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anactoriaTitle: Take Me To The Bridge
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anactoria
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Animal cruelty.
Word count: 23,000
Summary: It’s supposed to be a routine hunt. A few farm animals mutilated, a few towns over. It sounds like the work of some two-bit demon—just another day at the office for two experienced hunters and an angel.
But this case is closer to home than it seems. Before long, Dean is in the clutches of a dangerous spirit, and Sam and Cas must try to end an ancient family feud before the whole town—and Dean—gets caught in the crossfire.
It’s early. Sam should be sleeping, but he woke in the small hours from one of his many recurring dreams in which something other than Dean taunts him from behind his brother’s face, and he didn’t exactly feel like closing his eyes again.
So he’s back in the bowels of the bunker, looking through the last of the stuff the Men of Letters left behind. According to Dean, it’s ‘the saddest hobby in the entire world, I mean seriously, dude, take up building model planes or something’—and okay, Sam wouldn’t want it as a full-time job—but it helps. When the inside of his head is the kind of a mess he can only shut the doors on and hope for the best, this is something he can put in order.
This time, though, Sam’s extra careful to keep an ear out for footsteps in the corridor. Being startled into breaking anymore ancient-asshole-spirit-containing objects isn’t on his to-do list.
Which is why he recognises the footsteps as Cas’s before he even steps into the room. Sam sets down the file he’s been reading on some ancient Icelandic rune-stones it’s apparently very important he not touch (lucky he found it before he opened the box). He smiles up at Cas.
“I’d say ‘couldn’t sleep?’” he says, “but…”
Cas gives him a faint smile. He stands in the doorway for a moment, considering, then folds himself up to sit cross-legged on the floor opposite Sam. It’s kind of weird, seeing him this way—trenchcoat-less and barefoot, dressed in a pair of ratty old sweatpants and a faded gray tee that Sam is ninety percent sure he borrowed from Dean without asking. It’s Cas’s concession to slobbing-out-at-home-wear, which kind of makes it feel like he’s finally gotten around to accepting the bunker as home. That’s good, Sam thinks.
He’s pretty sure Dean thinks so, too, though getting anything much out of Dean at the moment is blood from a stone, so he’s given up trying.
“I’d like to stay here,” Cas says. “If you’re amenable.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. Abrupt, but that’s Cas. “You already talked to Dean about it?”
Cas frowns a little. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”
Sam gets it; he does. Dean might cling on to his family as fiercely as a mama bear, but try to actually tell him that you’re there for him, and he’ll run a mile. You can’t say Cas hasn’t learned anything about humans in his time down here.
Though it might be that he’s just learned about Winchesters, and that probably isn’t a good thing.
Sam forces the idea away and smiles back. “Sure,” he says. “As long as you want. Hey, we can always use you around.”
“Yes.” Cas chews his lip, then says, “But if you couldn’t?”
Sam frowns, not getting it. “Of course,” he says. “You’re family, man.”
Cas nods, apparently satisfied with that, and it isn’t until he stretches and stands up, putting an end to the conversation, that Sam understands what he maybe meant.
A day when Sam and Dean couldn’t use a little angelic assistance on the side? That would be a day when there’s no battle to be fought. A day when their lives aren’t—this. Or not just this, anyway.
Sam feels like he should say something, and he opens his mouth to do so when another set of footsteps tramp down the corridor. “No,” he hears, then a pause. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”
Dean sticks his head around the door, still in his pajamas and the gross dead guy robe he’s apparently never gonna give up, says, “You got it” into his cellphone and hangs up.
He frowns at them. Mostly at Sam. “Donna call you too?” he says. “Or is this just your idea of fun? Wait, don’t tell me. It’s new Nerd-o-Yoga: sit like Buddha and inhale nutritious dust at the same time.”
“You’re hilarious,” Sam tells him, then frowns. “Wait, Sheriff Donna?”
“Uh huh. Wanted to know if we ever heard of anything like a werebear.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Wow.” Then he groans and gets to his feet. “So, we heading out?”
Dean hesitates. Looks at Sam, then at Cas, then back at Sam again, and shoves the cellphone back in his pocket. “Nah,” he says, finally. “Jody’s already on her way up there. They got this.”
Before Sam can reply, Dean’s turning to leave the room. “C’mon, I need coffee. And breakfast. Pancakes. I don’t care if it’s asshole o’clock in the morning, I’m making pancakes.”
“Dean,” Sam says. “You realize what you just did there?”
Dean scowls back at him. “Shut your face,” he says. “You’re eating pancakes.”
He stomps off down the corridor—well, as much as it’s possible to stomp in slippers, anyway—and Cas trails after him.
Sam hangs back, setting the box of rune-stones back carefully on the shelf. Up ahead, Dean and Cas are arguing about blueberry vs. banana. Sam waits and listens to them a moment longer. Then he follows, and allows himself to smile.
END
Author:
anactoriaCharacters: Dean, Sam, Cas, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Animal cruelty.
Word count: 23,000
Summary: It’s supposed to be a routine hunt. A few farm animals mutilated, a few towns over. It sounds like the work of some two-bit demon—just another day at the office for two experienced hunters and an angel.
But this case is closer to home than it seems. Before long, Dean is in the clutches of a dangerous spirit, and Sam and Cas must try to end an ancient family feud before the whole town—and Dean—gets caught in the crossfire.
