Fic: The Ballad of Sam and Dean (1/3) Glee/SPN crossover
Fandom: Glee/Supernatural (cracky crossover)
Rating: Probably PG-13 for language, suspense, occasional violence (nothing explicit), and totally fucked up shit.
Spoilers: None really. Set before Glee's sectionals and in an indeterminate time period during SPN season 1. Not many explicit references to either canon.
Word Count: This part, 1891. Total will probably be around 5 or 6000.
Summary: Something is attacking the McKinley High Glee kids, and it's up to the Winchesters to save them.
Authors' Note: Glee is a show about a high school Glee club. Supernatural is a show about two brothers driving around the country hunting down evil. So NATURALLY I had to find some way to make the two fit together. Because they're JUST SO SIMILAR. :P This is my first time writing for either fandom, and the first long solo thing I've written since March. So... yay? Concrit is welcome, as always.
Author's Note 2: In my defense... I'm insane.
Finn Hudson always stayed late after late-night football practices, cleaning himself off in the showers. It wasn’t for hygienic purposes at all, since he was half-convinced he always left the shower dirtier than he'd entered it. No, Finn needed the privacy to be able to sing in the shower without worrying about anyone bothering him. Sure, he could have waited to get home to shower and sing in peace, but there was just something irresistible about these showers; his voice echoed all around the large, empty tiled room until it sounded like he was an entire chorus of Finns. A one-man glee club, he thought happily as the warm water flowed down his body.
“I can’t fight this feeling any longer,” Finn belted, his voice echoing loudly off the porcelain tiles. “Can’t Fight this Feeling” had long been his go-to shower song; it was sort of a comforting ritual for him, scrubbing away the dirt and grime of a long football practice while belting REO Speedwagon. “And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow...”
Suddenly, the fluorescent lights overhead started to flicker, making Finn look up in irritation. Couldn’t this school get any decent lighting for its athletic facilities?
Grabbing a bar of soap, he worked up a lather and started scrubbing his T-zone, making sure everything down there was all clean, singing on, “What started out as friendship has grown stronger... I only wish I had the strength to let it show.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Finn thought he saw something move, and he spun around, squinting through soap and water. “Hello?” he called out cautiously, wondering if the other football players were going to jump him and draw on his face again just because he liked to sing.
No one answered, but a chill wind blew through the showers, making Finn yelp as the cold air came into contact with his wet skin. He looked around, wondering where the wind was coming from; he concluded there must be a vent turned on somewhere, running the AC full blast in mid-November.
Shrugging, Finn turned back to the showerhead, now scrubbing his hair and singing, “And even as I wander, I’m keeping you in sight!” He never saw the dark figure creeping up behind him; Finn continued to sing as it slowly came ever nearer. The attacker reached out a long-clawed hand, black eyes glinting venomously, as Finn obliviously continued to sing into his bar of soap.
“You’re a candle in the window on a cold dark winter’s niiiight... And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I miiiiiight...”
The hands lunged out, a vicious snarl echoing off the shower tiles. Finn let out one terrified scream--
...which quickly died away, replaced with nothing but the hiss of the water hitting the tiles.
---
“...And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!” Dean Winchester sang, drumming on the Impala’s steering wheel as it roared down the Ohio backroad. “I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for!”
“Dean, will you give it a rest?” his brother Sam said irritably from the passenger seat, fingers pressed against his forehead to help ease the pain of his migraine. For once, the intense pain was caused not by a psychic vision, but by his brother’s singing. Dean simply smirked, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Where's this potential case of ours, again?” he asked.
“Lima, Ohio,” Sam replied, pulling out a recent newspaper article with a headline that blared McKinley Quarterback Attacked in Showers. “Apparently this kid got attacked by some mysterious, dark figure while he was in the locker room at the local high school. It’s the third attack on football players in the past month, and they’ve all followed the same pattern.”
Dean grunted skeptically. “And what exactly is supernatural about this, again? I mean, for one, the kids are still alive, there aren’t any freaky symbols painted anywhere, no weird omens, no one’s mom’s dying up on the ceiling... I mean, sucks for the kids, but their attacker could easily have been human.”
“True, but the article says there were flickering lights, the smell of sulfur...”
“Sammy, it’s a public school,” Dean said impatiently. “Of course the showers smell like sulfur.”
