28:06:42:12 [donnie darko/spn]
Title: 28:06:42:12
Fandoms: Supernatural, Donnie Darko
Rating: Really soft R
Warnings: Well, spoiled the entirety of Donnie Darko and everything up to s3 for SPN. Eh. Mentions of pedophilia. One freaky ass bunny.
Summary: Jim needs them to help him choose.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Either of them.
«28:06:42:12»
They’re in Duluth, Georgia at a Western Inn. It’s eight at night and Sam’s browsing headlines when his laptop suddenly goes black.
He swears, tries to press the power button to no avail. He’s about to pry it open when this keen emits from the computer, sharp and piercing.
Immediately he puts his hands over his ears, wincing, when it suddenly plummets into low white noise.
His eyes crack open to find that the screen is littered with Firefox windows, all opening and closing rapidly. Each one has something highlighted, but it’s zipping too fast for him to catch anything before one swallows up all the other ones.
It says:
HELP HIM.
Then the screen goes peacefully back to its previous, harmless state, and leaves Sam to wonder and re-check the salt-lines.
-
They’re in traffic on I-75 North, in gridlock traffic and Dean’s half-awake in the passenger seat, still trying to get over that goddamn poltergeist. Sam’s worried, but he won’t tell Dean that, it’d just get him a frown and a warning not to start.
That, and it’s about 78° degrees here, even in fucking October. Too hot to really argue.
So, Sam turns on the radio, ignoring Dean’s protests of none of that emo-shit and be careful, dumbass.
They’ve made an inch leeway, listening to Jimi Hendrix’s Purple Haze and arguing over whether or not Britney Spears was possessed when it happens again.
“---Dude, she is not possessed!” Sam rolls his eyes and turns Jimi up as some redneck honks angrily behind him. “She’s just taking extra stuff in her cocaine cocktail!”
“Mm-hmm,” Dean shoots him a skeptical look, drumming his fingers on the passenger door. “Then explain---”
Psssshhhhhhhh---!
The sound of white noise blasts from the Impala’s stereo and the car gives a lurch from Sam’s panic. Dean would’ve said something about his lack of skill if he hadn’t been busy going deaf.
Sam reached down to the radio controls, trying to turn it down, but it only climbed higher.
“Dammit!”
Before Sam could permanently damage the radio, the sound diminishes again, and then a hollow, metallic voice issues from the speakers, causing Dean’s skin to crawl and the hairs on Sam’s neck stand up at full attention.
MIDDLESEX.
HE NEEDS YOU.
The white noise goes again, to a crescendo before the radio comes softly back, letting Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels wash over them.
-
“Middlesex, Virginia,” Sam turns his laptop around to face Dean. Dean’s ears are still ringing with yesterday’s noise, so they’re in their hotel room, in nice quiet.
“So it’s a place. Sounds like a city of transsexual’s or something,” Dean frowns, scrolls down the list of articles. “Shit, what’s wrong with the place? They’ve been a death city since, like, 1988.”
“Exactly,”
-
He’s walking down a street made up of simple houses, almost no one milling about. It’s a clear, sunny day when he rounds the corner. A few pig-tailed girls run by, but he takes no notice of them, even when he probably should.
He passes by the front of a large, immaculate house and lawn combo, sprinklers at full whirr. His foot hits something that isn’t concrete, and he jumps back startled.
Squinting, he squats down, picks up a wallet, flips it open. A cheerful man grins back at him, in a way that seems out of place, but familiar in the same time.
Jim Cunningham
45A Rose Street
NOW YOU KNOW WHERE HE LIVES.
-
They reach Middlesex without further incident.
Sam's dreams, however, get worse and worse.
He has dreams of sobbing little girls and burning, gutted houses.
Sometimes, he dreams of the metallic voice telling him things, words he doesn't know.
Other times, he sees a little boy with bright blue eyes grinning at him and mouthing words.
He tells Dean about them, after he throws up or wakes up choking.
-
They're sitting in a little diner when Sam drops his bacon halfway to his mouth.
Dean's about to rib him when the little kid appears beside their table, eyes big and blue and a large, fat gray rabbit clutched in his hands, eyes stark white.
He smiles in a way that is adorable, creepy and knowing.
"Hi. I'm Donnie," he holds up his rabbit as best as his ten year old arms can, "and this is Frank."
-
Donnie smirks in front of them, Frank unreadable in the parking lot. The red-haired waitress is watching them, eyes narrowed and Sam is studying as if the kid knows all the answers and Dean was feeling more and more like he'd just stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone on acid.
-
"We couldn't save Jim," Donnie speaks first, petting Frank, seemingly not caring as the rabbit shed all over his Depeche Mode shirt. He hadn't cared when they had given him a swig of holy water and the rabbit more or less gulped it down.
"We?"
"Me an' Frank," Donnie flicks one of Frank's ears, "we're best friends. The best of friends. We tried to save Jim back then, but we couldn't,"
"Hate to break it to ya, dude, but you're ten," Dean frowns, "You weren't alive in 1988,"
"Yes I was!" Donnie looks slightly affronted, for a kid.
