crosses of the American Road Atlas by amchara
Notes: Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing.

~*~

All the Roads That Lead You There (Mile by Mile Extended Dance Mix)

from 37n27, 122w09 to 34n01, 118w29

Steve barrels into the room and starts throwing stuff into a backpack while Sam is trying to nap.

"Road trip," he says, like it's supposed to be fun, something Sam should want to do, instead of the thing he's spent his whole life trying to get away from, trying to find a place to stop tripping and land and stay a while, maybe even long enough to put down roots.

"I've got papers--" Sam starts, but Steve shakes his head.

"That hot blonde you've been pining for, what's her name? Jenn?"

Sam feels his ears burn. He hadn't thought he'd been that obvious. "Jess."

"That's the one. Jess. She was asking about you. Hoping you'd come."

Steve's probably lying, but Sam's been trying to work up the nerve to ask her out for weeks now, and he can't not take this chance.

Jess is there, all long legs and blonde hair, wide pink mouth laughing with two other girls when he and Steve come out of the dorm and start packing the trunk.

"Glad you could make it," she says, smiling up at him. She smells like suntan lotion and spearmint gum, and it makes his mouth water.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he answers, his voice a little rough, and Steve slaps his back in encouragement.

It's Friday afternoon on a holiday weekend, so of course they get stuck in traffic; it's the one aspect of California Sam can't ever love--the feeling of being trapped on all sides, no escape possible in any direction. A car should mean freedom and the open road, not being stuck with nowhere to go.

They're stop-starting at five miles an hour when he says, "Steve, you've gotta get off the Five, or we're gonna grow old and die in this car."

"Where are we gonna go?" Steve asks, belligerent.

But Jess says, "You got a better idea, Winchester?"

"Chinese fire drill," he says, grinning, and they all scramble to rearrange themselves before the next hiccup of movement from the cars in front of them.

He and Jess end up in the front, and Steve ends up in the back sandwiched between Jess's friends, but he's not complaining, and neither is Sam.

He's achy when they finally arrive, legs cramped and back sore from driving for so many hours in a row (he tries not to think of his father and Dean, of the long nights when he'd fall asleep curled up in the backseat and wake up in a new world), and okay, his route took a while longer, but they kept moving, pushing forward, Steve's secondhand Toyota eating the miles smoothly and quietly under the music Jess put on. She sang along softly, off-key, I'm gonna clear my head, I'm gonna drink that sun, I'm gonna love you good and strong, while our love is good and young, and it immediately became Sam's new favorite song.

When he kisses her for the first time, later that night, after a couple of beers and the handful of Swedish fish that passes for dinner, her mouth is hot and sticky sweet beneath his, and he thinks being stuck in a car with her for seven hours could be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

*

42n52, 97w24

Sam gets the atlas on his twelfth birthday. He's riding shotgun, Dean's concession to the day, and Dad slides the heavy, wrapped package across the seat with a grin.

"Come on, Sammy, open it," Dean says, eager as if he's six instead of sixteen.

He pulls the paper open carefully, ears burning a little under the combined scrutiny of his father and brother. "An atlas?" he says as the title--The 58th Edition of the American Road Atlas--becomes visible. "Cool."

"Geek," Dean mutters affectionately, ruffling Sam's hair, and Sam doesn't complain.

He flips through the book, taking in the wide variety of maps, the columns of statistics that back them, the lined pages left blank for notes. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome. Now, you've got the maps, and you're riding shotgun--that makes you the navigator." He lays his arm across the back of the seat. "It's an important job, Sammy, but you're a smart and capable kid, so I think you'll do fine."

Dean grins at him, and Sam beams, feeling like part of the team for once, instead of the baby they still sometimes treat him like.

After school lets out that spring, they drive across the country, back roads and byways, and Sam marks down all the places they go, writes about the people they meet and the friends he makes, the way Dad writes about hunting in his journal.

They're in South Dakota, hunting an unhcegila, and the hunt goes bad; the thing sinks its teeth into Dean's leg before Dad can kill it, and then Dad's dragging Dean back to the car, yelling at Sam to figure out the fastest route back to Bobby's, and can they swing by a church on the way? It's going to take more holy water than they've got to clean out Dean's wounds.

