fic, Lost/Supernatural: As In Jack Slash Sawyer, or Dean Slash Castiel (Jack/Sawyer, Dean/Cas), PG13
Title: As In Jack Slash Sawyer, or Dean Slash Castiel
Rating: PG13 (for swearing mostly, and for my terrible imitation of Chuck's writing)
Pairings: Jack/Sawyer, peripheral Dean/Castiel
Words: 2308
Spoilers: none really for Lost except that this implies that Nirvana!Jack existed (though it's completely AU and implies that Jack and Sawyer shacked up together, just run with your imagination) and up until the S4 finale for SPN (but specific spoilers for 4x18.
Summary: Jack and Sawyer have a literary addiction. To the Winchester gospels.
Disclaimer: Lost is most definitely not mine (sadly) and Supernatural definitely is NOT, and it's better in Kripke's hands than mine, also because the CW wouldn't ever have anything I could come up with.
A/N: for the most awesome Queen hopelessfangirl at lostsquee who asked for crack, likes Jack/Sawyer and said that crazy crossovers were allowed. Er. This wasn't going to leave my head so I went for it. I know that Dean/Cas isn't your main pairing but it was more suited for what I wanted to go for here so I hope you like it anyway. ♥ ;) And as per your request (half), Claire gets mentioned (but she's important) and... well, this is pure and utter crack. Oh dear, what did I do, what did I do. Title stolen from SPN 4x18, more or less.
Point is, Sawyer should feel fucking ashamed of enjoying this crap.
Because it is, without a doubt, crap. Or at least, it is from the subjective point of view of someone who can distinguish between good and bad literature and while Sawyer isn’t a critic or a teacher or someone who fucking deals with books for a job, he does know the difference.
It figures that it’s all Jack’s fault that now he’s hooked, but then again, Jack never was one who could distinguish bad literature from good, not like Jack even would care. Which is something Sawyer has given up on trying to fix, but whatever. He can’t complain. Not when he’s bought the damn last issue of those goddamned series barely two hours ago and he already devoured a good half of it. Thankfully today it’s his free day and Jack was at work, so he hopefully will manage to finish it before Jack comes home and demands it. Why he acts like he owns the right to read it first, Sawyer never understood anyway.
Well, wait. Maybe it’s because Jack was the first one getting into this shit, but whatever. Sawyer bought the last issue and damn right he’ll be the one finishing it first, and Jack is going to suck it up and wait.
Not that he will have to, if Sawyer keeps the rate up.
Point is, he feels pathetic. He really feels pathetic. Not that he isn’t fucking hooked anyway. And the writing isn’t even good. The writing is ludicrous. And the plot is the most unlikely thing he has ever ended up reading, and Sawyer did get through some unlikely things himself, thank you so much, but this? This triumphs all. Fuck, at least Sawyer never ended up dealing with fucking Apocalypses. Whatever. He needs to detach, that’s what he needs to...
One couldn’t say that Dean’s heart hopelessly broke into tiny, little pieces at the shocking sight of the prophet’s house, all the furniture half-destroyed or burned in soft ashes, a complete and utter disaster under every possible angle, because Dean Winchester’s heart doesn’t break on principle. But one could say that something incredibly close to it happened, for as he saw that the house was painfully and absolutely empty, something in his throat tightened painfully. No one was there, and...
Suddenly he saw something laying in a corner; he knelt down, his hand shaking without refrain as he picked up a familiar, silky black tie which had, once upon a time, belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak.
Dean closed his eyes, his features weary, feeling suddenly tired than he ever was since he got back from Hell, as a lonely, single tear slowly made its way down his pale cheek.
... “No, dammit,” Sawyer hisses before turning to the next page. That bastard of a Carver Edlund fuck up wasn’t really gonna do this. He wouldn’t dare do this, fuck. He wasn’t gonna kill Castiel, he just was not.
Or at least, so he hopes. Sawyer so doesn’t want his favorite character to be even more miserable than he already is, which is saying a shitload to begin with anyway.
--
His shift over, Jack feels way, way too tired to drive. Dammit, he had asked to get that day off and of course, not only he has a twelve-hour shift but he also gets the random emergency and ends up holed in that hospital for fourteen hours.
