SpN: Non Timebo Mala 14/?
12/15/09 01:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OMCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 2357
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex ( brief het and M/M, incest, rape.) Sections will have individual warnings.
This is mostly a bridgey bit. Sorry! Real action coming soon! (omg, i hope)
Sam blinked, and just that suddenly, his dad burst into flames.
The flames spread out like ink in water, flowing over the ceiling, licking up paint and wood and the old pine boards snapped and exploded. Sam dropped to his face on the floor and was thankful to go, he hadn't been happy for a long, long time and he was so tired of being tired. He closed his eyes and sighed, waiting—and a sharp ripping pain tore through his shoulder.
He crouched on the ground, close to the burning shack as the dog would let him. If he shifted closer, it growled, if he tried to stand, it growled. "I'm losin' any kind of fondness I had for you, you mangy bag of bones."
A rippling growl was all the response he got. But when he lay down, the dog pushed into his shoulder, turned around a few times and tucked its whip of a tail around its nose and let out the kind of bone-deep sigh only dogs can.
Sam was asleep before the dog. He slept like a stone, dreamless, and woke up in the same position he'd drifted off in. He was stiff, aching in every part of him, mind empty and blank for a long moment, before a pain stabbed him all through his heart and one thought only thundered through his head.
Dad was dead. Dad was dead. Dead.
The sun rose and illuminated Sam, curled up on the ground, close to the ashes, blinking in its light. What was left of the shack still radiated heat. Sam stared at the blackened bones, the tendrils of smoke. The air was thick with the stench of it. He inhaled and imagined he breathed in his father. His father, who drifted away on the smoke, who was becoming part of everything, everywhere, as his ashes drifted higher on the breeze and floated away over the world. Sam dropped his head and gave in to racking sobs that tore at his throat and lodged in his chest. He'd loved him, no matter what the man might have thought, Sam loved John and hoped that John had in some part of him loved Sam as well….
He scrubbed his sleeve over his face, and sat up slowly. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon; the sky was a close, dull gray. The dog was nowhere to be seen and Sam nodded. Just as well, they'd never liked each other much any way. He glanced over at where the horses should be and only the black stood, the amulets woven into its mane tinkling as it tossed its head. It shuffled, snorting long plumes of gray stream. Didn't matter. The black would take off soon enough, too. He lay back down and closed his eyes.
***
Sam woke up with his eyes burning; the sun was a brassy cold disk in the pure blue sky, all prairie iris blue straight up for miles and just the faintest shreds of clouds scudding across it. Smoke still rose from the ground, thinner now, barely seen and as the ashes died, the cold closed in….
Sam listened hard, listened inside of himself to his heart, fighting to pump. He turned inside to the feel of poison turning his blood to sludge. He had no desire but to wait until the cold and the poison in his blood took him at last. He deserved a peaceful end to this, he'd given everything he had to please his dad and now he fucking well deserved to rest….
The dog came out of nowhere and bit him--again—hard.
"Ow, shit--you little bastard! I'm going to kick in your ribs, you sonofa bitch. Just you wait—" Sam staggered to his feet, ready to lay some boot leather on the ungrateful little so and so—who was sitting some feet away out of kicking reach and, Sam swore, laughing at him. Sam cursed, picked up one of the rocks from the fire pit. "Go on! Get out!" He threw rocks despite the throbbing in his shoulder and swore at the dog with all the strength he could muster. "Get!"
Still, he felt betrayed when the dog did just that, lit out without a sound. Sam threw another stone, high and wide and yelled out, "Good riddance! You was just tastin' me anyhow!" before the energy drained out of him, and he slumped back down. The horse looked up at the commotion, snorted, and went back to nibbling over what grass was still edible. Seeing the horse reminded Sam that a blanket was tossed over one of the saddles near it, along with a little water, and some dried beef…he sighed. Too much trouble moving over there and he was dying anyway so what did it matter.
There was an odd noise behind him and he whirled, instinct taking over where common sense had fled. The dog sat there. Sam's chest bloomed with an achy, almost pleasant, hurt. He was back. Sam had been the worst kind of sonofa bitch and the dog came back anyway….he struggled not to weep like a school girl and meanwhile the dog glanced at him and away with a kind of…embarrassed look, Sam decided. The dog looked plain embarrassed. There was a rabbit on the ground in front of him, its skull crushed but in good shape otherwise, good for a meal. He shook his head, wiped his face, smearing the clean tracks that had washed through the soot. "No, go ahead, you eat it. I'm…" Sam laughed, "I'm talking to a dog. I'm sick, I'm poisoned and orphaned--" he laughed even harder, "An' I'm talkin' to a god damn dog."