“True,” Sam conceded. “But how do you explain this?” He held up the newspaper in front of Dean so he could see the picture accompanying the article. Finn Hudson looked relatively unharmed, compared to most of the gory remains the Winchesters had encountered in their line of work: he was alive, for one thing, and he barely had a scratch on him. But the one thing that really got Dean’s attention was the lower part of Finn’s face: where he should have had a mouth, he only had smooth skin stretched tight over his jaw.
“He didn’t look like that a week ago,” Sam said. He looked back at the article. "Looks like he never saw who or what attacked him. Or if he did," he went on with a slight chuckle, "he ain't talking."
Dean was quiet for a moment. “Right, we’d better go to Lima and look into this,” he said gruffly. “Not like we have anything better to do with our lives. Anyway, this job’s way closer than that vampire coven in Poughkeepsie.”
“But we were going to meet Dad in Poughkeepsie!” Sam gasped.
Dean considered this for a moment, then said brusquely, “Sammy, you really think he would have showed? He's more unreliable than the wireless internet at every piece of shit motel we've ever lived in.”
Sam would have mocked Dean for using such a terrible metaphor, but he let it drop as he could see Dean start to brood, once again, over his issues with their father. Dean was indeed feeling a momentary pang as he thought of their beloved yet absent father, the number of times John Winchester had let him and his little brother down over the years... But he quashed those feelings as he shifted gears, gunned the Impala’s engine and began belting at the top of his lungs once more, just to grate on Sam’s last nerve: “Baby, I can’t fight this feeling anymoooore!”
Sam groaned, covering his ears.
---
“This is not good,” Will Schuester groaned, running his hands through his curly hair in agitation, pacing the floor of the choir room. “This is bad. How the hell are we supposed to compete if our male lead doesn’t have a MOUTH?”
From his place among his fellow Glee members, Finn’s eyes were downcast, physically unable to speak his own opinion on this matter as his mouth had literally gone missing the other day. Quinn linked her arm through his sympathetically, while Rachel shot him an intense, brooding stare from across the room.
“How come you weren’t this worried when Mike was attacked last week?” asked Puck.
“Or Matt the week before that?” Artie chimed in. Mike and Matt both pointed to their mouthless faces in righteous outrage, unable to make a single sound, but Will paid no attention to them.
“Without Finn’s phenomenal voice, we’ll NEVER place at Sectionals!” he lamented, clinging to the piano player in despair. The pianist timidly patted Will on his curly head by means of comforting him.
“Mr. Schuester, if I may,” Rachel said, bouncing from her seat and turning to confidently address her fellow Glee club members. “I know that us having three members unable to sing is a challenge, but I’m sure we can overcome it.”
“How?” Kurt asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make yourself the male lead.” The other members tittered.
“And it’s not like Finn can make up for his lack of singing with his dancing skills,” Will pouted. Finn’s eyebrows furrowed in hurt and indignation, but of course he said nothing.
“Well, while I have been working on broadening my lower range since the age of five and am well capable of a baritenor range,” Rachel began haughtily, “I’m sure Noah will be more than up to the challenge of singing Finn’s parts.” She confidently whirled towards Puck and beamed at him, her pearly whites gleaming.
Puck looked up from his cell phone as soon as he sensed people looking at him. “Wha? Sorry, I was... texting... Mike.” Mike held up his empty hands while Santana Lopez looked at her cell’s screen, smirking to herself.
Rachel seemed to realize Puck was a hopeless cause. “Or... or perhaps Artie?” she tried again.
“Oh, hell to the naw,” Mercedes said, getting to her feet. “Artie is my man, you got that, white girl? I’m the only one who gets to sing with him. If he gets to be the lead, so do I.” Artie said nothing himself, too petrified to get in the middle of the death glares Mercedes and Rachel were throwing at one another.
“Rachel...” Will finally got up from his spot on the floor, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, his face sad and serious. “I appreciate the effort, but I’m sorry. It looks like this means Glee club... is over.”
The group of kids had surprisingly little reaction to this bit of news.
“B-but Mr. Schuester, you s-said it was over when you almost became an accountant,” Tina said.
“And right before Miss Sylvester became our co-director,” said Santana.
“And while she was our co-director,” added Kurt.
