Supernatural/Dresden Fic Preview!
Yes, I know I should be writing other things, like essays and Big Bangs and holiday ficlets... BUT I COULD NOT RESIST THIS. I sat down at my computer yesterday and thought, "Huh. That would be a good way to start this fic." And then BAM! I had written four pages.
And because it probably won't be completed for a while (I have a feeling it's going to be pretty long, especially since I'll be flipping perspectives between Harry and the Winchesters) I decided to post some sneak peaks here.
Also, this is proof that I am alive and have not completely abandoned fandom, even though I have been writing nothing but my BB for quite a long time.
- - -
“Chicago.”
Dean glanced up from cleaning his gun just as Sam slumped into the chair across from him, computer open on his lap.
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Chicago?”
“Yep.” Sam lifted his laptop onto the table and spun it to show Dean the web page he was on, an article from the Chicago Tribune. “Eight people have been reported missing within the past two weeks, five men and three women. Seems rather suspicious, doesn’t it?”
“Definitely.” Dean went back to swabbing the gun barrel. “Got any details?”
Sam pulled the laptop closer and scanned the article. “Witnesses claim that the latest victim - a young woman named Clara Goodman - left a nightclub on the arm of an extremely handsome young man, and hasn’t been seen since.” He scrolled down a bit. “In fact, that seems to be the overarching theme in this series of disappearances.”
“What, drunk chicks leaving nightclubs with random hot guys?” Dean grinned. “Sounds like a normal Friday night to me.”
Sam flashed Dean an exasperated look, and Dean cleared his throat, looking a little guilty.
“Okay, so maybe it’s not completely normal,” he said. “But what makes you think this isn’t just a kidnapping ring or a serial killer or something?”
“Because…” Sam clicked on a link and spun the laptop again, this time showing Dean an image. “Each of the eight victims - save the latest - has been found dead somewhere in the city precisely three days after their disappearance.” He gestured to the image. “And they all look like this.”
Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked at the black and white photo on the screen. It was a rather gruesome image, showing the broken and emaciated corpse of what appeared to have once been a young woman. Her hair was white and thin, her cheeks sunken, eyes wide and glazed, and she was wearing a slim black cocktail dress that would have been attractive if it had not adorned a corpse.
The strangest thing, though, was that there was no sign of a struggle on her. No bruises, no dried blood, no rope-burn or broken bones. And - eerily - her cadaverous face seemed to be frozen in an expression of extreme sensual pleasure, so apparent that Dean felt a little uncomfortable looking at it.
“And you say this was taken three days after her disappearance?” he asked.
“Yep,” Sam said. “This was the first victim, but every body has looked exactly the same.”
“So she can’t have been dead for more than three days.”
“Correct.”
Dean whistled lowly and shook his head. “Weird. I mean… she looks like she’s been dead for years, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s like the life was just sucked out of her. And, uh.” Sam shifted awkwardly. “You noticed her… expression?”
“You mean the orgasm face?”
“Er, yeah.” Sam hurriedly scrolled away from the image of the corpse before looking askance at his brother. “Dean, they’re all like that. And not just in their expressions.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “You mean the guys were…”
“At full staff? Yes.”
Dean cringed. “So… what? They were all ganked mid-coitus?”
“Seems like it.”
“Huh. And what do we know that likes to off people during sex?”
“That was my question,” Sam said, closing and stowing his laptop. “So I called Bobby. He claims vampires.”
Dean eyed Sam incredulously. “Vampires.”
Sam shrugged. “Apparently not all vamps suck blood. Some feed on emotion, like despair and fear. Bobby thinks this particular coven feeds on lust.”
“But isn’t blood-sucking, like, the definition of vampire?”
“So I thought. But Bobby said something about there being multiple courts, which are like families, I guess. The Black Court is the oldest, full of your traditional Dracula wannabes. The Red Court is the most common, and mostly what we hunt. And the White Court is the most human. They’re the ones who feed on emotion.” Sam tapped his laptop case. “They’re the ones working in Chicago.”
“Great. So we just have to go to Chicago, find this so-called ‘court,’ and kill them, right?”
Sam made a face. “Well, yeah. But not yet.”