The dog nudged the rabbit closer and sat again.
"You know, I think waiting around for Death is more pathetic than I'd like to be. How about I just go meet him?" He grinned at the dog, and started walking. Wasn't like it made sense, staying. Dad was gone and him hanging around wouldn’t change a thing. He stopped long enough to throw what was left of their salt on the ashes of the shack. He picked up John's journal and held it to his cheek for a minute, before tossing it into the hot ashes—the thin paper caught and flared, the binding burnt. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself," he informed the animals. "This isn't some pitiful act-up, no; this is the right thing to do. You…you two…take care," he finished with a shrug.
He started off; fully intending to put it in the hands of fate, however he ended. Finish off what the demon started.
Turned out, the dog had other plans. They followed him, the dog and the horse, paying no attention to him yelling, or jumping up and down, wind-milling his arms and cursing a blue streak. The damn horse was so placid it was ridiculous, and the dog…the dog was enjoying the whole thing, laughing his ass off.
Sam knew.
He could tell full well when the damn thing was laughing or not. "I hate you," he growled at it, when it paced him, sneering at him with its alligator jaws, nose all wrinkled and every tooth showing. "I hate you," Sam growled, when it brought him a grouse, and it just growled back.
Sam finally stopped, drank the water hanging from the pack the horse still carried, and made a fire. He cooked the bird the dog had brought. It was fairly tasteless and kind of tough, no salt or spices to make it palatable, and he'd never had the hand his dad had at making something edible, but it was food, and he had to admit it went a ways to making him feel a little more alive. He sighed. All right. Maybe Death wasn't ready for him just yet. "Must be more of my ugly ass you wanta kick," he sighed.
Sam didn’t have much of a conscious thought again, not until the trio found themselves in a town somewhere far west of Robert Singer's. He squinted around…it was familiar. He knew it somehow…
"Oh my lord, Samuel Winchester, as I live and breathe—boy, what in the world are you doing here? And where's your pa?"
Sam stood frozen in shock. The heavy set black woman dropped her basket and trotted right up to Sam, took his dirty face between her hands. Sam closed his eyes and breathed in laundry soap and flour. Felt her calluses rasp against his cheeks…he opened his eyes and she was a breath away, her brown eyes looking deep into his.
"Oh…oh no Sam, oh no…" She took a step back. Her hands fell to her sides, her warm brown eyes shimmered. "Sam…"
He stepped back himself, ignoring her instinctive grab for him when he did so. He shook his head, lips twisting in an effort to make a smile. "I'm fine, Miss Missouri--"
"Boy, fine is the last thing you are. Come on, you're not going anywhere, least until you clean yourself up and have a decent meal, and…when was the last time you slept? Go take the horse out to the barn and settle it…that, that whatever it is following you, is it housebroken?"
"It's a dog, and a right handsome animal too, just like me. And he's not housebroken, no. Just like me."
"Any more sass and I'll surely take a strap to the *both* of you. Do as I say, and take care of the horse and then, bring yourself and your…dog…in. Get something hot in you." Her words were clipped and sharp, as usual, but there was so much more behind the words that Sam had to bit his lip hard to keep his eyes from filling. The dog pressed back against his legs, nearly overbalancing Sam in his concern.
"What's his name, honey?"
"His, who? The dog…?" Sam gaped at her. His nose wrinkled in confusion. "Name? I…I don’t. I usually just call him little bas—
"You best come up with something better to call him around me, hear? And I hear that, Samuel Winchester," she said, sailing on up the steps and into the bordello's kitchen.
He had been thinking, She lives in a whorehouse, she musta heard worse than that before, and he was pretty sure that thought he'd had to himself….
His mouth shut with a click. The woman was…she was more than just a helpful, generous-spirited kitchen witch who'd given his dad a hand when he needed it. Sam wondered all over again that he'd come straight to her like a dove to the nest.
Plain as day, he needed her help--to either keep living or come safely to an end of it.
