Supernatural fic
Jan. 24th, 2006 08:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Last part.
It was late by the time they were officially done. It took some times for the bones to burn to charcoal and to rebury the coffin. Rachel had been singed when Sam had thrown the burning herbs on the ghost but swore she only needed some first aid and not serious medical attention. Dean didn't blame her; he knew that she wasn't exactly planning to tell her family the details of their adventure, and having two trips to the emergency room show up on the insurance would be a dead giveaway. He and Sam were able to patch her up fine and, by the time they were ready to leave the graveyard, Rachel was laughing and messing around like nothing had happened.
It was an excellent trait to have in this kind of job. Dean knew that Sam thought that his laid back attitude to life and constant readiness with a joke was just the brave face he put on to get through the day, but Dean disagreed. Things got to him sometimes, yeah, and there were nights that he couldn't sleep because of the things he'd seen. There were even things he'd done that he wasn't proud of. But, for the most part, he was driven by the conviction that what he was doing was right. Lives were saved because of what Dean did and he was proud of that. And the humor wasn't a way to deal with the darkness he saw around him; it was just who he was.
He knew Rachel was shaken by all this, but that was because it was her first time out. The fact that she could recover so quickly spoke well. Despite his initial doubts, she seemed to be the kind of person who'd do well at this kind of job. Maybe she'd never be a hunter twenty-four seven like he was, but if push came to shove, she'd be able to hold her own.
They decided to get a room for the night and head back to New Haven the next day. As before, they got one room, two beds; even though Rachel had enough money to cover two rooms, none of the were really thrilled with the idea of her sleeping by her lonesome. It wasn't like roadside motels were the Hilton and ghosts weren't the only threat to a person on the road. It was just safer this way.
Of course, it did lead to an interesting moment when Rachel came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and a hot red blush on her cheeks.
"Forgot my pajamas," she muttered, grabbing her duffle bag. She glanced at Dean, who was too busy watching a drop of water slide down her neck to the covered swell of her breasts underneath the thin white terry cloth to crack a joke.
The blush moved from her face to her full body, coloring her pale skin rosy, before Rachel made it back to the safety of the bathroom.
Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes. The image of her lithe body danced around in his mind. The image of him grabbing the corner of her towel and yanking it off also ran rampant, and Dean seriously considered hiding out in the Impala for awhile until his problem went away.
Clearing his throat, he shook his head hard. That really didn't help, but the movement brought Sam into his line of vision.
"What?" Dean said defensively, feeling heat gather in his face.
Sam shrugged. With a lopsided grin, he said, "I can't even tease you for being a pervert. You didn't say anything. Are you slipping?"
Dean socked him in the shoulder. "Shut up."
Rachel came out a few minutes later and climbed onto bed without saying anything. Her cheeks were still pink and she didn't look at either Sam or Dean as she combed the tangles from her hair. Dean escaped to the bathroom; when he came out, the TV was on, the lights were out, and Rachel was curled under the covers, eyes closed.
If he'd been a betting man--and he was, only no one had been taking bets on this--Dean would have put good money Rachel having nightmares that night. A close second and almost also a sure thing was Dean's own dreams taking a rather amorous direction after almost, but not quiet, getting to see Rachel naked.
It was a good thing, though, that he hadn't actually bet any money on any of it. Turns out that Rachel slept soundly and his dreams were extremely gentlemanly. Sam, though, woke up gasping and sweating around four AM.
"What's wrong?" Dean mumbled, only half awake. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other stealing underneath the pillow for his knife.
"Nothing. I had a … it was a dream about Rachel," Sam said back, his voice low and rough.
Dean's eyes flew open and he kicked the covers off him, leaping out of bed. "Dude! Gross."
"A nightmare, Dean. God, you are so sick." He got out of bed and went into the bathroom. When he came back out, his face was dripping wet. "Did we bring in the backpack with the salt mixture?"
"Yeah, it's by the door."
Dean watched as Sam picked his way carefully across the room and knelt by the backpack. He could just barely make out in the dim like that his brother's hands were shaking.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. He spoke softly, not wanting to wake Rachel up. This was family business. Winchester business.
Sam pulled the bottle of salt out and stood back up. "Not really."
"Sammy..."
"Look, it wasn't anything, okay? Just a nightmare." He went to Rachel's bed and started laying a trail of salt around it.
