To The Waters And The Wild 21
5/25/09 11:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 2528
A/N: And weirder still....
The sun shone through the bare black bones of the trees that lined Bobby's property. Rusted out cars ringed the worn house—everything was the same as he remembered it. The place looked like shit, and it made him smile, just laying eyes on it. Memories. Good, bad, but mostly it felt like coming home again.
The Impala shuddered to a stop, the engine sounding reluctant to die. Sam squeezed and stroked the steering wheel like it was a live thing, sitting there, looking at the house and just…breathing. "Well, here we are, home. Or the closest we ever had to one." He got out of the car, and Dean followed, peered at the once blue wreck of a house with one eye, shuffled his feet some. He definitely looked…unconvinced, Sam thought.
"…yeah. I guess..." Dean turned slow circles in the dusty driveway, forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowed. "I…I guess."
Sam started up to the side porch and Dean did that thing he'd taken to doing, following Sam, arms cocked just a little—guarding Sam's back. Sam didn’t even have to look behind him to know what Dean looked like, how he was tailing him like…like a gunslinger. They walked up the steps, each tread creaking out a warning. Dean gasped a little and rubbed his face, his other hand drifted up to grip Sam's arm.
"You okay, dude? You look a little grey," Sam asked, face creased with worry, his hand poised to rap on the door.
"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean scoffed, and said, annoyed, impatient, but it sounded forced, "Knock all ready, come on."
Sam still felt a lick of worry. Something was…off. There was something about…the light…the smell…an itch under his skin; a tickling along his spine had him looking behind him, around him. He shook his head--drama queen. Bobby was going to be glad to see them, once he got over the shock of seeing Dean—and probably half-drowning them both in holy water. He knocked once and the door flew open.
"Finally! I been trying to get a hold of you since the middle of September, damn it, where the fuck have you been—" There was movement in the shadows behind Bobby, and a weird kind of déjà vu but…with scent? Like a smell that Bobby shouldn't have? "I got one huge ass surprise for you, boy—you're not going to believe—"
A shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom inside the old house, revealing a dark figure behind Bobby, it moved and a glint of light sparked off a pendant resting on a broad chest, the light shifted and green eyes and a big, sardonic, slash of a smile hit him like an axe between the eyes—at the very same moment, Bobby was cursing a blue streak and struggling to get through the door. Sam whirled around, and stared at Dean behind him—Dean stared back, his face gone white and all the lines, the thin scars that webbed his skin flared blood red. As Sam watched, Dean's eyes grew wider, and the jade was swallowed by black. Before he could move Bobby was there on the porch with him. Sam was driven back against the porch rail, pain exploding in his back. An arm slammed into his chest, almost knocking him over the railing. All he could see was Bobby's red face, Bobby's twisted mouth, yelling. "Sam—" A bright star of pain exploded over his breast bone and Dean was there, grabbing at his shirt, shaking him so hard—"What did you do?"
Sam shook his head, trying to clear it, his lungs tightened against his effort to breathe…over the shouting he heard growling, high and unpleasant—
Bobby was in his face, shouting again, "What the fuck have you done boy--what have you done?" Sam heard a low groan of pain and horror behind him, and…and…
The only clear thought he had was get down, get away—
He—pushed, with his mind, with his body—felt it, like putting his finger in a live outlet, when Dean and Bobby slammed into the house, hard enough to knock off a few of the rusted out hubcaps nailed to the wall. Felt it ripple over him when he vaulted backward over the porch rail and hit the ground face up, knocking the wind out of himself. He gagged for breath, rode out a full body wave of pain. His hands scrabbled through the dirt, driving sharp bits of gravel into his palms and those little stars of pain brought his brain back on line…he was up with the first full breath he could drag into his lungs, scrambled on hands and knees through the dust. When he could get his feet under him, he ran blindly until he hit something hard. Sam threw his arms out to break his fall and he was staring Dean in the eyes. Dean looked sick, his eyes were flat, blank—but his hands held Sam securely in a gentle grip. Hands that knew every part of him--
"Sam—Sam, get down—"
The flat crack of a gunshot broke the odd silence--Dean flinched and whirled so that he was crowding Sam behind him, shielding him with his body.
