Fic: Palindromic
Title: Palindromic
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Episode spoilers: Implicit spoilers for “Lazarus Rising” and “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester.”
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Reflections of evil and good.
Author’s notes: Further author’s notes under the cut and at the end. Crossposted widely.
Generic warning on all of my fics: A small number of my stories contain character death. For artistic reasons, I prefer not to give it away in the headers. If you will not read a story unless you know whether one of the Winchester brothers dies, click here for the spoiler.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Hey, Sam,” Dean called from the bathroom. “Wasn’t there something lame written on that hooker’s mirror?”
“‘Live not on evil,’” Sam answered. He finished rifling through Hannah Cramer’s bookcase and opened her closet. “Same thing in there?”
“Same place, different phrase. It says ‘Do go to God,’” Dean responded.
“Even lamer.” Karen Scott dresses where Elle Barre had Donna Karan, Payless shoes instead of Prada… “All I’m getting here is that running a women’s shelter pays a lot worse than being a prostitute,” Sam announced. “Dean?” he called when there was no reply.
“Madam, I’m Adam,” came from the bathroom.
Sam stuck his head through the bathroom door. “It’s Sam, and since when?”
Dean flipped him off in the mirror and beckoned him closer. “You know. ‘Madam, I’m Adam.’ ‘A man, a plan, blah, blah.’ Reads the same way forwards and backwards.” He traced his finger under the words from left to right, then back again. “‘Do go to God.’”
“A palindrome?” Sam scanned over the words-Dean was right. “So is ‘Live not on evil,’” he noted, picturing the phrase written above the call girl’s makeup table.
“And so are ‘Hannah’ and ‘Elle.’” Dean met his eyes in the glass. “What have we got on the other missing people?”
“Um...” Sam dug into his jacket pocket for his notebook. “A pediatric oncologist named Robert Cannon. Bob Cannon. Otto Snyder, a pharmacist busted for selling opiates under the counter.”
“Do-gooder, evil-doer,” Dean interjected. “Seeing a pattern?”
“Yeah.” Sam turned back a couple pages. “Before them was Ada Blake, a public defender, and Nanette-Nan-Roth, who embezzled a hundred grand from...” He glanced up. “From her church treasury. That’s cold, dude.”
“Yeah, but her pastor was pretty sure she’ll end up someplace hot.” Dean chewed his lip, then snapped his fingers. “What was the pastor’s name again?”
“Reder-Asa Reder. You got it.” Sam closed the notebook as Dean grinned triumphantly and turned around. “Why is he going after the good guys too?”
“My guess? He’s a nut job.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Comb your hair, Sam. We’re going to church.”
Asa wasn’t in his church, or in his office, or his house. They found no clothes in his closet, no wallet on his dresser, no sign of him anywhere. Nothing but a hidden chamber in his basement: a six-sided room with six bodies propped in front of six mirrors.
“Pattern’s finished. He’s done here.” Grimly, Dean stooped down to check Hannah’s body. “Goddammit. She’s still warm.”
“We got here-” Sam began.
“Not soon enough!” Dean’s voice rang in the small room. Sam jumped.
“Not soon enough,” Dean repeated in a lower voice. “He’s probably skipped town already. We’ll try to pick up his trail tomorrow.” He stroked Hannah’s hand before lowering it gently to the floor. “Goddammit.”
Sam tried again. “Dean...”
His brother cut him off with a bitter smile and turned his bleak eyes away from the reflections bouncing between the mirrors and into infinity. “Can’t save everyone, Sammy.”
Dean fucked him senseless when they got back to the motel, some screwed-up way of convincing himself that God wanted nothing to do with him and vice versa. Hunter’s instinct prodded Sam to slip out after his brother fell asleep; hunter’s instinct, nothing else, he insisted to himself, guided him back to the sextagonal room to wait for the demon possessing Asa’s body. Hunter’s instinct told him the demon would lie when it spat out which mirror Sam belonged in front of.
He couldn’t tell what instinct drove him to lift his hand and choke off its words before it could try.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Further author’s notes:
Palindromes, as the boys note, are phrases that say the same thing when read backwards or forwards. Dean’s “A man, a plan, blah blah,” refers to another well-known one: A MAN, A PLAN, A CANAL PANAMA.
A longer, funnier version of the palindrome conversation has been on my hard drive for nigh unto two years, but I haven’t had a larger story to work it into. This fic will be cannibalized for it once I do-whenever that is.