When he walked in the kitchen, she looked angry and sad, and…a little afraid. "You sit down Samuel, and let me tell you why you can't ever think of taking your life."
***
"Sam…what's been done to you can’t be reversed--I'm so awfully sorry. I've heard of it, this marking. What purpose it serves I'm not sure but I know of a man who does." She nodded. "I believe you already know him. I do know if you take your life, you’re guaranteed to be damned. You need to keep living, and to the best of your ability, make amends."
"Amends?" Sam reared up from the chair, nearly knocking over the mug of coffee she'd set in front of him. "I didn’t *choose* this! I don't *want* it! I feel it in my bones and blood, making me…different. *Bad*. Who in their right mind would choose that?"
"I know that, Samuel, but what's written is written. You're marked, whether you want it or not. The dark things want you now. You've been chosen for something, and willing or not it's going to darken your soul. And best you can do is fight it. Samuel…learn to pray."
Sam laughed. "Sure, sure I will. I'll pray, and while I'm at it, I'll ask, 'why the hell did you kill most my family with me in the crib, and why'd you kill my dad, and why'd you make me this ugly bastard who's never going to have anyone, ever? *Why*?"
Missouri and the dog jumped when Sam's hand slapped down on the table, hard enough to overturn the mug. Something hot and tangled rose up in his chest and choked him. "I just…I'm afraid. And I don't know how to face it alone." The dog whacked its huge head into his knee as if to assure him he wasn't and Sam snorted. "Ouch. Your head is made of solid bone ain't it?"
"Well, Bone Head there knows you're *not* alone. You got friends. You've got…" She blinked, and put her hand over Sam's. "Oh my. You've got someone out there; believe me when I tell you that." Her lips pursed into an unhappy line, but she went on, her voice soft and soothing, "You'll find love, trust me. And…and don’t turn away from it, you hear me?"
"Uh-hum," Sam smirked. "And you gonna read my coffee grounds, too?"
"Boy, get out of my kitchen. There's a tub in the pass way. I boiled water for you—now do something worthwhile with it. Smell like a dozen different polecats, I swan."
Sam stood, slightly offended. He didn't smell all that bad. A little maybe, but polecat bad? He snuck a sniff at himself when she turned her back. Oh. Polecat bad and worse, all right.
***
He washed every bit of himself, scrubbed at his hair until he could pull his fingers through and it didn't smell like grease and smoke. He squeezed water out of it and wondered if Missouri would cut it for him. He didn't like it as long as it'd gotten—too dangerous in a fight. He twisted the length into a rope and shoved it under his cap. He dried himself with the surprisingly soft sacking she'd laid out for him and sighed. Nothing for it but to put on the ripe clothes he'd come in with. But on a chair near the end of the pass way, was a man's shirt, and a pair of trousers. He thanked Missouri silently. He'd see about getting some clothes soon as possible, but this should hold him for a day or two at least. The shirt came to just below his hips—the cuffs met his wrists and the pants stopped above the top of his boots, letting an inch of skin breathe free. He shrugged. Hell, wasn't like he was some kind of dandy, fit to make the boys loose their minds. He smiled. Right now, he felt fine—he felt almost human.
part 15
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OMCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 2357
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex ( brief het and M/M, incest, rape.) Sections will have individual warnings.
This is mostly a bridgey bit. Sorry! Real action coming soon! (omg, i hope)
Sam blinked, and just that suddenly, his dad burst into flames.
The flames spread out like ink in water, flowing over the ceiling, licking up paint and wood and the old pine boards snapped and exploded. Sam dropped to his face on the floor and was thankful to go, he hadn't been happy for a long, long time and he was so tired of being tired. He closed his eyes and sighed, waiting—and a sharp ripping pain tore through his shoulder.
He crouched on the ground, close to the burning shack as the dog would let him. If he shifted closer, it growled, if he tried to stand, it growled. "I'm losin' any kind of fondness I had for you, you mangy bag of bones."
A rippling growl was all the response he got. But when he lay down, the dog pushed into his shoulder, turned around a few times and tucked its whip of a tail around its nose and let out the kind of bone-deep sigh only dogs can.
Sam was asleep before the dog. He slept like a stone, dreamless, and woke up in the same position he'd drifted off in. He was stiff, aching in every part of him, mind empty and blank for a long moment, before a pain stabbed him all through his heart and one thought only thundered through his head.