Damn, now Sawyer will have probably bought it already. Jack only hopes that he’s done already when he gets back home because he’s so not in the mood to wait today, and considering how Lucifer Rising had ended, Jack needs to know what happens in the next volume now. Hell, he has spent three months brainstorming over that thing, he even logged in to some forum on the internet to check if there were some spoilers floating, and he realized then that he so is not cut for that fandom thing (Sawyer is; he actually posts regularly in some forums and Jack thinks that if he was a woman he’d have so been a Dean girl, but at least Sawyer has enough pride to try and stay objective. And then he denies he enjoys it, but they both know better). And now if he doesn’t put his hands on the next installment that was due today he’ll go insane without a doubt, and damn, he’d have never thought that he’d get hooked on a book series of everything.
Well, fine, it was all Claire’s fault, she had lent him the first book in the Supernatural series some six months ago or so and then he had started reading all of them and then Sawyer was all high and mighty, of course, since he isn’t one for that kind of shit. Then one day Jack had walked into the house finding him reading Dead Man’s Blood and then he had demanded the rest of the series and that’s how they ended up figthing on who got to read the last installment first. Buying two copies each was ridiculous on principle. Usually it was the one who bought it, but today Jack is so not, and he stresses not, accepting any compromise. Sawyer should better be finished when he gets home; he doesn’t even wonder if Sawyer actually has waited for him. He knows that it’s not even in the picture.
Whatever. He calls for a taxi and then since he knows it’ll take half an hour with the traffic and everything, he opens his bag and puts out The Rapture, his favorite one. (True, he has had a hard time choosing and really, there are a lot of them that Jack couldn’t really choose from, but that one had been love at first read. You know, well, it was so engaging. And it was when Jack had decided that Castiel was a damn fine character, even if between the two leads Sam so remained his favorite. He knows what it means to fuck up and about addictions, thank you so much.) A quick re-read of his favorite bits to get into the right frame of mind won’t harm anyone.
--
When Jack gets into the living room, Sawyer raises one hand before he can even speak.
“Don’t you dare, Doc. I’m ten pages short and sure as fuck I’m seein’ this through ‘fore I give it over. If this motherfucker stops now I’m gonna...”
“Sawyer! Fine, fine, whatever, but just...”
“Nope, Doc, I ain’t gonna spoil you a single thing. Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Oh, fuck, c’mon you two, just...”
“Sawyer.”
“Okay. Right. Wait a sec. Nine pages. Really.”
Sawyer returns his eyes on the page and Jack’s hands are itching. Damn, this is the most involved he has seen Sawyer until now; it has to be even better than he had anticipated. He wishes Sawyer would just hurry the fuck up.
--
Sawyer curses the day he took up that other book as he devours words; damn. Damn. It’s... come on, it’s eight pages from the ending now, after he spent the last hundred and fifty ones on the brothers searching for Castiel he can’t end this with them actually not finding him, dammit, it’s...
Dean threw a punch against the wall, seeing that the small cabin in the woods was empty. It didn’t actually hurt half as much as punching Castiel then did, even if it, indeed, felt downright painful. Even though you know, a wall doesn’t give the same emotional reaction when unjustly punched. Had he understood all the signals wrong? Had Sam, too? Damn, damn, damn, but why? He couldn’t believe that the last week had been all for nothing. And how was he supposed to stop any kind of Apocalypse without his angel there? He didn’t even try not to call Cas his angel anymore these days, that was a sadly lost battle.
“Cas, dammit, this isn’t fuckin’ fair!” he hissed as he took another look around. Nothing. Damn. Though... well, he hadn’t checked the upper floor. Maybe... but if he was there, how come he hadn’t appeared yet?
“Sawyer?”
“Doc, shut the fuck up.”
“You know that...”
“That you’re a fuckin’ addict in need of a fix. Well, you gotta wait another five minutes for that. Oh, dammit. Two pages, wait. He just can’t...”
“Cas!” Dean exclaimed suddenly as he opened the door of one of the two rooms on the upper floor of the cabin and faced the angel, who was sitting always in his goodamned holy tax accountant attire on a spare, old and worn out mattress in a corner which was all the furniture Dean could see. Castiel stood up, albeit not looking too steady on his feet (actually, he looked pretty shaky); Dean’s breath was caught in his throat and he could feel a million of butterflies flying someplace near his stomach, and he didn’t even had the presence to mind that.
