In Dreams (Elanor/Gabriel)
title: in dreams
fandom/pairing: supernatural, pre-elanor/gabriel
summary: elanor has been having dark dreams of late, and the trickster decides that it's time both for another visit, and for her to finally have peace.
word count: 2356.
notes: elanor winchester is an original character, created by myself and my friend kasey.
disclaimer: the names of all characters contained herein are the property of their respective network, the CW, and their creators, such as they are.
rating/warnings: t/pg-13, just to be safe.
Elanor is dreaming.
She knows that she’s dreaming because, as with most dreams, she doesn’t remember the beginning. She asks herself the question “How did I get here?” and she cannot answer herself
Of course, with her line of work, anything is possible, but she’s also wearing a green silk dress, and the night sky is far too clear and the weather too warm for Missouri this time of year.
Her hand itches to be holding a gun, or a knife. Anything, really, that could afford her some protection. She’ll have to make do.
She looks around at her surroundings; a forest is to her left, what looks like an abandoned house resides behind her, with the Impala parked out front, and in front of her is a sloping hill that leads down to a dock, and then a lake. The moon illuminates all of it, and it’s so bright that she could swear it’s daytime.
The atmosphere, she thinks, would be decidedly romantic, if she wasn’t too unsure of what was going on.
Elanor senses him before he speaks.
“Looking good, doll.”
She turns around to face him, trying her hardest not to smile in surprise and delight. (She succeeds, but she thinks that he knows seeing him makes her happy; he smirks in response.)
“I should’ve known that this was your doing, Trickster.”
He chuffs in disapproval. “Ah, Elanor. That’s not my name.”
She frowns. “Then what is your name?”
He’s thoughtful for a few moments, and she takes in his appearance. Different, but not much so, since she first met him on that college campus. His hair is only just longer, and it looks like he’s lost some weight. He’s wearing what looks like a olive-drab combat jacket, and a red button-down shirt over a black t-shirt. He never seemed like a jeans type of guy, but he’s wearing some now. He looks good, she thinks, and then instantly banishes the thought, along with the desire to take the collar of his jacket in between her fingers, and feel it gently.
“I think my true name will have to wait just a little bit longer.”
She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs in response.
“I know, I know. But sometimes, anticipation can make the reward all the more sweet, don’t you think? Besides, I’m not all that sure that you’re ready to know.”
She says nothing. If there’s one thing Elanor hates, it’s being treated like a child. She can handle plenty of things, his name not least among them.
“Don’t be mad,” he says finally. “I will tell you, I promise.”
She gives a short laugh; if anything’s funny, it’s this creature, this being, making promises to her when by all rights she should be trying to kill him. When he nearly did kill her brothers, and a man who’s as good as her father. The two of them are on very tenuous ground; they’re walking a line together, and they are so very close to crossing it.
He nods his head toward the dock. “Walk with me.”
“Like I have a choice,” she mutters, but she walks alongside him anyway at a leisurely pace, enjoying the silence, and the peaceful atmosphere. Peace is something that she so rarely experiences.
After a few moments, they reach the dock. The wood creaks under their feet, and the soft lapping of the water against the wood makes her relaxed. It’s a good sound, a good night, and she’s surprisingly thankful for it. Her dreams have been dark of late.
He moves forward quickly, and then spins around to face her, his gaze full of intent. He holds out his hand.
“Come.”
Elanor reaches out instinctively to take his hand, but pauses when she realizes what she’s doing. She furrows her brow, and cards a hand through her long blonde hair. There is only a slight wind, but it’s enough to cause her hair to sway slightly. “What?”
“Take my hand, Elanor.”
“What for?”
“We’re going to walk on water, of course,” he replies patiently.
She looks past him to the dark water, and the reflection of the moon that shivers slightly with each swell of the current. She cannot tell how deep it is, but she has never exactly been a great swimmer. Her eyes flash back to meet his.
“What’s the matter, El, don’t you trust me?” he asks
Her expression is unsure, and her hand withdraws.
The Trickster actually looks hurt, and it surprises her. She hadn’t thought that she could even have such an affect on him.
The mask slips back into place, and he gives her a half smile, raising an eyebrow. “Give me a chance, sunshine.”
She looks at him, and when their eyes meet she’s startled by just that one momentary slip that reveals he really does want her to trust him. He wants her to completely throw years of training, of instinct, out the window - to take a chance on him, even if it is in a dream. She realizes slowly that he wants her to think he’s worth it.
That these - their meetings, him leading her through puzzles and mazes to information, him showing up at the oddest of moments - is him trying to prove it to her.
