Fic: Jumping On The Crazy Train 2/3 (Supernatural / Sandman Xover)
Title: Jumping On The Crazy Train
Fandom: Supernatural / Sandman (Neil Gaiman)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for all seasons, but if you've seen at least through Season 4 you should be all right
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal hunt: just a few werewolves kicking up dust in southern Illinois. Instead he had to deal with... well, when Dean figured that out he'd get back to you. One thing was certain, though: this was the last time he let Sam play Captain Save-A-Ho. The absolute last time.
Dean decided it would be better for everyone involved (meaning him, since Sam apparently decided it was cool to drop crazy in his lap then cut and run) to just get in the pool. He made this decision after finding out that no matter where he went, when he blinked it was there anyway. Turning around from a piss to find Crazy waving at him from behind one of the statues was too much, even for him. It turned out to be the best decision he’d made since agreeing to let her into the Impala. The water was bathtub warm in most places, aside from an ice cold current that wove through it. For the record, he did not shriek like a little girl the first time he swam through the eddy.
He shrieked like a little girl when the blow-up nautilus twice the size of his torso winked at him and wiggled a suggestive tentacle.
Crazy was content to let him float aimlessly through her pool after that, disappearing under the water to leap over him like a mermaid out of a bad movie, trailing colors and her ever-present fish. The ankle-length dress she wore didn’t seem to slow her down at all. Real mermaids weren’t looking to make arching leaps over unwary swimmers, Dean mused as he stared up at the ceiling. They were looking to get left the fuck alone and when you messed with them they drowned your sorry ass. Since the pool was only five and a half feet at the deepest he felt fairly safe.
The hunter closed his eyes, focused on pretending he was in a hotel pool instead of floating in one ready-made by a supernatural entity in an abandoned house in Skylar, Illinois. The warmth of the water made it feel like he was floating in midair. It was calm, peaceful.
“I went to Hell, once.”
Dean’s eyes snapped open. Crazy was looking down at him. Correction, she was floating over him hand hovering over his shoulder and what the actual fuck. He paddled from under her and stood. “What?”
“Hell.” She did a lazy backstroke through the air. “The Burning Realm. Gehenna. The Seat of Damnation.” She tucked her knees to her chest, red hair fading to flat blonde. “I didn’t like it.” She dropped back into the water with a splash.
“Hey! Hey, Crazy!” Dean reached down, dragging a hand through the water in front of him, hoping to grab an arm or a leg. The water had gone opaque and thick where she landed. Shit, the last thing he needed was a suicidal whatever on his hands.
“She’ll be all right.”
Dean spun around, hand going to his back before he remembered that she’d vanished his clothes over an hour ago. Sitting on the edge of the pool beside a handled paper bag was the biggest German Sheppard he’d ever seen, but there was no sign of the deep voice. The animal was staring at him with golden eyes. “Nice dog.”
The Sheppard shook itself and stood. “Yeah. Now, if you’re done, the wanton soup is getting cold.”
“Did you…” Dean squinted, because there was no way. “Did you just talk?”
“Ooooo, egg rolls!”
Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs went around his waist as a slender, wet weight settled on his back. Jesus, the chick didn’t weigh anything.
“Come, on, Dean! Best Chinese in the state!”
“Twelve miles outside Skylar, Illinois. Three story farmhouse off Brandt Rd. Can’t miss it.”
“Brandt,” Bobby repeated. “And the angel hasn’t been able to tell you anything?”
Sam glanced at his companion. Castiel was standing in the middle of the dirt road, eyes locked on the direction of the house. “He’s got nothing.”
“Looks like that’s par for the course.” The older hunter sighed. “All right, I’ll be there in a few hours.”’
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He hung up before Sam could reply.
“Robert is going to assist us,” Castiel stated.
“Yeah.” Sam slid into the Impala. “You sure you just wanna sit here?”
The angel nodded. “I will direct him further once he arrives. Please tell Dean that I am sorry I can’t be of more help.”
Sam started the Impala and pulled into the road. After half an hour Cas had given up trying to get closer to the farmhouse and focused instead on trying to provoke another response. The fish hadn’t returned, but he did manage to get his coat turned into a pleather-like material with bright spangles. He’d turned it back (with difficulty, Sam noted) and went completely still, peering off into the distance.