“What... what’s this place?”
“It’s Chuck’s. He... well, he managed to convince that Archangel to leave, sadly after his house got damaged without repair, and then said I should head here to wait for you. But I left you some clues, as I think you’ve seen. Right now he’s in another safe place and...”
“Cas? Shut up.”
Dean was on the other side of the room in a heartbeat, without even thinking about what the hell he was doing, and didn’t even wait for Castiel to blink before throwing his arms around his angel and crushing him against his chest, he was so relieved that he seriously couldn’t care less about the absolute chick-flick moment, and the butterflies started flapping more wildly as Castiel’s hands tentatively gripped his shoulders, which were finally relaxing after a week of...
“... Sawyer.. .”
“Doc, shut the fuck up! It’s one page, dammit, and... oh. Oh. I hadn’t...”
“Don’t you...”
“I ain’t spoilin’ you, dammit. Just shut up for a sec here. I need to...”
... and then Castiel’s lips were tentatively and chastely, so chastely on his, like he wasn’t sure he should have been doing this and Dean couldn’t think straight at all anymore and he kissed Castiel back, all heat and tongue and teeth. He didn’t stop even when he needed to breathe, needing this more than air really, who cared about air, and as Castiel sighed and melted at once against him, Dean actually for the first time believed that they could do this. That he could stop this mess. That he could be what Sam and Cas and everyone else needed him to be.
TO BE CONTINUED...
BE READY FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENTS OF THE SUPERNATURAL SERIES, THREE MONTHS FROM NOW ON EVERY LIBRARY’S BOOKSHELVES ACROSS AMERICA!
“Jesus. That was sappy. And... what a jerk, he could’ve at least described them...”
“SAWYER!”
Suddenly the paperback is snatched from Sawyer’s fingers and Jack literally falls on the opposite side of the sofa opening the first page.
“You crazy son of a bitch,” Sawyer mutters as he stands up, noticing (to his shame) that the kiss, for how lousely and sappy written, has sadly left him pretty much bothered. Dammit. And of course now Jack won’t be available for the next three hours or so unless he hasn’t practiced with his reading skills and Sawyer wouldn’t swear about it. Ah, well, fine. He turns to the shelf at his left where all the Supernatural books are, neatly in order because Jack has OCD, and picks up Ghostfacers because he needs a laugh and he isn’t really up for reading anything else.
Meanwhile, he thinks about that last one. He can’t say he hadn’t seen the conclusion coming from miles, or at least from the last three or four books, but still, he can’t wait to check the boards tomorrow. He has this idea that he’ll have fun laughing at how much people are going to hate on one side and die from uttermost happiness on the other (Sawyer thinks that when you get this hooked up you might consider re-thinking your priorities, but whatever), not that he didn’t appreciate. He did appreciate, even if Carver has let him down a bit since hey, he wrote full-frontal, once. Well, whatever, he can’t expect coherency from bad literature. And hey, whatever, he had kinda actually been hoping for that to happen, those two had been so miserable for the last books that at least if they jumped each other that could be avoided. He’s sure he’ll have to endure Jack complaining about Sam’s lack of a serious love interest by the time he’s done, but who cares really. It’s fun enough to see Jack being so enthralled with it, no matter that he’s as bad as the doc is. Not that he’ll ever say it out loud.
Meanwhile, Jack is sniffing at his side and Sawyer is sure he’s at the part where Sam and Dean hug the hell out of each other and then Bobby joins in.
Typical. He smirks, shakes his head and starts reading.
“But... where’s Castiel?” Jack asks some five minutes later, frowning.
“You’ll learn that in the next two hundred pages, Doc. Though if you really wanna know...”
“Don’t you dare spoiling me, you...”
“Fine, fine. Jesus. You’re worse than all those damned fourteen-year olds.”
“I don’t care. Leave me alone. I promise you can do anything you want later, but please leave me alone.”
Sawyer smirks. If anything you want implies re-enhancing that last scene possibly with a more spicy ending, then he’ll leave Jack the fuck alone indeed. He smirks again. They might be addicted to disgustingly bad literature, but at least it’s fun. Also, he'll really need to be mean to Jack later. He could have at least spared some kissing before grabbing that thing.
