Fic: Jumping On The Crazy Train 3/4 (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.
By the time they fell asleep the sun had been up for hours.
Dean remembered folding himself into a corner, Sam tapping away at his computer and Crazy balanced on tiptoe, legs making a perfect ‘L’. The cord he plugged into the wall at Crazy’s insistence slowly turned moss green, the head folding over itself until he imagined it literally sucking power from the house. He woke up to the smell of something burning, curled in a hammock that swung lazily over the pool, the surface so crowded with blow-up animals and shapes the it was barely visible.
“Sam?” he called, rubbing crust from his eyes.
“Yeah?” the words came from his right.
Dean rolled over. Sam was swinging next to him in another hammock, computer on his chest.
“Uh…how…?”
“Both of you managed to fall asleep where you were sitting, and were placed in more comfortable sleeping arrangements,” Barnabas’ voice came from the side of the pool. “It is not in her nature to be cruel to those she favors. Not any more than necessary.” There was the sound of claws clicking on tile. “Breakfast is served, by the way.”
The two brothers looked at each other, then down. There was no way to get out of the hammocks without taking a dunk in the pool.
“Oh, you have got to be-“ Dean closed his eyes. “Crazy!”
“Polo!” The word was followed by a rush of the burning odor.
“We need to get down from here,” he called back.
The hammocks disintegrated, sending them both into the water
“Fuck!” Dean sputtered, getting his feet under him and really, he should have seen that coming.
Sam was floating on the nautilus, arms wrapped around his laptop and feet dangling in the water.
"I hate you,” Dean said flatly as he walked to the stairs, water streaming into his eyes. “I really hate you.”
Crazy skidded around the corner wearing an apron and a chef’s hat. The pan she held poured black smoke. “Breakfast!”
Castiel kept his eyes focused in the distance. Sam or Dean should have contacted him by now. He tried to will himself to his charge, but was unable. He could sense his presence a mile to the northeast, energies mingled with the salty taste of frustration and annoyance, but no dread or fear.
For the thousandth time he attempted to enter the strange bubble before him, striking it from all sides. His blows slid off no matter his angle of attack. It encompassed an area two miles in diameter, with what he assumed to be the abandoned house at its center. The area was not warded; no sigils carved into rock or tree, nothing to explain his impotence. There were few entities in his experience capable of creating something that could so thoroughly impede a soldier of God without direct conflict. The energy was constantly shifting, imprecise and chaotic, another mystery.
The second day when Bobby, Sam, or Dean didn’t appear he became restless. Sam told him Bobby planned on being in the area within hours, not days. Castiel ascended, searched out Robert Singer’s energy, and flew.
He came to a stop in the older hunter’s living room.
“Je- don’t do that!” Bobby slammed an oversized package he was carrying onto his desk. He reached up and massaged his chest.
“I apologize.” He checked the hunter’s energy, pleased to find his appearance had only startled, not harmed. “Sam said you were to be in Skylar nearly two days ago.”
“Needed more time for research. Left them both messages.” Bobby eyed him curiously. “New look?”
Castiel looked down. His clothing was once again changed. The suit was replaced with ill-fitting grey jeans and a tee shirt, Son of the Morning! One Millennium Only Tour! emblazoned across his chest. The trench coat was a leather jacket riddled with zippers. With a sigh he restructured the cloth, returning it to its original form.
“It is a side effect of attempting to enter the area,” he explained, and far less embarrassing than some of the changes he had suffered through.
“Not too keen on visitors?”
“Not that I have been able to ascertain.”
The hunter ripped open his package and pulled out an oversized tome, pages thick and yellow with age. “Had to borrow this from a friend of a friend,” he said, spreading it across the desk. “Didn’t get here until this morning. Had some interesting things in it might be what we’re dealing with.”
Castiel examined the document. The cover was thick leather inscribed with iron runes. Bobby pressed his hand against it, fingers covering four of the symbols, and the book clicked with the smell of ozone. “Well, glad that worked,” he muttered, lifting the heavy cover.