Sam’s phone beeped. It was about time. He’d been texting and calling since the ‘You Shall Not Pass’ situation developed. He pulled it out of his pocket as he turned onto the access road that led to the house.
An elephant never forgets where she left her trunk.
“What?” He looked up.
And slammed on the breaks.
The Impala came to a stop inches from white railing. The farmhouse should have been half a mile away, not dead in front of him. Sam climbed out of the car and stared.
When they arrived in Skylar days ago the house had been perfect for their needs: old, abandoned, no recent evidence of graffiti or drunken raves. Inside the walls were mostly intact and lacked raccoons, bees, or any other critters - natural or otherwise - that could be problematic. Brush had grown up over the years, hiding it from the main road so you almost had to be on it to know it was there. Just an old house, so long unused that even the local teens forgot it existed.
The house wasn’t run down now. The giant hedge out front was trimmed back into a spiral. The windows, once broken and empty, glowed yellow in the darkness, spilling rectangles of light onto soft grass. The porch wasn’t sagging. The rails, most of which had been broken or missing, were replaced and painted white. The old, weathered gray house was sky blue; there were even flowers in a window sill planter that didn’t look like any flowers he’d ever seen.
“Dean?” He opened the door slowly, gun in hand. The salt line was still intact.
The inside of the house had not been altered as much as the exterior. A table between the door and main staircase held more of those strange flowers (each petal a different color, waving slightly and were they watching him?). The walls didn’t look molded and sported strange splashes of paint and abstract designs. The air was moist and warm and smelled like soup and pepper steak. “Dean?”
“In here, Sammy.”
Sam followed the sound of his brother’s voice, pausing when he saw the swimming pool. He stepped back outside, noting the dimensions of the house. There was no way that pool should have existed strictly from a physical perspective. It was getting stranger by the minute, and for them that was saying a hell of a lot. “Dean?”
Something hit the back of his head. “I said in here.”
Sam walked through the archway into what had most likely been a dining room. Dean sat at a giant marble table surrounded by cartons. The girl sat cross-legged on the table, tossing strips of meat to a black dog. “Yo. You hear from Cas?” he asked.
Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah. He’s stuck outside some kind of barrier.”
“Silly bird,” the girl said around a mouthful of noodles.
“Uh, Dean?” His eyes took in the table, the sparkling paint, the credenza, the dog, and Dean shrugged.
“Just go with it, Sammy,” he nudged a carton in his direction. “Get it while it’s hot.”
‘Going with it’ lasted another ten minutes.
“You’re not supposed to tell secrets, Barnabas! Bad dog!”
The girl was fuming, hands on hips, and now he could see what his brother was talking about. The hair was particularly disturbing, writhing around her like angry snakes. Hell, what had he let convince him to help?
“It’s not a secret, merely not readily known,” the dog answered, sitting primly on the table. “Considering what you want, they have a right.”
She stamped her foot and the table vanished, spilling the remaining Chinese food onto the floor. Barnabas didn’t seem concerned; he just settled amid the wreckage and nosed at a carton of fried rice.
“So, you’re an immortal,” Sam coaxed. Her attention settled on him and he felt the back of his neck prickle.
“I’m not telling.”
Dean swore, and then yelped. The swim trunks he was wearing had shrunk down to a speedo and really, he did not need to see that.
“Watch the goods,” his brother groused, then paled. “I meant be careful, not magic them away or anything.”
“Ew,” she wiped her hands against the torn denim vest she was wearing. In a blink he was back in his jeans and shirt.
“They have a right-“
“Nope!” She turned upside down, floating in midair.
“Okay,” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “How about a game? Hot and cold. You let us know when we’re getting close to the right answer.”
The dog muttered something about the blind leading the blind, but the girl seemed happy. “Yes! You start! Where’s the fudge?”
Fudge? Dean mouthed, and Sam shook his head. “I don’t think-“
“Cold!” She ran into the other room with a resounding splash and a wave of water that lapped at their ankles.
The two brothers stared at each other.
“Your fault,” Dean bit out.
Sam couldn’t deny it this time. “I owe you pie.”