-
"Donald Joseph Darko, killed October 2nd due to an unidentified jet engine crushing him in his bed, age sixteen," Sam's eyebrows rise and he doesn't see the smug look Donnie throws at Dean.
-
"Jim was a pedophile," Donnie frowns, purses his lips, "Frank had me burn down his house so we could get Mom on the plane and make him repent. But when we turned the clocks back, the idiot went and killed himself so he wasn't saved."
"That's why he's been picking off―"
"No," Donnie's voice is sharp, but not angry. "Well, yeah, but...when we were in school we had to do these....lifelines, and you had to cram the entire spectrum of human emotion into two fuckin' stupid extremes, fear and love."
Dean pulls a disgusted face. "Oh, god that's the sick fuck who made those attitudinal adjustment books?!"
-
The house is deserted, empty.
The last family moved out three weeks ago.
But they forgot their two little girls.
Jim tells them to choose for him.
Choose fear or love.
-
Donnie smirks from atop the Impala. His damn rabbit is leveling what Dean is sure to be a self-satisfied smirk at him.
Sam rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to use demonic bunny on Dean sometime.
"I thought you were done guiding us, Yoda," snarks Dean.
When Donnie opens his mouth, there's a different, metallic voice issuing from it.
NOT YET.
-
Dean snaps awake to find a lanky teenager standing over him, eyes bright. In his hand is a hatchet and behind him is a hulking man-rabbit with metal for a head and milky white eyes that's impassive and at the same time terrifying.
"Where―"
Sam asleep in a hotel bed, red haired waitress smoking a cigarette and crying, holding his hand.
"Don't worry," the kid's voice is light, "Gretchen will take care of him."
-
Donnie?
Jim's voice wavers and he let's the little girl with the happy clown face paint go.
Dean fires.
Donnie watches Jim's figure convulse for a moment before, as if he's on a string, he's jerked forward. He grins and swings the hatchet.
Jim's dead.
For good.
(silly blue man in a red suit)
-
Frank stares down at the prone figures of the brother's Winchester. Donnie is on his right, Gretchen on his left.
Donnie looks at Frank curiously. "Did you give it to him?"
Frank nods slowly.
Gretchen hiccups.
Donnie grins slowly.
-
That morning, Sam wakes up, feeling worse for wear.
He gets up, makes his way to the bathroom, fumbles for the light.
When he turns it on, he sees a hatchet buried into the mirror, with words scrawled on the cracks.
I CAN DO ANYTHING I WANT
His arms burns and he looks down.
AND SO CAN YOU.
28:06:42:12
Part Two »
Fandoms: Supernatural, Donnie Darko
Rating: Really soft R
Warnings: Well, spoiled the entirety of Donnie Darko and everything up to s3 for SPN. Eh. Mentions of pedophilia. One freaky ass bunny.
Summary: Jim needs them to help him choose.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Either of them.
«28:06:42:12»
They’re in Duluth, Georgia at a Western Inn. It’s eight at night and Sam’s browsing headlines when his laptop suddenly goes black.
He swears, tries to press the power button to no avail. He’s about to pry it open when this keen emits from the computer, sharp and piercing.
Immediately he puts his hands over his ears, wincing, when it suddenly plummets into low white noise.
His eyes crack open to find that the screen is littered with Firefox windows, all opening and closing rapidly. Each one has something highlighted, but it’s zipping too fast for him to catch anything before one swallows up all the other ones.
It says:
HELP HIM.
Then the screen goes peacefully back to its previous, harmless state, and leaves Sam to wonder and re-check the salt-lines.
-
They’re in traffic on I-75 North, in gridlock traffic and Dean’s half-awake in the passenger seat, still trying to get over that goddamn poltergeist. Sam’s worried, but he won’t tell Dean that, it’d just get him a frown and a warning not to start.
That, and it’s about 78° degrees here, even in fucking October. Too hot to really argue.
So, Sam turns on the radio, ignoring Dean’s protests of none of that emo-shit and be careful, dumbass.
They’ve made an inch leeway, listening to Jimi Hendrix’s Purple Haze and arguing over whether or not Britney Spears was possessed when it happens again.
“---Dude, she is not possessed!” Sam rolls his eyes and turns Jimi up as some redneck honks angrily behind him. “She’s just taking extra stuff in her cocaine cocktail!”
“Mm-hmm,” Dean shoots him a skeptical look, drumming his fingers on the passenger door. “Then explain---”
Psssshhhhhhhh---!
The sound of white noise blasts from the Impala’s stereo and the car gives a lurch from Sam’s panic. Dean would’ve said something about his lack of skill if he hadn’t been busy going deaf.
Sam reached down to the radio controls, trying to turn it down, but it only climbed higher.
“Dammit!”
Before Sam could permanently damage the radio, the sound diminishes again, and then a hollow, metallic voice issues from the speakers, causing Dean’s skin to crawl and the hairs on Sam’s neck stand up at full attention.
MIDDLESEX.
HE NEEDS YOU.
The white noise goes again, to a crescendo before the radio comes softly back, letting Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels wash over them.