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Episode spoilers: Implicit spoilers for “Lazarus Rising” and “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester.”
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Reflections of evil and good.
Author’s notes: Further author’s notes under the cut and at the end. Crossposted widely.
Generic warning on all of my fics: A small number of my stories contain character death. For artistic reasons, I prefer not to give it away in the headers. If you will not read a story unless you know whether one of the Winchester brothers dies, click here for the spoiler.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Hey, Sam,” Dean called from the bathroom. “Wasn’t there something lame written on that hooker’s mirror?”
“‘Live not on evil,’” Sam answered. He finished rifling through Hannah Cramer’s bookcase and opened her closet. “Same thing in there?”
“Same place, different phrase. It says ‘Do go to God,’” Dean responded.
“Even lamer.” Karen Scott dresses where Elle Barre had Donna Karan, Payless shoes instead of Prada… “All I’m getting here is that running a women’s shelter pays a lot worse than being a prostitute,” Sam announced. “Dean?” he called when there was no reply.
“Madam, I’m Adam,” came from the bathroom.
Sam stuck his head through the bathroom door. “It’s Sam, and since when?”
Dean flipped him off in the mirror and beckoned him closer. “You know. ‘Madam, I’m Adam.’ ‘A man, a plan, blah, blah.’ Reads the same way forwards and backwards.” He traced his finger under the words from left to right, then back again. “‘Do go to God.’”
“A palindrome?” Sam scanned over the words-Dean was right. “So is ‘Live not on evil,’” he noted, picturing the phrase written above the call girl’s makeup table.
“And so are ‘Hannah’ and ‘Elle.’” Dean met his eyes in the glass. “What have we got on the other missing people?”
“Um...” Sam dug into his jacket pocket for his notebook. “A pediatric oncologist named Robert Cannon. Bob Cannon. Otto Snyder, a pharmacist busted for selling opiates under the counter.”
“Do-gooder, evil-doer,” Dean interjected. “Seeing a pattern?”
“Yeah.” Sam turned back a couple pages. “Before them was Ada Blake, a public defender, and Nanette-Nan-Roth, who embezzled a hundred grand from...” He glanced up. “From her church treasury. That’s cold, dude.”
“Yeah, but her pastor was pretty sure she’ll end up someplace hot.” Dean chewed his lip, then snapped his fingers. “What was the pastor’s name again?”
“Reder-Asa Reder. You got it.” Sam closed the notebook as Dean grinned triumphantly and turned around. “Why is he going after the good guys too?”
“My guess? He’s a nut job.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Comb your hair, Sam. We’re going to church.”
Asa wasn’t in his church, or in his office, or his house. They found no clothes in his closet, no wallet on his dresser, no sign of him anywhere. Nothing but a hidden chamber in his basement: a six-sided room with six bodies propped in front of six mirrors.
“Pattern’s finished. He’s done here.” Grimly, Dean stooped down to check Hannah’s body. “Goddammit. She’s still warm.”
“We got here-” Sam began.
“Not soon enough!” Dean’s voice rang in the small room. Sam jumped.
“Not soon enough,” Dean repeated in a lower voice. “He’s probably skipped town already. We’ll try to pick up his trail tomorrow.” He stroked Hannah’s hand before lowering it gently to the floor. “Goddammit.”
Sam tried again. “Dean...”
His brother cut him off with a bitter smile and turned his bleak eyes away from the reflections bouncing between the mirrors and into infinity. “Can’t save everyone, Sammy.”
Dean fucked him senseless when they got back to the motel, some screwed-up way of convincing himself that God wanted nothing to do with him and vice versa. Hunter’s instinct prodded Sam to slip out after his brother fell asleep; hunter’s instinct, nothing else, he insisted to himself, guided him back to the sextagonal room to wait for the demon possessing Asa’s body. Hunter’s instinct told him the demon would lie when it spat out which mirror Sam belonged in front of.
He couldn’t tell what instinct drove him to lift his hand and choke off its words before it could try.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Further author’s notes:
Palindromes, as the boys note, are phrases that say the same thing when read backwards or forwards. Dean’s “A man, a plan, blah blah,” refers to another well-known one: A MAN, A PLAN, A CANAL PANAMA.
A longer, funnier version of the palindrome conversation has been on my hard drive for nigh unto two years, but I haven’t had a larger story to work it into. This fic will be cannibalized for it once I do-whenever that is.