"No—don't—" Sam grabbed at Dean, tried to push him away. Over Dean's shoulder he saw…he saw *Dean*, aiming at them—aiming at the man trying to cover him. Sam felt like he was being pulled backwards through hell…through all the doors he could see clearly, doors that surrounded him everywhere…he blinked and the Dean holding him knocked him to the ground and the Dean on Bobby's porch shot again and the Dean standing over him went down, screaming.
The sound of his brother's voice screaming in pain overrode everything, any confusion of sight or feeling. Instinct made him grab the man up, and he was running, screaming himself. Sam ignored the panicked shouts behind him. His hands were fisted in Dean's jacket and pulling him along, refusing to open his eyes, his body was focused on one thing—get to the car. He hit the side of the Impala hard, heard an outraged "Hey!" from behind him that made him bark a wild laugh—fucking Dean, worried about the fucking car—he was scrabbling at the handle, and when the door popped open, shoved Dean inside. Hot blood slicked his hands, making it hard to open his door, to slip the key into the ignition. He was ready to scream before he managed to jam the key home--gunned it, ignored the smack of palms against the glass and flew down the rutted dirt road. Dean's head rolled and bounced against the passenger window. He was panting in pain, the gouges the bullets tore in his shoulder and arm were black…the blood ran black. His eyes rolled toward Sam, pupils too deep, whites too wide—"Never hurt you, never," he panted.
"Shut up!" Sam pounded on the steering wheel, screamed, "What happened? What did I do?"
Dean coughed blood, his breath coming in a low liquid gurgle. He moaned, "Saved me. You saved me."
Sam could *hear* it, the way the blood hissed and bubbled, in the way silver made a werewolf's blood react, siren's blood, shifter's blood…he swallowed against the acid that rose in his throat. "What are you?" Sam demanded, and tried to ignore the other's flinch, the way his face paled even more, until freckles stood out like a spray of blood. God…dark as the blood splashed against his neck and over his shoulder, arm…."I said what the fuck are you?"
"Dean—your brother—" the voice broke on a sob and that pissed Sam off even more, made his chest hurt, his throat close around a lump. Made him want to hurt something. Fucking kill something.
"No!" Sam screamed again. "I want the truth!"
"I don't know—fuck, I don't know! I thought. I thought....up until today, I was pretty sure I was Dean Winchester…"
Sam gaped at Dean, the car slewed before he could tear his gaze away. "Pretty sure? What the fuck does that *mean*, pretty sure?"
"Sam…those beings you see? I see 'em too. I see all of them…I see ghosts when no one else does, not even you. They…they hover like silver clouds in the air, against the ceilings of rooms, until they come to know they can look like…what you see. I see the other places, places that are doorways to hell, or doorways to worlds that your groupies—" he tried to laugh and it twisted into a moan of pain. "--your groupies come from. I look at you and you're frightening, and amazing, and *beautiful* and I know why those things follow you. They want you too. Who can see all that Sam, but monsters? Am I some kind of monster?"
"Yes." Sam felt tears on his face, his stomach twisted and twisted, and he stopped the car on the side of the road and then he was tearing through knee high weeds away from the road…running and running until he fell to his hands and knees and vomited like he was trying to tear organs loose. He pulled his gun out of his waistband, his hand trembled as it rose, batted against his jaw, wavered across his chin until the curve of his lower lip stopped it….
His phone rang, and he laughed out loud. Sam's busy blowing his brains out now, leave a message at the tone…
"Sam," he heard clearly, even with the phone on the ground next to him, chirping in the grass where he'd dropped it. "You bring that thing back here, and let's get on with our lives, okay? Sam? Come back, damn it."