End.
Rating: PG13 (for swearing mostly, and for my terrible imitation of Chuck's writing)
Pairings: Jack/Sawyer, peripheral Dean/Castiel
Words: 2308
Spoilers: none really for Lost except that this implies that Nirvana!Jack existed (though it's completely AU and implies that Jack and Sawyer shacked up together, just run with your imagination) and up until the S4 finale for SPN (but specific spoilers for 4x18.
Summary: Jack and Sawyer have a literary addiction. To the Winchester gospels.
Disclaimer: Lost is most definitely not mine (sadly) and Supernatural definitely is NOT, and it's better in Kripke's hands than mine, also because the CW wouldn't ever have anything I could come up with.
A/N: for the most awesome Queen hopelessfangirl at lostsquee who asked for crack, likes Jack/Sawyer and said that crazy crossovers were allowed. Er. This wasn't going to leave my head so I went for it. I know that Dean/Cas isn't your main pairing but it was more suited for what I wanted to go for here so I hope you like it anyway. ♥ ;) And as per your request (half), Claire gets mentioned (but she's important) and... well, this is pure and utter crack. Oh dear, what did I do, what did I do. Title stolen from SPN 4x18, more or less.
Point is, Sawyer should feel fucking ashamed of enjoying this crap.
Because it is, without a doubt, crap. Or at least, it is from the subjective point of view of someone who can distinguish between good and bad literature and while Sawyer isn’t a critic or a teacher or someone who fucking deals with books for a job, he does know the difference.
It figures that it’s all Jack’s fault that now he’s hooked, but then again, Jack never was one who could distinguish bad literature from good, not like Jack even would care. Which is something Sawyer has given up on trying to fix, but whatever. He can’t complain. Not when he’s bought the damn last issue of those goddamned series barely two hours ago and he already devoured a good half of it. Thankfully today it’s his free day and Jack was at work, so he hopefully will manage to finish it before Jack comes home and demands it. Why he acts like he owns the right to read it first, Sawyer never understood anyway.
Well, wait. Maybe it’s because Jack was the first one getting into this shit, but whatever. Sawyer bought the last issue and damn right he’ll be the one finishing it first, and Jack is going to suck it up and wait.
Not that he will have to, if Sawyer keeps the rate up.
Point is, he feels pathetic. He really feels pathetic. Not that he isn’t fucking hooked anyway. And the writing isn’t even good. The writing is ludicrous. And the plot is the most unlikely thing he has ever ended up reading, and Sawyer did get through some unlikely things himself, thank you so much, but this? This triumphs all. Fuck, at least Sawyer never ended up dealing with fucking Apocalypses. Whatever. He needs to detach, that’s what he needs to...
One couldn’t say that Dean’s heart hopelessly broke into tiny, little pieces at the shocking sight of the prophet’s house, all the furniture half-destroyed or burned in soft ashes, a complete and utter disaster under every possible angle, because Dean Winchester’s heart doesn’t break on principle. But one could say that something incredibly close to it happened, for as he saw that the house was painfully and absolutely empty, something in his throat tightened painfully. No one was there, and...
Suddenly he saw something laying in a corner; he knelt down, his hand shaking without refrain as he picked up a familiar, silky black tie which had, once upon a time, belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak.
Dean closed his eyes, his features weary, feeling suddenly tired than he ever was since he got back from Hell, as a lonely, single tear slowly made its way down his pale cheek.
... “No, dammit,” Sawyer hisses before turning to the next page. That bastard of a Carver Edlund fuck up wasn’t really gonna do this. He wouldn’t dare do this, fuck. He wasn’t gonna kill Castiel, he just was not.
Or at least, so he hopes. Sawyer so doesn’t want his favorite character to be even more miserable than he already is, which is saying a shitload to begin with anyway.
--
His shift over, Jack feels way, way too tired to drive. Dammit, he had asked to get that day off and of course, not only he has a twelve-hour shift but he also gets the random emergency and ends up holed in that hospital for fourteen hours.
