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Nov. 10th, 2007 01:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybitesin the lilac woods
[spn/the last unicorn, gen, pg, 1461 words]
another offering from the WIP folder that I'm shoving out into the cold dark world as is. I'd wanted to blend the style of the book with the tone of the show, but it just wasn't working for me. plus, I thought that I was being original and clever with the idea, but it turned out that someone had already done this trick before. SIGH. I don't want to say that there will never be more of this, but more than likely, this is it.
"I am the last of the red hot swamis!" the man bellowed, arms flailing in abruptive gestures, his robes flapping around him like tethered crows. "And you will show me the proper respect!"
One eyebrow quirking up, Dean flicked a glance towards Sam; he shrugged, and Dean cocked his gun. "How about I show you the business end of this instead?" he asked, aiming sure and steady.
The man's face flashed from red to purple to the stark white of fear as he stared down the barrel. He drew in a breath, either to plead for his life or let loose another volley of curses. Dean never found out because the woman stepped forward, lips drawn like a battleline on her weathered face. She lay a hand on the man's arm, and spoke.
"Don't be a fool," she said, her voice as soft and burred as thistles, and Dean was reminded of Ellen, in both tone and appearance. "They could help us with..." and the woman gave a nearly imperceptible jerk of her head, and for the first time, and for what felt like his entire life, Dean saw the girl standing behind them.
He heard Sam's quiet oath of awe, and he heard his own heart beating out one of its own, every fiber of his being singing out fidelity to her. Knees unsteady, he fought against the urge to fall down on them as her dark, nearly opaque gaze flitted his way. Her skin was translucent in comparison, glowing like a newborn star, and her hair floated past her shoulders like silvery ribbons of dreams. At the center of her forehead was a mark, blooming at once violent and peaceful against her otherwise unmarred skin. Looking into her eyes, Dean felt split wide open, as if all his secrets and dreams were laid out for her to pick through and claim for her own, like sparkling stones on a jeweler's bench. She was breathtakingly young, she was heartbreakingly ageless, and Dean felt like weeping for the sorrow and joy it was to know her.
Then she looked away, those eyes focusing on Sam instead, and Dean jerked back, head shaking violently to knock back whatever screw had come loose in his brain. What the fuck was that? There was a faint aftertaste of spices in his mouth, and he scowled, spitting on the ground. He chanced a quick look at her again and just as before, it felt like he was looking at the world through some sort of haze, like a dream he was only just now remembering.
Her spell on him was disrupted only by the sight of Sam trembling before her, his breath coming in harsh, little gasps. Dean snarled before turning his attention back to the other two. "Who the fuck is she?" he got out, his arm shaking as he held the gun on them. "What the hell is going on?"
"She is my niece," the man said without pause, "a poor, wayward creature who knows too little of the world--"
"Bullshit!" Dean spat out. The man narrowed his eyes, face twisting like a snake about to strike, when the woman pinched his arm, hissing at him.
"You're not helping any," she admonished before looking Dean's way. "Does it matter who she is, or who she was, or who she will be? It only matters that you help us save her." The woman's eyes sought out the girl, and Dean was helpless to resist another look, feeling already that it had been an eternity since he had last laid eyes on her.
The girl stood in front of Sam, who had fallen to his knees, looking up at her with an expression so naked and vulnerable that Dean's breath caught in his throat. He watched, helpless and wanting, as she reached a slim hand to Sam's face, skimming over his cheek without making contact. Behind him, he heard the man and woman arguing, the man saying, "We don't need their help. They'll only confuse things," and the woman answering, "As if you haven't confused them enough?"
The wind picked up as they spoke, dancing eddies around them until Dean shivered, arms crossing over his chest. Yet the air around the girl lay still, as if not even the softest breeze dared to disturb her. He ran through a dozen names in his head - siren, nymph, vila, lorelai - but none of them felt right, didn't even come close to describing what she was.
The man was chanting now, and the wind grew stronger. The woman screeched something, but her words were lost as the air grew frenzied. Dean threw an arm up, shielding his eyes as leaves and branches flew at his face. Behind the shadow of his arm, white light flashed, and he heard someone cry out, heard another person yell. The light faded and he lowered his arm, eyes blinking rapidly.
In front of him, Sam stood, looking unsteady but otherwise unharmed. Beside him was...Dean scrubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes, trying to force the illusion out, but it was of no use. Next to Sam stood a unicorn. "Jesus," he breathed out, and he rushed over. "Sammy, are you okay?" he asked, hands running over his brother's arms, his face.
The unicorn stamped its foot and Sam jerked away, took stuttering steps backward, eyes as wide as the sky, breath coming out in trembling wavers. "Sam?" Dean said softly, taking a step before pausing, mind and pulse racing. He looked over his shoulder, and the unicorn danced in place, hooves glinting against the grass. "Sam?" he said again, and the unicorn sighed before nodding.