Dean frowned. "If it was nothing, then why are you warding her bed?"
"Better safe than sorry, right?" He sighed, being careful to make the trail even as he moved. "I dreamed she was killed by the same thing that got Mom and Jess."
"Shit." Dean's blood immediately rushed throughout his body, chasing the last remnants of sleep away. "And you say that's *nothing*?"
"It's not Dean, calm down." Sam rose and wiped his hand over his face. "Look, I think it was just a dream, okay? A regular nightmare, not... not one of those dreams."
"Yeah, well you better be really damn about this kind of thing," Dean said intensely, getting in Sam's face. "You're talking about that *thing* and this girl. This is not a time for uncertainties."
"I'm sure," Sam said after a pause. "Look, it was a nightmare, but it didn't feel like a vision. I don't feel like she's in danger. It's not like Jenny, when I could feel something was wrong. There's nothing here."
"Yeah, but... that was different. That wasn't this... this *thing*. It wasn't the same dream. I mean, you've never had a real dream about this thing, so maybe it doesn't feel like anything."
Sam winced and looked away.
It felt like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. "Oh man, Sammy."
He stepped away. "Don't."
"I didn't know, man. I'm sorry."
"It's over, it's in the past. And it was different." He started pouring the salt around Rachel's bed again.
"You sure?"
"Every time I had the dream before Jess died, I woke up feeling like I had a weight in my stomach. Like something inside me was dying, and I thought it was just because it was a bad nightmare and that I was afraid of commitment or something, because of what happened to Mom. And then it happened." He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I should have said something."
Dean shook his head, frustration and helplessness welling in him. He knew nothing he said would make anything better, and he hated not being able to fix things for Sammy. He was Dean's baby brother; it was Dean's job's to make things right. "You couldn't have known."
Sam finished the circle and straightened. "It wasn't the first time. I just didn't want to believe it, and because I didn't, she died."
"Sam, you can't blame yourself."
But Sam just set his jaw stubbornly, and Dean knew there was no changing his mind.
He sighed. "Okay, fine. But are you sure that Rachel's not in danger from this thing?"
"I think so." Sam crossed the room and sat on the bed. "I think I had the dream because of... you know."
"No, I don't."
"It's just that I was watching the two of you earlier. And you've been flirting nonstop since you've met her, except when you two start fighting."
"Yeah, but I always do that," Dean said uncomfortably. "If it's a woman, and pretty, I flirt."
"This is different, Dean." Sam met Dean's eyes, looking serious. "The two of you have a connection that I've never seen you have with anyone. You've been attracted to women before; you've even been seriously attracted to women before. But this is different. We've never met anyone who's known about what we do before we save them. The dynamics different, and the two of you..." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I just started thinking about Jess. And the way she died. And Mom. Dean, what if we're cursed? What if any woman we love gets killed by this thing?"
Dean let out a long sigh and sank onto the bed next to his brother. "Well. I don't think we really have enough information to say if that's true or not."
"Are you willing to risk some woman's life, Rachel's life, on that theory?"
His head ached. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean said, "So, what? We can never fall in love with anyone?"
"At least until we find what killed Jess and Mom. I guess." He sighed heavily. "I don't know what to do. It wasn't a vision or a portend. It was just a nightmare, that's all." He shrugged. "If you want to start something with Rachel, I think you should. Don't go off my nightmares. Not this one."
"I don't..." Dean stopped. "She's got other things to worry about. She doesn't need me. She's got college to finish. And her family wants her to, like, teach or something. Be a historian in England, not drive around America. I can't just swoop in and tell her to go against her family."
"Okay, now that's bullshit," said Sam. "Look, if you want her, go for it. If you don't, don't. But don't say it's because of her family or that she's in college. She's graduating soon. And her family can't dictate her life."
"You don't go against family, Sam."
"Choosing your own destiny isn't going against your family! It's her life, not there." He glanced at Dean. "She likes research. It's not like she can't research on the road, and a million times better than either of us. She's got connections."
Dean glanced over at Rachel. She was curled on her side, facing away from the brothers, her hair the only thing visible from under the covers.
"This isn't anything you need to decide tonight, you know," Sam said. "Or alone. You could talk to her."
"Naw." He laid back on the bed. "She'd just complicate things anyway. And I'm more of a lone wolf and all. I told you about the problem with getting tied down to people. They just slow you down."
