POETIC JUSTICE [16/17]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 6 2010, 19:16:17 UTC
*
About halfway back to Emily’s house, the paralysis seemed to lift, and she began to move in Sam’s arms.
“Hey,” she said in a hoarse rasp. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m okay, you can put me down now.” Her voice was still rough, but clearing up as she spoke. Reluctantly, Sam lowered her to her feet, holding on long enough for her to get her balance. When she stood by her own power, she looked up at him, then at Dean, and said, “I- Thank you. I can’t- I wasn’t expecting.” She took a deep breath. “Wow, I’m an idiot. Look, you saved my life. I can’t thank you properly for something like that.” She shifted her stance and gestured awkwardly. “If you’re hungry, I can offer you dinner? I started a crock pot this morning, beef stew, it’s probably still fine...”
Sam grinned and jerked a thumb at Dean.
“he, always hungry and never satisfied,probably could actually eat a horse.”
Dean punched him in the shoulder, hard, but he was grinning too, and shrugged, acknowledging the truth of what Sam said.
They walked the rest of the way to Laurie’s house together. Half a block out, Castiel appeared beside them.
“if you harbour still any worries,
do not,for I have the evildoers chastened and they are subdued.”
Emily started violently when he began to speak, but when she registered who it was, she relaxed.
“I should thank you, too,” she said. “I have no idea what you did back there, but that was damn impressive.” Castiel inclined his head. “Do you want to come back to my place for stew?” He hesitated, and she said quickly, “Don’t feel obligated. Just, I wanted to show my appreciation. You know. For shaking up those creeps.” Castiel moved to stand in front of her, touched a hand briefly to her shoulder.
“You are a daughter most precious and beloved;they were criminals against all things good and pure. Your life continuing is thanks enough.”
She turned her head toward Sam in confused awe; when she turned back, Castiel had gone.
The stew was fine, as it turned out, and Dean had three bowls of it and Sam had one, and they slept on her couches because, she awkwardly explained, they didn’t have to but it was just hard to get over having your home invaded, and would they mind?
They didn’t mind at all. Despite the unusual size of the larger couch, Sam woke up with cricks in places he hadn’t known could crick, but he was okay with that. Emily was alive and safe. That made up for a lot.
POETIC JUSTICE [17/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 6 2010, 19:18:15 UTC
*
There was a smell and a sizzle of bacon frying and the beautiful aroma of coffee when Sam woke up, early sunlight filtering in through the sheer front curtains. He sat up slowly, unfolding himself with care and precision, and finding out exactly how his sleeping accomodation had affected his spine. Glancing over toward the other couch, he discovered that his brother was absent. Then he heard a low feminine laugh from the direction of the kitchen, and sighed, shaking his head. He got up off the couch, popped his back in as many ways as he possibly could, and headed for the kitchen.
Dean sat at the tiny table drinking coffee, his attention focused all on Emily. She was clattering around cheerfully, checking the bacon, making toast, scrambling eggs. When she noticed Sam in the doorway, she tipped her head in the direction of the far counter.
“Coffee machine’s over there. I’ll be done in a minute here.”
Sam poured himself a cup, and went to join Dean at the table. He took a sip of coffee - man, that beat diner coffee any day of the week - elbowed his brother, and raised an eyebrow. Dean shrugged, and returned a hey, what can I say? half-grin.
Emily came over then and started dishing out eggs. Breakfast was mostly silent, and Sam was just as glad; he wasn’t sure he was keen on finding out what the last day of the curse entailed while in the presence of the one who had cast it.
The first to finish eating was Emily, though, and she sat back and eyed them speculatively.
“You know,” she said, “I never did get your names.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look of dread, mouths full. Sam gave an internal sigh, swallowed, and prepared to take one for the team.
“My name is Sam,” and that wasn’t so bad, but oh, then: “and this, the brother of my soul the name written in the eyes of my heart is Dean.”
That sounded... oh, man, she was going to think... well, talk about your unfortunate side-effects. Sam dropped his face into his hands. Then he felt a heavy pressure on his foot and, unbelievably, Dean jumped in to save him.
“Even though the parrot of our mouths is being forced to squawk unfamiliar architecture, the sky of truth is revealed anyway.