It's dark, and Dean is bleeding, feverish, twitching occasionally as he lies in the backseat, uninjured leg kicking out, thumping against Sam's back in an uncoordinated rhythm Sam finds terrifying. Sam hunches over the atlas, flashlight in one hand, pen in the other, tracing the route with his finger. He gives Dad the directions in a clear voice that hardly shakes at all, and makes a small black cross on the map to mark the church.

After that, it becomes a habit to scout out churches ahead of time and mark the atlas, little black crosses proliferating over the years, an endless trail of sanctuary looping in on itself like a rosary, each mark of the pen a silent declaration of the safety Sam craves like air.

Whenever he has to write the inevitable "What I did on my summer vacation" essay at the start of each new school year, Sam pulls memories from the notes he's taken, writes neatly edited versions of his life in which Dean is never bleeding out in the back seat, Dad is never yelling at him to shoot, goddammit, Sam, what are you waiting for? while monsters bear down on them, and the little black marks ticking off churches are nothing more than symbols of his father's odd penchant for gothic architecture.

*

37n27, 122w09

"Gothic architecture?" Jess asks, skepticism plain on her face, fingers tracing the scattering of crosses marking the page.

"You know--" Sam shrugs "--flying buttresses and gargoyles." He probably should have come up with a better lie, but he didn't expect the question, didn't think she'd even notice the damn atlas (doesn't know why he even kept it, except that's a lie, too, and one he's not buying) among all their other books, and he's stuck with this one now, so he sells it as best he can. "Possibly neo-Gothic. I never really paid much attention."

"Only enough attention to mark them all on the map?" He doesn't answer. "Are there really that many neo-Gothic cathedrals in--" Jess leans in close to read the map "--Norman, Oklahoma?"

"Okay, some of them weren't cathedrals. Dad also has a thing for old church cemeteries." And holy water, and consecrated ground, he thinks. He shakes his head, gently tugs the atlas out of her hands, drops it onto the couch. "It was just another weird family tradition." And though they've only been together for six months, she already understands that's code for, I don't want to talk about it, Jess. Please don't make me.

"It must have been awesome to see so much of the country," she says, and he feels a little of the tension in his shoulders ease. Eventually, he'll tell her a less sanitized version of the Winchester family history, but she's been good about not pressing him, and he's taken advantage of that. His father's son, after all. "I've only ever been to Disneyland and Vegas, and skiing in Boulder once."

He pulls her down into his lap, presses kisses to her cheek, her temple, the crown of her head. "We can go wherever you like this summer. Get on a plane and go."

"Not in a car and drive?" She taps the atlas. "I know you've got some freaky GPS thing going on, Sam, and could probably get us anywhere we wanted to go without even looking at the map. I remember the first weekend we went down to Santa Monica."

"That was a good weekend," he murmurs, nosing at her hair, breathing in the scent of sweat and dust and shampoo--they'd set up the new bookshelves earlier, and she got ambitious, started unsealing boxes and shelving books, making their new apartment into a home.

"Mmm," she says, warm and soft against him.

He twists, leans forward, pressing her down into the cushions of their new second-hand couch that still smells like Febreze and cat, and kisses his way up the smooth, white curve of her throat.

They're both tired from the move, and his muscles ache from lugging boxes and furniture up and down the stairs all day, so it's a slow, languorous fuck, his fingers teasing her until she's almost crying with need, his tongue tracing long lines on her soft, lotion-scented skin, open roads to the rest of his life. Her body is the atlas of his new world, to be explored and annotated with careful attention to every detail, every sound and shiver she makes, her love and trust the compass pointing him in the right direction after years of running in place.

He holds himself up on his elbows, frames her face with his hands as he kisses her, hips rocking in a languid rhythm, pleasure a slow-burning fuse up his spine. She rises to meet him, long legs curling around his hips, erasing all the boundaries between them. Their shared momentum holds them together even as she comes undone in his arms, cunt tightening around him and tumbling him headlong after her into the bright white flare of satisfaction.

He cradles her close afterward, fingers rubbing lazily at the small of her back as they slip off into sleep.

*

35n13, 101w50

Sam spends hours that last summer before Stanford plotting out routes to Palo Alto--the fastest way, the shortest way, the longest way, the way that will take him past Bobby's or Caleb's, or through Kansas to see the house he didn't grow up in. He plans the trip with multiple starting points, because he never knows where they'll be from one week to the next: Oneonta, Milwaukee, Lincoln, Butte.