Damn, now Sawyer will have probably bought it already. Jack only hopes that he’s done already when he gets back home because he’s so not in the mood to wait today, and considering how Lucifer Rising had ended, Jack needs to know what happens in the next volume now. Hell, he has spent three months brainstorming over that thing, he even logged in to some forum on the internet to check if there were some spoilers floating, and he realized then that he so is not cut for that fandom thing (Sawyer is; he actually posts regularly in some forums and Jack thinks that if he was a woman he’d have so been a Dean girl, but at least Sawyer has enough pride to try and stay objective. And then he denies he enjoys it, but they both know better). And now if he doesn’t put his hands on the next installment that was due today he’ll go insane without a doubt, and damn, he’d have never thought that he’d get hooked on a book series of everything.
Well, fine, it was all Claire’s fault, she had lent him the first book in the Supernatural series some six months ago or so and then he had started reading all of them and then Sawyer was all high and mighty, of course, since he isn’t one for that kind of shit. Then one day Jack had walked into the house finding him reading Dead Man’s Blood and then he had demanded the rest of the series and that’s how they ended up figthing on who got to read the last installment first. Buying two copies each was ridiculous on principle. Usually it was the one who bought it, but today Jack is so not, and he stresses not, accepting any compromise. Sawyer should better be finished when he gets home; he doesn’t even wonder if Sawyer actually has waited for him. He knows that it’s not even in the picture.
Whatever. He calls for a taxi and then since he knows it’ll take half an hour with the traffic and everything, he opens his bag and puts out The Rapture, his favorite one. (True, he has had a hard time choosing and really, there are a lot of them that Jack couldn’t really choose from, but that one had been love at first read. You know, well, it was so engaging. And it was when Jack had decided that Castiel was a damn fine character, even if between the two leads Sam so remained his favorite. He knows what it means to fuck up and about addictions, thank you so much.) A quick re-read of his favorite bits to get into the right frame of mind won’t harm anyone.
--
When Jack gets into the living room, Sawyer raises one hand before he can even speak.
“Don’t you dare, Doc. I’m ten pages short and sure as fuck I’m seein’ this through ‘fore I give it over. If this motherfucker stops now I’m gonna...”
“Sawyer! Fine, fine, whatever, but just...”
“Nope, Doc, I ain’t gonna spoil you a single thing. Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Oh, fuck, c’mon you two, just...”
“Sawyer.”
“Okay. Right. Wait a sec. Nine pages. Really.”
Sawyer returns his eyes on the page and Jack’s hands are itching. Damn, this is the most involved he has seen Sawyer until now; it has to be even better than he had anticipated. He wishes Sawyer would just hurry the fuck up.
--
Sawyer curses the day he took up that other book as he devours words; damn. Damn. It’s... come on, it’s eight pages from the ending now, after he spent the last hundred and fifty ones on the brothers searching for Castiel he can’t end this with them actually not finding him, dammit, it’s...
Dean threw a punch against the wall, seeing that the small cabin in the woods was empty. It didn’t actually hurt half as much as punching Castiel then did, even if it, indeed, felt downright painful. Even though you know, a wall doesn’t give the same emotional reaction when unjustly punched. Had he understood all the signals wrong? Had Sam, too? Damn, damn, damn, but why? He couldn’t believe that the last week had been all for nothing. And how was he supposed to stop any kind of Apocalypse without his angel there? He didn’t even try not to call Cas his angel anymore these days, that was a sadly lost battle.
“Cas, dammit, this isn’t fuckin’ fair!” he hissed as he took another look around. Nothing. Damn. Though... well, he hadn’t checked the upper floor. Maybe... but if he was there, how come he hadn’t appeared yet?
“Sawyer?”
“Doc, shut the fuck up.”
“You know that...”
“That you’re a fuckin’ addict in need of a fix. Well, you gotta wait another five minutes for that. Oh, dammit. Two pages, wait. He just can’t...”
“Cas!” Dean exclaimed suddenly as he opened the door of one of the two rooms on the upper floor of the cabin and faced the angel, who was sitting always in his goodamned holy tax accountant attire on a spare, old and worn out mattress in a corner which was all the furniture Dean could see. Castiel stood up, albeit not looking too steady on his feet (actually, he looked pretty shaky); Dean’s breath was caught in his throat and he could feel a million of butterflies flying someplace near his stomach, and he didn’t even had the presence to mind that.