Dad was dead. Dad was dead. Dead.
The sun rose and illuminated Sam, curled up on the ground, close to the ashes, blinking in its light. What was left of the shack still radiated heat. Sam stared at the blackened bones, the tendrils of smoke. The air was thick with the stench of it. He inhaled and imagined he breathed in his father. His father, who drifted away on the smoke, who was becoming part of everything, everywhere, as his ashes drifted higher on the breeze and floated away over the world. Sam dropped his head and gave in to racking sobs that tore at his throat and lodged in his chest. He'd loved him, no matter what the man might have thought, Sam loved John and hoped that John had in some part of him loved Sam as well….
He scrubbed his sleeve over his face, and sat up slowly. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon; the sky was a close, dull gray. The dog was nowhere to be seen and Sam nodded. Just as well, they'd never liked each other much any way. He glanced over at where the horses should be and only the black stood, the amulets woven into its mane tinkling as it tossed its head. It shuffled, snorting long plumes of gray stream. Didn't matter. The black would take off soon enough, too. He lay back down and closed his eyes.
Sam woke up with his eyes burning; the sun was a brassy cold disk in the pure blue sky, all prairie iris blue straight up for miles and just the faintest shreds of clouds scudding across it. Smoke still rose from the ground, thinner now, barely seen and as the ashes died, the cold closed in….
Sam listened hard, listened inside of himself to his heart, fighting to pump. He turned inside to the feel of poison turning his blood to sludge. He had no desire but to wait until the cold and the poison in his blood took him at last. He deserved a peaceful end to this, he'd given everything he had to please his dad and now he fucking well deserved to rest….
The dog came out of nowhere and bit him--again—hard.
"Ow, shit--you little bastard! I'm going to kick in your ribs, you sonofa bitch. Just you wait—" Sam staggered to his feet, ready to lay some boot leather on the ungrateful little so and so—who was sitting some feet away out of kicking reach and, Sam swore, laughing at him. Sam cursed, picked up one of the rocks from the fire pit. "Go on! Get out!" He threw rocks despite the throbbing in his shoulder and swore at the dog with all the strength he could muster. "Get!"
Still, he felt betrayed when the dog did just that, lit out without a sound. Sam threw another stone, high and wide and yelled out, "Good riddance! You was just tastin' me anyhow!" before the energy drained out of him, and he slumped back down. The horse looked up at the commotion, snorted, and went back to nibbling over what grass was still edible. Seeing the horse reminded Sam that a blanket was tossed over one of the saddles near it, along with a little water, and some dried beef…he sighed. Too much trouble moving over there and he was dying anyway so what did it matter.
There was an odd noise behind him and he whirled, instinct taking over where common sense had fled. The dog sat there. Sam's chest bloomed with an achy, almost pleasant, hurt. He was back. Sam had been the worst kind of sonofa bitch and the dog came back anyway….he struggled not to weep like a school girl and meanwhile the dog glanced at him and away with a kind of…embarrassed look, Sam decided. The dog looked plain embarrassed. There was a rabbit on the ground in front of him, its skull crushed but in good shape otherwise, good for a meal. He shook his head, wiped his face, smearing the clean tracks that had washed through the soot. "No, go ahead, you eat it. I'm…" Sam laughed, "I'm talking to a dog. I'm sick, I'm poisoned and orphaned--" he laughed even harder, "An' I'm talkin' to a god damn dog."
The dog nudged the rabbit closer and sat again.
"You know, I think waiting around for Death is more pathetic than I'd like to be. How about I just go meet him?" He grinned at the dog, and started walking. Wasn't like it made sense, staying. Dad was gone and him hanging around wouldn’t change a thing. He stopped long enough to throw what was left of their salt on the ashes of the shack. He picked up John's journal and held it to his cheek for a minute, before tossing it into the hot ashes—the thin paper caught and flared, the binding burnt. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself," he informed the animals. "This isn't some pitiful act-up, no; this is the right thing to do. You…you two…take care," he finished with a shrug.
He started off; fully intending to put it in the hands of fate, however he ended. Finish off what the demon started.
Turned out, the dog had other plans. They followed him, the dog and the horse, paying no attention to him yelling, or jumping up and down, wind-milling his arms and cursing a blue streak. The damn horse was so placid it was ridiculous, and the dog…the dog was enjoying the whole thing, laughing his ass off.