Dean stared at the unicorn, then at Sam's body, back and forth, his thought process stuttering to a standstill.
Sam - the unicorn Sam, and Dean's mind couldn't even hold onto that thought, skittered right over it - tossed his head, fixing Dean with a glare. "Not a word," he finally said, carefully, testing his voice.
"I didn't say anything," Dean protested, throwing his hands up, palms out. He took a step back to give Sam some space, fighting against every instinct inside of him that cried to move closer. Sam tossed his head again, snorting at him, and Dean wondered if it was true that only a virgin could touch him. Even as the thought danced across his mind, Dean smacked himself on the forehead, forcing himself to turn away.
He pointed his gun once again at the man and said, slow and deadly, "You have ten seconds to change them back."
The man snorted and drew himself up, looked down his nose at Dean. "The magic does what it wants to. I have no control over it. It does what it will."
Dean cocked the gun, but Sam said, "Wait!"
Except not Sam, Dean remembered, but the girl in Sam's body. She moved forward, haltingly, taking careful steps toward Dean with more grace than Sam ever possessed. As she drew closer, he could see her eyes, not the familiar hazel of his brother's, but dark and guarded.
He held his breath, waiting, as she came closer, but she passed by him, stumbling toward the man. "What did you do?" she yelled, Sam's familiar bellow softer and more melodic than Dean had ever heard it.
"I did what I had to," the man said, and even Dean could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "When the magic comes to me, I can't say to it, 'Could you come another time? It isn't convenient now.'" He frowned, then shook his head. "I did what I had to."
The girl-in-Sam looked from the man to Dean, then to the woman and finally the unicorn. Dean had seen the expression on her face twice before, all heartbreak and confusion, wanting someone to fix the world but knowing that no one will. He'd seen it the night Sam told them about Stanford, and he'd seen it the night Jess died. This time, though, there was something infinitely sadder about it, and Dean took a step toward her, hands itching to comfort her.
The woman spoke up, watching Dean with a wary eye. "What needs to be done is that we leave this place. It's not safe, not anymore." And Dean realized she wasn't looking at him, but past his shoulder. He turned to see a red glow, far to the east.
"Isn't it a little early for the sun to come up?" and he looked back to see the woman shake her head, the girl-in-Sam trembling beside her.
It was the man who answered him, and for the first time, Dean heard a note of true fear in his voice. "That's not the sun."
thank you for reading
[spn/the last unicorn, gen, pg, 1461 words]
another offering from the WIP folder that I'm shoving out into the cold dark world as is. I'd wanted to blend the style of the book with the tone of the show, but it just wasn't working for me. plus, I thought that I was being original and clever with the idea, but it turned out that someone had already done this trick before. SIGH. I don't want to say that there will never be more of this, but more than likely, this is it.
"I am the last of the red hot swamis!" the man bellowed, arms flailing in abruptive gestures, his robes flapping around him like tethered crows. "And you will show me the proper respect!"
One eyebrow quirking up, Dean flicked a glance towards Sam; he shrugged, and Dean cocked his gun. "How about I show you the business end of this instead?" he asked, aiming sure and steady.
The man's face flashed from red to purple to the stark white of fear as he stared down the barrel. He drew in a breath, either to plead for his life or let loose another volley of curses. Dean never found out because the woman stepped forward, lips drawn like a battleline on her weathered face. She lay a hand on the man's arm, and spoke.
"Don't be a fool," she said, her voice as soft and burred as thistles, and Dean was reminded of Ellen, in both tone and appearance. "They could help us with..." and the woman gave a nearly imperceptible jerk of her head, and for the first time, and for what felt like his entire life, Dean saw the girl standing behind them.
He heard Sam's quiet oath of awe, and he heard his own heart beating out one of its own, every fiber of his being singing out fidelity to her. Knees unsteady, he fought against the urge to fall down on them as her dark, nearly opaque gaze flitted his way. Her skin was translucent in comparison, glowing like a newborn star, and her hair floated past her shoulders like silvery ribbons of dreams. At the center of her forehead was a mark, blooming at once violent and peaceful against her otherwise unmarred skin. Looking into her eyes, Dean felt split wide open, as if all his secrets and dreams were laid out for her to pick through and claim for her own, like sparkling stones on a jeweler's bench. She was breathtakingly young, she was heartbreakingly ageless, and Dean felt like weeping for the sorrow and joy it was to know her.
Then she looked away, those eyes focusing on Sam instead, and Dean jerked back, head shaking violently to knock back whatever screw had come loose in his brain. What the fuck was that? There was a faint aftertaste of spices in his mouth, and he scowled, spitting on the ground. He chanced a quick look at her again and just as before, it felt like he was looking at the world through some sort of haze, like a dream he was only just now remembering.