“What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”
“We have to make a call first.”
“To?”
“Some guy named Harry Dresden.”
Dean got to his feet, packing up his gun and cleaning equipment. “Is he a hunter?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said, spinning in his chair to watch as Dean grabbed his duffel out from under the bed and started shoving clothes into it. “But Bobby warned me that Chicago is his territory and we’d better not piss him off.”
Dean grunted. “So who is this guy?”
“Well, he’s kind of a…” Sam trailed off and Dean glanced back at him impatiently.
“A what, Sammy?”
“A wizard.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Dean turned very slowly to face Sam, one balled up t-shirt in his hand.
“He’s a wizard?” he asked.
“According to Bobby and the Chicago yellow pages, yes.”
“Wait. He advertises himself as a wizard in the yellow pages?” Sam shrugged helplessly and Dean laughed, shaking his head and turning back to his packing. “Man. This guy sounds nuts.”
“Dean, we hunt monsters,” Sam said. “Are we really allowed to judge?”
“Whatever. Don’t call the guy.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he’s a nut job, Sammy,” Dean said, turning to face Sam again. “If he doesn’t want us hunting in his city, tough. We can deal with it when we get there. Until then, we’re going to pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“But Dean -”
“I’m not going to let some crackpot who calls himself a wizard interfere with our hunting, all right? Now get packed.” Dean resumed his own packing, stuffing a couple of guns into the duffel. “We have a three hour drive ahead of us, and then…” He turned back to Sam with a broad grin. “We’ve got some vamps to slay.”
- - -
I wrote a couple of later parts from Harry's POV, too (which is SO MUCH FUN, HOLY CRAP. WHY HAVE I NOT DONE THIS BEFORE.), but I don't want to spoil too much.
Okay, now I'm off to do something important. Like write an essay. Or something.
OH! And I have more news. I get to write a modernization of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as a final project for one of my classes. I mean, it is legitimately going to be my final essay. So who's got two thumbs and is utterly psyched? THIS GIRL. :D :D :D
I might post it here when it's finished. I want it to be EPIC. And yes, I will be modeling the "modern" character of Gawain after the Merlin version, thank you for asking. And there will probably be guns involved. Yep.
Also, HAPPY DECEMBER IT IS SNOWING. \o/
And because it probably won't be completed for a while (I have a feeling it's going to be pretty long, especially since I'll be flipping perspectives between Harry and the Winchesters) I decided to post some sneak peaks here.
Also, this is proof that I am alive and have not completely abandoned fandom, even though I have been writing nothing but my BB for quite a long time.
- - -
“Chicago.”
Dean glanced up from cleaning his gun just as Sam slumped into the chair across from him, computer open on his lap.
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Chicago?”
“Yep.” Sam lifted his laptop onto the table and spun it to show Dean the web page he was on, an article from the Chicago Tribune. “Eight people have been reported missing within the past two weeks, five men and three women. Seems rather suspicious, doesn’t it?”
“Definitely.” Dean went back to swabbing the gun barrel. “Got any details?”
Sam pulled the laptop closer and scanned the article. “Witnesses claim that the latest victim - a young woman named Clara Goodman - left a nightclub on the arm of an extremely handsome young man, and hasn’t been seen since.” He scrolled down a bit. “In fact, that seems to be the overarching theme in this series of disappearances.”
“What, drunk chicks leaving nightclubs with random hot guys?” Dean grinned. “Sounds like a normal Friday night to me.”
Sam flashed Dean an exasperated look, and Dean cleared his throat, looking a little guilty.
“Okay, so maybe it’s not completely normal,” he said. “But what makes you think this isn’t just a kidnapping ring or a serial killer or something?”
“Because…” Sam clicked on a link and spun the laptop again, this time showing Dean an image. “Each of the eight victims - save the latest - has been found dead somewhere in the city precisely three days after their disappearance.” He gestured to the image. “And they all look like this.”
Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked at the black and white photo on the screen. It was a rather gruesome image, showing the broken and emaciated corpse of what appeared to have once been a young woman. Her hair was white and thin, her cheeks sunken, eyes wide and glazed, and she was wearing a slim black cocktail dress that would have been attractive if it had not adorned a corpse.
