Fic: Supernatural/Terminator crossover, JohnWinchester/Sarah het
Written for a request by bunnymcfoo at oxoniensis' Fall Fandom Free-for-All
Rated Mature for sex.
I pictured the Sarah from SCC for this, but I guess it doesn't matter. Set pre-series for both Sarah and John.
====
She was haunted, John knew.
She was haunted long before he told her ghosts were real.She wasn't a hunter. But she was something like it. Not just in the way she always had an eye on the exits. Not just in the way she handled the shotguns. And the handguns. And the C4.
It was the way she looked at people when they had to go into town for supplies. There was gruffness in her tone, so she would get what she wanted when she wanted it and not have to suffer fools. But beneath that, there was pity. She felt sorry for them, for not seeing what she could see. She pitied them for having hope. And part of her resented them, hated them even, for having what she couldn't.
But below that, there was love for these people. These pitiful, naive, superficial, and mostly pain-in-the-ass people. She felt it -- the hunter's call. She couldn't warn these people, but she wanted to protect them, wanted to save them. She would die for these strangers. Even though she thought most of them were assholes.
John recognized this in her. He saw it in himself and every damn hunter who'd been in the business more than a week and a half. But Sarah hadn't known about ghosts or vamps or demons or anything else until a couple of weeks ago.
So what the hell had she been hunting?
*****
Sometimes she envied those who were haunted only by the past.
The ones who get to tell their children they'll be fine.
John Winchester probably didn't tell his kids, that, though.
She watched him as he taught her 7-year-old son how to behead a vampire. Winchester seemed impressed by his machete skills.
Two weeks ago, she had found out that there was something else that could come after them. In fact, there were countless variations of supernatural things that could pose a threat.
Just what she needed.
But Winchester seemed to know what to do, seemed to have the weapons and tactics and knowledge down pat. And he seemed pretty willing to share. And Sarah had always found the right men to be with, ones who would teach her son what he would need to know.
She assumed John would be like the others. Thirsty for blood, or hungry for power. That's usually how you get to be the best in the business, when the business is destroying your enemies. She definitely wouldn't have chosen most of them for their company.
John hadn't been like the others, though. He had sized her up, it seemed, knew that she was sticking by him because she didn't ever want to be at the mercy of a spirit again. He knew she was there for his knowledge. And for whatever reason, he didn't seem to expect her to exchange her body for it.
Not that she didn't feel him looking at her sometimes. As Winchester ran through 'hunting' drills with her son, while she watched so she could pick some things up herself, she would notice his eyes glance at her, linger briefly on her body, her sweat reflecting the light and the heat of the desert. He would look away, then, shy almost.
It was times like this that Sarah remembered Kyle.
Not that he was anything like Kyle, not really. She sure as hell didn't love Winchester. But it had been a long time since she had been with a man who was more than just a tactical handbook to her.
There was something about him. Maybe the way there was still kindness in those eyes, though they were clearly burdened by trauma. The way there was still decency in the face lined by a lifetime of sudden attacks. Maybe it was because he was a hunter, because he was fighting for all of humanity. The survival of the species, the fight to death against all the things that looked human but weren't.
She should be careful. Not to get attached. Because John Winchester wasn't Kyle Reese. And he wasn't Sarah Connor either. He had his own war to fight, him and the hunters. And she had hers.
**************
She still hadn't told him anything. Not anything that would explain what she was doing. She was smart and level-headed and rational, though when he said that to her, she had laughed and said, "Believe me, it's only because you haven't seen me pissed off."
But still. She didn't seem the type to let paranoia run her life. So if it wasn't the supernatural, it was something else she was running from. Something else that made her desperate for her son to be able to tackle any threat at any age. She was even harder on her son than John was on his, though also easier with maternal affection, he had to admit.
But she wasn't talking about why.
Though, to be fair, he still hadn't told her about Mary.
But then, she had probably figured it out. She had never asked about the boys' mother, she had never asked about how he got started hunting, or why he did it still. It was like she recognized it, that he kept fighting because he had lost.
He wanted to ask her things. About who she had lost, about what she was thinking of when that razor focus left her eyes for just a moment and she seemed to be somewhere else. Some other time. With some other man.
