Supernatural fic
Jan. 29th, 2006 11:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Look at me. Writing more Supernatural fic.
I actually sorta want to write a few scenes that take place before this, but when I tried last night, it sucked. So, instead, here I go. Writing this again.
I actually had a nightmare last night that I was at the writer's conference and hadn't touched my novel so it still wasn't all that great. I was so angry at myself. I swear, today, I am going to sit down and work on it, dammit.
TitleKitsune
Author me
Summary The Winchesters, with the help of a friend, are investigating a series of seemingly unrelated deaths of college professors ranging back one hundred and fifty years.
Pairing maybe Dean/OFC
"Got an e-mail from Dad," Sam said the moment Dean stepped out of the bathroom.
Dean, still fighting the stickiness of sleep even after his shower, grunted in acknowledgement. He stumbled across the room to the pot of coffee, almost breaking his neck on a pair of sneakers thrown recklessly on the floor. Once he was awake, he'd have to yell at Sammy about that; you couldn't be ready to fight evil at a moment's notice if you were tripping on the shit tossed all over the place.
"It doesn't say anything," continued Sam, correctly interpreting Dean's grunt as an invitation to continue. "It's just a bunch of links to obituaries."
Dean swallowed the bitter liquid with a grimace; too weak. "Where?"
"All over the place. Different college towns. Ivy leagues. Brown, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, Dartmouth, Harvard... all of them. The dates range from about one hundred fifty years ago to... yesterday."
"Yale?" Dean sank on the bed next to his brother, looking over his shoulder.
Sam glanced at him, smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. "She's fine. I was instant messaging her this morning."
Cursing his both his brother and Dean's own apparent transparent-ness, he lifted his cup to his mouth and said, "Who you talking about?"
Sam didn't answer, but the smirk didn't go away. "A Professor Alan Wheaton died of complications due to pneumonia two weeks ago. Services were held last Saturday."
"Pneumonia isn't all that unusual," Dean pointed out. He took another swig at the coffee and winced; it tasted like ass. "Did, uh, Rachel say anything about it?"
"Not much. She knew him. He was a friend of the family and she took his class a few years ago." He sat back and scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking. "She said that she'd run into him a couple weeks ago. He'd seemed distracted and lethargic, but he had a cold, so she didn't think much of it."
"And now he's dead. How old?"
"Sixty-one."
Dean made a face as he shook his head. "It just doesn't seem like our kind of job. Stuffy professors dying of pneumonia?"
"Well, they didn't all die of the same thing." Sam sat forward and clicked another link. "Irene Bluthe slipped into a diabetic coma and died. Um, Roger Coltrane had an aneurism. Lyle Kimmel had complications due to the flu." He glanced at his brother. "I'm not seeing the connection here."
"Yeah, but Dad is. And you know what a master he is when it comes to this."
"Uh-huh." Sam's voice was flat, annoyed.
"Dude, what?"
"Nothing. I just... It's irritating enough when he does something like this, but at least then we've got some clue as to what's going on. This? A bunch of older people dying of diseases that older people often die of? It feels like he's sending us off on some wild goose chase so we can't look for him."
Dean shook his head, jaw tightening as he got off the bed. "Dad already told us to stop looking for him, Sam. He's on an important job, which means we've gotta pick up the slack. If Dad thinks this is something worth looking into, then we'll do what he says."
"Like good little soldiers," was Sam's bitter response.
He ignored the bitterness. "Right." Dean started packing. "She know we're coming?"
"Yeah. If she's not home, she told me where to find the spare key." Sam looked at him. "Unless you want to get a motel."
If he knew what he wanted, his stomach wouldn't feel like a bunch of imps were using it as a bounce house.
Dean turned his back on his brother, pretending to search under the bed for something as he said, "I never say no to free room and board. Any chance we got to save money in this life, we take, remember?"
"Yeah." Sam sounded way too amused and knowing for Dean's tastes. "I remember."
I actually sorta want to write a few scenes that take place before this, but when I tried last night, it sucked. So, instead, here I go. Writing this again.
I actually had a nightmare last night that I was at the writer's conference and hadn't touched my novel so it still wasn't all that great. I was so angry at myself. I swear, today, I am going to sit down and work on it, dammit.
TitleKitsune
Author me
Summary The Winchesters, with the help of a friend, are investigating a series of seemingly unrelated deaths of college professors ranging back one hundred and fifty years.
Pairing maybe Dean/OFC
"Got an e-mail from Dad," Sam said the moment Dean stepped out of the bathroom.
Dean, still fighting the stickiness of sleep even after his shower, grunted in acknowledgement. He stumbled across the room to the pot of coffee, almost breaking his neck on a pair of sneakers thrown recklessly on the floor. Once he was awake, he'd have to yell at Sammy about that; you couldn't be ready to fight evil at a moment's notice if you were tripping on the shit tossed all over the place.
"It doesn't say anything," continued Sam, correctly interpreting Dean's grunt as an invitation to continue. "It's just a bunch of links to obituaries."
Dean swallowed the bitter liquid with a grimace; too weak. "Where?"
"All over the place. Different college towns. Ivy leagues. Brown, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, Dartmouth, Harvard... all of them. The dates range from about one hundred fifty years ago to... yesterday."
"Yale?" Dean sank on the bed next to his brother, looking over his shoulder.
Sam glanced at him, smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. "She's fine. I was instant messaging her this morning."
Cursing his both his brother and Dean's own apparent transparent-ness, he lifted his cup to his mouth and said, "Who you talking about?"
Sam didn't answer, but the smirk didn't go away. "A Professor Alan Wheaton died of complications due to pneumonia two weeks ago. Services were held last Saturday."
"Pneumonia isn't all that unusual," Dean pointed out. He took another swig at the coffee and winced; it tasted like ass. "Did, uh, Rachel say anything about it?"
"Not much. She knew him. He was a friend of the family and she took his class a few years ago." He sat back and scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking. "She said that she'd run into him a couple weeks ago. He'd seemed distracted and lethargic, but he had a cold, so she didn't think much of it."
"And now he's dead. How old?"
"Sixty-one."
Dean made a face as he shook his head. "It just doesn't seem like our kind of job. Stuffy professors dying of pneumonia?"
"Well, they didn't all die of the same thing." Sam sat forward and clicked another link. "Irene Bluthe slipped into a diabetic coma and died. Um, Roger Coltrane had an aneurism. Lyle Kimmel had complications due to the flu." He glanced at his brother. "I'm not seeing the connection here."
"Yeah, but Dad is. And you know what a master he is when it comes to this."
"Uh-huh." Sam's voice was flat, annoyed.
"Dude, what?"
"Nothing. I just... It's irritating enough when he does something like this, but at least then we've got some clue as to what's going on. This? A bunch of older people dying of diseases that older people often die of? It feels like he's sending us off on some wild goose chase so we can't look for him."
Dean shook his head, jaw tightening as he got off the bed. "Dad already told us to stop looking for him, Sam. He's on an important job, which means we've gotta pick up the slack. If Dad thinks this is something worth looking into, then we'll do what he says."
"Like good little soldiers," was Sam's bitter response.
He ignored the bitterness. "Right." Dean started packing. "She know we're coming?"
"Yeah. If she's not home, she told me where to find the spare key." Sam looked at him. "Unless you want to get a motel."
If he knew what he wanted, his stomach wouldn't feel like a bunch of imps were using it as a bounce house.
Dean turned his back on his brother, pretending to search under the bed for something as he said, "I never say no to free room and board. Any chance we got to save money in this life, we take, remember?"
"Yeah." Sam sounded way too amused and knowing for Dean's tastes. "I remember."