Our mother dropped sparks in an agony of white dress when we were grasshoppers, and since then our father has drowned innumerably and is no more.
We are the only two stars in our sky and the planets are against us.”
Sam hoped she could understand, through the filter of her own curse, what Dean was trying to say: We really are brothers, and we’ve been through a lot together, and we’re all we have left. He looked up cautiously, and was surprised by the stricken compassion in Emily’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.” There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence, and then Emily shook herself and said, “More bacon?” and things were more or less back to normal. As normal as their interactions with her had ever been, at least.
POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 6 2010, 19:19:00 UTC
*
Sam insisted on helping her clean up after breakfast, and she saw them to the door.
“So you boys’ll be moving on, then, I take it?” she asked. At their questioning expressions, she clarified: “This is what you do, isn’t it? Nobody just unpicks a coven while staying in a motel just for the fun of it. I’m right, aren’t I?” They nodded. She gave them another long look, then said, “Be careful. And I’m sorry about the curse,” she added. “I really am.” Sam shrugged; Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, really. You didn’t deserve it. You surprised me, actually.” This last was directed at Dean. “Thanks for not trying anything. I underestimated you.”
She held out her hand, and they shook it, one after the other, and left.
The walk back to the Impala, which was still parked outside the deserted two-story where the coven had trapped Castiel, took almost half an hour. Twenty minutes in, Sam bumped his shoulder against Dean’s.
“So you didn’t unfold her origami potential after all.”
Dean shoved him back.
“Vixen.”
“Whiplash.”
Castiel was waiting for them when they got back to the motel room.
“Is the intention,” he asked, “to go merrily and with the sound of bells along the ribbon of tar, or to wallow in honey and victory for a while?”
“We’ll go merrily,” replied Dean. “The honey here is in a sealed jar and stopped with intelligence.”
They checked out and hit the road. As Dean eased onto the highway, he glanced over at Sam and grinned. Castiel was in the back seat; the windows were down; the sky was blue, and they’d just saved somebody’s life again.
“Pretty effervescent sandwich, isn’t it, Sammy?”
Sam tossed his grin right back at him and settled more comfortably in his seat. As curses went, this one really wasn’t so bad. He was beginning to revise his impression of librarians.
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.zekkassApril 8 2010, 13:17:29 UTC
This is the most impressive story I think I've ever written, 'cause you did it in character, complete with proper poetry forms, and with a plot to boot!
Also, Castiel being impressive while talking in the voice of my favorite poet ever? Pure win.
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 8 2010, 15:41:09 UTC
Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
I KNOW RIGHT. I read the prompt and went CASTIEL IS GOING TO BE BADASS ON E. E. CUMMINGS DAY. THAT'S JUST THE WAY IT IS. Well, I think maybe that didn't happen until I had the beginning of my plot, which fdkjhfgjkdlh didn't happen AT ALL until, like, halfway through Day 1, but. I'm so glad it hit you right. I wasn't sure I had the voice anymore by that point, so I'm taking your compliment as an indicator that I didn't slip too far, at least. :D
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 8 2010, 17:21:06 UTC
I don't mind in the least! I hope you don't mind if I don't friend you back, though; I don't make very many locked posts, and when I do, it's because they're fairly private. I am flattered by your attention, however. :D
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaApril 9 2010, 06:00:15 UTC
THANK YOU. :D My favourites were the last two (though I feel compelled to admit, I kind of think the one where Dean explains their family history might actually be too literal for surrealism *_* but that's Winchesters for you), but dactyl day was also fun. The acrostics... well, I like to read them over, but I tell you what, they were kind of exhausting. XD
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.jaune_chatAugust 28 2010, 21:41:36 UTC
AHAHAHAHA! That was magnificent! Delightfully in-character, a great case, and damn does poetry sound awesome on Castiel when he's chastising the evildoers. Wonderful job!
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.ziarenete13xJanuary 9 2011, 08:16:14 UTC
*stumbled on this waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay late*
I love this with the love of many burning things, yet for all the wonderful (incandescently - acutely - characterised) poetry this bit of prose at the end is what struck me most: "They checked out and hit the road. As Dean eased onto the highway, he glanced over at Sam and grinned. Castiel was in the back seat; the windows were down; the sky was blue, and they’d just saved somebody’s life again."