The pages were velum, some single, some folded double or triple on themselves to reveal strange tableaus. Not for the first time Castiel lamented his superiors lack of working knowledge when it came to some of the supernatural denizens of their Father’s realm. The habit of his brethren, to ignore those they considered beneath them, had caused him far too much trouble of late.
They poured over the tome, suggesting and dismissing creatures as they went. Most of them were known, and without assistance would have been unable to cause a disruption on such a large scale, others had been extinct for centuries.
In the center of the book two pages opened wide wings in all four directions. The images were crude smears of charcoal delineating seven figures emerging from enveloping darkness. Sharply defined sigils floated around them, carefully rendered in contrast to the group they surrounded. Castiel frowned. “This should not be human knowledge.”
Bobby huffed. “Yeah, well, when your friends start helping out down here we’ll gather up all Daddy’s books and let you take ‘em. Till then, we use what we got.”
Before he could protest further the image bowled outward from the page, pulling the ink behind it with a sound of rushing air. In seconds the drawings were floating above the tome, drifting in front of the hunter and angel in distorted rounds, leaving the page they once occupied yellow and empty.
“What the hell…“
The images popped, sending ink everywhere.
Castiel cleaned the ink away with a thought, but a smell lingered: sweat and soured wine. “I believe I know what we are dealing with,” he said, interrupting Bobby’s tirade.
vThe hunter ran through the rest of the pages, assuring himself that nothing else was damaged. “Gonna share with the class?”
“The creature that has them may mean them great harm, or none at all. It is hard to determine.”
“One of those things in that picture,” he guessed.
Castiel gave a curt nod. “An Incarnation.”
“So… you want us for something specific.”
“Warm.”
“That may or may not hurt us, or people we know.”
“Warmer.”
“That has to do with dealing with supernatural creatures.”
“Getting warmer.”
“You want us to fight them.”
“Cold!”
“Give up, Sam. She’s not telling us anything.”
Sam scratched his head. The last few days (at least he thought it was a few days. Their watches stopped working and they both had a feeling that the days and nights were running longer than they should) were difficult. The ‘Hot, Cold’ game had come to a standstill, with them having to go over questions that were already asked, trying to refine them.
Leaving the house turned out to be a bust. It was always in front of them no matter what direction they traveled in. It was Dean who noticed that each time they did the outside got a little stranger. The hedge sprouted blue flowers that glowed at dusk and dawn; the sun would briefly shift into different colors at random intervals. At night the arm of the Milky Way was brighter than either man could recall seeing, arching in pale purples and creams through a starry sky. Once, the house itself floated above its foundations, the stairs leading to the porch elongated so they covered the new distance. They added these things to the growing list of abilities they were developing for their host.
Other changes were more mundane. The house had electricity of some sort, which supported a bizzare microwave/stove and a new refrigerator that was always filled with food, some of it strange and indefinable. Whatever they asked for appeared and remained in stock until they said they no longer wanted it. When Dean suggested lobster he found six of the creatures, each as long as a forearm, scuttling in the kitchen sink. They both convinced her not to cook again after that first morning and she seemed happy with them doing it for her, or sending Barnabas for takeout. Sam assumed the dog was a shape-shifter, since he couldn’t imagine a restaurant handing over bags of food to the animal.
“Hey, Crazy,” Dean said from the table where he was cleaning his guns. “Think we can call our friends? Let them know we’re still alive?”
She deflated a little at that, hurt darkening her eyes. Her clothes rippled: the skirt lengthened and turned shimmering black, the torn top growing to cover her arms and neck. “I’m not your friend?”
“Yes, you are,” Sam jumped in, giving his brother a glare. “We just have…other friends… who’re worried about us.”
“Fine.” She grabbed his laptop and opened it. “Call them.”
“I don’t think-“
“Call. Them.”
Sam took a breath. “Okay.”
“Bobby?”
Bobby looked up. Great, now he was hearing things.
“Bobby!”
He knew that voice. “Sam?”
“Could you come to your computer?”