Elanor decides then that she will open herself to this. He’s so earnest, though he tries so hard to seem not to be, so she will try to trust him.
She puts her hand in his, and as he moves backward on the water, she takes a few steps forward, but stops when she reaches the edge of the dock.
She looks into his eyes once more.
His expression is serious. “Trust me,” he repeats.
And she does. She doesn’t miss the brief flash of relief in his eyes.
When Elanor reaches out with her other hand, the Trickster is already waiting to take it with his own. He moves one step backward, and then another, his hands fitting perfectly with hers, and she takes that final step down.
Her eyes are closed, and for a few moments, she barely thinks as he takes her further out.
“Elanor,” he says finally. “Open your eyes.”
When she does, she gasps, for they are indeed walking on water. The moon shines down on them, and she realizes belatedly that they are in the middle of the lake. A lake, she thinks, is made of water. Water that she doesn’t know how to swim in. Her hands tighten on the Trickster’s, afraid of falling.
As if sensing her thoughts, he speaks.
“I won’t let you fall. I give you my word.”
Her eyes move from the water to his eyes, dark brown in the night, but she knows they’re truly a soft gold. They are gentle when they look upon her.
“And,” he continues, “if you fall, I will catch you.”
Oddly enough, she believes him.
Nobody has ever looked at her like he is looking at her now - like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, like she’s precious.
She smiles, embarrassed, and loosens her grip on his hands.
He looks thoughtful again, and she’s immediately suspicious. He is a Trickster, after all.
As he speaks, a slight tremor affecting his tone is the only indicator that he is, somehow, unbelievably, nervous.
“Would you like to dance, Elanor?” he asks.
The request is innocent enough, she supposes, and didn’t she - only moments ago - promise to herself that she would trust him, or at least try to?
She nods, smiling softly at the pleased look that flashes across his countenance.
The Trickster places a hand on the small of her back. “You’ll have to come closer. Like this,” he continues as he pulls her nearer, and now she is not exactly pressed tight against him, for certainly he wouldn’t be so bold (but then again, maybe he would), but she is pressed close enough that she can feel his heart beating.
That’s close enough, she thinks. Maybe far too close, judging by how her pulse races in response.
She’s not surprised when a waltz starts playing out of nowhere; this is, as they’d say, his party.
They sway slowly as they move across the water. They don’t speak, and she’s glad for it; if they talked, she fears that the moment might disappear. After many moments have passed - she’s sure it must have been at least a half hour, and how quickly the time has gone - he taps her shoulder, and when she looks at him, gestures for her to look up.
She gasps in wonderment at the stars that are now shooting overhead, at the nebulas swirling in a sky where they surely shouldn’t be. Elanor cannot suppress the smile that brightens her face. She gives a small laugh.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispers, “but this can’t be real. It’s a dream.”
His hand squeezes hers gently, and at length she tears her gaze away from the heavens and focuses on him. They look at each other intently, and she’s sure that she hasn’t had sex that is as intimate as the gaze they’re now locked in.
Slowly, the Trickster tilts his head down, and he leans even closer to her. His breath ghosts over her lips.
It feels - almost - as if he might kiss her.
She doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t kiss her, only moves so that his cheek is pressed against her own.
He smells of fresh pine, and the salt of the water far out at sea, and magic. Elanor rather likes it.
“Just because it’s a dream, El, doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he murmurs, and his voice is low against her cheek, his breath warm.
She will never admit to herself that she likes being this close to him.
+++
When she wakes, she notices right away that something isn’t right. Elanor quickly realizes that this is because she is wet, and not in a way that she’s sure the salacious Trickster would approve of. She feels herself flush with color across her cheeks.
Her hair is damp, as are her pajamas, and drops of water are still glistening on her skin. The motel bed, which has definitely seen better days, was clearly soaked through, but is only just drying out.
She gets out of the bed, running a hand through her hair. She’s puzzled. It can’t be, it can’t - the Trickster said that even though it was a dream, it could be real, but it doesn’t make sense. She laughs a little. He doesn’t make sense.
Elanor smells something, and whirls around. On the table by the door to her room, is a steaming cup of something in a cardboard cup holder, and a small bag.
She grabs her gun from under her pillow, rushes to the door, pulls it open, and steps outside, her gun raised. There was no one in the room, she knows this. And there are no signs of a hasty escape outside. So that means that the only person who could have left the stuff in her room was -
“What happened to you, Norrie?”
She frowns at the nickname, but her brain fumbles for an excuse as she turns to face her older brother.