It’s early. Sam should be sleeping, but he woke in the small hours from one of his many recurring dreams in which something other than Dean taunts him from behind his brother’s face, and he didn’t exactly feel like closing his eyes again.
So he’s back in the bowels of the bunker, looking through the last of the stuff the Men of Letters left behind. According to Dean, it’s ‘the saddest hobby in the entire world, I mean seriously, dude, take up building model planes or something’—and okay, Sam wouldn’t want it as a full-time job—but it helps. When the inside of his head is the kind of a mess he can only shut the doors on and hope for the best, this is something he can put in order.
This time, though, Sam’s extra careful to keep an ear out for footsteps in the corridor. Being startled into breaking anymore ancient-asshole-spirit-containing objects isn’t on his to-do list.
Which is why he recognises the footsteps as Cas’s before he even steps into the room. Sam sets down the file he’s been reading on some ancient Icelandic rune-stones it’s apparently very important he not touch (lucky he found it before he opened the box). He smiles up at Cas.
“I’d say ‘couldn’t sleep?’” he says, “but…”
Cas gives him a faint smile. He stands in the doorway for a moment, considering, then folds himself up to sit cross-legged on the floor opposite Sam. It’s kind of weird, seeing him this way—trenchcoat-less and barefoot, dressed in a pair of ratty old sweatpants and a faded gray tee that Sam is ninety percent sure he borrowed from Dean without asking. It’s Cas’s concession to slobbing-out-at-home-wear, which kind of makes it feel like he’s finally gotten around to accepting the bunker as home. That’s good, Sam thinks.
He’s pretty sure Dean thinks so, too, though getting anything much out of Dean at the moment is blood from a stone, so he’s given up trying.
“I’d like to stay here,” Cas says. “If you’re amenable.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. Abrupt, but that’s Cas. “You already talked to Dean about it?”
Cas frowns a little. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”
Sam gets it; he does. Dean might cling on to his family as fiercely as a mama bear, but try to actually tell him that you’re there for him, and he’ll run a mile. You can’t say Cas hasn’t learned anything about humans in his time down here.
Though it might be that he’s just learned about Winchesters, and that probably isn’t a good thing.
Sam forces the idea away and smiles back. “Sure,” he says. “As long as you want. Hey, we can always use you around.”
“Yes.” Cas chews his lip, then says, “But if you couldn’t?”
Sam frowns, not getting it. “Of course,” he says. “You’re family, man.”
Cas nods, apparently satisfied with that, and it isn’t until he stretches and stands up, putting an end to the conversation, that Sam understands what he maybe meant.
A day when Sam and Dean couldn’t use a little angelic assistance on the side? That would be a day when there’s no battle to be fought. A day when their lives aren’t—this. Or not just this, anyway.
Sam feels like he should say something, and he opens his mouth to do so when another set of footsteps tramp down the corridor. “No,” he hears, then a pause. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”
Dean sticks his head around the door, still in his pajamas and the gross dead guy robe he’s apparently never gonna give up, says, “You got it” into his cellphone and hangs up.
He frowns at them. Mostly at Sam. “Donna call you too?” he says. “Or is this just your idea of fun? Wait, don’t tell me. It’s new Nerd-o-Yoga: sit like Buddha and inhale nutritious dust at the same time.”
“You’re hilarious,” Sam tells him, then frowns. “Wait, Sheriff Donna?”
“Uh huh. Wanted to know if we ever heard of anything like a werebear.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Wow.” Then he groans and gets to his feet. “So, we heading out?”
Dean hesitates. Looks at Sam, then at Cas, then back at Sam again, and shoves the cellphone back in his pocket. “Nah,” he says, finally. “Jody’s already on her way up there. They got this.”
Before Sam can reply, Dean’s turning to leave the room. “C’mon, I need coffee. And breakfast. Pancakes. I don’t care if it’s asshole o’clock in the morning, I’m making pancakes.”
“Dean,” Sam says. “You realize what you just did there?”
Dean scowls back at him. “Shut your face,” he says. “You’re eating pancakes.”
He stomps off down the corridor—well, as much as it’s possible to stomp in slippers, anyway—and Cas trails after him.
Sam hangs back, setting the box of rune-stones back carefully on the shelf. Up ahead, Dean and Cas are arguing about blueberry vs. banana. Sam waits and listens to them a moment longer. Then he follows, and allows himself to smile.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-08 03:04 am (UTC)Thank you for writing this!!
no subject
Date: 2015-07-08 09:10 am (UTC)And I'm really glad that element of it worked for you. :) I was afraid while writing that it was going to come across as a bit forced and anvilicious, so it made me really happy to read this comment. (And I'm glad you liked Sam and Cas!)
no subject
Date: 2015-07-14 05:12 pm (UTC)I loved the in-depth lore, and how you weaved together the details and characters of case with the fragile state of mind of Sam, Dean and Cas, especially in this timeline.
The characterizations were spot on, and it was great seeing Sam and Cas work together, and then for TFW to finally find a balance that works for all of them by the end.
Thank you for sharing, this was a wonderful read :)
no subject
Date: 2015-07-15 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-29 09:17 am (UTC)Well fleshed out bad guy and nicely structured tension.
I liked it. Good job.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-29 04:35 pm (UTC)