Back Next
_______________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Barnabas has always sounded like Gregory Peck in my head.... yeah, I know.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^
Fandom: Supernatural / Sandman (Neil Gaiman)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for all seasons, but if you've seen at least through Season 4 you should be all right
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal hunt: just a few werewolves kicking up dust in southern Illinois. Instead he had to deal with... well, when Dean figured that out he'd get back to you. One thing was certain, though: this was the last time he let Sam play Captain Save-A-Ho. The absolute last time.
Dean decided it would be better for everyone involved (meaning him, since Sam apparently decided it was cool to drop crazy in his lap then cut and run) to just get in the pool. He made this decision after finding out that no matter where he went, when he blinked it was there anyway. Turning around from a piss to find Crazy waving at him from behind one of the statues was too much, even for him. It turned out to be the best decision he’d made since agreeing to let her into the Impala. The water was bathtub warm in most places, aside from an ice cold current that wove through it. For the record, he did not shriek like a little girl the first time he swam through the eddy.
He shrieked like a little girl when the blow-up nautilus twice the size of his torso winked at him and wiggled a suggestive tentacle.
Crazy was content to let him float aimlessly through her pool after that, disappearing under the water to leap over him like a mermaid out of a bad movie, trailing colors and her ever-present fish. The ankle-length dress she wore didn’t seem to slow her down at all. Real mermaids weren’t looking to make arching leaps over unwary swimmers, Dean mused as he stared up at the ceiling. They were looking to get left the fuck alone and when you messed with them they drowned your sorry ass. Since the pool was only five and a half feet at the deepest he felt fairly safe.
The hunter closed his eyes, focused on pretending he was in a hotel pool instead of floating in one ready-made by a supernatural entity in an abandoned house in Skylar, Illinois. The warmth of the water made it feel like he was floating in midair. It was calm, peaceful.
“I went to Hell, once.”
Dean’s eyes snapped open. Crazy was looking down at him. Correction, she was floating over him hand hovering over his shoulder and what the actual fuck. He paddled from under her and stood. “What?”
“Hell.” She did a lazy backstroke through the air. “The Burning Realm. Gehenna. The Seat of Damnation.” She tucked her knees to her chest, red hair fading to flat blonde. “I didn’t like it.” She dropped back into the water with a splash.
“Hey! Hey, Crazy!” Dean reached down, dragging a hand through the water in front of him, hoping to grab an arm or a leg. The water had gone opaque and thick where she landed. Shit, the last thing he needed was a suicidal whatever on his hands.
“She’ll be all right.”
Dean spun around, hand going to his back before he remembered that she’d vanished his clothes over an hour ago. Sitting on the edge of the pool beside a handled paper bag was the biggest German Sheppard he’d ever seen, but there was no sign of the deep voice. The animal was staring at him with golden eyes. “Nice dog.”
The Sheppard shook itself and stood. “Yeah. Now, if you’re done, the wanton soup is getting cold.”
“Did you…” Dean squinted, because there was no way. “Did you just talk?”
“Ooooo, egg rolls!”
Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs went around his waist as a slender, wet weight settled on his back. Jesus, the chick didn’t weigh anything.
“Come, on, Dean! Best Chinese in the state!”
“Twelve miles outside Skylar, Illinois. Three story farmhouse off Brandt Rd. Can’t miss it.”
“Brandt,” Bobby repeated. “And the angel hasn’t been able to tell you anything?”
Sam glanced at his companion. Castiel was standing in the middle of the dirt road, eyes locked on the direction of the house. “He’s got nothing.”
“Looks like that’s par for the course.” The older hunter sighed. “All right, I’ll be there in a few hours.”’
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He hung up before Sam could reply.
“Robert is going to assist us,” Castiel stated.
“Yeah.” Sam slid into the Impala. “You sure you just wanna sit here?”
The angel nodded. “I will direct him further once he arrives. Please tell Dean that I am sorry I can’t be of more help.”
Sam started the Impala and pulled into the road. After half an hour Cas had given up trying to get closer to the farmhouse and focused instead on trying to provoke another response. The fish hadn’t returned, but he did manage to get his coat turned into a pleather-like material with bright spangles. He’d turned it back (with difficulty, Sam noted) and went completely still, peering off into the distance.
