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morgandawn’s fan fiction tropes and my first thought was, well, I haven’t done all of them. Like, I haven’t done amnesia. And then I thought: no, actually. Twice is almost exactly like never, right? I’m pretty sure I never had Mulder & Scully bake cookies, though they did do home maintenance (gotta patch those bullet holes somehow). And now that I think about it, I did have Clark bake cookies for Lex. He was bodyswapped with Lex at the time. Is that a Double Fandom Word Score?
Anyway, I could still use some prompts for Eight Crazy Nights, getting closer than ever. If you want to suggest cliches, I’m obviously game. And, um, if someone wanted to beta an XF story, I wouldn’t say no. Fair warning: this story is mostly so old that the filename is in all caps, because I apparently began it on a computer that didn’t even use Windows. But by God I was asked for a sequel to Deny Nothing and there it was on my computer, so I’m going to give it the college (or, more accurately, law school) try.
morgandawn’s fan fiction tropes and my first thought was, well, I haven’t done all of them. Like, I haven’t done amnesia. And then I thought: no, actually. Twice is almost exactly like never, right? I’m pretty sure I never had Mulder & Scully bake cookies, though they did do home maintenance (gotta patch those bullet holes somehow). And now that I think about it, I did have Clark bake cookies for Lex. He was bodyswapped with Lex at the time. Is that a Double Fandom Word Score?Anyway, I could still use some prompts for Eight Crazy Nights, getting closer than ever. If you want to suggest cliches, I’m obviously game. And, um, if someone wanted to beta an XF story, I wouldn’t say no. Fair warning: this story is mostly so old that the filename is in all caps, because I apparently began it on a computer that didn’t even use Windows. But by God I was asked for a sequel to Deny Nothing and there it was on my computer, so I’m going to give it the college (or, more accurately, law school) try.
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You’d think saving the world would lead to a little relaxation. But Dean’s nightmares hadn’t gone away, nor had his drinking. Aside from the apocalypse, the only thing that had gone away was Castiel, and Sam was beginning to miss the angel’s steadying hand, because Sam had no idea how to get Dean under control.
Even Castiel’s parting gift—the notion that Dean was no longer Hellbound, all debts erased—was jagged-edged. Dean had still done all those things in Hell, and he thought he deserved to be punished; if Heaven wasn’t prepared, then Dean himself had to be the one to do it. Caught somewhere between masochism and a death wish, Dean was a danger to everyone around him, not least Sam. He wouldn’t listen and he wouldn’t wait and he wouldn’t let Sam help him. When he turned his back to Sam the line of his shoulders said ‘no’ and when he deigned to meet Sam’s eyes the set of his mouth said the same. They went on hunts and plans disintegrated like bones going to ash when Dean charged on ahead.
Which was how Sam ended up pinioned by the fairy—fucker had to be hovering, because Sam had at least two feet on it—gasping for breath against the wall of the abandoned warehouse.
“Well just look at you,” the fairy said, tilting its head. Its straw-yellow hair spilled over its shoulders, fine as cornsilk but crackling with energy. Its eyes were dusk-violet, and would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been slit-pupilled. “A hunter. I hate you people.”
“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” Dean said from ten feet away, over to the side. The fairy hissed and threw up its other hand, not looking away from Sam. Dean groaned and was silent; Sam thrashed and tried to see what had happened, but the fairy forced his head to stay in place.
“Dean!” he screamed, half-choked.
“But two of you,” the fairy mused. “That ought to be good for some fun. How’s this, hunter-boy: I’m going to take all that hunting right out of someone’s head. I’m going to erase all the memories, leave the body a blank slate. But you’re going to tell me which one of you to destroy, or I’ll just kill you both.”
Sam couldn’t process it for a second.
“Three, two—”
“Dean!” he said again, different this time. “Take Dean. Not me. Please.”
“Sam—!” Now he was glad he couldn’t see Dean’s face.
The fairy chuckled. “You’re all cowards, in the end, aren’t you. It’s a good last memory, right, betrayal by your good buddy?” It turned its head towards Dean, eyes narrowing in concentration. Sam gasped and worked his hand behind his back.
Dean whimpered, a kicked-dog sound.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the handle of the thrice-blessed blade and tugged it free. His vision was going to sparkles with oxygen deprivation.
Dean’s breaths were coming loud and wet, like he was being squeezed to death
Sam swung his arm in an abbreviated arc, from around his back to the center of the fairy’s stomach. The fairy didn’t even have time to look surprised before it disappeared in a veil of foul, choking smoke.
Sam pushed off of the wall, barely keeping his balance, and hurried over to where Dean was sprawled on the ground. He was pale and his eyes were closed. Please, Sam thought, even though he knew better than any other human that there was no one in a mind to listen. Please.
“Hey,” he said, kneeling to touch Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?”
Dean blinked, then stared. His freckles stood out on his cheeks and his nose, like he’d lost a lot of blood. His eyes were the green of new leaves. “Who the hell are you?”
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::cracks whip::
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