“And every single time Rachel stormed out of rehearsals,” Artie pointed out.
“Well... this time I really mean it.” And with that, Will shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, full of self-pity. The piano player played a few sad notes as Will walked out the door.
---
Sam carefully wheeled his janitor’s cart down the hallway, discreetly examining the EMF detector propped up against a bottle of Pledge, waiting to see if it would go off. The easiest way to check the school for signs of paranormal activity, he and Dean had determined, would be to go undercover as janitors and split up. Sam had been assigned to search the school for ghosts, while Dean was on demon duty.
The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. “Agent Page, this is Agent Plant. Do you copy?”
“Dean, the hallway's empty,” Sam said, picking up the walkie-talkie. “One, we don't need to use our code names. Two, we're undercover as janitors, not James Bond. You find anything?”
“Yeah,” his brother said. “Dude, there’s sulfur all over this school. Whole place reeks like rotten eggs.”
“So it’s a demon we’re dealing with,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Any idea which one might go after football players?”
“Well, I did find something in Dad’s journal that might give us a clue.”
“Really? What?”
There was the briefest of pauses over the other line, where Sam could practically hear the corner of Dean's mouth twitch, before his brother gruffly went on, serious as anything, “Well, Sammy, as you know... this book... this is Dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us.”
“Uh, yeah, I know. What are you--“ Sam froze, recognizing the speech, and he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, Dean...”
“I think he wants us to pick up where he left off,” Dean went on, doggedly, though a hint of a grin was creeping into his voice. “You know, saving people. Hunting things...”
“'The family business',” Sam finished along with him. “Dean, you’ve given me that speech a thousand times by now.”
Dean laughed over the walkie-talkie. “And it never gets old. In all seriousness, though,” he went on, “there really is something in here about a monster -- group of ‘em, actually, known as the Gentlemen -- known for stealing people’s voices. But this doesn't look like them at all. None of those victims are ever left alive... their hearts are ripped from their chests.”
“So... if it’s not them, then what?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “All I know is, we’ve got a demon on the loose, and it could be possessing anyone. And it’s not like we can go around dousing two thousand students with holy water to figure out who the host is.”
Sam nodded grimly. The two of them definitely had their work cut out for them here at McKinley High.
Next part...
Rating: Probably PG-13 for language, suspense, occasional violence (nothing explicit), and totally fucked up shit.
Spoilers: None really. Set before Glee's sectionals and in an indeterminate time period during SPN season 1. Not many explicit references to either canon.
Word Count: This part, 1891. Total will probably be around 5 or 6000.
Summary: Something is attacking the McKinley High Glee kids, and it's up to the Winchesters to save them.
Authors' Note: Glee is a show about a high school Glee club. Supernatural is a show about two brothers driving around the country hunting down evil. So NATURALLY I had to find some way to make the two fit together. Because they're JUST SO SIMILAR. :P This is my first time writing for either fandom, and the first long solo thing I've written since March. So... yay? Concrit is welcome, as always.
Author's Note 2: In my defense... I'm insane.
Finn Hudson always stayed late after late-night football practices, cleaning himself off in the showers. It wasn’t for hygienic purposes at all, since he was half-convinced he always left the shower dirtier than he'd entered it. No, Finn needed the privacy to be able to sing in the shower without worrying about anyone bothering him. Sure, he could have waited to get home to shower and sing in peace, but there was just something irresistible about these showers; his voice echoed all around the large, empty tiled room until it sounded like he was an entire chorus of Finns. A one-man glee club, he thought happily as the warm water flowed down his body.
“I can’t fight this feeling any longer,” Finn belted, his voice echoing loudly off the porcelain tiles. “Can’t Fight this Feeling” had long been his go-to shower song; it was sort of a comforting ritual for him, scrubbing away the dirt and grime of a long football practice while belting REO Speedwagon. “And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow...”
Suddenly, the fluorescent lights overhead started to flicker, making Finn look up in irritation. Couldn’t this school get any decent lighting for its athletic facilities?
Grabbing a bar of soap, he worked up a lather and started scrubbing his T-zone, making sure everything down there was all clean, singing on, “What started out as friendship has grown stronger... I only wish I had the strength to let it show.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Finn thought he saw something move, and he spun around, squinting through soap and water. “Hello?” he called out cautiously, wondering if the other football players were going to jump him and draw on his face again just because he liked to sing.