Bobby walked around until he was standing in front of his desk. There was Sam, staring at him with a sickly smile. He glanced down. The power buttons on both the screen and the tower were dark.
“Uh. Hey.”
“I’m not gonna ask how you’re doing this, son.”
“Good. Because I don’t know.”
“They have made contact?”
Bobby glared as the angel appeared next to him. “You know, I’m gonna put a bell on you,” he threatened.
Castiel ignored him. “Are you both all right?”
“Yeah. We’re just… stuck. But we’re okay.” Speak for yourself, was shouted in the background.
“Any chance of you getting yourselves out of there?”
“I don’t think so.” No, no… I am not wearing… this is just…SAM!!!
Dean pushed his brother out of the way and Bobby wished there was a way to record this, because the older Winchester looked like he just stepped out of the sixties. “Are those flowers?”
Dean ripped the oversized pink blooms out of his hair. “You gotta get us outta here, Bobby. She’s crazy.”
“Polo!”
“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “I would like to speak with her.”
“Hey, Crazy! Someone wants to talk to you!”
The screen filled with pale skin and mismatched eyes. “Do not attempt to adjust the picture.” The voice was a deep baritone. “I am now controlling the transmission.”
The angel blinked. “I am Castiel.”
The Incarnation leaned back. Leave it to the Winchesters to get kidnapped by a kid. A weird looking kid, Bobby mused, but still a kid. “Hi, Castiel,” she said with a loose wave, voice light and airy.
“Hello. You have taken two of our friends against their will,” he explained. “We would like them back.”
A fish swam in front of the screen, leaving little bubbles in its wake. “I’ll give them back…” her eyes cut to the side.
“Within their lifetime,” Castiel pushed.
“Arrgggg!”
She popped. Literally burst into a shower of sparkles. Bobby turned to the angel.
“Okay. I need you to tell me everything.” Maybe if he wrote everything down and gave it to Chester the man wouldn’t try to tear him a new one for what happened to his book.
Maybe.
Back Next
_____________________________________________________
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! See something that's wrong? Formatting screwy? Just want to say hi? Leave a review!
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.
By the time they fell asleep the sun had been up for hours.
Dean remembered folding himself into a corner, Sam tapping away at his computer and Crazy balanced on tiptoe, legs making a perfect ‘L’. The cord he plugged into the wall at Crazy’s insistence slowly turned moss green, the head folding over itself until he imagined it literally sucking power from the house. He woke up to the smell of something burning, curled in a hammock that swung lazily over the pool, the surface so crowded with blow-up animals and shapes the it was barely visible.
“Sam?” he called, rubbing crust from his eyes.
“Yeah?” the words came from his right.
Dean rolled over. Sam was swinging next to him in another hammock, computer on his chest.
“Uh…how…?”
“Both of you managed to fall asleep where you were sitting, and were placed in more comfortable sleeping arrangements,” Barnabas’ voice came from the side of the pool. “It is not in her nature to be cruel to those she favors. Not any more than necessary.” There was the sound of claws clicking on tile. “Breakfast is served, by the way.”
The two brothers looked at each other, then down. There was no way to get out of the hammocks without taking a dunk in the pool.
“Oh, you have got to be-“ Dean closed his eyes. “Crazy!”
“Polo!” The word was followed by a rush of the burning odor.
“We need to get down from here,” he called back.
The hammocks disintegrated, sending them both into the water
“Fuck!” Dean sputtered, getting his feet under him and really, he should have seen that coming.
Sam was floating on the nautilus, arms wrapped around his laptop and feet dangling in the water.
"I hate you,” Dean said flatly as he walked to the stairs, water streaming into his eyes. “I really hate you.”
Crazy skidded around the corner wearing an apron and a chef’s hat. The pan she held poured black smoke. “Breakfast!”
Castiel kept his eyes focused in the distance. Sam or Dean should have contacted him by now. He tried to will himself to his charge, but was unable. He could sense his presence a mile to the northeast, energies mingled with the salty taste of frustration and annoyance, but no dread or fear.