He wanted to stop the noise, wanted to stop his brain. He scooped up the phone. "I have to think," Sam said. "I have to think what I'm going to do." The Taurus was propped on his thigh, the phone in the grass by his knee, and Dea—the other in the car parked at the roadside, hadn't moved. Good. He needed room to breathe, to think--"I don’t know what's happening yet. It's too much."
"Sam, what's there to think about? You know it's not natural, you know that much. Come on back. We'll figure out what it—he—is and maybe we won’t have to hurt…him."
"God, you couldn't sound less believable—" Sam laughed and wiped his free hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry…but I can't. I just…not yet." He disconnected, and sobbed. After a second, he dropped the phone again, and with a curse, slammed the butt of the gun into it. He burst into wild laughter when it skittered, without so much as a scratch, across the flattened patch of grass. "All right, I get it—nothing I want's going to happen…" He stuffed the phone into his pocket, and wiped his nose. "Okay…start thinking."
A breeze swept the field, whispering through the grass, and lifting the strands of hair falling over his eyes. He shivered hard, feeling lonely, feeling—fuck. Gutted. He heard the squeak of the Impala's door opening. He slid the Taurus under his thigh, thumbed the safety off.
"Sam…" Sam looked up, at Dean. Last night, he'd fucked Dean. He'd kissed him, and felt like…like his world was solid again. Felt like everything he'd ever wanted had finally come to pass—the life he'd craved. He'd thought Dean was damaged, but together, they'd make things work because they loved each other—not just lovers, not just brothers, something better, and wonderful, something that was just theirs. And now….
He trained the gun on the thing in front of him. His hand was steady as a rock even as he blinked tears away. "Why?"
"Sammy—"
Sam hissed and stood, jammed the gun into the—the changeling's neck. It staggered back, choking, but it didn't go down and it never took its eyes from Sam's and it…it had the nerve to look as if it had been crying. Sam pushed harder, until it was nearly on its toes. "I want to know, what's going on. You might as well tell me everything, because I'm going to kill you one way or another." Dean—Sam had to name it. Had to call it something. wanted it to be Dean, wanted it to be yesterday
Dean nodded, swallowed and the gun rode out the motion. He—it blinked, eyes red and swollen. "I know. I would too. But I don't know why I'm here. Except, I swear, I couldn't do anything to hurt you, you have to believe that…I'd give my life for you. Shoot if it's what you have to do." He closed his eyes and lashes swept his cheeks. Sam ground his teeth—so fucking *unfair*.
Sam was starting to shake now, his wrist was aching, his fingers. "Was any of it real? Did we spend the whole summer in some nightmare? Some fucked up dream?"
"Sammy—"
"Don't, god damn it! Don’t fucking call me that. Don't…" The gun slipped, and Dean swallowed, licked his lips. Sam hated that he had to follow that little motion. He knew how it felt, loved how it felt.
Dean nodded. "Okay—okay, just--I love you. Tell me what to do. If it hurts you too much to do it, I'll do it myself." Dean shuddered, and shrunk a little in his skin. Muttered, "I think…silver's not going to do it alone, I think a head shot—"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Sam found himself a few feet away from Dean, panting, not really knowing how he got there.
Dean had that same dumbfounded look on his face, that look of near-worship he'd had once before. He murmured, "Sam," and dropped to his knees, bowed his head. "If you don’t want me, send me back to hell—I can't be anyone without you, anyway."
"Dean. Dean, fuck." He dropped the gun, and turned away. "I can't."
Dean crawled to where Sam was shaking to bits, reached his hand out carefully, and stroked fingers over the hem of his jeans. Sam shuddered, "Stop that, don't…do that. I need you to…to go back to the car."
Dean jerked his hand back, and rolled to his feet. "Okay," he nodded, and almost smiled. "That's—that's good, right? I--I figured you were going to leave me out here." The smile twisting his lips hurt Sam almost as much as knowing that he…was different. Dean turned and walked back to the car, Sam behind him. When they reached the car, Dean stopped. "Do you want me to sit in the back or." He grimaced, and his voice frayed, but he forced out, "The trunk?"