No one answered, but a chill wind blew through the showers, making Finn yelp as the cold air came into contact with his wet skin. He looked around, wondering where the wind was coming from; he concluded there must be a vent turned on somewhere, running the AC full blast in mid-November.
Shrugging, Finn turned back to the showerhead, now scrubbing his hair and singing, “And even as I wander, I’m keeping you in sight!” He never saw the dark figure creeping up behind him; Finn continued to sing as it slowly came ever nearer. The attacker reached out a long-clawed hand, black eyes glinting venomously, as Finn obliviously continued to sing into his bar of soap.
“You’re a candle in the window on a cold dark winter’s niiiight... And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I miiiiiight...”
The hands lunged out, a vicious snarl echoing off the shower tiles. Finn let out one terrified scream--
...which quickly died away, replaced with nothing but the hiss of the water hitting the tiles.
---
“...And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!” Dean Winchester sang, drumming on the Impala’s steering wheel as it roared down the Ohio backroad. “I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for!”
“Dean, will you give it a rest?” his brother Sam said irritably from the passenger seat, fingers pressed against his forehead to help ease the pain of his migraine. For once, the intense pain was caused not by a psychic vision, but by his brother’s singing. Dean simply smirked, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Where's this potential case of ours, again?” he asked.
“Lima, Ohio,” Sam replied, pulling out a recent newspaper article with a headline that blared McKinley Quarterback Attacked in Showers. “Apparently this kid got attacked by some mysterious, dark figure while he was in the locker room at the local high school. It’s the third attack on football players in the past month, and they’ve all followed the same pattern.”
Dean grunted skeptically. “And what exactly is supernatural about this, again? I mean, for one, the kids are still alive, there aren’t any freaky symbols painted anywhere, no weird omens, no one’s mom’s dying up on the ceiling... I mean, sucks for the kids, but their attacker could easily have been human.”
“True, but the article says there were flickering lights, the smell of sulfur...”
“Sammy, it’s a public school,” Dean said impatiently. “Of course the showers smell like sulfur.”
“True,” Sam conceded. “But how do you explain this?” He held up the newspaper in front of Dean so he could see the picture accompanying the article. Finn Hudson looked relatively unharmed, compared to most of the gory remains the Winchesters had encountered in their line of work: he was alive, for one thing, and he barely had a scratch on him. But the one thing that really got Dean’s attention was the lower part of Finn’s face: where he should have had a mouth, he only had smooth skin stretched tight over his jaw.
“He didn’t look like that a week ago,” Sam said. He looked back at the article. "Looks like he never saw who or what attacked him. Or if he did," he went on with a slight chuckle, "he ain't talking."
Dean was quiet for a moment. “Right, we’d better go to Lima and look into this,” he said gruffly. “Not like we have anything better to do with our lives. Anyway, this job’s way closer than that vampire coven in Poughkeepsie.”
“But we were going to meet Dad in Poughkeepsie!” Sam gasped.
Dean considered this for a moment, then said brusquely, “Sammy, you really think he would have showed? He's more unreliable than the wireless internet at every piece of shit motel we've ever lived in.”
Sam would have mocked Dean for using such a terrible metaphor, but he let it drop as he could see Dean start to brood, once again, over his issues with their father. Dean was indeed feeling a momentary pang as he thought of their beloved yet absent father, the number of times John Winchester had let him and his little brother down over the years... But he quashed those feelings as he shifted gears, gunned the Impala’s engine and began belting at the top of his lungs once more, just to grate on Sam’s last nerve: “Baby, I can’t fight this feeling anymoooore!”
Sam groaned, covering his ears.
---
“This is not good,” Will Schuester groaned, running his hands through his curly hair in agitation, pacing the floor of the choir room. “This is bad. How the hell are we supposed to compete if our male lead doesn’t have a MOUTH?”
From his place among his fellow Glee members, Finn’s eyes were downcast, physically unable to speak his own opinion on this matter as his mouth had literally gone missing the other day. Quinn linked her arm through his sympathetically, while Rachel shot him an intense, brooding stare from across the room.
“How come you weren’t this worried when Mike was attacked last week?” asked Puck.