For the thousandth time he attempted to enter the strange bubble before him, striking it from all sides. His blows slid off no matter his angle of attack. It encompassed an area two miles in diameter, with what he assumed to be the abandoned house at its center. The area was not warded; no sigils carved into rock or tree, nothing to explain his impotence. There were few entities in his experience capable of creating something that could so thoroughly impede a soldier of God without direct conflict. The energy was constantly shifting, imprecise and chaotic, another mystery.
The second day when Bobby, Sam, or Dean didn’t appear he became restless. Sam told him Bobby planned on being in the area within hours, not days. Castiel ascended, searched out Robert Singer’s energy, and flew.
He came to a stop in the older hunter’s living room.
“Je- don’t do that!” Bobby slammed an oversized package he was carrying onto his desk. He reached up and massaged his chest.
“I apologize.” He checked the hunter’s energy, pleased to find his appearance had only startled, not harmed. “Sam said you were to be in Skylar nearly two days ago.”
“Needed more time for research. Left them both messages.” Bobby eyed him curiously. “New look?”
Castiel looked down. His clothing was once again changed. The suit was replaced with ill-fitting grey jeans and a tee shirt, Son of the Morning! One Millennium Only Tour! emblazoned across his chest. The trench coat was a leather jacket riddled with zippers. With a sigh he restructured the cloth, returning it to its original form.
“It is a side effect of attempting to enter the area,” he explained, and far less embarrassing than some of the changes he had suffered through.
“Not too keen on visitors?”
“Not that I have been able to ascertain.”
The hunter ripped open his package and pulled out an oversized tome, pages thick and yellow with age. “Had to borrow this from a friend of a friend,” he said, spreading it across the desk. “Didn’t get here until this morning. Had some interesting things in it might be what we’re dealing with.”
Castiel examined the document. The cover was thick leather inscribed with iron runes. Bobby pressed his hand against it, fingers covering four of the symbols, and the book clicked with the smell of ozone. “Well, glad that worked,” he muttered, lifting the heavy cover.
The pages were velum, some single, some folded double or triple on themselves to reveal strange tableaus. Not for the first time Castiel lamented his superiors lack of working knowledge when it came to some of the supernatural denizens of their Father’s realm. The habit of his brethren, to ignore those they considered beneath them, had caused him far too much trouble of late.
They poured over the tome, suggesting and dismissing creatures as they went. Most of them were known, and without assistance would have been unable to cause a disruption on such a large scale, others had been extinct for centuries.
In the center of the book two pages opened wide wings in all four directions. The images were crude smears of charcoal delineating seven figures emerging from enveloping darkness. Sharply defined sigils floated around them, carefully rendered in contrast to the group they surrounded. Castiel frowned. “This should not be human knowledge.”
Bobby huffed. “Yeah, well, when your friends start helping out down here we’ll gather up all Daddy’s books and let you take ‘em. Till then, we use what we got.”
Before he could protest further the image bowled outward from the page, pulling the ink behind it with a sound of rushing air. In seconds the drawings were floating above the tome, drifting in front of the hunter and angel in distorted rounds, leaving the page they once occupied yellow and empty.
“What the hell…“
The images popped, sending ink everywhere.
Castiel cleaned the ink away with a thought, but a smell lingered: sweat and soured wine. “I believe I know what we are dealing with,” he said, interrupting Bobby’s tirade.
vThe hunter ran through the rest of the pages, assuring himself that nothing else was damaged. “Gonna share with the class?”
“The creature that has them may mean them great harm, or none at all. It is hard to determine.”
“One of those things in that picture,” he guessed.
Castiel gave a curt nod. “An Incarnation.”
“So… you want us for something specific.”
“Warm.”
“That may or may not hurt us, or people we know.”
“Warmer.”
“That has to do with dealing with supernatural creatures.”
“Getting warmer.”
“You want us to fight them.”
“Cold!”
“Give up, Sam. She’s not telling us anything.”
Sam scratched his head. The last few days (at least he thought it was a few days. Their watches stopped working and they both had a feeling that the days and nights were running longer than they should) were difficult. The ‘Hot, Cold’ game had come to a standstill, with them having to go over questions that were already asked, trying to refine them.
