damn you, robert goulet!
I can't find the remote! Or my cigarettes, though that's because Amanda is an evil, evil wench and has hidden my precious coffin-nails. Why am I not stealthy enough to find the things that she hides from me? I only want *one freakin' cigarette*. One. Is that too much to ask?
in all siriusness, I'm horribly bored. (though laughing at my own bad pun. ah, demerol.) Someone should entertain me by doing a dance. (the snoopy dance?) Unfortunately, Amanda will kill me if I wake her up.
so, in the spirit of entertaining myself (and possibly others) here's part of a highlander/supernatural crossover thingy I'm playing with when stuck on everything else.
Live Fire
a Highlander/Supernatural crossover
"Bullets," Pierce Adams says irritably, "were not mentioned in the brochure." He's ducked behind a tombstone, one smart-ass Englishman in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Dean is nearly as sick of him as he is of the guys shooting at them from the other side of the graveyard. No, Dean thinks, bullets were definitely not in the brochure.
***
Stop. Rewind. Begin at the beginning, with Dean and Sam on their way to what was supposed to have been a routine haunting in San Francisco. They're flying down the interstate, windows down, music pounding hard into the coming night, when Sam is suddenly shouting at Dean to stop, pull over.
When it turns out that Sam was making all that fuss over a guy broken down on the side of the highway, Dean punches him hard in the arm before getting out of the Impala. If he'd been on his own he wouldn't have stopped, but that doesn't mean he's just going to drive away now that they have.
"Stay here," he tells Sam, and walks up to the defunct Explorer.
"Do you need any help?" he asks. The muffled cursing emanating from beneath the raised hood stops, and a man's voice rises in clear exasperation.
"No," he says. "I'm doing this for fun." British accent, sarcasm knife-sharp and used like a weapon.
"I could get back in the car and keep going," Dean offers.
"Don't do that," the man says apologetically, coming out from behind the raised hood of the car. "Sorry I was rude - it's been a long bloody day, is all." He's maybe a year older than Dean, dark-haired and hazel-eyed, jeans-clad and slender, and his expression is rueful. "The car's done for," he continues, "and it's made me more testy than usual."
"I'll take a look at it, if you like," Dean offers.
"Won't do any good," the Englishman says. "The engine block's cracked."
Dean looks anyway, and discovers that the man is right.
"I don't suppose you have a cell phone?"
"No, " Dean answers.
"We can give you a ride to civilization," Sam says cheerfully, coming up to them. and Dean's stomach knots up in anger and apprehension, because even though the stranger looks about as dangerous as a wet noodle, appearances mean nothing. "Where were you headed?" Sam continues, oblivious to Dean's rising frustration.
"Seacouver," the Englishman answers.
"We can get you as far as San Francisco," is Sam's appalling response. Dean would argue against such benevolence on their parts, but he's learned that Sam in a charitable mood is unstoppable.
"You'll sit in the back," Dean adds, "and I don't want to hear a word about the music."
"It's a deal," the Englishman says, one corner of his mouth curving upwards in what looks like amusement.
As they wait in the Impala for the Englishman to get what he needs out of his car, Dean punches Sam hard in the arm, on the same spot he'd hit before.
"We don't pick up hitchhikers!" he hisses.
"You could have said no," Sam says calmly.
"And listen to you whine for the next week and a half? No, thank you."
"I don't whine."
"You do."
"Do not."
"Do too," Dean says, and punches Sam on the arm again.
"Ow!" Sam whines.
"See?" Dean asks.
"I hate you."
The Englishman comes back then, and stows his stuff in the back seat before climbing in after it. They do a round of introductions in which it is discovered that the guy's name is Pierce Adams; after that, Adams leans back in the seat and closes his eyes.
Things are going smoothly until Dean pulls into the rest stop. Adams opens his eyes briefly, then closes them again. Sam dozed off half an hour ago, and doesn't so much as twitch when Dean closes the Impala's door.
Of course, by the time Dean's used the bathroom, stretched his legs, bought sodas for everyone, and returned to the car, Sam is deep in conversation with the trespassing Englishman. He hasn't exactly spilled his life story to the guy, but as Dean comes up to the side of the Impala, he hears Adams' distinctive tenor spilling out of the Impala's window into the still night air.
"You're going after ghosts?" the Englishman exclaims, and Dean is torn between the urge to punch Adams and the urge to punch Sam. He settles for throwing both of their sodas at them with unnecessary force. Adams snags the flying can out of the air with casually insulting ease, but Sam makes up for it by dropping his soda onto the Impala's floorboards.
"If that spills in here, you get to lick it up," Dean warns him. "Now, what's this about ghosts?"
"Sam was telling me," Adams says, "that you two are going to exorcise a house in San Francisco." His voice wavers between amusement and intrigue and in the rear-view mirror, one dark eyebrow is lifted in what might or might not be mockery
"So?" Dean says flatly.
"I haven't seen an exorcism in a long time. Since I'm riding that far with you anyway, do you mind if I tag along?"
The automatic objection that rises to Dean's lips is stopped suddenly by the memory of the man's first sentence.
"You've seen an exorcism performed?"
Adams shrugs. "I've seen several." For an instant, something dark and unpleasant flashes in his eyes; an errant memory, or an old-remembered anger. "I've never seen one performed on a building, though. Consider me... curious."
"Where did you see an exorcism performed?" Dean demands. Forget not liking the guy; if he's got information that could help them, Dean is willing to listen.
"It was a long time ago," Adams says dismissively. "Still, I'd love to tag along with you."
"It's not actually an exorcism," Sam says. "We're dealing with ghosts, not demons."
"I've never seen a ghost, either," Adams says. He sounds disturbingly pleased by the idea of changing that.
"Stick with us," Sam says with a grin. "These ghosts aren't particularly dangerous; it'll be no trouble if you come along."
"Don't mind if I do." Adams' sudden smile makes him look like he's Sammy's age. "This should be fun."
Dean resists the urge to pound his head against the steering wheel.
author's notes: feedback is love.