He thinks about hitchhiking out to California on Route 66, realizes that's what Dean would do (he can practically hear Dean saying, get your kicks), and decides to do the opposite--Greyhound bus all the way, nothing romantic or epic about a bus full of tired people trying to get from one place to another. Nobody writes songs about them. He saves his money, gives up buying books and candy and the hope of a new pair of dress shoes before he leaves.

He packs light because he'll have to carry whatever he takes with him; for once, he's glad of his father's training, his insistence on leaving all unnecessary baggage behind, because Sam's good at packing light, and strong enough to carry what he packs.

They're in Amarillo when he sneaks out, pack on his back, duffel in his left hand, pre-dawn light gray through the ugly polyester motel drapes, and Dad's words--If you leave, don't come back--still ringing in his ears. He sets the atlas on the desk--he doesn't need it where he's going, and it's weight he can't afford--and tries to feel like he's not abandoning it, and everything it represents.

He's three cars past their room when he hears a door open behind him.

"You forgot this," Dean says, walking towards him, barefoot and in his pajamas, holding out the atlas.

Sam shakes his head, not willing to go another round, not when he's packed and ready to go. "Dean--"

"You'll be lost without it."

"What?"

"I don't want you to get lost, Sammy." He holds the atlas out again. "Take it, and go."

He takes the book, the worn cover soft under his fingers, the weight of it like a brick in his hands. "How--"

"Dude, you're not that stealthy." Dean ducks his head. "Now, go on, get out of here before I change my mind."

"Dean--"

"Be careful, Sammy. Do good. Call when you get there."

Sam nods and licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry and full of the copper taste of fear. He pulls Dean into a rough, one-armed hug and pulls away before Dean can do more than look startled and pat his back.

"Take care of yourself, Dean."

"Always do," Dean answers, and Sam lets it lie.

Eight hundred miles away, huddled in the narrow seat, legs cramping from lack of space, Sam finds the first twenty, marking the map of New Mexico. It's soft and creased, green ink wearing away from the touch of hundreds of hands over the years, and he blinks back the sting of tears as he flips through the atlas and finds Dean's parting gifts tucked between its pages, his future wrapped in the past.

*

38n41, 112w09

It feels like they've been driving forever. Sam stares out the window, unseeing; he knows this road like the back of his hand, the veins of the continent scrolling out in asphalt and endless white dashes that slip by in a blur under the steady rolling of the wheels.

Dean keeps shooting concerned glances over at him, and he appreciates it, but it's kind of suffocating; Sam had forgotten, in their years apart, what a mother hen Dean can be, and how disconcerting it can be to be on the receiving end of that intense, clear-eyed scrutiny.

Before Dean can ask again if he wants to eat or sleep or piss, he says, "I'm fine. We don't need to stop on my account."

"Nobody likes a martyr, Sammy," Dean says, and then stops, the silence heavy with the awareness of what he's just said. Dean's not the most tactful guy in the world, but he's rarely deliberately insensitive about the important things.

"That's rich, coming from you," Sam answers without thinking, anything to ease the tension, and get that haunted expression off Dean's face.

Dean looks over at him, surprised. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You. You just--" Sam waves a hand, then rubs his forehead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He hasn't slept more than three hours a night in the past week; every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is Jess above him, in flames. "Never mind."

"Whatever."

They're just over the border into Utah, and flashing lights and a big orange detour sign occupy Dean's attention for the next few minutes. Nighttime road work makes even this empty stretch of the interstate jam up and slow down, SUVs and eighteen-wheelers crowding around them as they all get rerouted off of I-15 and onto local roads.

Dean waves a hand at the glove compartment. "Figure out where the hell we are."

Sam peers out the window at the signs and flips through the atlas. The pages are crinkly with coffee stains and well-marked with Dean's blocky handwriting, black ink like tiny insects crawling over the heavy paper--short-cuts, areas of rumored paranormal activity, phone numbers of girls whose names he'll pretend he doesn't remember, but can rattle off like his multiplication tables after a few shots of tequila, along with their hair color and outstanding physical attributes. It's an odd brand of romanticism that makes Sam sad for Dean in a way he'd never be able to explain in a million years.

Dean glances over again, down at the map and then up to meet Sam's gaze. "We can get you a new one," he says.

"What?"

"A new atlas."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Sam thinks about it for a few minutes--where he's been and where he's going, interstates and county roads unfolding in his head like the story of his life--and he realizes he doesn't need a map to tell him how to get where he's got to go.

