The comm hosted this little event a couple of years ago, and as November 2 is an auspicious day for our darling Sam, today would be the perfect time to revisit this challenge. Welcome to the Triple Play 2015!
Twist in the WindthursdaysistersNovember 3 2015, 15:57:15 UTC
A cadre of thugs armed with shotguns and dogs peered over the edge and, satisfied that the Impala would burn for a good while, made their way back to the birthday party. They only needed one Winchester anyhow.
Sam came to, coughing smoke and then a string of blood. "Dean...?"
It's raining hard and the light from the headlights doesn't go far. As the night progressed, humanoid shapes appeared far away, and over the next few hours more approached the Impala from all directions. Big acts of black magic always attracted the dead, and the birthday hostess had bragged about bagging a Winchester weeks in advance.
At last the first figure arrived and stepped into the twin cones of the headlights. Rain sizzled on it's head. It climbed on the hood and breathed and the ice against the windshield melted in the shape of a mouth, and at this the other dead cowered and faded into the shadows.
Sam smiled. "Hi Sarah."
He picked broken glass from his ribs with his good arm and rummaged under the driver's seat for a med kit and whiskey and guns. "Dean's in trouble," he said, biting off a length of duct tape and wrapping his left arm against his chest, "Can you get me up there?"
Sam shoved the tape in the glove compartment. Amidst the maps and ancient condom wrappers fell a photograph stuck to the back of a postcard. A spectral hand reached down and flipped it over.
Dean looked about thirteen, drawing Batman logos all over Sam's arm cast beside a cupcake he'd stolen from the nurse's private stash. Another birthday party in another world. When Sam tried to take it back, he found Sarah's grip to be quite real.
"Hold on Sam."
And pulling him through the windshield as though he were made of smoke, the thing that had been Sarah Blake...unfolded. One moment they were both several hundred feet above the Earth, her hair streaming behind her as he looked down at the houses spread across the valley like stars, the next he was standing before a witch's house with Dean shouting his name inside.
He never did recall how long that moment lasted. Even now Sam dreams of flying with her above the cloudline, twisting in the wind with only an old photograph to hold on to for purchase.
Sam turned to thank her, but the yard was empty save for him and the shadows at the edge of the light. He stared back at them and when no more stepped forward to his aid, he chambered a round in his gun and kicked down the door.
RE: Twist in the Windcrowroad3November 3 2015, 18:41:17 UTC
Aww man, this whole thing is an act of magic-- the dead drawn to that power, the sizzling rain, the twin parties present and past, the way Sarah materializes, literally, "it" to spirit to real ( and then expands beyond, as time does), the way Sam himself is smoke, and a glass-picking duct-taping badass, the way this is ethereal yes, but also direct, stylewise: you flash us the spirit-world and then, like Sam all verb, kick down the door. I love it.
Re: Twist in the WindthursdaysistersNovember 3 2015, 18:46:56 UTC
Thanks! Yeah some of my favorite spn episodes are the ones where ghosts are really frikkin dangerous (I've rewatched Fulsom Blues from season 2 like a billion times), the idea for this came from an old Italian folktale where an angel lifted an evil woman out of Hell, but other damned souls latched onto the woman's foot and she twisted around so much trying to kick them off that she let go of the angel and fell. :D
Re: RE: Twist in the WindthursdaysistersNovember 5 2015, 11:35:27 UTC
Thanks, glad you liked it! :-D ghosts were always a favorite of mine, and Halloween ended too soon for me (can we just have it again in a few weeks and call it Turkeyween?).
RE: Twist in the Windamypond45November 6 2015, 01:40:13 UTC
Oh man, I'm so smitten with this fic! The way you set the scene, with the rain and the headlight and Sam plucking broken glass from his ribs and the vaguely humanoid shapes peering over the edge...then the ghost pulling him along with that token of a memory from another broken arm...how do you DO that?! Thank you so much for this!
Sam came to, coughing smoke and then a string of blood. "Dean...?"
It's raining hard and the light from the headlights doesn't go far. As the night progressed, humanoid shapes appeared far away, and over the next few hours more approached the Impala from all directions. Big acts of black magic always attracted the dead, and the birthday hostess had bragged about bagging a Winchester weeks in advance.
At last the first figure arrived and stepped into the twin cones of the headlights. Rain sizzled on it's head. It climbed on the hood and breathed and the ice against the windshield melted in the shape of a mouth, and at this the other dead cowered and faded into the shadows.
Sam smiled. "Hi Sarah."
He picked broken glass from his ribs with his good arm and rummaged under the driver's seat for a med kit and whiskey and guns. "Dean's in trouble," he said, biting off a length of duct tape and wrapping his left arm against his chest, "Can you get me up there?"
Sam shoved the tape in the glove compartment. Amidst the maps and ancient condom wrappers fell a photograph stuck to the back of a postcard. A spectral hand reached down and flipped it over.
Dean looked about thirteen, drawing Batman logos all over Sam's arm cast beside a cupcake he'd stolen from the nurse's private stash. Another birthday party in another world. When Sam tried to take it back, he found Sarah's grip to be quite real.
"Hold on Sam."
And pulling him through the windshield as though he were made of smoke, the thing that had been Sarah Blake...unfolded. One moment they were both several hundred feet above the Earth, her hair streaming behind her as he looked down at the houses spread across the valley like stars, the next he was standing before a witch's house with Dean shouting his name inside.
He never did recall how long that moment lasted. Even now Sam dreams of flying with her above the cloudline, twisting in the wind with only an old photograph to hold on to for purchase.
Sam turned to thank her, but the yard was empty save for him and the shadows at the edge of the light. He stared back at them and when no more stepped forward to his aid, he chambered a round in his gun and kicked down the door.
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And yes to dangerous ghosts.
(Classic vengeful spirit one of my fave monsters too.)
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