Leaving the house turned out to be a bust. It was always in front of them no matter what direction they traveled in. It was Dean who noticed that each time they did the outside got a little stranger. The hedge sprouted blue flowers that glowed at dusk and dawn; the sun would briefly shift into different colors at random intervals. At night the arm of the Milky Way was brighter than either man could recall seeing, arching in pale purples and creams through a starry sky. Once, the house itself floated above its foundations, the stairs leading to the porch elongated so they covered the new distance. They added these things to the growing list of abilities they were developing for their host.
Other changes were more mundane. The house had electricity of some sort, which supported a bizzare microwave/stove and a new refrigerator that was always filled with food, some of it strange and indefinable. Whatever they asked for appeared and remained in stock until they said they no longer wanted it. When Dean suggested lobster he found six of the creatures, each as long as a forearm, scuttling in the kitchen sink. They both convinced her not to cook again after that first morning and she seemed happy with them doing it for her, or sending Barnabas for takeout. Sam assumed the dog was a shape-shifter, since he couldn’t imagine a restaurant handing over bags of food to the animal.
“Hey, Crazy,” Dean said from the table where he was cleaning his guns. “Think we can call our friends? Let them know we’re still alive?”
She deflated a little at that, hurt darkening her eyes. Her clothes rippled: the skirt lengthened and turned shimmering black, the torn top growing to cover her arms and neck. “I’m not your friend?”
“Yes, you are,” Sam jumped in, giving his brother a glare. “We just have…other friends… who’re worried about us.”
“Fine.” She grabbed his laptop and opened it. “Call them.”
“I don’t think-“
“Call. Them.”
Sam took a breath. “Okay.”
“Bobby?”
Bobby looked up. Great, now he was hearing things.
“Bobby!”
He knew that voice. “Sam?”
“Could you come to your computer?”
Bobby walked around until he was standing in front of his desk. There was Sam, staring at him with a sickly smile. He glanced down. The power buttons on both the screen and the tower were dark.
“Uh. Hey.”
“I’m not gonna ask how you’re doing this, son.”
“Good. Because I don’t know.”
“They have made contact?”
Bobby glared as the angel appeared next to him. “You know, I’m gonna put a bell on you,” he threatened.
Castiel ignored him. “Are you both all right?”
“Yeah. We’re just… stuck. But we’re okay.” Speak for yourself, was shouted in the background.
“Any chance of you getting yourselves out of there?”
“I don’t think so.” No, no… I am not wearing… this is just…SAM!!!
Dean pushed his brother out of the way and Bobby wished there was a way to record this, because the older Winchester looked like he just stepped out of the sixties. “Are those flowers?”
Dean ripped the oversized pink blooms out of his hair. “You gotta get us outta here, Bobby. She’s crazy.”
“Polo!”
“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “I would like to speak with her.”
“Hey, Crazy! Someone wants to talk to you!”
The screen filled with pale skin and mismatched eyes. “Do not attempt to adjust the picture.” The voice was a deep baritone. “I am now controlling the transmission.”
The angel blinked. “I am Castiel.”
The Incarnation leaned back. Leave it to the Winchesters to get kidnapped by a kid. A weird looking kid, Bobby mused, but still a kid. “Hi, Castiel,” she said with a loose wave, voice light and airy.
“Hello. You have taken two of our friends against their will,” he explained. “We would like them back.”
A fish swam in front of the screen, leaving little bubbles in its wake. “I’ll give them back…” her eyes cut to the side.
“Within their lifetime,” Castiel pushed.
“Arrgggg!”
She popped. Literally burst into a shower of sparkles. Bobby turned to the angel.
“Okay. I need you to tell me everything.” Maybe if he wrote everything down and gave it to Chester the man wouldn’t try to tear him a new one for what happened to his book.
Maybe.
Back Next
_____________________________________________________
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! See something that's wrong? Formatting screwy? Just want to say hi? Leave a review!