WIP snippet- SPN
I have often heard writers say they don't want to warn for fear of spoiling their story. I have always... kind of rolled my eyes at this. I mean, we in fandom write about lots of triggery and unpleasant things, and I defend vociferously a person's right to write absolutely ANYTHING they want- torture, rape, underage, incest, RPS, go to town- but the flip side of that right is the responsibility to label and warn so that no one has to be exposed to things they don't want to be. I mean, this seems like the obvious moral and practical solution to me.
I am writing the SPN AU and normally I keep a running header at the top- my expected rating, parings, summary, and warnings, updated at the end of each time I work on it. And I started to write the warnings line and realized I (best whiny toddler voice here) don't WANNA warn. I mean, I want the story to start from the AU premise and move forward from that, as opposed to moving forward to the Icky Event that the reader is waiting or bracing for. *sigh* warnings would impede my precious artistic vision, you see.
There was no point to that other that to mock myself a little.
That said, I will not get this done before the next SPN episode. Plus, I wrote this first part as the AU setup, and now I think I'll have to revise it heavily to fit with Dean's POV and the much starker, sparser tone of the rest of the story. So... here. Have a spoilery 4x03 SPN WIP snippet (gen and this legitimately comes with no warnings yet).
May 1973
Dean sees it coming; sees it, like watching the train barreling down the tracks in a bad dream, helpless to stop it, limbs heavy and screams of warning choked off in his throat. He barrels down the road in that crappy Pinto, joke of a car, no time to get stopped for speeding now, not when he knows that right now, this minute, Mary is making a deal.
They had it all wrong, the three of them. John and Dean and Sam, all this time, with a picture of Mary tucked in their back pockets, their wallets, their hearts. Mary in her long white robe, the original tragedy, the innocent sacrifice, the guardian angel. They had it all wrong. This is Mary, in front of him: pink lipstick and sparkly hunter's charm bracelet and devastated, tear-streaked face. No white gown and beatific smile. Not the innocent sacrifice but the original deal maker, not symbolic object but flesh and blood subject, gritty determination and heartbreak in her eyes as the headlights sweep across her and she lifts her face to the yellow-eyed serpent.
The sound of the car door slamming behind him is vague and muffled, heard from underwater and far away. The sense of unreality is completely convincing. He isn't really here; this is all a dream from Castiel, and he can change nothing because it's already happened. Mary will kiss the demon because Mary already kissed him. Because she closes the triptych, last as she was first, the circle unbroken, Winchesters without end, Amen.
Dean feels trapped in slow-motion time as he crunches across the gravel, breath burning in his lungs. Castiel said he could stop it. Castiel was wrong. His mind spins in irrelevant circles of grandfather paradoxes and crazy Star Trek time-travel movies, but that isn't how he knows the complete inevitability he faces.
How can he, Dean Winchester, stop this when he has never in his life been able to avert any tragedy, great or small, any time it really matters?
The only physical sensation he's truly aware of is the cold, hard weight of the Colt in one hand. It's lifeless and vaguely ridiculous. The most prized, protected, fought-over object in the entire supernatural world, and what good has it ever done them? It's a worn-out talisman, over-signified and useless.
He must have shouted something, because the yellow-eyed bastard pauses before the kiss to look at him, and Mary turns to look as well. He raises the Colt, because that's what you do -- it's what you do, when you're the hero and you burst in just too late to stop it, you point the gun at the bad guy, he knows that much -- and Samuel Campbell's head snaps backwards, and black smoke pours from his mouth in a horrifying endless rush.
That's when he sees John's broken body.
I am writing the SPN AU and normally I keep a running header at the top- my expected rating, parings, summary, and warnings, updated at the end of each time I work on it. And I started to write the warnings line and realized I (best whiny toddler voice here) don't WANNA warn. I mean, I want the story to start from the AU premise and move forward from that, as opposed to moving forward to the Icky Event that the reader is waiting or bracing for. *sigh* warnings would impede my precious artistic vision, you see.
There was no point to that other that to mock myself a little.
That said, I will not get this done before the next SPN episode. Plus, I wrote this first part as the AU setup, and now I think I'll have to revise it heavily to fit with Dean's POV and the much starker, sparser tone of the rest of the story. So... here. Have a spoilery 4x03 SPN WIP snippet (gen and this legitimately comes with no warnings yet).
May 1973
Dean sees it coming; sees it, like watching the train barreling down the tracks in a bad dream, helpless to stop it, limbs heavy and screams of warning choked off in his throat. He barrels down the road in that crappy Pinto, joke of a car, no time to get stopped for speeding now, not when he knows that right now, this minute, Mary is making a deal.
They had it all wrong, the three of them. John and Dean and Sam, all this time, with a picture of Mary tucked in their back pockets, their wallets, their hearts. Mary in her long white robe, the original tragedy, the innocent sacrifice, the guardian angel. They had it all wrong. This is Mary, in front of him: pink lipstick and sparkly hunter's charm bracelet and devastated, tear-streaked face. No white gown and beatific smile. Not the innocent sacrifice but the original deal maker, not symbolic object but flesh and blood subject, gritty determination and heartbreak in her eyes as the headlights sweep across her and she lifts her face to the yellow-eyed serpent.
The sound of the car door slamming behind him is vague and muffled, heard from underwater and far away. The sense of unreality is completely convincing. He isn't really here; this is all a dream from Castiel, and he can change nothing because it's already happened. Mary will kiss the demon because Mary already kissed him. Because she closes the triptych, last as she was first, the circle unbroken, Winchesters without end, Amen.
Dean feels trapped in slow-motion time as he crunches across the gravel, breath burning in his lungs. Castiel said he could stop it. Castiel was wrong. His mind spins in irrelevant circles of grandfather paradoxes and crazy Star Trek time-travel movies, but that isn't how he knows the complete inevitability he faces.
How can he, Dean Winchester, stop this when he has never in his life been able to avert any tragedy, great or small, any time it really matters?
The only physical sensation he's truly aware of is the cold, hard weight of the Colt in one hand. It's lifeless and vaguely ridiculous. The most prized, protected, fought-over object in the entire supernatural world, and what good has it ever done them? It's a worn-out talisman, over-signified and useless.
He must have shouted something, because the yellow-eyed bastard pauses before the kiss to look at him, and Mary turns to look as well. He raises the Colt, because that's what you do -- it's what you do, when you're the hero and you burst in just too late to stop it, you point the gun at the bad guy, he knows that much -- and Samuel Campbell's head snaps backwards, and black smoke pours from his mouth in a horrifying endless rush.
That's when he sees John's broken body.