"No, it's okay," he finally says, letting go of one more piece of his future, one more chunk of his past. "This one's fine."

"You sure? 'Cause we can stop at the next rest area. I'm sure they got a Rand McNally or something."

"I'm sure." And he is. They'll chase Dad like he's true north, and Dean will keep them on track with sure hands and smart remarks. No map could get him there faster.

"Okay," Dean says, shrugging. He reaches out and turns up the radio, taps out the backbeat on the steering wheel, singing softly.

The sound of Jimmy Page's guitar wailing and Robert Plant promising every inch of his love fills the silence, and it's all so familiar, Sam thinks this must be what it feels like to come home.

end

~*~

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Poor Sam. I really love this one; all the different sections are just gorgeous, and the way they fit together is even more so.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[laurificus.livejournal.com]

Whenever he has to write the inevitable "What I did on my summer vacation" essay at the start of each new school year, Sam pulls memories from the notes he's taken, writes neatly edited versions of his life in which Dean is never bleeding out in the back seat, Dad is never yelling at him to shoot, goddammit, Sam, what are you waiting for? while monsters bear down on them, and the little black marks ticking off churches are nothing more than symbols of his father's odd penchant for gothic architecture.

Oh, Sam.

This is awesome. The ending is perfect, and Dean breaks my heart when Sam leaves. Both sections with sam and Jess are so lovely and bittersweet, too.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! And thanks again for the betaing and handholding. I really appreciate it.

eeeeeee! eleven hours and twenty minutes!

[amchara.livejournal.com]

Oh- I love this. I have to admit- I wasn't sure which story of mine would be remixed, but I'm so happy it was this one- my very first SPN story. I shall be back tomorrow with more detailed feedback, but I wanted to let you know that I've seen and had a chance to read this.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it. When I saw what it was about, I knew it had to be the one I remixed, because I have a thing about maps. *g*

[elz.livejournal.com]

Aww - nice look at Sam (and Jess and Dean). I love the idea of him marking their routes across the country and being an enormous asset on college road trips. And telling really lousy lies about his dad's fondness for flying buttresses. Really enjoyed that.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it. And I'm sure Sam would be awesome to have on roadtrips, as long as you let him drive and pick the music. *g*

[brynnmck.livejournal.com]

Oh, Sam. I just... I adore this. I love how meticulous and dedicated Sam is, how he tracks all the pieces of his world, wanting to know and remember and record everything. I never get tired of Sam-leaves-for-Stanford moments, and yours was lovely, perfectly sad and sweet and filled with nervous excitement. I love how the atlas slowly changes over time, takes on more meaning, so that at the end, we see so clearly everything that Sam is leaving behind and everything that's opening up for him. And the character insights throughout are just sharp and stunning. Gorgeous. This is exactly the kind of fic that makes me love this fandom. :)

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it, and thought it was true to Sam.

I never get tired of Sam-leaves-for-Stanford moments, and yours was lovely, perfectly sad and sweet and filled with nervous excitement.

Man, I am so glad that worked, because I feel like I have written Sam leaving for Stanford way too many times, and making it fresh and different but still true to canon and also resonant is *hard*.

[lilacsigil.livejournal.com]

I really enjoyed reading this - Sam's lies to Jess, and his hidden truths in his atlas, Dean's phone numbers and Sammy growing up and away from his family.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it.

[ignipes.livejournal.com]

Oh, Sammy. This is really lovely. I have a thing about map imagery (yeah, it's a thing, don't mock me), and I simply love how it frames Sam's life here. And the ending is so wonderful, just the two boys and their open road.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! And I have a thing for maps, too, so I can't mock. Well, I can, but I won't. *g*

And the ending is so wonderful, just the two boys and their open road.

As it should be. *g*

[tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com]

i have a map thing, and i really love how you use the atlas to mark sam's changing attitudes towards his family and his life. at twelve it means he's part of team winchester with dad and dean - it means he has some responsibility and gets treated like an adult and not a kid - and by the time he goes to stanford it's a symbol of a life he never wants to see again. (except it's also kind of his map back to dean, and his one tangible link to the brother who loves him.) and i really love that by the end, he's figured out that he doesn't need the atlas to find his way, because he has dean and dean has the impala, and he doesn't need a map to get himself home, because that is home.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so glad it worked for you, especially the changing meaning of the map - that's *exactly* what I was going for, and how he couldn't disavow it even when he kind of wanted to, because it *was* his map back to Dean, and his proof of how much Dean loved him. But when it's gone, he realizes he doesn't need it anymore.

