Fic bit: Respite (10) [SPN]

What am I doing I don't even know. Here. Have some lunch.


He’s so intent on the view—elbow propped against the window frame and hair blowing a bit in the wind—that he doesn’t realize they’re not where they should be until the car’s suddenly jolting down a deeply rutted gravel road, Dean swearing under his breath and cooing a little to the car at every bad bounce.

It’s a short road, though—just as Sam’s about to ask where the heck they are, they’re rolling to a stop in shaggy grass, boxed in by the lake on two sides and a steep hill on the other. Stairs lead up to an old wood-clapboard house, with a garage door set into the side of the hill below. “This kind of looks like private property,” Sam points out, but it’s a pro forma protest—he’s already halfway into the backseat, fishing out a couple of beers and the bag from the smokehouse.

“No signs,” Dean counters, stretching as he gets out of the car. He wanders over to the garage door and peers inside while Sam unpacks lunch across the Impala’s hood. “No car,” he reports a minute later. “Lots of cobwebs, though.” Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything other than the house’s occupants don’t usually park there, but it’s enough to allow Sam to focus on his food instead of keeping an eye out for someone coming to run them off. Food, and the gentle lap of the lake against the shore.

“It is a nice view,” he allows; Dean’s too occupied with his pulled pork to do more than make a vague affirmative noise. Sam’s own sandwich is greasier than he’d prefer, but the flavor’s rich and sits comfortably on his tongue; the collard greens have to be drained through a fork before they’re palatable. The real prizes, though, is an enormous, overflowing container of apple crisp, still slightly warm, which they pass back and forth in near-silence, disturbed only by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of a highway.

“‘S peaceful,” Dean says eventually, around the antepenultimate forkful of crisp. It’s almost cold now, so Sam waves for him to finish it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. The stillness around the bunker has a different feel to it—more cautious, even restrained, which is appropriate to a place almost as muggle-proof as Hogwarts. This place, in contrast, breathes with all the little noises that come from things simply living—quiet, but still full of motion.

The moment is broken by Dean shoving the meal’s debris noisily back into the paper bag and strolling two houses up the road to drop it into someone’s waiting trash can. When he strolls back, Sam expects him to get back into the car and head straight back to Fall River, but instead Dean leans up against the car, next to Sam, and bumps him with an elbow.

“Any alerts yet?”

“No,” Sam says, though he reflexively checks his phone a moment later. “Why—?”

But Dean’s already climbing the stairs up towards the house. “Since we’re here, you want to look around?” he calls back to Sam without slowing.

“Since we’re where?” Sam demands, but despite his irritation he’s already following on Dean’s heels.

Meme: Fic you want to read but that doesn't exist

So, here's the opening line of my most recent fic: You know what I want? I want the s10 AU where Sam and Dean actually go and watch that French art house movie about the mime or whatever who thinks he's a cockroach. And then, lo and behold: the thing wrote itself. Kind of like finding that the vending machine already has a buck in it so you get your Cheez-its for free.

In the spirit of passing that along, what fic do you want? Who knows--maybe I'll find some more spare-change fic in my back pocket. :P

(kalliel, this one's dedicated to you.)

The Sea and the Skylark

ON ear and ear two noises too old to end
Trench—right, the tide that ramps against the shore;
With a flood or a fall, low lull-off or all roar,
Frequenting there while moon shall wear and wend.

Left hand, off land, I hear the lark ascend,
His rash-fresh re-winded new-skeinèd score
In crisps of curl off wild winch whirl, and pour
And pelt music, till none ’s to spill nor spend.

How these two shame this shallow and frail town!
How ring right out our sordid turbid time,
Being pure! We, life’s pride and cared-for crown,

Have lost that cheer and charm of earth’s past prime:
Our make and making break, are breaking, down
To man’s last dust, drain fast towards man’s first slime.

Gerard Manly Hopkins

An anthem of praise

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness:
Come before his presence with singing.

Know ye that the Lord he is God,
It is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves:
We are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving,
And into his courts with praise:
Be thankful unto him, and bless his name,
For Jehovah is full of goodness, and his mercy is everlasting,
And his truth will endure to all generations.

Now unto the king eternal, immortal, invisible,
the only wise God, be honor and glory,
Thro' Jesus Christ, both now and ever, amen.

Meme: Get to know your author

Snagged from zmediaoutlet/deadlybride:

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

4) favorite character you’ve written

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

+ 20 more questionsCollapse )

Fic bit: Tit for Tat [SPN]

You know what I want? I want the s10 AU where Sam and Dean actually go and watch that French art house movie about the mime or whatever who thinks he's a cockroach.

I don't know how Sam would spin it to get Dean to go, but I'm pretty sure the drive back would be a fierce debate, with Sam taking the position of devil's advocate just because "It's art!", but secretly agreeing with Dean the whole time. At some point on the drive back they stop for milkshakes and fries, and while Sam's sitting there, watching the condensation run down the side of his cup, with Dean still muttering about how stupid the movie was, he gives in and starts laughing because it really, really was.

And he's slightly drunk from the relief of having a normal day with Dean, no sign of the MoC except that Dean's sleeve is rolled lower than he used to wear it, and it's probably a slight attack of hysterics, but seriously: a mime who thinks he's a cockroach.

And Dean falls silent, studies at Sam a little worriedly, and sticks him in the back seat for the rest of the drive back, because obviously he's too tired to function anymore and he always gets a really bad crick in his neck when he falls asleep in the passenger seat. He gets a crick in his back instead, and both his knees lock up on him when they get back to the bunker and Dean chivvies him out of the car, but it's the thought that counts.

In the morning Dean makes French toast with the last of the eggs and the stale back end of a loaf of bread--there's not enough egg mix and it's a little heavy on the spices, but it still tastes better than anything Sam's had in years.

EpilogueCollapse )