“I had an accident,” she says lamely.
(She doesn’t want to tell Dean about her visits from the Trickster. She knows that Dean doesn’t see in shades of grey like she does; Sam, maybe, but neither of them would understand, and this - this is hers.)
Dean makes a face, wrinkling his nose, and looks vaguely disgusted.
“We were supposed to leave right about now, but I don’t want you in my baby if you’ve had an accident,” he says, and she can tell that he’s teasing.
Sam comes outside, shrugging on his jacket, travel bag in hand. He looks between her and Dean casually, clearly noticing her state of undress and dampness as he says, “We ready to go?”
Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Elanor as he follows Sam to the Impala. She smiles and backs into her room; she hears her brothers talking as she closes the door.
She looks at the cup and bag left on the table once more before sighing and going over to them.
She picks up the Styrofoam cup, lifting it up to her nose so she can smell the contents. Vanilla, caramel, whipped cream, maybe? She wrinkles her forehead. There’s no possible way- She takes a cautious sip, and even though the contents are steaming, the liquid doesn’t burn her mouth. It tastes just right.
A vanilla soy latte, with a shot of caramel syrup, and no sugar apart from the whipped cream. Her lips curve into a smile. “He knows my coffee order,” she whispers.
She takes another sip before setting down the cup and moving to the bag. Inside is probably the biggest blueberry muffin Elanor’s ever seen. “And he knows my favorite muffin.”
Scrawled on the bathroom mirror in what looks like her favorite lipstick is what could only be a message from the Trickster.
Thanks for the dance! I owe you one…
Her hand reaches up, touches one of the grapefruit colored letters, lightly smudging them. She laughs, in a way she has discovered she only laughs when it has to do with him.
Even though she’s not quite sure why, she’s walking on cloud nine all day - and even though the water in the motel shower is subpar, and Dean gets pissy when she won’t share her muffin with him, and Sam puts his seat too far back, and they’re on the road for hours, and it’s humid, and the diner food sucks, and when they finally get to Bobby’s he won’t let up about why she’s grinning “like an idjit,” nothing can bring her down.
Elanor is so rarely in such a mood that none of them, however cross or whatever mistakes they make, want it to go away sooner than it has to.
Truth is, though, it’s because of him, because she’s falling, but she won’t realize that for a while yet.
fandom/pairing: supernatural, pre-elanor/gabriel
summary: elanor has been having dark dreams of late, and the trickster decides that it's time both for another visit, and for her to finally have peace.
word count: 2356.
notes: elanor winchester is an original character, created by myself and my friend kasey.
disclaimer: the names of all characters contained herein are the property of their respective network, the CW, and their creators, such as they are.
rating/warnings: t/pg-13, just to be safe.
Elanor is dreaming.
She knows that she’s dreaming because, as with most dreams, she doesn’t remember the beginning. She asks herself the question “How did I get here?” and she cannot answer herself
Of course, with her line of work, anything is possible, but she’s also wearing a green silk dress, and the night sky is far too clear and the weather too warm for Missouri this time of year.
Her hand itches to be holding a gun, or a knife. Anything, really, that could afford her some protection. She’ll have to make do.
She looks around at her surroundings; a forest is to her left, what looks like an abandoned house resides behind her, with the Impala parked out front, and in front of her is a sloping hill that leads down to a dock, and then a lake. The moon illuminates all of it, and it’s so bright that she could swear it’s daytime.
The atmosphere, she thinks, would be decidedly romantic, if she wasn’t too unsure of what was going on.
Elanor senses him before he speaks.
“Looking good, doll.”
She turns around to face him, trying her hardest not to smile in surprise and delight. (She succeeds, but she thinks that he knows seeing him makes her happy; he smirks in response.)
“I should’ve known that this was your doing, Trickster.”
He chuffs in disapproval. “Ah, Elanor. That’s not my name.”
She frowns. “Then what is your name?”
He’s thoughtful for a few moments, and she takes in his appearance. Different, but not much so, since she first met him on that college campus. His hair is only just longer, and it looks like he’s lost some weight. He’s wearing what looks like a olive-drab combat jacket, and a red button-down shirt over a black t-shirt. He never seemed like a jeans type of guy, but he’s wearing some now. He looks good, she thinks, and then instantly banishes the thought, along with the desire to take the collar of his jacket in between her fingers, and feel it gently.
“I think my true name will have to wait just a little bit longer.”
She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs in response.
“I know, I know. But sometimes, anticipation can make the reward all the more sweet, don’t you think? Besides, I’m not all that sure that you’re ready to know.”