God. "No—no room in there. Just get in the damn car." Sam threw himself in the car and Dean dropped into the passenger seat. "Dean. Dean," Sam repeated, and looked at the man next to him. "I can't believe that you're not…you're you. I can't help seeing just you."
Dean stared into his lap. "I am just me. I'm the person you rescued, the person who loved you yesterday, and the day before that, and the years before that…"
Sam moved Dean's hand away, where it crushed the fabric over his knee. "Just let me think, okay? Let's just find some place so I can think."
Part 22
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 2528
A/N: And weirder still....
The sun shone through the bare black bones of the trees that lined Bobby's property. Rusted out cars ringed the worn house—everything was the same as he remembered it. The place looked like shit, and it made him smile, just laying eyes on it. Memories. Good, bad, but mostly it felt like coming home again.
The Impala shuddered to a stop, the engine sounding reluctant to die. Sam squeezed and stroked the steering wheel like it was a live thing, sitting there, looking at the house and just…breathing. "Well, here we are, home. Or the closest we ever had to one." He got out of the car, and Dean followed, peered at the once blue wreck of a house with one eye, shuffled his feet some. He definitely looked…unconvinced, Sam thought.
"…yeah. I guess..." Dean turned slow circles in the dusty driveway, forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowed. "I…I guess."
Sam started up to the side porch and Dean did that thing he'd taken to doing, following Sam, arms cocked just a little—guarding Sam's back. Sam didn’t even have to look behind him to know what Dean looked like, how he was tailing him like…like a gunslinger. They walked up the steps, each tread creaking out a warning. Dean gasped a little and rubbed his face, his other hand drifted up to grip Sam's arm.
"You okay, dude? You look a little grey," Sam asked, face creased with worry, his hand poised to rap on the door.
"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean scoffed, and said, annoyed, impatient, but it sounded forced, "Knock all ready, come on."
Sam still felt a lick of worry. Something was…off. There was something about…the light…the smell…an itch under his skin; a tickling along his spine had him looking behind him, around him. He shook his head--drama queen. Bobby was going to be glad to see them, once he got over the shock of seeing Dean—and probably half-drowning them both in holy water. He knocked once and the door flew open.
"Finally! I been trying to get a hold of you since the middle of September, damn it, where the fuck have you been—" There was movement in the shadows behind Bobby, and a weird kind of déjà vu but…with scent? Like a smell that Bobby shouldn't have? "I got one huge ass surprise for you, boy—you're not going to believe—"
A shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom inside the old house, revealing a dark figure behind Bobby, it moved and a glint of light sparked off a pendant resting on a broad chest, the light shifted and green eyes and a big, sardonic, slash of a smile hit him like an axe between the eyes—at the very same moment, Bobby was cursing a blue streak and struggling to get through the door. Sam whirled around, and stared at Dean behind him—Dean stared back, his face gone white and all the lines, the thin scars that webbed his skin flared blood red. As Sam watched, Dean's eyes grew wider, and the jade was swallowed by black. Before he could move Bobby was there on the porch with him. Sam was driven back against the porch rail, pain exploding in his back. An arm slammed into his chest, almost knocking him over the railing. All he could see was Bobby's red face, Bobby's twisted mouth, yelling. "Sam—" A bright star of pain exploded over his breast bone and Dean was there, grabbing at his shirt, shaking him so hard—"What did you do?"