John understood distraction. For a long time after Mary, John had thought of her when he should have been thinking about the woman he was with. He would sleep with the grateful would-be victim, the occasional psychic, or even random women he met at diners and bars. He told himself he did it to relieve his tension, so he head would be clear for the hunt. But really he was doing it because of Mary. Half of him needed to remember her and half of him needed to forget. And when his lips explored some other woman's body, both halves, in a sense, got their way.
He wasn't going to do that with Sarah, John knew. Sarah was here to learn how to kill things and save people. Or, more likely, to learn even more ways to kill things and save people, and that's exactly what John had taught her. And he wasn't about to take advantage, to act like he expected something in return from a woman who was just trying to protect her child.
He told her so after she kissed him. Her lips were hot on his mouth, but her hands were cool as she ran her fingers through his beard.
And she said, "Believe me, I know what taking advantage is, Winchester. And it's not you."
He wanted to ask her why. He wanted to ask her who she would be thinking about that night in his place.
But he followed her silently as she took his hand and led him to her cot. They sat. And this time, John kissed her.
They were both soft and careful. Their hands, rough and strong, ran gentle over the other's skin. Each could see a cautious trust, an affection, in the eyes of the other.
It was like they weren't acting like themselves. For just this moment, they had an unspoken treaty to be better than that.
As he gently kissed down her neck, she let out a soft moan. Pleasure. The release of something, small but built up. It was the first thing she ever did to make John feel like he knew her thoughts. He slowly pulled up her tank top and she, not waiting for him, undid her bra and removed it. He looked at her, and then up at her eyes, and she looked ... different. Like she was willing herself to choose to feel something other than pain and fear.
He kissed down the middle of her chest, gently sweeping his tongue into the crook between her breasts. Her body bucked when his tongue pressed down on her left nipple, and she moaned again, louder. The taste and the sound melded together for John, and he savored it, the feeling of knowing her. He moved down her stomach as he slowly bent toward the floor. He unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid them down just an inch, and then kneeled on the floor as he gently kissed her on each hip.
He looked up at her then, his eyes telling her what he wanted, needing her to want it too. She pushed down her jeans slowly, and John carefully pulled off her boots and peeled the jeans off her lower legs. He kissed slow circles up her inner thighs, just slightly pushing them farther apart each time he moved upward. He reached the silky hair between her legs and looked up at her again. They were both breathing more heavily and her eyes were full of some emotion that she couldn't hide and he couldn't decipher. But, ever so slightly, John felt Sarah move her legs wider apart, inviting John to finish. He gently licked her outer lips and saw her swell in anticipation. He continued to move his mouth, pressing his tongue inside of her, exploring and tasting and pushing until her whole body was writhing, until her soft moans became barely contained shouts. His tongue hit her clitoris again and again, and she thought about John Winchester and what it's like for him to see her like this, to hear her and smell her and taste her. She thought about her juices on his tongue, messy on his face, and thought about John getting hard from her scent and taste. And then she thought of nothing except the shock of pleasure, the sudden piercing bliss of orgasm as her body shuddered beneath his mouth.
She said nothing for a minute. A long minute.
John started to move away, uncertain if his presence was still wanted. She grabbed his arm.
"You don't owe me," John said, cautiously. "I don't want you to do anything because you think you owe me." He looked shy again, for some reason, younger than his years.
She smiled. And he felt reassured, safe, for the first time in a while. And she said, "I know. But I think you might just owe me another." She glanced down, and it was clear that his erection was visible beneath his jeans. He moved up slowly then to kiss her on the neck again, while unzipping himself. He continued kissing her shoulders as his fingers worked inside of her, smoothly working and finding that she was ready soon. He found a lubricated condom in his wallet and put it on and looked her in the eyes as he entered her slowly. Their gazes stayed fixed as they moved together, and this time it was faster, as they hurtled toward the end. When he felt her come again, he released, and then collapsed next to her, two bodies entwined in a space built for one. He kissed her, and she smiled as she tasted herself on him still.
"You should come to Kansas," John said as he neared sleep, "You and John can meet my boys." He would look back later and wonder what made him say that. Was it just his desire talking, or was it something else?
But she had just said, "That's a nice idea."
Because that's all it was to her, a nice image. When John woke up, she and her son were gone. Nothing left but a note that said,
"Winchester -
Thanks for all you taught us. Thanks for all you did for us. Good luck with your war.
Take care,
Sarah"
He sighed. He wished he could say he was surprised.
