spn:To The Waters And The Wild pt2
10/15/08 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: To The Waters And The Wild
Author: roxy
Pairings eventually Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Spoilers: very vague references to events in season three
Word Count: 1026
Summary: this is a very AU version of events after Dean goes to hell--in this version Sam saves him--maybe.
A/N The title comes from this poem, and the idea for the story very loosely inspired by legends of changelings
Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand
The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats
part one
Half way in the middle of the block, was a coffee house, Café Savant. A double line of granite topped tables ran the length of the store front. Since it was warm for a May morning, the tables were set, umbrellas up, and a little herd of well dressed young men browsed there, coffees cooling and cell phones buzzing importantly.
Sitting comfortably among them was another well dressed young man, leather briefcase under the café table between his loafer shod feet, cell phone in front of his coffee cup, the day's paper folded next to it. His haircut was nowhere near as expensive or as artfully casual as that of the men around him, but he looked good in a light blue button down, and the corduroy jacket was definitely not his father's corduroy. He fit in, he looked prosperous, up and coming.
Except in about fifteen minutes, he was going to drive uptown, meet his crew at an apartment whose freaking rent was probably more than he made in half a year, get into a coverall, boots and respirator, snap latex gloves on and proceed to remove any sign that someone had been viciously, bloodily terminated there. He sipped his coffee and reflected that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
yeah, yeah…shut up.He tipped his head back and sighed, glanced around the little group of tables. Café Savant was his favorite pretentious coffee place. Always made him smile, imagining what Dean would think of this place. whatever this shit is you're drinking, it's not coffee.
He grinned to himself, gazed idly around, glimpsed the guy behind him and did a little take—damn it.
The guy was not one of the café's regulars, he was a big furry bear of a man—thick, that kind of muscle that looked like fat but was solid power. He had a short gray beard and looked like maybe his hair was pulled back in a pony tail. His tank top showed off tats and scars and more hair. He was slipping bits of cookie to an ill-tempered dog under his table. It looked a little like a sled dog. A grumpy sled dog. It lifted its lip and showed off crimson gums and ivory teeth. Twin blazes of furious green fire drilled into his eyes and Sam swallowed.
Right.
The guy smiled a little and scratched at the skin under the eye patch.
That really pissed Sam off.
Ever since he decided that no thanks, he'd rather not lead all the armies of hell, he'd been…stalked? Bugged? Gathered an otherworldly assortment of groupies? It seemed lately he couldn't walk to the corner without tripping over some supernatural someone, from heavy-hitters to hangers-on, they were there. Like that guy at the table behind him trying to pretend but not very hard that he wasn't the All Father.
That asshole Thunder God son of his cut him off in the mini-mart yesterday. Like he wouldn't recognize him…recognize that he didn't really belong….
Sam grabbed calm from somewhere and went on drinking his coffee, acted like everything was normal and only jumped a little when his phone piped out "Roadhouse Blues" as it chattered against the stone table top.
"Winchester Trauma Care--Oh, hey Dana." Sam frowned as his office manager caught him up to speed on the day so far. "All right—good. I'll be in later. Raph says he's got a small job—okay. Good." Raphael had the job squared away, the crew was back clearing up the paperwork and Dana of course was on top of things, as always—making sure the waste was taken care of, making sure appointments were nailed down, and lately, that their coupon was in the local papers…Sam frowned more. The coupon thing he found kind of gross for some reason but hey, she knew what she was doing. They were making a living, after all.
Building the crime scene clean-up business had given him some direction after giving up--everything. Again. New York was as far as he could imagine getting from Cali and Kansas. Plus what he was doing was beneficial, helping people. It was something he knew a hell of a lot about--something that hunting had prepared him for quite nicely.
Now, if only the outworlders would just get the hint that he was retired from all that shit and leave him the hell alone.
Hey.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes?" He tried to keep annoyance out of his voice….
You know, if you'd just listen to me, the world would be so much brighter. There's so much we could accomplish. Anyway you want it.