"Dean..."
"We should warn her, though," Dean interrupted. "Just in case."
Sam paused a moment then asked, "Okay. What do we tell her?"
"Ward her room, ward her bed, sleep with a firearm in her nightstand, and a knife under her pillow."
"Are we going to tell her why?"
Dean rolled onto his side and looked at Rachel's sleeping form. "Because she's not nine anymore."
* * *
"Okay, so, you have both our cell numbers and my e-mail," Sam said.
"And you have my contact information," Rachel said. "And my parent's info, right?"
Sam nodded. "You sure they''ll take our calls?"
"Of course. I'll tell him about you two, don't worry. I'm sure he'll want to call you sometime, ask you some questions. It's really rare that we meet legitimate ghost hunters."
"Well, we're the real deal, ma'am," Dean drawled in a fake Southern accent.
Rachel smiled at him. "You two sure you can't stick around for awhile?"
Dean shook his head. "No. We need to head out to St. Paul, Minnesota to check out some weird deaths. You know how it is when you wait on this sorta thing."
"Yeah, people die." Rachel swallowed and looked from brother to brother. "You'll call me, right? At least once a week? Otherwise, I won't stop worrying about you. You guys do dangerous work."
"We promise," Sam said, and Rachel knew that, if anyone called her, it was going to Sam. "And be sure to send us an invitation to your graduation party. Maybe we'll be able to drop by."
"I hope so."
Sam stepped into her and hugged her tightly. "Take care, Rachel."
"You too."
He squeezed, then let go and went to the car, leaving her and Dean alone.
Rachel's heart started lobbing oddly in her chest. "So," she said.
Dean stuffed his hand in his pockets and kicked the ground, looking at the dust he disturbed. "So." He cleared his throat. "Don't forget what we said."
"Ward everything and sleep armed. I will." She bit her lip.
"And don't do anything stupid. You go hunting, you call me first. Even I can't come, I can give you advice."
"I'll be careful, Dean." Screwing her courage, she stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. "You be careful, too."
He just nodded.
Tears prickled behind her eyes. Rachel wasn't expecting anything from him, not even hoping anymore, and yet...
Dean moved suddenly, startling her. His hands came out of his pockets and latched onto her arms with bruising force. He bent down, lifting her as he did, and kissed her.
She barely had time to kiss back, to register the taste of him and the feel of his chapped lips and the way he smelled before Dean released her and stepped away. "Take care, Rachel."
He was already in his car before she was finally able to whisper, "You too, Dean."
The car started and Rachel watched them drive away, waving once when they turned at the end of the street before driving out of her life once again.
Rachel blinked rapidly and went back inside her apartment. She turned on her computer. As she waited for it to warm up, she picked up her phone and dialed her father.
"Hello?" he answered on the third ring.
"Hi Daddy. It's me."
"Rachel. Where have you been? I tried calling you at work, but Abby said you'd taken a few days off."
"I was on a hunt, actually. Getting rid of a ghost that was hunting Amanda's inn."
There was a short pause. "Rachel."
"I had help. I met a couple guys, Sam and Dean Winchester, who've been hunting ghosts for years." She sat in front of the computer and pulled up her genealogy program. "I did fine, Dad. You would have been proud of me. I did all the research, follow all that you taught me. I even found a contact down in North Carolina, where the ghost came from."
"Tell me about it."
"In a second." She typed 'Winchester' into the search field. "First, I need you to tell me what you know about something that kills by pinning people to the ceiling then lighting them on fire."
"Why?" her father asked.
"Because," Rachel said as she opened her internet service and started hunting down Sam and Dean's birth certificate information. "My friend's mom and girlfriend were killed by something, and they don't know what it was. I'm going to help them find out."
Fin
It was late by the time they were officially done. It took some times for the bones to burn to charcoal and to rebury the coffin. Rachel had been singed when Sam had thrown the burning herbs on the ghost but swore she only needed some first aid and not serious medical attention. Dean didn't blame her; he knew that she wasn't exactly planning to tell her family the details of their adventure, and having two trips to the emergency room show up on the insurance would be a dead giveaway. He and Sam were able to patch her up fine and, by the time they were ready to leave the graveyard, Rachel was laughing and messing around like nothing had happened.
