horse of power

Crack fic: Dean and a Horse, pt. 14


Up close, the tower is taller than he'd thought--and in worse repair. Whole stones are missing in places, and the door at the foot of it has collapsed into a pile of rotted boards. At least two of the surrounding cluster of storage huts have lost their roofs entirely. The entire compound breathes an air of long abandonment.

"Doesn't look so good, chief," Benny says. "I'd be just as happy to just keep going, see if we can permenantly shake my brothers."

"Me too," Dean sighs, but slithers down from the horse anyway. "I'll be fast as I can, and if Sam's here, he's worth five of them." The ground is unpleasantly squishy beneath his naked feet.

"We'll be ready and waiting." Benny pats the horse's flank and gets an ear-twitch in reply.

Well. Nothing for it, then, so he grits his teeth and refushes to think of rats, and enters the tower--carefully skirting around the pile of rotting wood that partly blocks the entrance. Inside, it's dark and cool and damp and smells of things left sitting for too long; the complete lack of windows means the only light comes from the random missing stones. There are piles of leaves in small drifts all along the edge of the otherwise-empty room, and great stone slabs jutting out from the walls in an enormous spiralling staircase. A few posts here and there suggest a now-defunct rail of some sort, but Dean wouldn't bet his life on on any of the survivors either.

He's tentative for the first few steps, but despite appearances they feel solid, so he starts to take them two at a time, rabbit curled into one arm and his other hand on the wall *just in case*--which is the only reason he doesn't fall straight down when one of the stairs simply isn't there. It takes a frantric scramble for him to keep enough momentum to slam into the next stair up, which involves smashing both his shins against the stone and leaves him briefly huddled into a ball of absolute misery (and rabbit).

After that he takes them one at a time, at what feels like a crawl as he tests each step for safety. By the time he finally makes it to the cramped door at the to, he's half out of his skin from anxiety over just how long it's taking. He keeps expecting to hear Benny's shout for backup, or apology as he has to make his escape.

But there's only silence when he opens the door and steps out into what must have once been the watchman's rooms. They're empty, of course, and from the dust Dean's the first person to visit in a decade or more.
dean bw

fic update: In a Cursed Hour (chapter 5)

Last update was back in January, so her's the recap: Abaddon never destroyed the Men of Letters; Sam and Dean grew up in the bunker while John roamed the country in a secret quest to track down Mary's killer; Sam ran away from home to go on a roadtrip of his own and wound up in Boston with Jenn, his girlfriend; Dean went to him after John stopped checking in; Jenn, like Jess, dies in a mysterious fire. Sam's much the same as his canon self, but Dean, in an effort to please his father, has become a Men of Letters' Man of Letters, to the point of creating and giving himself secret tattoos with magical properties; he's also spent his entire life as a shut-in. So far they've successfully managed two ghosts (one in a graveyard, the other in a lake) and Dean has learned to order off a menu without looking like a complete weirdo. Last chapter they went back to the bunker to collect more supplies and give Dean a chance to set it up for a more extended absence; Sam brooded a lot.

In this chapter, Sam's made a friend and found a hunt and Dean is deeply dubious about his motivations. AKA: the not-Bugs chapter
at sea

poem: The ribs and terrors in the whale

By Herman Melville

The ribs and terrors in the whale,
Arched over me a dismal gloom,
While all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by,
And left me deepening down to doom.

I saw the opening maw of hell,
With endless pains and sorrows there;
Which none but they that feel can tell—
Oh, I was plunging to despair.

In black distress, I called my God,
When I could scarce believe him mine,
He bowed his ear to my complaints—
No more the whale did me confine.

With speed he flew to my relief,
As on a radiant dolphin borne;
Awful, yet bright, as lightening shone
The face of my Deliverer God.

My song for ever shall record
That terrible, that joyful hour;
I give the glory to my God,
His all the mercy and the power.

Just started reading Moby Dick for the first time. It's funnier than I would've expected, not that you could tell from this poem.

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Author: Mary Dana Shindler

Flee as a bird to your mountain,
Thou who art weary of sin;
Go to the clear flowing fountain
Where you may wash and be clean.
Fly, for th'avenger is near thee,
Call, and the Savior will hear thee;
He on His bosom will bear thee,
O thou who art weary of sin,
O thou who art weary of sin.

He will protect thee forever,
Wipe ev'ry falling tear;
He will forsake thee, O never,
Sheltered so tenderly there.
Haste, then, the hours are flying,
Spend not the moments in sighing,
Cease from your sorrow and crying:
The Savior will wipe ev'ry tear,
The Savior will wipe ev'ry tear.

fic: Upchuck Central [spn]

Written for this year's spn_summergen exchange and originally posted here. Part of the Evil That Walks Invisible AU.

Sam can feel his feet starting to drag as he turns off 191 onto Abrams. It's like trying to walk through deep mud, though he's on perfectly stable, dry macadam, and the heavy summer sun just weighs him down even more until the only thing keeping him going is the promise of the cool dimness of the bunker.

Time stretches a bit, what should be five minutes turning easily into two hours, the sweat running freely down his spine and pooling in his armpits, elbows, knees, stinging a little in his eyes until it all evaporates away. His insides feel bloated, his skin too tight. Dean likes to go on about the dangers of heatstroke, but this is the first time Sam's ever thought he might have a point, and it's a small relief to finally step off the road and up under the half-dead trees that line the dirt ruts leading to the bunker.

A crow yells at him, and he looks up to count how many there are, drilled-deep reflexes winning out over his utter exhaustion. Seven--but he can't think straight, can't remember his augury. He'll have to ask Dean.Dean will know.Collapse )

Favorite Sixth Episodes of SPN

Which sixth episode of a season is your favorite?

1.06 Skin
2.06 No Exit
3.06 Red Sky at Morning
4.06 Yellow Fever
5.06 I Believe the Children Are Our Future
6.06 You Can't Handle the Truth
7.06 Slash Fiction
8.06 Southern Comfort
9.06 Heaven Can't Wait
10.06 Ask Jeeves
11.06 Our Little World
12.06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox
13.06 Tombstone
14.06 Optimism

It's easily "Ask Jeeves" for me, though I'm quite fond of many of the other episodes listed--"No Exit" and "Red Sky at Morning" are both fun examples of Sam and Dean having to deal with a third party butting in; "Yellow Fever" is a classic example of a seemingly goofy episode going hard off the rails into horror; "You Can't Handle the Truth" has Dean finally twigging to just how wrong things are with Sam--

But "Ask Jeeves" I watched 8 times in 1 week after it aired. I love everything about it--the glazed doughnut coffee, the various references to Clue, Dean peering into the empty suit of armor, Sam awkwardly claiming lactose intolerance, his easy assurance that he and Dean like each other (because they do!). And then at the end of all the silliness and fun, Dean's shocking brutality as the Mark of Cain starts to make itself known again. Just excellent stuff all around.
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