"I don't want it, your lordship," he said and the metal chair screeched as he shoved it back and stood. People looked, looked away quickly again when they meet his eyes. Good.
He dropped some money on the table, grabbed the briefcase and phone and tried to walk away. He wondered sometimes what the other people around him saw, heard. No one ever freaked or eyeballed him in that…certain way. God knows he knew that look….
Sam tilted his head, squinted his eyes, stared at the blue man at his side and just about made out a sort of wavering image pasted over the blue nearly naked four armed man. He saw what everyone else was supposedly seeing--a tall, coffee colored man with a neat trimmed mustache and beautiful brown eyes, impeccably dressed and carrying a metal briefcase…hot. But not what he was looking for. "Thanks for the offer anyway."
Well, one day you'll be bored and tired of waiting and then… He sighed and shrugged and with four arms it was quite a show. Your brother is gone—forever, Samuel.
And at this point, when they said…stuff like that…it was always set off a little niggling doubt and he wondered if maybe instead of him standing in the doorway between worlds, as it were, he was just completely fucking nuts. He glanced behind himself and the bear was grinning at him. Yah.
He shook his head and went to meet the family that needed his help.
part three
Author: roxy
Pairings eventually Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Spoilers: very vague references to events in season three
Word Count: 1026
Summary: this is a very AU version of events after Dean goes to hell--in this version Sam saves him--maybe.
A/N The title comes from this poem, and the idea for the story very loosely inspired by legends of changelings
Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand
The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats
part one
Half way in the middle of the block, was a coffee house, Café Savant. A double line of granite topped tables ran the length of the store front. Since it was warm for a May morning, the tables were set, umbrellas up, and a little herd of well dressed young men browsed there, coffees cooling and cell phones buzzing importantly.
Sitting comfortably among them was another well dressed young man, leather briefcase under the café table between his loafer shod feet, cell phone in front of his coffee cup, the day's paper folded next to it. His haircut was nowhere near as expensive or as artfully casual as that of the men around him, but he looked good in a light blue button down, and the corduroy jacket was definitely not his father's corduroy. He fit in, he looked prosperous, up and coming.
Except in about fifteen minutes, he was going to drive uptown, meet his crew at an apartment whose freaking rent was probably more than he made in half a year, get into a coverall, boots and respirator, snap latex gloves on and proceed to remove any sign that someone had been viciously, bloodily terminated there. He sipped his coffee and reflected that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
yeah, yeah…shut up.He tipped his head back and sighed, glanced around the little group of tables. Café Savant was his favorite pretentious coffee place. Always made him smile, imagining what Dean would think of this place. whatever this shit is you're drinking, it's not coffee.
He grinned to himself, gazed idly around, glimpsed the guy behind him and did a little take—damn it.
The guy was not one of the café's regulars, he was a big furry bear of a man—thick, that kind of muscle that looked like fat but was solid power. He had a short gray beard and looked like maybe his hair was pulled back in a pony tail. His tank top showed off tats and scars and more hair. He was slipping bits of cookie to an ill-tempered dog under his table. It looked a little like a sled dog. A grumpy sled dog. It lifted its lip and showed off crimson gums and ivory teeth. Twin blazes of furious green fire drilled into his eyes and Sam swallowed.
Right.
The guy smiled a little and scratched at the skin under the eye patch.
That really pissed Sam off.
Ever since he decided that no thanks, he'd rather not lead all the armies of hell, he'd been…stalked? Bugged? Gathered an otherworldly assortment of groupies? It seemed lately he couldn't walk to the corner without tripping over some supernatural someone, from heavy-hitters to hangers-on, they were there. Like that guy at the table behind him trying to pretend but not very hard that he wasn't the All Father.
That asshole Thunder God son of his cut him off in the mini-mart yesterday. Like he wouldn't recognize him…recognize that he didn't really belong….
Sam grabbed calm from somewhere and went on drinking his coffee, acted like everything was normal and only jumped a little when his phone piped out "Roadhouse Blues" as it chattered against the stone table top.