Sam shook his head, trying to clear it, his lungs tightened against his effort to breathe…over the shouting he heard growling, high and unpleasant—
Bobby was in his face, shouting again, "What the fuck have you done boy--what have you done?" Sam heard a low groan of pain and horror behind him, and…and…
The only clear thought he had was get down, get away—
He—pushed, with his mind, with his body—felt it, like putting his finger in a live outlet, when Dean and Bobby slammed into the house, hard enough to knock off a few of the rusted out hubcaps nailed to the wall. Felt it ripple over him when he vaulted backward over the porch rail and hit the ground face up, knocking the wind out of himself. He gagged for breath, rode out a full body wave of pain. His hands scrabbled through the dirt, driving sharp bits of gravel into his palms and those little stars of pain brought his brain back on line…he was up with the first full breath he could drag into his lungs, scrambled on hands and knees through the dust. When he could get his feet under him, he ran blindly until he hit something hard. Sam threw his arms out to break his fall and he was staring Dean in the eyes. Dean looked sick, his eyes were flat, blank—but his hands held Sam securely in a gentle grip. Hands that knew every part of him--
"Sam—Sam, get down—"
The flat crack of a gunshot broke the odd silence--Dean flinched and whirled so that he was crowding Sam behind him, shielding him with his body.
"No—don't—" Sam grabbed at Dean, tried to push him away. Over Dean's shoulder he saw…he saw *Dean*, aiming at them—aiming at the man trying to cover him. Sam felt like he was being pulled backwards through hell…through all the doors he could see clearly, doors that surrounded him everywhere…he blinked and the Dean holding him knocked him to the ground and the Dean on Bobby's porch shot again and the Dean standing over him went down, screaming.
The sound of his brother's voice screaming in pain overrode everything, any confusion of sight or feeling. Instinct made him grab the man up, and he was running, screaming himself. Sam ignored the panicked shouts behind him. His hands were fisted in Dean's jacket and pulling him along, refusing to open his eyes, his body was focused on one thing—get to the car. He hit the side of the Impala hard, heard an outraged "Hey!" from behind him that made him bark a wild laugh—fucking Dean, worried about the fucking car—he was scrabbling at the handle, and when the door popped open, shoved Dean inside. Hot blood slicked his hands, making it hard to open his door, to slip the key into the ignition. He was ready to scream before he managed to jam the key home--gunned it, ignored the smack of palms against the glass and flew down the rutted dirt road. Dean's head rolled and bounced against the passenger window. He was panting in pain, the gouges the bullets tore in his shoulder and arm were black…the blood ran black. His eyes rolled toward Sam, pupils too deep, whites too wide—"Never hurt you, never," he panted.
"Shut up!" Sam pounded on the steering wheel, screamed, "What happened? What did I do?"
Dean coughed blood, his breath coming in a low liquid gurgle. He moaned, "Saved me. You saved me."
Sam could *hear* it, the way the blood hissed and bubbled, in the way silver made a werewolf's blood react, siren's blood, shifter's blood…he swallowed against the acid that rose in his throat. "What are you?" Sam demanded, and tried to ignore the other's flinch, the way his face paled even more, until freckles stood out like a spray of blood. God…dark as the blood splashed against his neck and over his shoulder, arm…."I said what the fuck are you?"
"Dean—your brother—" the voice broke on a sob and that pissed Sam off even more, made his chest hurt, his throat close around a lump. Made him want to hurt something. Fucking kill something.
"No!" Sam screamed again. "I want the truth!"
"I don't know—fuck, I don't know! I thought. I thought....up until today, I was pretty sure I was Dean Winchester…"
Sam gaped at Dean, the car slewed before he could tear his gaze away. "Pretty sure? What the fuck does that *mean*, pretty sure?"
"Sam…those beings you see? I see 'em too. I see all of them…I see ghosts when no one else does, not even you. They…they hover like silver clouds in the air, against the ceilings of rooms, until they come to know they can look like…what you see. I see the other places, places that are doorways to hell, or doorways to worlds that your groupies—" he tried to laugh and it twisted into a moan of pain. "--your groupies come from. I look at you and you're frightening, and amazing, and *beautiful* and I know why those things follow you. They want you too. Who can see all that Sam, but monsters? Am I some kind of monster?"
"Yes." Sam felt tears on his face, his stomach twisted and twisted, and he stopped the car on the side of the road and then he was tearing through knee high weeds away from the road…running and running until he fell to his hands and knees and vomited like he was trying to tear organs loose. He pulled his gun out of his waistband, his hand trembled as it rose, batted against his jaw, wavered across his chin until the curve of his lower lip stopped it….