She says nothing. If there’s one thing Elanor hates, it’s being treated like a child. She can handle plenty of things, his name not least among them.
“Don’t be mad,” he says finally. “I will tell you, I promise.”
She gives a short laugh; if anything’s funny, it’s this creature, this being, making promises to her when by all rights she should be trying to kill him. When he nearly did kill her brothers, and a man who’s as good as her father. The two of them are on very tenuous ground; they’re walking a line together, and they are so very close to crossing it.
He nods his head toward the dock. “Walk with me.”
“Like I have a choice,” she mutters, but she walks alongside him anyway at a leisurely pace, enjoying the silence, and the peaceful atmosphere. Peace is something that she so rarely experiences.
After a few moments, they reach the dock. The wood creaks under their feet, and the soft lapping of the water against the wood makes her relaxed. It’s a good sound, a good night, and she’s surprisingly thankful for it. Her dreams have been dark of late.
He moves forward quickly, and then spins around to face her, his gaze full of intent. He holds out his hand.
“Come.”
Elanor reaches out instinctively to take his hand, but pauses when she realizes what she’s doing. She furrows her brow, and cards a hand through her long blonde hair. There is only a slight wind, but it’s enough to cause her hair to sway slightly. “What?”
“Take my hand, Elanor.”
“What for?”
“We’re going to walk on water, of course,” he replies patiently.
She looks past him to the dark water, and the reflection of the moon that shivers slightly with each swell of the current. She cannot tell how deep it is, but she has never exactly been a great swimmer. Her eyes flash back to meet his.
“What’s the matter, El, don’t you trust me?” he asks
Her expression is unsure, and her hand withdraws.
The Trickster actually looks hurt, and it surprises her. She hadn’t thought that she could even have such an affect on him.
The mask slips back into place, and he gives her a half smile, raising an eyebrow. “Give me a chance, sunshine.”
She looks at him, and when their eyes meet she’s startled by just that one momentary slip that reveals he really does want her to trust him. He wants her to completely throw years of training, of instinct, out the window - to take a chance on him, even if it is in a dream. She realizes slowly that he wants her to think he’s worth it.
That these - their meetings, him leading her through puzzles and mazes to information, him showing up at the oddest of moments - is him trying to prove it to her.
Elanor decides then that she will open herself to this. He’s so earnest, though he tries so hard to seem not to be, so she will try to trust him.
She puts her hand in his, and as he moves backward on the water, she takes a few steps forward, but stops when she reaches the edge of the dock.
She looks into his eyes once more.
His expression is serious. “Trust me,” he repeats.
And she does. She doesn’t miss the brief flash of relief in his eyes.
When Elanor reaches out with her other hand, the Trickster is already waiting to take it with his own. He moves one step backward, and then another, his hands fitting perfectly with hers, and she takes that final step down.
Her eyes are closed, and for a few moments, she barely thinks as he takes her further out.
“Elanor,” he says finally. “Open your eyes.”
When she does, she gasps, for they are indeed walking on water. The moon shines down on them, and she realizes belatedly that they are in the middle of the lake. A lake, she thinks, is made of water. Water that she doesn’t know how to swim in. Her hands tighten on the Trickster’s, afraid of falling.
As if sensing her thoughts, he speaks.
“I won’t let you fall. I give you my word.”
Her eyes move from the water to his eyes, dark brown in the night, but she knows they’re truly a soft gold. They are gentle when they look upon her.
“And,” he continues, “if you fall, I will catch you.”
Oddly enough, she believes him.
Nobody has ever looked at her like he is looking at her now - like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, like she’s precious.
She smiles, embarrassed, and loosens her grip on his hands.
He looks thoughtful again, and she’s immediately suspicious. He is a Trickster, after all.
As he speaks, a slight tremor affecting his tone is the only indicator that he is, somehow, unbelievably, nervous.
“Would you like to dance, Elanor?” he asks.
The request is innocent enough, she supposes, and didn’t she - only moments ago - promise to herself that she would trust him, or at least try to?
She nods, smiling softly at the pleased look that flashes across his countenance.
The Trickster places a hand on the small of her back. “You’ll have to come closer. Like this,” he continues as he pulls her nearer, and now she is not exactly pressed tight against him, for certainly he wouldn’t be so bold (but then again, maybe he would), but she is pressed close enough that she can feel his heart beating.
That’s close enough, she thinks. Maybe far too close, judging by how her pulse races in response.
She’s not surprised when a waltz starts playing out of nowhere; this is, as they’d say, his party.