It was an excellent trait to have in this kind of job. Dean knew that Sam thought that his laid back attitude to life and constant readiness with a joke was just the brave face he put on to get through the day, but Dean disagreed. Things got to him sometimes, yeah, and there were nights that he couldn't sleep because of the things he'd seen. There were even things he'd done that he wasn't proud of. But, for the most part, he was driven by the conviction that what he was doing was right. Lives were saved because of what Dean did and he was proud of that. And the humor wasn't a way to deal with the darkness he saw around him; it was just who he was.
He knew Rachel was shaken by all this, but that was because it was her first time out. The fact that she could recover so quickly spoke well. Despite his initial doubts, she seemed to be the kind of person who'd do well at this kind of job. Maybe she'd never be a hunter twenty-four seven like he was, but if push came to shove, she'd be able to hold her own.
They decided to get a room for the night and head back to New Haven the next day. As before, they got one room, two beds; even though Rachel had enough money to cover two rooms, none of the were really thrilled with the idea of her sleeping by her lonesome. It wasn't like roadside motels were the Hilton and ghosts weren't the only threat to a person on the road. It was just safer this way.
Of course, it did lead to an interesting moment when Rachel came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and a hot red blush on her cheeks.
"Forgot my pajamas," she muttered, grabbing her duffle bag. She glanced at Dean, who was too busy watching a drop of water slide down her neck to the covered swell of her breasts underneath the thin white terry cloth to crack a joke.
The blush moved from her face to her full body, coloring her pale skin rosy, before Rachel made it back to the safety of the bathroom.
Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes. The image of her lithe body danced around in his mind. The image of him grabbing the corner of her towel and yanking it off also ran rampant, and Dean seriously considered hiding out in the Impala for awhile until his problem went away.
Clearing his throat, he shook his head hard. That really didn't help, but the movement brought Sam into his line of vision.
"What?" Dean said defensively, feeling heat gather in his face.
Sam shrugged. With a lopsided grin, he said, "I can't even tease you for being a pervert. You didn't say anything. Are you slipping?"
Dean socked him in the shoulder. "Shut up."
Rachel came out a few minutes later and climbed onto bed without saying anything. Her cheeks were still pink and she didn't look at either Sam or Dean as she combed the tangles from her hair. Dean escaped to the bathroom; when he came out, the TV was on, the lights were out, and Rachel was curled under the covers, eyes closed.
If he'd been a betting man--and he was, only no one had been taking bets on this--Dean would have put good money Rachel having nightmares that night. A close second and almost also a sure thing was Dean's own dreams taking a rather amorous direction after almost, but not quiet, getting to see Rachel naked.
It was a good thing, though, that he hadn't actually bet any money on any of it. Turns out that Rachel slept soundly and his dreams were extremely gentlemanly. Sam, though, woke up gasping and sweating around four AM.
"What's wrong?" Dean mumbled, only half awake. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other stealing underneath the pillow for his knife.
"Nothing. I had a … it was a dream about Rachel," Sam said back, his voice low and rough.
Dean's eyes flew open and he kicked the covers off him, leaping out of bed. "Dude! Gross."
"A nightmare, Dean. God, you are so sick." He got out of bed and went into the bathroom. When he came back out, his face was dripping wet. "Did we bring in the backpack with the salt mixture?"
"Yeah, it's by the door."
Dean watched as Sam picked his way carefully across the room and knelt by the backpack. He could just barely make out in the dim like that his brother's hands were shaking.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. He spoke softly, not wanting to wake Rachel up. This was family business. Winchester business.
Sam pulled the bottle of salt out and stood back up. "Not really."
"Sammy..."
"Look, it wasn't anything, okay? Just a nightmare." He went to Rachel's bed and started laying a trail of salt around it.
Dean frowned. "If it was nothing, then why are you warding her bed?"
"Better safe than sorry, right?" He sighed, being careful to make the trail even as he moved. "I dreamed she was killed by the same thing that got Mom and Jess."
"Shit." Dean's blood immediately rushed throughout his body, chasing the last remnants of sleep away. "And you say that's *nothing*?"
"It's not Dean, calm down." Sam rose and wiped his hand over his face. "Look, I think it was just a dream, okay? A regular nightmare, not... not one of those dreams."
"Yeah, well you better be really damn about this kind of thing," Dean said intensely, getting in Sam's face. "You're talking about that *thing* and this girl. This is not a time for uncertainties."