His phone rang, and he laughed out loud. Sam's busy blowing his brains out now, leave a message at the tone…
"Sam," he heard clearly, even with the phone on the ground next to him, chirping in the grass where he'd dropped it. "You bring that thing back here, and let's get on with our lives, okay? Sam? Come back, damn it."
He wanted to stop the noise, wanted to stop his brain. He scooped up the phone. "I have to think," Sam said. "I have to think what I'm going to do." The Taurus was propped on his thigh, the phone in the grass by his knee, and Dea—the other in the car parked at the roadside, hadn't moved. Good. He needed room to breathe, to think--"I don’t know what's happening yet. It's too much."
"Sam, what's there to think about? You know it's not natural, you know that much. Come on back. We'll figure out what it—he—is and maybe we won’t have to hurt…him."
"God, you couldn't sound less believable—" Sam laughed and wiped his free hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry…but I can't. I just…not yet." He disconnected, and sobbed. After a second, he dropped the phone again, and with a curse, slammed the butt of the gun into it. He burst into wild laughter when it skittered, without so much as a scratch, across the flattened patch of grass. "All right, I get it—nothing I want's going to happen…" He stuffed the phone into his pocket, and wiped his nose. "Okay…start thinking."
A breeze swept the field, whispering through the grass, and lifting the strands of hair falling over his eyes. He shivered hard, feeling lonely, feeling—fuck. Gutted. He heard the squeak of the Impala's door opening. He slid the Taurus under his thigh, thumbed the safety off.
"Sam…" Sam looked up, at Dean. Last night, he'd fucked Dean. He'd kissed him, and felt like…like his world was solid again. Felt like everything he'd ever wanted had finally come to pass—the life he'd craved. He'd thought Dean was damaged, but together, they'd make things work because they loved each other—not just lovers, not just brothers, something better, and wonderful, something that was just theirs. And now….
He trained the gun on the thing in front of him. His hand was steady as a rock even as he blinked tears away. "Why?"
"Sammy—"
Sam hissed and stood, jammed the gun into the—the changeling's neck. It staggered back, choking, but it didn't go down and it never took its eyes from Sam's and it…it had the nerve to look as if it had been crying. Sam pushed harder, until it was nearly on its toes. "I want to know, what's going on. You might as well tell me everything, because I'm going to kill you one way or another." Dean—Sam had to name it. Had to call it something. wanted it to be Dean, wanted it to be yesterday
Dean nodded, swallowed and the gun rode out the motion. He—it blinked, eyes red and swollen. "I know. I would too. But I don't know why I'm here. Except, I swear, I couldn't do anything to hurt you, you have to believe that…I'd give my life for you. Shoot if it's what you have to do." He closed his eyes and lashes swept his cheeks. Sam ground his teeth—so fucking *unfair*.
Sam was starting to shake now, his wrist was aching, his fingers. "Was any of it real? Did we spend the whole summer in some nightmare? Some fucked up dream?"
"Sammy—"
"Don't, god damn it! Don’t fucking call me that. Don't…" The gun slipped, and Dean swallowed, licked his lips. Sam hated that he had to follow that little motion. He knew how it felt, loved how it felt.
Dean nodded. "Okay—okay, just--I love you. Tell me what to do. If it hurts you too much to do it, I'll do it myself." Dean shuddered, and shrunk a little in his skin. Muttered, "I think…silver's not going to do it alone, I think a head shot—"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Sam found himself a few feet away from Dean, panting, not really knowing how he got there.
Dean had that same dumbfounded look on his face, that look of near-worship he'd had once before. He murmured, "Sam," and dropped to his knees, bowed his head. "If you don’t want me, send me back to hell—I can't be anyone without you, anyway."
"Dean. Dean, fuck." He dropped the gun, and turned away. "I can't."
Dean crawled to where Sam was shaking to bits, reached his hand out carefully, and stroked fingers over the hem of his jeans. Sam shuddered, "Stop that, don't…do that. I need you to…to go back to the car."