Also, I would pay to see this as an episode, it plays out better than some of the actual ones even.
Re: POETIC JUSTICE [18/18]; Sam, Dean, Castiel; PG for language; Warning: Poetry.chibifriezaJanuary 10 2011, 17:37:20 UTC
*blinks*
Wow, thank you. What an extravagently lovely comment. :D (I intend to podfic this at some point... though I'm not sure when that point will be. So, uh, stay tuned? :P If you want.)
Your compliments make me beam. Seriously, thanks. :D
About halfway back to Emily’s house, the paralysis seemed to lift, and she began to move in Sam’s arms.
“Hey,” she said in a hoarse rasp. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m okay, you can put me down now.” Her voice was still rough, but clearing up as she spoke. Reluctantly, Sam lowered her to her feet, holding on long enough for her to get her balance. When she stood by her own power, she looked up at him, then at Dean, and said, “I- Thank you. I can’t- I wasn’t expecting.” She took a deep breath. “Wow, I’m an idiot. Look, you saved my life. I can’t thank you properly for something like that.” She shifted her stance and gestured awkwardly. “If you’re hungry, I can offer you dinner? I started a crock pot this morning, beef stew, it’s probably still fine...”
Sam grinned and jerked a thumb at Dean.
“he,
always hungry and never
satisfied,probably
could actually
eat a horse.”
Dean punched him in the shoulder, hard, but he was grinning too, and shrugged, acknowledging the truth of what Sam said.
They walked the rest of the way to Laurie’s house together. Half a block out, Castiel appeared beside them.
“if you harbour still
any worries,
do not,for I have
the evildoers chastened
and they are subdued.”
Emily started violently when he began to speak, but when she registered who it was, she relaxed.
“I should thank you, too,” she said. “I have no idea what you did back there, but that was damn impressive.” Castiel inclined his head. “Do you want to come back to my place for stew?” He hesitated, and she said quickly, “Don’t feel obligated. Just, I wanted to show my appreciation. You know. For shaking up those creeps.” Castiel moved to stand in front of her, touched a hand briefly to her shoulder.
“You are
a daughter most precious and
beloved;they were
criminals against all things
good and pure.
Your life continuing
is thanks enough.”
She turned her head toward Sam in confused awe; when she turned back, Castiel had gone.
The stew was fine, as it turned out, and Dean had three bowls of it and Sam had one, and they slept on her couches because, she awkwardly explained, they didn’t have to but it was just hard to get over having your home invaded, and would they mind?
They didn’t mind at all. Despite the unusual size of the larger couch, Sam woke up with cricks in places he hadn’t known could crick, but he was okay with that. Emily was alive and safe. That made up for a lot.
*
Reply
There was a smell and a sizzle of bacon frying and the beautiful aroma of coffee when Sam woke up, early sunlight filtering in through the sheer front curtains. He sat up slowly, unfolding himself with care and precision, and finding out exactly how his sleeping accomodation had affected his spine. Glancing over toward the other couch, he discovered that his brother was absent. Then he heard a low feminine laugh from the direction of the kitchen, and sighed, shaking his head. He got up off the couch, popped his back in as many ways as he possibly could, and headed for the kitchen.
Dean sat at the tiny table drinking coffee, his attention focused all on Emily. She was clattering around cheerfully, checking the bacon, making toast, scrambling eggs. When she noticed Sam in the doorway, she tipped her head in the direction of the far counter.
“Coffee machine’s over there. I’ll be done in a minute here.”
Sam poured himself a cup, and went to join Dean at the table. He took a sip of coffee - man, that beat diner coffee any day of the week - elbowed his brother, and raised an eyebrow. Dean shrugged, and returned a hey, what can I say? half-grin.
Emily came over then and started dishing out eggs. Breakfast was mostly silent, and Sam was just as glad; he wasn’t sure he was keen on finding out what the last day of the curse entailed while in the presence of the one who had cast it.
The first to finish eating was Emily, though, and she sat back and eyed them speculatively.
“You know,” she said, “I never did get your names.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look of dread, mouths full. Sam gave an internal sigh, swallowed, and prepared to take one for the team.