The strangest thing, though, was that there was no sign of a struggle on her. No bruises, no dried blood, no rope-burn or broken bones. And - eerily - her cadaverous face seemed to be frozen in an expression of extreme sensual pleasure, so apparent that Dean felt a little uncomfortable looking at it.
“And you say this was taken three days after her disappearance?” he asked.
“Yep,” Sam said. “This was the first victim, but every body has looked exactly the same.”
“So she can’t have been dead for more than three days.”
“Correct.”
Dean whistled lowly and shook his head. “Weird. I mean… she looks like she’s been dead for years, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s like the life was just sucked out of her. And, uh.” Sam shifted awkwardly. “You noticed her… expression?”
“You mean the orgasm face?”
“Er, yeah.” Sam hurriedly scrolled away from the image of the corpse before looking askance at his brother. “Dean, they’re all like that. And not just in their expressions.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “You mean the guys were…”
“At full staff? Yes.”
Dean cringed. “So… what? They were all ganked mid-coitus?”
“Seems like it.”
“Huh. And what do we know that likes to off people during sex?”
“That was my question,” Sam said, closing and stowing his laptop. “So I called Bobby. He claims vampires.”
Dean eyed Sam incredulously. “Vampires.”
Sam shrugged. “Apparently not all vamps suck blood. Some feed on emotion, like despair and fear. Bobby thinks this particular coven feeds on lust.”
“But isn’t blood-sucking, like, the definition of vampire?”
“So I thought. But Bobby said something about there being multiple courts, which are like families, I guess. The Black Court is the oldest, full of your traditional Dracula wannabes. The Red Court is the most common, and mostly what we hunt. And the White Court is the most human. They’re the ones who feed on emotion.” Sam tapped his laptop case. “They’re the ones working in Chicago.”
“Great. So we just have to go to Chicago, find this so-called ‘court,’ and kill them, right?”
Sam made a face. “Well, yeah. But not yet.”
“What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”
“We have to make a call first.”
“To?”
“Some guy named Harry Dresden.”
Dean got to his feet, packing up his gun and cleaning equipment. “Is he a hunter?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said, spinning in his chair to watch as Dean grabbed his duffel out from under the bed and started shoving clothes into it. “But Bobby warned me that Chicago is his territory and we’d better not piss him off.”
Dean grunted. “So who is this guy?”
“Well, he’s kind of a…” Sam trailed off and Dean glanced back at him impatiently.
“A what, Sammy?”
“A wizard.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Dean turned very slowly to face Sam, one balled up t-shirt in his hand.
“He’s a wizard?” he asked.
“According to Bobby and the Chicago yellow pages, yes.”
“Wait. He advertises himself as a wizard in the yellow pages?” Sam shrugged helplessly and Dean laughed, shaking his head and turning back to his packing. “Man. This guy sounds nuts.”
“Dean, we hunt monsters,” Sam said. “Are we really allowed to judge?”
“Whatever. Don’t call the guy.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he’s a nut job, Sammy,” Dean said, turning to face Sam again. “If he doesn’t want us hunting in his city, tough. We can deal with it when we get there. Until then, we’re going to pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“But Dean -”
“I’m not going to let some crackpot who calls himself a wizard interfere with our hunting, all right? Now get packed.” Dean resumed his own packing, stuffing a couple of guns into the duffel. “We have a three hour drive ahead of us, and then…” He turned back to Sam with a broad grin. “We’ve got some vamps to slay.”
- - -
I wrote a couple of later parts from Harry's POV, too (which is SO MUCH FUN, HOLY CRAP. WHY HAVE I NOT DONE THIS BEFORE.), but I don't want to spoil too much.
Okay, now I'm off to do something important. Like write an essay. Or something.
OH! And I have more news. I get to write a modernization of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as a final project for one of my classes. I mean, it is legitimately going to be my final essay. So who's got two thumbs and is utterly psyched? THIS GIRL. :D :D :D
I might post it here when it's finished. I want it to be EPIC. And yes, I will be modeling the "modern" character of Gawain after the Merlin version, thank you for asking. And there will probably be guns involved. Yep.
Also, HAPPY DECEMBER IT IS SNOWING. \o/