Her spell on him was disrupted only by the sight of Sam trembling before her, his breath coming in harsh, little gasps. Dean snarled before turning his attention back to the other two. "Who the fuck is she?" he got out, his arm shaking as he held the gun on them. "What the hell is going on?"
"She is my niece," the man said without pause, "a poor, wayward creature who knows too little of the world--"
"Bullshit!" Dean spat out. The man narrowed his eyes, face twisting like a snake about to strike, when the woman pinched his arm, hissing at him.
"You're not helping any," she admonished before looking Dean's way. "Does it matter who she is, or who she was, or who she will be? It only matters that you help us save her." The woman's eyes sought out the girl, and Dean was helpless to resist another look, feeling already that it had been an eternity since he had last laid eyes on her.
The girl stood in front of Sam, who had fallen to his knees, looking up at her with an expression so naked and vulnerable that Dean's breath caught in his throat. He watched, helpless and wanting, as she reached a slim hand to Sam's face, skimming over his cheek without making contact. Behind him, he heard the man and woman arguing, the man saying, "We don't need their help. They'll only confuse things," and the woman answering, "As if you haven't confused them enough?"
The wind picked up as they spoke, dancing eddies around them until Dean shivered, arms crossing over his chest. Yet the air around the girl lay still, as if not even the softest breeze dared to disturb her. He ran through a dozen names in his head - siren, nymph, vila, lorelai - but none of them felt right, didn't even come close to describing what she was.
The man was chanting now, and the wind grew stronger. The woman screeched something, but her words were lost as the air grew frenzied. Dean threw an arm up, shielding his eyes as leaves and branches flew at his face. Behind the shadow of his arm, white light flashed, and he heard someone cry out, heard another person yell. The light faded and he lowered his arm, eyes blinking rapidly.
In front of him, Sam stood, looking unsteady but otherwise unharmed. Beside him was...Dean scrubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes, trying to force the illusion out, but it was of no use. Next to Sam stood a unicorn. "Jesus," he breathed out, and he rushed over. "Sammy, are you okay?" he asked, hands running over his brother's arms, his face.
The unicorn stamped its foot and Sam jerked away, took stuttering steps backward, eyes as wide as the sky, breath coming out in trembling wavers. "Sam?" Dean said softly, taking a step before pausing, mind and pulse racing. He looked over his shoulder, and the unicorn danced in place, hooves glinting against the grass. "Sam?" he said again, and the unicorn sighed before nodding.
Dean stared at the unicorn, then at Sam's body, back and forth, his thought process stuttering to a standstill.
Sam - the unicorn Sam, and Dean's mind couldn't even hold onto that thought, skittered right over it - tossed his head, fixing Dean with a glare. "Not a word," he finally said, carefully, testing his voice.
"I didn't say anything," Dean protested, throwing his hands up, palms out. He took a step back to give Sam some space, fighting against every instinct inside of him that cried to move closer. Sam tossed his head again, snorting at him, and Dean wondered if it was true that only a virgin could touch him. Even as the thought danced across his mind, Dean smacked himself on the forehead, forcing himself to turn away.
He pointed his gun once again at the man and said, slow and deadly, "You have ten seconds to change them back."
The man snorted and drew himself up, looked down his nose at Dean. "The magic does what it wants to. I have no control over it. It does what it will."
Dean cocked the gun, but Sam said, "Wait!"
Except not Sam, Dean remembered, but the girl in Sam's body. She moved forward, haltingly, taking careful steps toward Dean with more grace than Sam ever possessed. As she drew closer, he could see her eyes, not the familiar hazel of his brother's, but dark and guarded.
He held his breath, waiting, as she came closer, but she passed by him, stumbling toward the man. "What did you do?" she yelled, Sam's familiar bellow softer and more melodic than Dean had ever heard it.
"I did what I had to," the man said, and even Dean could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "When the magic comes to me, I can't say to it, 'Could you come another time? It isn't convenient now.'" He frowned, then shook his head. "I did what I had to."
The girl-in-Sam looked from the man to Dean, then to the woman and finally the unicorn. Dean had seen the expression on her face twice before, all heartbreak and confusion, wanting someone to fix the world but knowing that no one will. He'd seen it the night Sam told them about Stanford, and he'd seen it the night Jess died. This time, though, there was something infinitely sadder about it, and Dean took a step toward her, hands itching to comfort her.
The woman spoke up, watching Dean with a wary eye. "What needs to be done is that we leave this place. It's not safe, not anymore." And Dean realized she wasn't looking at him, but past his shoulder. He turned to see a red glow, far to the east.
"Isn't it a little early for the sun to come up?" and he looked back to see the woman shake her head, the girl-in-Sam trembling beside her.
It was the man who answered him, and for the first time, Dean heard a note of true fear in his voice. "That's not the sun."
thank you for reading