"I'm sure," Sam said after a pause. "Look, it was a nightmare, but it didn't feel like a vision. I don't feel like she's in danger. It's not like Jenny, when I could feel something was wrong. There's nothing here."
"Yeah, but... that was different. That wasn't this... this *thing*. It wasn't the same dream. I mean, you've never had a real dream about this thing, so maybe it doesn't feel like anything."
Sam winced and looked away.
It felt like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. "Oh man, Sammy."
He stepped away. "Don't."
"I didn't know, man. I'm sorry."
"It's over, it's in the past. And it was different." He started pouring the salt around Rachel's bed again.
"You sure?"
"Every time I had the dream before Jess died, I woke up feeling like I had a weight in my stomach. Like something inside me was dying, and I thought it was just because it was a bad nightmare and that I was afraid of commitment or something, because of what happened to Mom. And then it happened." He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I should have said something."
Dean shook his head, frustration and helplessness welling in him. He knew nothing he said would make anything better, and he hated not being able to fix things for Sammy. He was Dean's baby brother; it was Dean's job's to make things right. "You couldn't have known."
Sam finished the circle and straightened. "It wasn't the first time. I just didn't want to believe it, and because I didn't, she died."
"Sam, you can't blame yourself."
But Sam just set his jaw stubbornly, and Dean knew there was no changing his mind.
He sighed. "Okay, fine. But are you sure that Rachel's not in danger from this thing?"
"I think so." Sam crossed the room and sat on the bed. "I think I had the dream because of... you know."
"No, I don't."
"It's just that I was watching the two of you earlier. And you've been flirting nonstop since you've met her, except when you two start fighting."
"Yeah, but I always do that," Dean said uncomfortably. "If it's a woman, and pretty, I flirt."
"This is different, Dean." Sam met Dean's eyes, looking serious. "The two of you have a connection that I've never seen you have with anyone. You've been attracted to women before; you've even been seriously attracted to women before. But this is different. We've never met anyone who's known about what we do before we save them. The dynamics different, and the two of you..." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I just started thinking about Jess. And the way she died. And Mom. Dean, what if we're cursed? What if any woman we love gets killed by this thing?"
Dean let out a long sigh and sank onto the bed next to his brother. "Well. I don't think we really have enough information to say if that's true or not."
"Are you willing to risk some woman's life, Rachel's life, on that theory?"
His head ached. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean said, "So, what? We can never fall in love with anyone?"
"At least until we find what killed Jess and Mom. I guess." He sighed heavily. "I don't know what to do. It wasn't a vision or a portend. It was just a nightmare, that's all." He shrugged. "If you want to start something with Rachel, I think you should. Don't go off my nightmares. Not this one."
"I don't..." Dean stopped. "She's got other things to worry about. She doesn't need me. She's got college to finish. And her family wants her to, like, teach or something. Be a historian in England, not drive around America. I can't just swoop in and tell her to go against her family."
"Okay, now that's bullshit," said Sam. "Look, if you want her, go for it. If you don't, don't. But don't say it's because of her family or that she's in college. She's graduating soon. And her family can't dictate her life."
"You don't go against family, Sam."
"Choosing your own destiny isn't going against your family! It's her life, not there." He glanced at Dean. "She likes research. It's not like she can't research on the road, and a million times better than either of us. She's got connections."
Dean glanced over at Rachel. She was curled on her side, facing away from the brothers, her hair the only thing visible from under the covers.
"This isn't anything you need to decide tonight, you know," Sam said. "Or alone. You could talk to her."
"Naw." He laid back on the bed. "She'd just complicate things anyway. And I'm more of a lone wolf and all. I told you about the problem with getting tied down to people. They just slow you down."
"Dean..."
"We should warn her, though," Dean interrupted. "Just in case."
Sam paused a moment then asked, "Okay. What do we tell her?"
"Ward her room, ward her bed, sleep with a firearm in her nightstand, and a knife under her pillow."
"Are we going to tell her why?"
Dean rolled onto his side and looked at Rachel's sleeping form. "Because she's not nine anymore."
* * *
"Okay, so, you have both our cell numbers and my e-mail," Sam said.
"And you have my contact information," Rachel said. "And my parent's info, right?"
Sam nodded. "You sure they''ll take our calls?"