He saved the note and thought about her often after that. Wondering what war she was off fighting. And wondering if maybe, by some chance, she was winning.
Rated Mature for sex.
I pictured the Sarah from SCC for this, but I guess it doesn't matter. Set pre-series for both Sarah and John.
====
She was haunted, John knew.
She was haunted long before he told her ghosts were real.She wasn't a hunter. But she was something like it. Not just in the way she always had an eye on the exits. Not just in the way she handled the shotguns. And the handguns. And the C4.
It was the way she looked at people when they had to go into town for supplies. There was gruffness in her tone, so she would get what she wanted when she wanted it and not have to suffer fools. But beneath that, there was pity. She felt sorry for them, for not seeing what she could see. She pitied them for having hope. And part of her resented them, hated them even, for having what she couldn't.
But below that, there was love for these people. These pitiful, naive, superficial, and mostly pain-in-the-ass people. She felt it -- the hunter's call. She couldn't warn these people, but she wanted to protect them, wanted to save them. She would die for these strangers. Even though she thought most of them were assholes.
John recognized this in her. He saw it in himself and every damn hunter who'd been in the business more than a week and a half. But Sarah hadn't known about ghosts or vamps or demons or anything else until a couple of weeks ago.
So what the hell had she been hunting?
*****
Sometimes she envied those who were haunted only by the past.
The ones who get to tell their children they'll be fine.
John Winchester probably didn't tell his kids, that, though.
She watched him as he taught her 7-year-old son how to behead a vampire. Winchester seemed impressed by his machete skills.
Two weeks ago, she had found out that there was something else that could come after them. In fact, there were countless variations of supernatural things that could pose a threat.
Just what she needed.
But Winchester seemed to know what to do, seemed to have the weapons and tactics and knowledge down pat. And he seemed pretty willing to share. And Sarah had always found the right men to be with, ones who would teach her son what he would need to know.
She assumed John would be like the others. Thirsty for blood, or hungry for power. That's usually how you get to be the best in the business, when the business is destroying your enemies. She definitely wouldn't have chosen most of them for their company.
John hadn't been like the others, though. He had sized her up, it seemed, knew that she was sticking by him because she didn't ever want to be at the mercy of a spirit again. He knew she was there for his knowledge. And for whatever reason, he didn't seem to expect her to exchange her body for it.
Not that she didn't feel him looking at her sometimes. As Winchester ran through 'hunting' drills with her son, while she watched so she could pick some things up herself, she would notice his eyes glance at her, linger briefly on her body, her sweat reflecting the light and the heat of the desert. He would look away, then, shy almost.
It was times like this that Sarah remembered Kyle.
Not that he was anything like Kyle, not really. She sure as hell didn't love Winchester. But it had been a long time since she had been with a man who was more than just a tactical handbook to her.
There was something about him. Maybe the way there was still kindness in those eyes, though they were clearly burdened by trauma. The way there was still decency in the face lined by a lifetime of sudden attacks. Maybe it was because he was a hunter, because he was fighting for all of humanity. The survival of the species, the fight to death against all the things that looked human but weren't.
She should be careful. Not to get attached. Because John Winchester wasn't Kyle Reese. And he wasn't Sarah Connor either. He had his own war to fight, him and the hunters. And she had hers.
**************
She still hadn't told him anything. Not anything that would explain what she was doing. She was smart and level-headed and rational, though when he said that to her, she had laughed and said, "Believe me, it's only because you haven't seen me pissed off."
But still. She didn't seem the type to let paranoia run her life. So if it wasn't the supernatural, it was something else she was running from. Something else that made her desperate for her son to be able to tackle any threat at any age. She was even harder on her son than John was on his, though also easier with maternal affection, he had to admit.
But she wasn't talking about why.
Though, to be fair, he still hadn't told her about Mary.
But then, she had probably figured it out. She had never asked about the boys' mother, she had never asked about how he got started hunting, or why he did it still. It was like she recognized it, that he kept fighting because he had lost.
He wanted to ask her things. About who she had lost, about what she was thinking of when that razor focus left her eyes for just a moment and she seemed to be somewhere else. Some other time. With some other man.
John understood distraction. For a long time after Mary, John had thought of her when he should have been thinking about the woman he was with. He would sleep with the grateful would-be victim, the occasional psychic, or even random women he met at diners and bars. He told himself he did it to relieve his tension, so he head would be clear for the hunt. But really he was doing it because of Mary. Half of him needed to remember her and half of him needed to forget. And when his lips explored some other woman's body, both halves, in a sense, got their way.