"Winchester Trauma Care--Oh, hey Dana." Sam frowned as his office manager caught him up to speed on the day so far. "All right—good. I'll be in later. Raph says he's got a small job—okay. Good." Raphael had the job squared away, the crew was back clearing up the paperwork and Dana of course was on top of things, as always—making sure the waste was taken care of, making sure appointments were nailed down, and lately, that their coupon was in the local papers…Sam frowned more. The coupon thing he found kind of gross for some reason but hey, she knew what she was doing. They were making a living, after all.
Building the crime scene clean-up business had given him some direction after giving up--everything. Again. New York was as far as he could imagine getting from Cali and Kansas. Plus what he was doing was beneficial, helping people. It was something he knew a hell of a lot about--something that hunting had prepared him for quite nicely.
Now, if only the outworlders would just get the hint that he was retired from all that shit and leave him the hell alone.
Hey.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes?" He tried to keep annoyance out of his voice….
You know, if you'd just listen to me, the world would be so much brighter. There's so much we could accomplish. Anyway you want it.
"I don't want it, your lordship," he said and the metal chair screeched as he shoved it back and stood. People looked, looked away quickly again when they meet his eyes. Good.
He dropped some money on the table, grabbed the briefcase and phone and tried to walk away. He wondered sometimes what the other people around him saw, heard. No one ever freaked or eyeballed him in that…certain way. God knows he knew that look….
Sam tilted his head, squinted his eyes, stared at the blue man at his side and just about made out a sort of wavering image pasted over the blue nearly naked four armed man. He saw what everyone else was supposedly seeing--a tall, coffee colored man with a neat trimmed mustache and beautiful brown eyes, impeccably dressed and carrying a metal briefcase…hot. But not what he was looking for. "Thanks for the offer anyway."
Well, one day you'll be bored and tired of waiting and then… He sighed and shrugged and with four arms it was quite a show. Your brother is gone—forever, Samuel.
And at this point, when they said…stuff like that…it was always set off a little niggling doubt and he wondered if maybe instead of him standing in the doorway between worlds, as it were, he was just completely fucking nuts. He glanced behind himself and the bear was grinning at him. Yah.
He shook his head and went to meet the family that needed his help.
part three
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/15/08 06:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/15/08 09:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/15/08 09:38 pm (UTC)Yes yes yes yes.
*bounce*
I think it's 'tats' if you're gonna shorten it to that, rather than 'tatts'....
*luffs*
(no subject)
10/15/08 09:58 pm (UTC)oooooo--tats! thank you love!
(no subject)
10/15/08 10:01 pm (UTC)The Trickster - bah! I really didn't like his 'lesson' - much too harsh. And it had the opposite effect, too, so...eh.
*smoooch*
(no subject)
10/15/08 10:18 pm (UTC)I'd go on but your icon is awfully distracting. *g*
(no subject)
10/16/08 12:02 am (UTC)It is, isn't it?
This one is, too....
(no subject)
10/16/08 12:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 12:13 am (UTC)*shakes it*
(no subject)
10/16/08 12:26 am (UTC)Ah, you're the best!!
(no subject)
10/16/08 12:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 01:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 02:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 01:54 am (UTC)Seriously, I love the way you set the tone and described the man meeting Sam. They better hold off on using the touchy subject of Dean. *g*
Awesome!
(no subject)
10/16/08 02:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 02:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 02:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/08 02:29 am (UTC)I think you've got a good balance going. Time has passed; he wouldn't be the broken boy that we assumed he was after Dean died. He's scraped himself together and is functioning, though I'm sure that'll change later on.
(no subject)
4/29/09 01:45 pm (UTC)Looking forward to seeing where you go with this.
(no subject)
4/29/09 03:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/29/09 09:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/29/09 09:26 pm (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
5/1/09 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/2/09 05:45 am (UTC)Every boy should have one. *G*
(no subject)
5/8/09 09:43 pm (UTC)