Sam knew.
He could tell full well when the damn thing was laughing or not. "I hate you," he growled at it, when it paced him, sneering at him with its alligator jaws, nose all wrinkled and every tooth showing. "I hate you," Sam growled, when it brought him a grouse, and it just growled back.
Sam finally stopped, drank the water hanging from the pack the horse still carried, and made a fire. He cooked the bird the dog had brought. It was fairly tasteless and kind of tough, no salt or spices to make it palatable, and he'd never had the hand his dad had at making something edible, but it was food, and he had to admit it went a ways to making him feel a little more alive. He sighed. All right. Maybe Death wasn't ready for him just yet. "Must be more of my ugly ass you wanta kick," he sighed.
Sam didn’t have much of a conscious thought again, not until the trio found themselves in a town somewhere far west of Robert Singer's. He squinted around…it was familiar. He knew it somehow…
"Oh my lord, Samuel Winchester, as I live and breathe—boy, what in the world are you doing here? And where's your pa?"
Sam stood frozen in shock. The heavy set black woman dropped her basket and trotted right up to Sam, took his dirty face between her hands. Sam closed his eyes and breathed in laundry soap and flour. Felt her calluses rasp against his cheeks…he opened his eyes and she was a breath away, her brown eyes looking deep into his.
"Oh…oh no Sam, oh no…" She took a step back. Her hands fell to her sides, her warm brown eyes shimmered. "Sam…"
He stepped back himself, ignoring her instinctive grab for him when he did so. He shook his head, lips twisting in an effort to make a smile. "I'm fine, Miss Missouri--"
"Boy, fine is the last thing you are. Come on, you're not going anywhere, least until you clean yourself up and have a decent meal, and…when was the last time you slept? Go take the horse out to the barn and settle it…that, that whatever it is following you, is it housebroken?"
"It's a dog, and a right handsome animal too, just like me. And he's not housebroken, no. Just like me."
"Any more sass and I'll surely take a strap to the *both* of you. Do as I say, and take care of the horse and then, bring yourself and your…dog…in. Get something hot in you." Her words were clipped and sharp, as usual, but there was so much more behind the words that Sam had to bit his lip hard to keep his eyes from filling. The dog pressed back against his legs, nearly overbalancing Sam in his concern.
"What's his name, honey?"
"His, who? The dog…?" Sam gaped at her. His nose wrinkled in confusion. "Name? I…I don’t. I usually just call him little bas—
"You best come up with something better to call him around me, hear? And I hear that, Samuel Winchester," she said, sailing on up the steps and into the bordello's kitchen.
He had been thinking, She lives in a whorehouse, she musta heard worse than that before, and he was pretty sure that thought he'd had to himself….
His mouth shut with a click. The woman was…she was more than just a helpful, generous-spirited kitchen witch who'd given his dad a hand when he needed it. Sam wondered all over again that he'd come straight to her like a dove to the nest.
Plain as day, he needed her help--to either keep living or come safely to an end of it.
When he walked in the kitchen, she looked angry and sad, and…a little afraid. "You sit down Samuel, and let me tell you why you can't ever think of taking your life."
"Sam…what's been done to you can’t be reversed--I'm so awfully sorry. I've heard of it, this marking. What purpose it serves I'm not sure but I know of a man who does." She nodded. "I believe you already know him. I do know if you take your life, you’re guaranteed to be damned. You need to keep living, and to the best of your ability, make amends."
"Amends?" Sam reared up from the chair, nearly knocking over the mug of coffee she'd set in front of him. "I didn’t *choose* this! I don't *want* it! I feel it in my bones and blood, making me…different. *Bad*. Who in their right mind would choose that?"
"I know that, Samuel, but what's written is written. You're marked, whether you want it or not. The dark things want you now. You've been chosen for something, and willing or not it's going to darken your soul. And best you can do is fight it. Samuel…learn to pray."
Sam laughed. "Sure, sure I will. I'll pray, and while I'm at it, I'll ask, 'why the hell did you kill most my family with me in the crib, and why'd you kill my dad, and why'd you make me this ugly bastard who's never going to have anyone, ever? *Why*?"