They sway slowly as they move across the water. They don’t speak, and she’s glad for it; if they talked, she fears that the moment might disappear. After many moments have passed - she’s sure it must have been at least a half hour, and how quickly the time has gone - he taps her shoulder, and when she looks at him, gestures for her to look up.
She gasps in wonderment at the stars that are now shooting overhead, at the nebulas swirling in a sky where they surely shouldn’t be. Elanor cannot suppress the smile that brightens her face. She gives a small laugh.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispers, “but this can’t be real. It’s a dream.”
His hand squeezes hers gently, and at length she tears her gaze away from the heavens and focuses on him. They look at each other intently, and she’s sure that she hasn’t had sex that is as intimate as the gaze they’re now locked in.
Slowly, the Trickster tilts his head down, and he leans even closer to her. His breath ghosts over her lips.
It feels - almost - as if he might kiss her.
She doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t kiss her, only moves so that his cheek is pressed against her own.
He smells of fresh pine, and the salt of the water far out at sea, and magic. Elanor rather likes it.
“Just because it’s a dream, El, doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he murmurs, and his voice is low against her cheek, his breath warm.
She will never admit to herself that she likes being this close to him.
+++
When she wakes, she notices right away that something isn’t right. Elanor quickly realizes that this is because she is wet, and not in a way that she’s sure the salacious Trickster would approve of. She feels herself flush with color across her cheeks.
Her hair is damp, as are her pajamas, and drops of water are still glistening on her skin. The motel bed, which has definitely seen better days, was clearly soaked through, but is only just drying out.
She gets out of the bed, running a hand through her hair. She’s puzzled. It can’t be, it can’t - the Trickster said that even though it was a dream, it could be real, but it doesn’t make sense. She laughs a little. He doesn’t make sense.
Elanor smells something, and whirls around. On the table by the door to her room, is a steaming cup of something in a cardboard cup holder, and a small bag.
She grabs her gun from under her pillow, rushes to the door, pulls it open, and steps outside, her gun raised. There was no one in the room, she knows this. And there are no signs of a hasty escape outside. So that means that the only person who could have left the stuff in her room was -
“What happened to you, Norrie?”
She frowns at the nickname, but her brain fumbles for an excuse as she turns to face her older brother.
“I had an accident,” she says lamely.
(She doesn’t want to tell Dean about her visits from the Trickster. She knows that Dean doesn’t see in shades of grey like she does; Sam, maybe, but neither of them would understand, and this - this is hers.)
Dean makes a face, wrinkling his nose, and looks vaguely disgusted.
“We were supposed to leave right about now, but I don’t want you in my baby if you’ve had an accident,” he says, and she can tell that he’s teasing.
Sam comes outside, shrugging on his jacket, travel bag in hand. He looks between her and Dean casually, clearly noticing her state of undress and dampness as he says, “We ready to go?”
Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Elanor as he follows Sam to the Impala. She smiles and backs into her room; she hears her brothers talking as she closes the door.
She looks at the cup and bag left on the table once more before sighing and going over to them.
She picks up the Styrofoam cup, lifting it up to her nose so she can smell the contents. Vanilla, caramel, whipped cream, maybe? She wrinkles her forehead. There’s no possible way- She takes a cautious sip, and even though the contents are steaming, the liquid doesn’t burn her mouth. It tastes just right.
A vanilla soy latte, with a shot of caramel syrup, and no sugar apart from the whipped cream. Her lips curve into a smile. “He knows my coffee order,” she whispers.
She takes another sip before setting down the cup and moving to the bag. Inside is probably the biggest blueberry muffin Elanor’s ever seen. “And he knows my favorite muffin.”
Scrawled on the bathroom mirror in what looks like her favorite lipstick is what could only be a message from the Trickster.
Thanks for the dance! I owe you one…
Her hand reaches up, touches one of the grapefruit colored letters, lightly smudging them. She laughs, in a way she has discovered she only laughs when it has to do with him.
Even though she’s not quite sure why, she’s walking on cloud nine all day - and even though the water in the motel shower is subpar, and Dean gets pissy when she won’t share her muffin with him, and Sam puts his seat too far back, and they’re on the road for hours, and it’s humid, and the diner food sucks, and when they finally get to Bobby’s he won’t let up about why she’s grinning “like an idjit,” nothing can bring her down.
Elanor is so rarely in such a mood that none of them, however cross or whatever mistakes they make, want it to go away sooner than it has to.
Truth is, though, it’s because of him, because she’s falling, but she won’t realize that for a while yet.