Sam’s phone beeped. It was about time. He’d been texting and calling since the ‘You Shall Not Pass’ situation developed. He pulled it out of his pocket as he turned onto the access road that led to the house.
An elephant never forgets where she left her trunk.
“What?” He looked up.
And slammed on the breaks.
The Impala came to a stop inches from white railing. The farmhouse should have been half a mile away, not dead in front of him. Sam climbed out of the car and stared.
When they arrived in Skylar days ago the house had been perfect for their needs: old, abandoned, no recent evidence of graffiti or drunken raves. Inside the walls were mostly intact and lacked raccoons, bees, or any other critters - natural or otherwise - that could be problematic. Brush had grown up over the years, hiding it from the main road so you almost had to be on it to know it was there. Just an old house, so long unused that even the local teens forgot it existed.
The house wasn’t run down now. The giant hedge out front was trimmed back into a spiral. The windows, once broken and empty, glowed yellow in the darkness, spilling rectangles of light onto soft grass. The porch wasn’t sagging. The rails, most of which had been broken or missing, were replaced and painted white. The old, weathered gray house was sky blue; there were even flowers in a window sill planter that didn’t look like any flowers he’d ever seen.
“Dean?” He opened the door slowly, gun in hand. The salt line was still intact.
The inside of the house had not been altered as much as the exterior. A table between the door and main staircase held more of those strange flowers (each petal a different color, waving slightly and were they watching him?). The walls didn’t look molded and sported strange splashes of paint and abstract designs. The air was moist and warm and smelled like soup and pepper steak. “Dean?”
“In here, Sammy.”
Sam followed the sound of his brother’s voice, pausing when he saw the swimming pool. He stepped back outside, noting the dimensions of the house. There was no way that pool should have existed strictly from a physical perspective. It was getting stranger by the minute, and for them that was saying a hell of a lot. “Dean?”
Something hit the back of his head. “I said in here.”
Sam walked through the archway into what had most likely been a dining room. Dean sat at a giant marble table surrounded by cartons. The girl sat cross-legged on the table, tossing strips of meat to a black dog. “Yo. You hear from Cas?” he asked.
Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah. He’s stuck outside some kind of barrier.”
“Silly bird,” the girl said around a mouthful of noodles.
“Uh, Dean?” His eyes took in the table, the sparkling paint, the credenza, the dog, and Dean shrugged.
“Just go with it, Sammy,” he nudged a carton in his direction. “Get it while it’s hot.”
‘Going with it’ lasted another ten minutes.
“You’re not supposed to tell secrets, Barnabas! Bad dog!”
The girl was fuming, hands on hips, and now he could see what his brother was talking about. The hair was particularly disturbing, writhing around her like angry snakes. Hell, what had he let convince him to help?
“It’s not a secret, merely not readily known,” the dog answered, sitting primly on the table. “Considering what you want, they have a right.”
She stamped her foot and the table vanished, spilling the remaining Chinese food onto the floor. Barnabas didn’t seem concerned; he just settled amid the wreckage and nosed at a carton of fried rice.
“So, you’re an immortal,” Sam coaxed. Her attention settled on him and he felt the back of his neck prickle.
“I’m not telling.”
Dean swore, and then yelped. The swim trunks he was wearing had shrunk down to a speedo and really, he did not need to see that.
“Watch the goods,” his brother groused, then paled. “I meant be careful, not magic them away or anything.”
“Ew,” she wiped her hands against the torn denim vest she was wearing. In a blink he was back in his jeans and shirt.
“They have a right-“
“Nope!” She turned upside down, floating in midair.
“Okay,” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “How about a game? Hot and cold. You let us know when we’re getting close to the right answer.”
The dog muttered something about the blind leading the blind, but the girl seemed happy. “Yes! You start! Where’s the fudge?”
Fudge? Dean mouthed, and Sam shook his head. “I don’t think-“
“Cold!” She ran into the other room with a resounding splash and a wave of water that lapped at their ankles.
The two brothers stared at each other.
“Your fault,” Dean bit out.
Sam couldn’t deny it this time. “I owe you pie.”
Back Next
_______________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Barnabas has always sounded like Gregory Peck in my head.... yeah, I know.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^