Dean jerked his hand back, and rolled to his feet. "Okay," he nodded, and almost smiled. "That's—that's good, right? I--I figured you were going to leave me out here." The smile twisting his lips hurt Sam almost as much as knowing that he…was different. Dean turned and walked back to the car, Sam behind him. When they reached the car, Dean stopped. "Do you want me to sit in the back or." He grimaced, and his voice frayed, but he forced out, "The trunk?"
God. "No—no room in there. Just get in the damn car." Sam threw himself in the car and Dean dropped into the passenger seat. "Dean. Dean," Sam repeated, and looked at the man next to him. "I can't believe that you're not…you're you. I can't help seeing just you."
Dean stared into his lap. "I am just me. I'm the person you rescued, the person who loved you yesterday, and the day before that, and the years before that…"
Sam moved Dean's hand away, where it crushed the fabric over his knee. "Just let me think, okay? Let's just find some place so I can think."
Part 22
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
5/26/09 04:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/26/09 04:32 am (UTC)We're almost done, my dear, almost done! I can hardly believe it! *keeps fingers crossed*
And thank you do much--also for the cheerleading! You keopt me going more than once!
(no subject)
5/26/09 04:34 am (UTC)Oooh...I can't stop staring at your icon. O.O
You're welcome. I'm glad that I could be part of the process of getting this worked out. It really is a great story.
(no subject)
5/26/09 05:32 am (UTC)Lex and Clark finding out their chances of being in another Roxy story.
(no subject)
5/26/09 05:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/26/09 05:39 am (UTC)try this one instead
(no subject)
5/26/09 06:34 am (UTC)Poor Sam! And Dean! And...well...Dean! MEEP! *hides behind sofa*
So made of win.
(no subject)
5/29/09 02:46 am (UTC)More Dean's for the buck!
Thank you!
(no subject)
5/26/09 11:15 am (UTC)Noooo!!! It's not DEAN??? WTF?? Not only am I confused I'm miserable too!! Poor Sammy, and poor not!Dean and poor real!Dean!! And where'd he come from?? WHAT'S GOING ON??
More now please, ok? Ok.
Awesome update. Need more story.
(no subject)
5/29/09 03:07 am (UTC)I have my fingers crossed that I'll have more soon--oy.
(no subject)
5/26/09 03:38 pm (UTC)You don't run away from Bobby and *your brother*, dear gods, don't you think they'd trust you enough to help you?
*flails hard*
OMG, poor Dean-thing.
*cries a little*
You are so freakin' evol it's not *even* funny.
(no subject)
5/29/09 03:11 am (UTC)I feel sorry for them too.
(no subject)
5/26/09 04:52 pm (UTC)Oh, damn, I never saw this coming,not at all! Poor Sam is so wrecked, as he thought he had his brother back and they were finally connected. And, I can't help but feel for the changeling, as he clearly adores Sam. But, with all that aside, I can't help but think of the real Dean driving hell for leather in one of Bobby's cars to find Sam, at least I'm hoping. Awesome update!
(no subject)
5/29/09 03:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/26/09 07:17 pm (UTC)I wonder what Sam's going to do now. And now I'm getting messed up images of them all living together, and Dean getting all grossed out cause "Dean" is fucking Sam. Heh.
(no subject)
5/29/09 03:13 am (UTC)*GRIN*
(no subject)
5/27/09 09:43 pm (UTC)I think that scene at Bobby's got better every time I read it. And I do feel so bad for EVERYONE. No one walks out of a Roxy story in one piece...
Except Raph. Lucky bastard.
(no subject)
5/29/09 03:19 am (UTC)I want more Raph. :(
(no subject)
5/28/09 01:33 am (UTC)Fuck, woman. Mistress of the Misery! (And I mean that in the best possible way. . . )
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5/29/09 03:21 am (UTC)*shmooch*
*gives you chocolate*
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6/19/11 01:44 am (UTC)