He wasn't going to do that with Sarah, John knew. Sarah was here to learn how to kill things and save people. Or, more likely, to learn even more ways to kill things and save people, and that's exactly what John had taught her. And he wasn't about to take advantage, to act like he expected something in return from a woman who was just trying to protect her child.
He told her so after she kissed him. Her lips were hot on his mouth, but her hands were cool as she ran her fingers through his beard.
And she said, "Believe me, I know what taking advantage is, Winchester. And it's not you."
He wanted to ask her why. He wanted to ask her who she would be thinking about that night in his place.
But he followed her silently as she took his hand and led him to her cot. They sat. And this time, John kissed her.
They were both soft and careful. Their hands, rough and strong, ran gentle over the other's skin. Each could see a cautious trust, an affection, in the eyes of the other.
It was like they weren't acting like themselves. For just this moment, they had an unspoken treaty to be better than that.
As he gently kissed down her neck, she let out a soft moan. Pleasure. The release of something, small but built up. It was the first thing she ever did to make John feel like he knew her thoughts. He slowly pulled up her tank top and she, not waiting for him, undid her bra and removed it. He looked at her, and then up at her eyes, and she looked ... different. Like she was willing herself to choose to feel something other than pain and fear.
He kissed down the middle of her chest, gently sweeping his tongue into the crook between her breasts. Her body bucked when his tongue pressed down on her left nipple, and she moaned again, louder. The taste and the sound melded together for John, and he savored it, the feeling of knowing her. He moved down her stomach as he slowly bent toward the floor. He unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid them down just an inch, and then kneeled on the floor as he gently kissed her on each hip.
He looked up at her then, his eyes telling her what he wanted, needing her to want it too. She pushed down her jeans slowly, and John carefully pulled off her boots and peeled the jeans off her lower legs. He kissed slow circles up her inner thighs, just slightly pushing them farther apart each time he moved upward. He reached the silky hair between her legs and looked up at her again. They were both breathing more heavily and her eyes were full of some emotion that she couldn't hide and he couldn't decipher. But, ever so slightly, John felt Sarah move her legs wider apart, inviting John to finish. He gently licked her outer lips and saw her swell in anticipation. He continued to move his mouth, pressing his tongue inside of her, exploring and tasting and pushing until her whole body was writhing, until her soft moans became barely contained shouts. His tongue hit her clitoris again and again, and she thought about John Winchester and what it's like for him to see her like this, to hear her and smell her and taste her. She thought about her juices on his tongue, messy on his face, and thought about John getting hard from her scent and taste. And then she thought of nothing except the shock of pleasure, the sudden piercing bliss of orgasm as her body shuddered beneath his mouth.
She said nothing for a minute. A long minute.
John started to move away, uncertain if his presence was still wanted. She grabbed his arm.
"You don't owe me," John said, cautiously. "I don't want you to do anything because you think you owe me." He looked shy again, for some reason, younger than his years.
She smiled. And he felt reassured, safe, for the first time in a while. And she said, "I know. But I think you might just owe me another." She glanced down, and it was clear that his erection was visible beneath his jeans. He moved up slowly then to kiss her on the neck again, while unzipping himself. He continued kissing her shoulders as his fingers worked inside of her, smoothly working and finding that she was ready soon. He found a lubricated condom in his wallet and put it on and looked her in the eyes as he entered her slowly. Their gazes stayed fixed as they moved together, and this time it was faster, as they hurtled toward the end. When he felt her come again, he released, and then collapsed next to her, two bodies entwined in a space built for one. He kissed her, and she smiled as she tasted herself on him still.
"You should come to Kansas," John said as he neared sleep, "You and John can meet my boys." He would look back later and wonder what made him say that. Was it just his desire talking, or was it something else?
But she had just said, "That's a nice idea."
Because that's all it was to her, a nice image. When John woke up, she and her son were gone. Nothing left but a note that said,
"Winchester -
Thanks for all you taught us. Thanks for all you did for us. Good luck with your war.
Take care,
Sarah"
He sighed. He wished he could say he was surprised.
He saved the note and thought about her often after that. Wondering what war she was off fighting. And wondering if maybe, by some chance, she was winning.