“What... what’s this place?”
“It’s Chuck’s. He... well, he managed to convince that Archangel to leave, sadly after his house got damaged without repair, and then said I should head here to wait for you. But I left you some clues, as I think you’ve seen. Right now he’s in another safe place and...”
“Cas? Shut up.”
Dean was on the other side of the room in a heartbeat, without even thinking about what the hell he was doing, and didn’t even wait for Castiel to blink before throwing his arms around his angel and crushing him against his chest, he was so relieved that he seriously couldn’t care less about the absolute chick-flick moment, and the butterflies started flapping more wildly as Castiel’s hands tentatively gripped his shoulders, which were finally relaxing after a week of...
“... Sawyer.. .”
“Doc, shut the fuck up! It’s one page, dammit, and... oh. Oh. I hadn’t...”
“Don’t you...”
“I ain’t spoilin’ you, dammit. Just shut up for a sec here. I need to...”
... and then Castiel’s lips were tentatively and chastely, so chastely on his, like he wasn’t sure he should have been doing this and Dean couldn’t think straight at all anymore and he kissed Castiel back, all heat and tongue and teeth. He didn’t stop even when he needed to breathe, needing this more than air really, who cared about air, and as Castiel sighed and melted at once against him, Dean actually for the first time believed that they could do this. That he could stop this mess. That he could be what Sam and Cas and everyone else needed him to be.
TO BE CONTINUED...
BE READY FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENTS OF THE SUPERNATURAL SERIES, THREE MONTHS FROM NOW ON EVERY LIBRARY’S BOOKSHELVES ACROSS AMERICA!
“Jesus. That was sappy. And... what a jerk, he could’ve at least described them...”
“SAWYER!”
Suddenly the paperback is snatched from Sawyer’s fingers and Jack literally falls on the opposite side of the sofa opening the first page.
“You crazy son of a bitch,” Sawyer mutters as he stands up, noticing (to his shame) that the kiss, for how lousely and sappy written, has sadly left him pretty much bothered. Dammit. And of course now Jack won’t be available for the next three hours or so unless he hasn’t practiced with his reading skills and Sawyer wouldn’t swear about it. Ah, well, fine. He turns to the shelf at his left where all the Supernatural books are, neatly in order because Jack has OCD, and picks up Ghostfacers because he needs a laugh and he isn’t really up for reading anything else.
Meanwhile, he thinks about that last one. He can’t say he hadn’t seen the conclusion coming from miles, or at least from the last three or four books, but still, he can’t wait to check the boards tomorrow. He has this idea that he’ll have fun laughing at how much people are going to hate on one side and die from uttermost happiness on the other (Sawyer thinks that when you get this hooked up you might consider re-thinking your priorities, but whatever), not that he didn’t appreciate. He did appreciate, even if Carver has let him down a bit since hey, he wrote full-frontal, once. Well, whatever, he can’t expect coherency from bad literature. And hey, whatever, he had kinda actually been hoping for that to happen, those two had been so miserable for the last books that at least if they jumped each other that could be avoided. He’s sure he’ll have to endure Jack complaining about Sam’s lack of a serious love interest by the time he’s done, but who cares really. It’s fun enough to see Jack being so enthralled with it, no matter that he’s as bad as the doc is. Not that he’ll ever say it out loud.
Meanwhile, Jack is sniffing at his side and Sawyer is sure he’s at the part where Sam and Dean hug the hell out of each other and then Bobby joins in.
Typical. He smirks, shakes his head and starts reading.
“But... where’s Castiel?” Jack asks some five minutes later, frowning.
“You’ll learn that in the next two hundred pages, Doc. Though if you really wanna know...”
“Don’t you dare spoiling me, you...”
“Fine, fine. Jesus. You’re worse than all those damned fourteen-year olds.”
“I don’t care. Leave me alone. I promise you can do anything you want later, but please leave me alone.”
Sawyer smirks. If anything you want implies re-enhancing that last scene possibly with a more spicy ending, then he’ll leave Jack the fuck alone indeed. He smirks again. They might be addicted to disgustingly bad literature, but at least it’s fun. Also, he'll really need to be mean to Jack later. He could have at least spared some kissing before grabbing that thing.
End.