-
“Middlesex, Virginia,” Sam turns his laptop around to face Dean. Dean’s ears are still ringing with yesterday’s noise, so they’re in their hotel room, in nice quiet.
“So it’s a place. Sounds like a city of transsexual’s or something,” Dean frowns, scrolls down the list of articles. “Shit, what’s wrong with the place? They’ve been a death city since, like, 1988.”
“Exactly,”
-
He’s walking down a street made up of simple houses, almost no one milling about. It’s a clear, sunny day when he rounds the corner. A few pig-tailed girls run by, but he takes no notice of them, even when he probably should.
He passes by the front of a large, immaculate house and lawn combo, sprinklers at full whirr. His foot hits something that isn’t concrete, and he jumps back startled.
Squinting, he squats down, picks up a wallet, flips it open. A cheerful man grins back at him, in a way that seems out of place, but familiar in the same time.
Jim Cunningham
45A Rose Street
NOW YOU KNOW WHERE HE LIVES.
-
They reach Middlesex without further incident.
Sam's dreams, however, get worse and worse.
He has dreams of sobbing little girls and burning, gutted houses.
Sometimes, he dreams of the metallic voice telling him things, words he doesn't know.
Other times, he sees a little boy with bright blue eyes grinning at him and mouthing words.
He tells Dean about them, after he throws up or wakes up choking.
-
They're sitting in a little diner when Sam drops his bacon halfway to his mouth.
Dean's about to rib him when the little kid appears beside their table, eyes big and blue and a large, fat gray rabbit clutched in his hands, eyes stark white.
He smiles in a way that is adorable, creepy and knowing.
"Hi. I'm Donnie," he holds up his rabbit as best as his ten year old arms can, "and this is Frank."
-
Donnie smirks in front of them, Frank unreadable in the parking lot. The red-haired waitress is watching them, eyes narrowed and Sam is studying as if the kid knows all the answers and Dean was feeling more and more like he'd just stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone on acid.
-
"We couldn't save Jim," Donnie speaks first, petting Frank, seemingly not caring as the rabbit shed all over his Depeche Mode shirt. He hadn't cared when they had given him a swig of holy water and the rabbit more or less gulped it down.
"We?"
"Me an' Frank," Donnie flicks one of Frank's ears, "we're best friends. The best of friends. We tried to save Jim back then, but we couldn't,"
"Hate to break it to ya, dude, but you're ten," Dean frowns, "You weren't alive in 1988,"
"Yes I was!" Donnie looks slightly affronted, for a kid.
-
"Donald Joseph Darko, killed October 2nd due to an unidentified jet engine crushing him in his bed, age sixteen," Sam's eyebrows rise and he doesn't see the smug look Donnie throws at Dean.
-
"Jim was a pedophile," Donnie frowns, purses his lips, "Frank had me burn down his house so we could get Mom on the plane and make him repent. But when we turned the clocks back, the idiot went and killed himself so he wasn't saved."
"That's why he's been picking off―"
"No," Donnie's voice is sharp, but not angry. "Well, yeah, but...when we were in school we had to do these....lifelines, and you had to cram the entire spectrum of human emotion into two fuckin' stupid extremes, fear and love."
Dean pulls a disgusted face. "Oh, god that's the sick fuck who made those attitudinal adjustment books?!"
-
The house is deserted, empty.
The last family moved out three weeks ago.
But they forgot their two little girls.
Jim tells them to choose for him.
Choose fear or love.
-
Donnie smirks from atop the Impala. His damn rabbit is leveling what Dean is sure to be a self-satisfied smirk at him.
Sam rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to use demonic bunny on Dean sometime.
"I thought you were done guiding us, Yoda," snarks Dean.
When Donnie opens his mouth, there's a different, metallic voice issuing from it.
NOT YET.
-
Dean snaps awake to find a lanky teenager standing over him, eyes bright. In his hand is a hatchet and behind him is a hulking man-rabbit with metal for a head and milky white eyes that's impassive and at the same time terrifying.
"Where―"
Sam asleep in a hotel bed, red haired waitress smoking a cigarette and crying, holding his hand.
"Don't worry," the kid's voice is light, "Gretchen will take care of him."
-
Donnie?
Jim's voice wavers and he let's the little girl with the happy clown face paint go.
Dean fires.
Donnie watches Jim's figure convulse for a moment before, as if he's on a string, he's jerked forward. He grins and swings the hatchet.
Jim's dead.
For good.
(silly blue man in a red suit)
-
Frank stares down at the prone figures of the brother's Winchester. Donnie is on his right, Gretchen on his left.
Donnie looks at Frank curiously. "Did you give it to him?"
Frank nods slowly.
Gretchen hiccups.
Donnie grins slowly.
-
That morning, Sam wakes up, feeling worse for wear.
He gets up, makes his way to the bathroom, fumbles for the light.
When he turns it on, he sees a hatchet buried into the mirror, with words scrawled on the cracks.
I CAN DO ANYTHING I WANT
His arms burns and he looks down.
AND SO CAN YOU.
28:06:42:12
Part Two »