[grand-sophy.livejournal.com]

There are some lovely insights in here, into Sam and Dean both. The comment on Dean's odd romanticism rang very true; he is a (not so) secret romantic in so many areas of his life,even aside from sex and love: his car, his music, his family, movies--he is passionate about their excellence and meaning. The correlation between Sam's life and the map is nicely made, and it's good to know there are that many churches in America. Congrats to both you and amchara for an intriguing concept, well executed.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it.

The comment on Dean's odd romanticism rang very true; he is a (not so) secret romantic in so many areas of his life

He really is. He's making himself over into the legend he'd like to embody, and becoming larger than life himself in the process. Luckily, he has Sam to ground him. *sigh*

[minim_calibre]

Oh, SAMMY.

Damn. This was just heartbreaking.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm so happy you liked it.

[harrigan.livejournal.com]

I want to be eloquent in my praise and appreciation, but this just makes me speechless. So just, thank you.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading and leaving such lovely feedback. I'm so happy you enjoyed the story, and found it moving.

[inksheddings.livejournal.com]

After that, it becomes a habit to scout out churches ahead of time and mark the atlas, little black crosses proliferating over the years, an endless trail of sanctuary looping in on itself like a rosary, each mark of the pen a silent declaration of the safety Sam craves like air.

*sighs*

Oh, Sam! Really, this is beautiful. Very vivid imagery. I absolutely love it.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it.

[krisomniac.livejournal.com]

stunning piece. I just... got nothing. Totally speechless.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[cofax7]

Oh, this is beautiful. Lovely prose and great imagery. And I love the bit about getting stuck in traffic on the Peninsula, because that's totally what happens (and yet the Winchesters never get stuck in traffic! Why is that?).

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it!

And yes, they would *totally* get stuck in traffic, but I am convinced that Winchesters, like the really good NYC cabbies, know Sekrit Ways to get places that involve avoiding all the traffic and the red lights and possibly tesseracts.

[tenillypo.livejournal.com]

This is lovely and achy in all the right ways. Oh, Sam.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Woo! Thank you!

[se-parsons.livejournal.com]

I love the way travel is even bound up with his relationship with Jess in this one. Nice. Because those boys can't stay in one place no matter what they do. This remix is really lovely with just more Sammy and his book.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I'm so glad you liked it.

[zooey-glass04.livejournal.com]

I really love this! The original ficlet was great, and you have picked up so many of the little things in it and taken them further. All the characterisation is beautifully done, and it provides a perfect look at some of the bits of their lives we haven't been able to see.

I loved this line:

Whenever he has to write the inevitable "What I did on my summer vacation" essay at the start of each new school year, Sam pulls memories from the notes he's taken, writes neatly edited versions of his life in which Dean is never bleeding out in the back seat, Dad is never yelling at him to shoot, goddammit, Sam, what are you waiting for? while monsters bear down on them, and the little black marks ticking off churches are nothing more than symbols of his father's odd penchant for gothic architecture.

You deserve a bit more feedback than this, but if I leave it till I have time I will probably never get around to it. So: beautiful writing, brilliant fic, altogether awesome!

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it and found it true to Sam.

[rynne.livejournal.com]

Sam and Jess! I love the Sam and Jess. AND Sam and Dean! A really great expansion of the original fic--I love how you further explained the original scene through flashbacks. Just a lovely, awesome fic.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it! And I, too, love Sam and Jess, so it was nice to write them being happy together.

[iamstealthyone.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is so, so, so beautiful. I love it. Great use of the atlas to connect different parts of Sam’s life, gorgeous description, perfect dialogue, fantastic characterizations … just awesome all the way around.

Favorite lines:

"Road trip," he says, like it's supposed to be fun, something Sam should want to do, instead of the thing he's spent his whole life trying to get away from, trying to find a place to stop tripping and land and stay a while, maybe even long enough to put down roots.

Oh, Sam. Yeah, “road trip” means something much different to Sam than to most people.

She sang along softly, off-key, I'm gonna clear my head, I'm gonna drink that sun, I'm gonna love you good and strong, while our love is good and young, and it immediately became Sam's new favorite song.