“Or Matt the week before that?” Artie chimed in. Mike and Matt both pointed to their mouthless faces in righteous outrage, unable to make a single sound, but Will paid no attention to them.
“Without Finn’s phenomenal voice, we’ll NEVER place at Sectionals!” he lamented, clinging to the piano player in despair. The pianist timidly patted Will on his curly head by means of comforting him.
“Mr. Schuester, if I may,” Rachel said, bouncing from her seat and turning to confidently address her fellow Glee club members. “I know that us having three members unable to sing is a challenge, but I’m sure we can overcome it.”
“How?” Kurt asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make yourself the male lead.” The other members tittered.
“And it’s not like Finn can make up for his lack of singing with his dancing skills,” Will pouted. Finn’s eyebrows furrowed in hurt and indignation, but of course he said nothing.
“Well, while I have been working on broadening my lower range since the age of five and am well capable of a baritenor range,” Rachel began haughtily, “I’m sure Noah will be more than up to the challenge of singing Finn’s parts.” She confidently whirled towards Puck and beamed at him, her pearly whites gleaming.
Puck looked up from his cell phone as soon as he sensed people looking at him. “Wha? Sorry, I was... texting... Mike.” Mike held up his empty hands while Santana Lopez looked at her cell’s screen, smirking to herself.
Rachel seemed to realize Puck was a hopeless cause. “Or... or perhaps Artie?” she tried again.
“Oh, hell to the naw,” Mercedes said, getting to her feet. “Artie is my man, you got that, white girl? I’m the only one who gets to sing with him. If he gets to be the lead, so do I.” Artie said nothing himself, too petrified to get in the middle of the death glares Mercedes and Rachel were throwing at one another.
“Rachel...” Will finally got up from his spot on the floor, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, his face sad and serious. “I appreciate the effort, but I’m sorry. It looks like this means Glee club... is over.”
The group of kids had surprisingly little reaction to this bit of news.
“B-but Mr. Schuester, you s-said it was over when you almost became an accountant,” Tina said.
“And right before Miss Sylvester became our co-director,” said Santana.
“And while she was our co-director,” added Kurt.
“And every single time Rachel stormed out of rehearsals,” Artie pointed out.
“Well... this time I really mean it.” And with that, Will shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, full of self-pity. The piano player played a few sad notes as Will walked out the door.
---
Sam carefully wheeled his janitor’s cart down the hallway, discreetly examining the EMF detector propped up against a bottle of Pledge, waiting to see if it would go off. The easiest way to check the school for signs of paranormal activity, he and Dean had determined, would be to go undercover as janitors and split up. Sam had been assigned to search the school for ghosts, while Dean was on demon duty.
The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. “Agent Page, this is Agent Plant. Do you copy?”
“Dean, the hallway's empty,” Sam said, picking up the walkie-talkie. “One, we don't need to use our code names. Two, we're undercover as janitors, not James Bond. You find anything?”
“Yeah,” his brother said. “Dude, there’s sulfur all over this school. Whole place reeks like rotten eggs.”
“So it’s a demon we’re dealing with,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Any idea which one might go after football players?”
“Well, I did find something in Dad’s journal that might give us a clue.”
“Really? What?”
There was the briefest of pauses over the other line, where Sam could practically hear the corner of Dean's mouth twitch, before his brother gruffly went on, serious as anything, “Well, Sammy, as you know... this book... this is Dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us.”
“Uh, yeah, I know. What are you--“ Sam froze, recognizing the speech, and he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, Dean...”
“I think he wants us to pick up where he left off,” Dean went on, doggedly, though a hint of a grin was creeping into his voice. “You know, saving people. Hunting things...”
“'The family business',” Sam finished along with him. “Dean, you’ve given me that speech a thousand times by now.”
Dean laughed over the walkie-talkie. “And it never gets old. In all seriousness, though,” he went on, “there really is something in here about a monster -- group of ‘em, actually, known as the Gentlemen -- known for stealing people’s voices. But this doesn't look like them at all. None of those victims are ever left alive... their hearts are ripped from their chests.”
“So... if it’s not them, then what?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “All I know is, we’ve got a demon on the loose, and it could be possessing anyone. And it’s not like we can go around dousing two thousand students with holy water to figure out who the host is.”
Sam nodded grimly. The two of them definitely had their work cut out for them here at McKinley High.
Next part...