“My name is Sam,” and that wasn’t so bad, but oh, then:
“and this, the brother of my soul
the name written in the eyes of my heart
is Dean.”
That sounded... oh, man, she was going to think... well, talk about your unfortunate side-effects. Sam dropped his face into his hands. Then he felt a heavy pressure on his foot and, unbelievably, Dean jumped in to save him.
“Even though
the parrot of our mouths
is being forced to squawk
unfamiliar architecture,
the sky of truth is
revealed anyway.
Our mother dropped sparks
in an agony of white dress
when we were grasshoppers,
and since then our father
has drowned innumerably
and is no more.
We are the only two stars
in our sky
and the planets are against us.”
Sam hoped she could understand, through the filter of her own curse, what Dean was trying to say: We really are brothers, and we’ve been through a lot together, and we’re all we have left. He looked up cautiously, and was surprised by the stricken compassion in Emily’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.” There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence, and then Emily shook herself and said, “More bacon?” and things were more or less back to normal. As normal as their interactions with her had ever been, at least.
*
Reply
Sam insisted on helping her clean up after breakfast, and she saw them to the door.
“So you boys’ll be moving on, then, I take it?” she asked. At their questioning expressions, she clarified: “This is what you do, isn’t it? Nobody just unpicks a coven while staying in a motel just for the fun of it. I’m right, aren’t I?” They nodded. She gave them another long look, then said, “Be careful. And I’m sorry about the curse,” she added. “I really am.” Sam shrugged; Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, really. You didn’t deserve it. You surprised me, actually.” This last was directed at Dean. “Thanks for not trying anything. I underestimated you.”
She held out her hand, and they shook it, one after the other, and left.
The walk back to the Impala, which was still parked outside the deserted two-story where the coven had trapped Castiel, took almost half an hour. Twenty minutes in, Sam bumped his shoulder against Dean’s.
“So you didn’t
unfold her origami potential
after all.”
Dean shoved him back.
“Vixen.”
“Whiplash.”
Castiel was waiting for them when they got back to the motel room.
“Is the intention,” he asked, “to go
merrily and with the sound of bells
along the ribbon of tar,
or to wallow in honey
and victory for a while?”
“We’ll go merrily,” replied Dean.
“The honey here is in
a sealed jar and stopped with
intelligence.”
They checked out and hit the road. As Dean eased onto the highway, he glanced over at Sam and grinned. Castiel was in the back seat; the windows were down; the sky was blue, and they’d just saved somebody’s life again.
“Pretty effervescent sandwich, isn’t it, Sammy?”
Sam tossed his grin right back at him and settled more comfortably in his seat. As curses went, this one really wasn’t so bad. He was beginning to revise his impression of librarians.
*
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(The comment has been removed)
(thank you! I am very glad to hear it.)
Reply
Also, Castiel being impressive while talking in the voice of my favorite poet ever? Pure win.
Reply
I KNOW RIGHT. I read the prompt and went CASTIEL IS GOING TO BE BADASS ON E. E. CUMMINGS DAY. THAT'S JUST THE WAY IT IS. Well, I think maybe that didn't happen until I had the beginning of my plot, which fdkjhfgjkdlh didn't happen AT ALL until, like, halfway through Day 1, but. I'm so glad it hit you right. I wasn't sure I had the voice anymore by that point, so I'm taking your compliment as an indicator that I didn't slip too far, at least. :D
Thanks so much for your comment!
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(The comment has been removed)
I AM SO GLAD THAT YOU ARE PLEASED. <3
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I love this with the love of many burning things, yet for all the wonderful (incandescently - acutely - characterised) poetry this bit of prose at the end is what struck me most: "They checked out and hit the road. As Dean eased onto the highway, he glanced over at Sam and grinned. Castiel was in the back seat; the windows were down; the sky was blue, and they’d just saved somebody’s life again."
Also, I would pay to see this as an episode, it plays out better than some of the actual ones even.
Reply
Wow, thank you. What an extravagently lovely comment. :D (I intend to podfic this at some point... though I'm not sure when that point will be. So, uh, stay tuned? :P If you want.)
Your compliments make me beam. Seriously, thanks. :D
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