Aww. :) Very sweet.

When he kisses her for the first time, later that night, after a couple of beers and the handful of Swedish fish that passes for dinner, her mouth is hot and sticky sweet beneath his,

Great details.

After school lets out that spring, they drive across the country, back roads and byways, and Sam marks down all the places they go, writes about the people they meet and the friends he makes, the way Dad writes about hunting in his journal.

I love this, that Sam kept his own record of their travels.

After that, it becomes a habit to scout out churches ahead of time and mark the atlas, little black crosses proliferating over the years, an endless trail of sanctuary looping in on itself like a rosary

Lovely description.

Whenever he has to write the inevitable "What I did on my summer vacation" essay at the start of each new school year, Sam pulls memories from the notes he's taken, writes neatly edited versions of his life in which Dean is never bleeding out in the back seat, Dad is never yelling at him to shoot, goddammit, Sam, what are you waiting for? while monsters bear down on them, and the little black marks ticking off churches are nothing more than symbols of his father's odd penchant for gothic architecture.

Oh, this hurts, the knowledge of what Sam’s experienced and the fact that he’s had to create a false life for himself for public consumption.

his tongue tracing long lines on her soft, lotion-scented skin, open roads to the rest of his life.

Great analogy.

Her body is the atlas of his new world, to be explored and annotated with careful attention to every detail, every sound and shiver she makes, her love and trust the compass pointing him in the right direction after years of running in place.

Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous, and my favorite part of the story. Love how you captured everything Jess meant to Sam by using the atlas analogy.

"I don't want you to get lost, Sammy." He holds the atlas out again. "Take it, and go."

*whimpers* I really like how you wrote their parting scene, the way it’s hurty in a wonderfully quiet way. I’d like to think it was like this, rather than a huge blowout with Dean watching Sam slam out of their lives.

He takes the book, the worn cover soft under his fingers, the weight of it like a brick in his hands.

Good analogy.

They'll chase Dad like he's true north, and Dean will keep them on track with sure hands and smart remarks. No map could get him there faster.

Lovely.

The sound of Jimmy Page's guitar wailing and Robert Plant promising every inch of his love fills the silence, and it's all so familiar, Sam thinks this must be what it feels like to come home.

Aww, very sweet.. Perfect ending.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked it, and found it moving and true to the characters. I'm especially happy the atlas/Jess metaphor worked, because I was afraid that might be a little much (I actually edited some of it out - the extended metaphor went a little over the top, which is why metaphors and I tend to be unmixy things).

I really like how you wrote their parting scene, the way it’s hurty in a wonderfully quiet way. I’d like to think it was like this, rather than a huge blowout with Dean watching Sam slam out of their lives.

Yeah, I would like to think it happened this way, though knowing John and Sam, I'm afraid it was more the big blow-out and the slamming door. Sigh.

[iamstealthyone.livejournal.com]

I was afraid that might be a little much (I actually edited some of it out - the extended metaphor went a little over the top, which is why metaphors and I tend to be unmixy things).

Interesting to hear you pulled back on it. It definitely worked perfectly in the final version, IMHO. :)

Yeah, I would like to think it happened this way, though knowing John and Sam, I'm afraid it was more the big blow-out and the slamming door. Sigh.

Me, too. *sniffles*

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Interesting to hear you pulled back on it. It definitely worked perfectly in the final version, IMHO.

Thanks again! And yeah, it went on a little too long and was somewhat redundant because of that, so trimming it made it work better.

[barkley.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was lovely and sweet. I love how the atlas that connects all these. And I love how Sam grows up through the story and gets a different perspective as he ages.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

This took me to wonderful places. And... gothic archetecture? Is that the best Sam could do?

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!

And poor Sam, he was tired and not expecting the question! He's usually a much better liar!

[rosiew.livejournal.com]

Oh! Oh! with the pretty and the words that are so flowly and lyrical and just plain awesome! Great job, and awesome idea.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it.

Fic: All the Roads That Lead You There (Mile by Mile Extended Dance Mix)

[secondsilk.livejournal.com]

I love maps. And the history of the atlas is a great thread in the story.
The churches, and Dean insisting he take it with him, and the road trip.

Re: Fic: All the Roads That Lead You There (Mile by Mile Extended Dance Mix)

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I love maps, too, and it was awesome to be able to write this story about them, and what they mean to Sam. I'm so happy you liked it.