"Of course. I'll tell him about you two, don't worry. I'm sure he'll want to call you sometime, ask you some questions. It's really rare that we meet legitimate ghost hunters."
"Well, we're the real deal, ma'am," Dean drawled in a fake Southern accent.
Rachel smiled at him. "You two sure you can't stick around for awhile?"
Dean shook his head. "No. We need to head out to St. Paul, Minnesota to check out some weird deaths. You know how it is when you wait on this sorta thing."
"Yeah, people die." Rachel swallowed and looked from brother to brother. "You'll call me, right? At least once a week? Otherwise, I won't stop worrying about you. You guys do dangerous work."
"We promise," Sam said, and Rachel knew that, if anyone called her, it was going to Sam. "And be sure to send us an invitation to your graduation party. Maybe we'll be able to drop by."
"I hope so."
Sam stepped into her and hugged her tightly. "Take care, Rachel."
"You too."
He squeezed, then let go and went to the car, leaving her and Dean alone.
Rachel's heart started lobbing oddly in her chest. "So," she said.
Dean stuffed his hand in his pockets and kicked the ground, looking at the dust he disturbed. "So." He cleared his throat. "Don't forget what we said."
"Ward everything and sleep armed. I will." She bit her lip.
"And don't do anything stupid. You go hunting, you call me first. Even I can't come, I can give you advice."
"I'll be careful, Dean." Screwing her courage, she stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. "You be careful, too."
He just nodded.
Tears prickled behind her eyes. Rachel wasn't expecting anything from him, not even hoping anymore, and yet...
Dean moved suddenly, startling her. His hands came out of his pockets and latched onto her arms with bruising force. He bent down, lifting her as he did, and kissed her.
She barely had time to kiss back, to register the taste of him and the feel of his chapped lips and the way he smelled before Dean released her and stepped away. "Take care, Rachel."
He was already in his car before she was finally able to whisper, "You too, Dean."
The car started and Rachel watched them drive away, waving once when they turned at the end of the street before driving out of her life once again.
Rachel blinked rapidly and went back inside her apartment. She turned on her computer. As she waited for it to warm up, she picked up her phone and dialed her father.
"Hello?" he answered on the third ring.
"Hi Daddy. It's me."
"Rachel. Where have you been? I tried calling you at work, but Abby said you'd taken a few days off."
"I was on a hunt, actually. Getting rid of a ghost that was hunting Amanda's inn."
There was a short pause. "Rachel."
"I had help. I met a couple guys, Sam and Dean Winchester, who've been hunting ghosts for years." She sat in front of the computer and pulled up her genealogy program. "I did fine, Dad. You would have been proud of me. I did all the research, follow all that you taught me. I even found a contact down in North Carolina, where the ghost came from."
"Tell me about it."
"In a second." She typed 'Winchester' into the search field. "First, I need you to tell me what you know about something that kills by pinning people to the ceiling then lighting them on fire."
"Why?" her father asked.
"Because," Rachel said as she opened her internet service and started hunting down Sam and Dean's birth certificate information. "My friend's mom and girlfriend were killed by something, and they don't know what it was. I'm going to help them find out."
Fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 04:26 am (UTC)(even if there was no hot mansex... cause lately, I've been associating any SPN fic with wincest fic... I've got to get myself out of that mindset! :) )
no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 05:05 am (UTC)Oh good, I'm glad. I was afraid I might have crossed the line with Rachel and Dean, so I'm really glad to hear that you liked it. :)
I, too, mostly associate SPN fic with wincest, too. I was surprised that a gen/het fic came to me. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 04:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 05:10 am (UTC)That was my original inspiration for the fic, actually. I wondered what would happen if the Winchesters met a historian with an interest in the supernatural; I thought that, on hearing the story, her first question would be had they researched their geneology to see if any other WInchesters had been killed in the same manner as Mary. It sort of took off from there.
Thanks for writing, dear. :-)
And thank you for reading. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-26 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-26 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-31 12:05 pm (UTC)I like this very much. I haven't been watching much Supernatural since I moved overseas for work but I've just bought the Season One box set so I will definitely catch up :oD
Thank you for writing and sharing this. I like the Winchester brothers, but not Wincest. I can see how it can come about but no way... :oD I'm now redaing your Kitsune next. Thanks again for filling up this deary day for me!