Missouri and the dog jumped when Sam's hand slapped down on the table, hard enough to overturn the mug. Something hot and tangled rose up in his chest and choked him. "I just…I'm afraid. And I don't know how to face it alone." The dog whacked its huge head into his knee as if to assure him he wasn't and Sam snorted. "Ouch. Your head is made of solid bone ain't it?"
"Well, Bone Head there knows you're *not* alone. You got friends. You've got…" She blinked, and put her hand over Sam's. "Oh my. You've got someone out there; believe me when I tell you that." Her lips pursed into an unhappy line, but she went on, her voice soft and soothing, "You'll find love, trust me. And…and don’t turn away from it, you hear me?"
"Uh-hum," Sam smirked. "And you gonna read my coffee grounds, too?"
"Boy, get out of my kitchen. There's a tub in the pass way. I boiled water for you—now do something worthwhile with it. Smell like a dozen different polecats, I swan."
Sam stood, slightly offended. He didn't smell all that bad. A little maybe, but polecat bad? He snuck a sniff at himself when she turned her back. Oh. Polecat bad and worse, all right.
He washed every bit of himself, scrubbed at his hair until he could pull his fingers through and it didn't smell like grease and smoke. He squeezed water out of it and wondered if Missouri would cut it for him. He didn't like it as long as it'd gotten—too dangerous in a fight. He twisted the length into a rope and shoved it under his cap. He dried himself with the surprisingly soft sacking she'd laid out for him and sighed. Nothing for it but to put on the ripe clothes he'd come in with. But on a chair near the end of the pass way, was a man's shirt, and a pair of trousers. He thanked Missouri silently. He'd see about getting some clothes soon as possible, but this should hold him for a day or two at least. The shirt came to just below his hips—the cuffs met his wrists and the pants stopped above the top of his boots, letting an inch of skin breathe free. He shrugged. Hell, wasn't like he was some kind of dandy, fit to make the boys loose their minds. He smiled. Right now, he felt fine—he felt almost human.
part 15
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
12/15/09 06:37 am (UTC)Thank the Lord for persistent aminals (yes, that misspelling is deliberate! XD)! Bonehead/Little Bastard is the best Old West dog there ever was and, together with Horse, he's probably the main reason Sam made it to Missouri's.
And thank God for that woman too! I wanna see Missouri-whappage on Sam, set that kid's head straight. We got a small hint of the oasis of Dean in the (near? Please say it's near!!!) future, and if anyone needed mothering it's Sam. Still, "ugly?!" I just-- I cannot wait for Dean love Sammy. Guy needs a heavy dose of self-worth and STAT!
Poor fried John. This, though (His father, who drifted away on the smoke, who was becoming part of everything, everywhere, as his ashes drifted higher on the breeze and floated away over the world.), was just gorgeous and mournful and perfect. I swear, there's always at least three lines in every single one of your chapters in every single story that read like poetry, they're so lyrical and, uh, cascading? *scratches head*
I'll leave the poetry to you, hon! XD Great job (as usual!)!!!
(no subject)
12/15/09 08:18 am (UTC)Thank you for being so good about this part, it was totally self-indulgent! And I can't *wait* to get Sam and Dean together, I'm so impatient! (this bit probably shows it some too)I want him to show Sam how not ugly he is, poor thing.
*hugs* Thank you so much, love! :)
(no subject)
12/15/09 09:42 am (UTC)WE HAVE MANPAIN!
(no subject)
12/16/09 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/16/09 03:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/15/09 03:18 pm (UTC)I am so sad about John. And Sam saying he loved him, and hoping John loved him too--OH MY GOD. ANGSTONIA (a beautiful city, completely gorgeous, but with a surprisingly high suicide rate).
I love the dog. I love Missouri. I love Sam. I love this story, and you. But mostly the story.
...sike!
(no subject)
12/16/09 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/16/09 01:58 pm (UTC)O.O
I realized if you didn't know we were related and I'm referring to your cranberry sausage stuffing that you make on holidays, that sentence could be veeerrrryyyy creepy.
(no subject)
12/16/09 02:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/15/09 03:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/16/09 01:39 pm (UTC)You are the best!!
(no subject)
12/15/09 05:51 pm (UTC)*sniffles hard*
You give this boy such a hard row to hoe. And 'make amends'!! I'm with Sam - that's lame and unfair and sucky!!
*pets him*
Yay for 'dog'!
*twirls you*
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