"Dude, you're not gonna poke her with a stick!"
Er, this is a few days late, because first I forgot about it, and then I was too busy watching The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (which still wins at cheese). So Playthings, huh? Awesome and creepy and everything you'd expect from the brilliance of SPN. (Omg but drunk!sam is the sweetest thing I ever did see. And the angst. It hurts so good.) But, and this for me was a big but, at the end our good-looking heroes just left. And now there are two ghosts in the house. And it's still being knocked down. Was I the only one who thought this could not lead to anything good?
So here, a coupla days late, is my Playthings reaction fic.
Promise Me
Maggie misses Tyler.
+
Rose’s favourite game is superheroes. She likes to be the heroine, trapped under the pillow mountain. Maggie saves her over and over and over again from the evil sea monster that lives in the pool. They sing endless jump rope songs in the hall and hide from each other behind dust-covered furniture.
+
Maggie really misses Tyler.
+
When the first man walks through Maggie in the corridor, she’s too shocked to do anything. There are people. In her house. A picture falls off the wall. The man tsks and ignores it. Maggie glares and reaches for the warm core of her power. The picture draws itself up from the floor, and Maggie gathers herself, tight and angry like a bug in a box. Which is when Rose catches her arm and shakes her head. The whipcrack of Maggie’s power smashes into a wall, scraping an ugly gash in the plasterwork. The man’s already turned the corner, and he doesn’t even look back.
+
Maggie loves being in the house. It’s cold outside. And a lifetime’s worth of playing on the swings really isn’t as fun as it should be. She’s the stone in the walls and the dirt beneath their feet. She always knew Rose still loved her.
+
Rose dreams of being old, shaking shaking shaking. Almost old, tracing lines across the windows and fivespots in hidden places. Rote learning, down to the bone, power that simmers quietly like a dying fire. Married and beautiful and happy. Her daughter looks just like Maggie.
+
There’re more. They tramp across her floor and scuff at her carpets. Clipboards and tape measures circle her throat and strike at her back. Maggie just wants to make them go away. Just a little scare. Just a little. Please, Rose, they’re ruining everything. Nobody will miss just one of them. I could paint his face like a clown? You like clowns. Please, Rose?
+
Maggie wanders the gardens, listening to the wind and watching the swings go back and forth.
She runs for the shelter of the house as it starts to rain. The raindrops falling through her stomach makes her queasy.
+
When the first builder smashes his hammer through a partition wall in an abandoned room in an ugly old house, he gets smashed right back.
It used to be Maggie’s father’s room.
+
Rose is cross, but Maggie’s older.
+
The flower beds are becoming unruly as the years turns over, ivy creeping off the walls to smother what’s left of the flowers. The dust is getting thicker: the tracks of the last man who stumbled from the house are fading. Maggie kicks at the dust, which doesn’t stir under her feet, and waits for Rose, who’s sulking in the attic. The house is quiet and cool around her, long silence heavy on the air like the treacle nanny put in her porridge.
Maggie can wait.
Yes, I know. I just wrote an entire SPN fic without actually mentioning the chief protagonists of the show even once. Shut up.
So here, a coupla days late, is my Playthings reaction fic.
Promise Me
Maggie misses Tyler.
+
Rose’s favourite game is superheroes. She likes to be the heroine, trapped under the pillow mountain. Maggie saves her over and over and over again from the evil sea monster that lives in the pool. They sing endless jump rope songs in the hall and hide from each other behind dust-covered furniture.
+
Maggie really misses Tyler.
+
When the first man walks through Maggie in the corridor, she’s too shocked to do anything. There are people. In her house. A picture falls off the wall. The man tsks and ignores it. Maggie glares and reaches for the warm core of her power. The picture draws itself up from the floor, and Maggie gathers herself, tight and angry like a bug in a box. Which is when Rose catches her arm and shakes her head. The whipcrack of Maggie’s power smashes into a wall, scraping an ugly gash in the plasterwork. The man’s already turned the corner, and he doesn’t even look back.
+
Maggie loves being in the house. It’s cold outside. And a lifetime’s worth of playing on the swings really isn’t as fun as it should be. She’s the stone in the walls and the dirt beneath their feet. She always knew Rose still loved her.
+
Rose dreams of being old, shaking shaking shaking. Almost old, tracing lines across the windows and fivespots in hidden places. Rote learning, down to the bone, power that simmers quietly like a dying fire. Married and beautiful and happy. Her daughter looks just like Maggie.
+
There’re more. They tramp across her floor and scuff at her carpets. Clipboards and tape measures circle her throat and strike at her back. Maggie just wants to make them go away. Just a little scare. Just a little. Please, Rose, they’re ruining everything. Nobody will miss just one of them. I could paint his face like a clown? You like clowns. Please, Rose?
+
Maggie wanders the gardens, listening to the wind and watching the swings go back and forth.
She runs for the shelter of the house as it starts to rain. The raindrops falling through her stomach makes her queasy.
+
When the first builder smashes his hammer through a partition wall in an abandoned room in an ugly old house, he gets smashed right back.
It used to be Maggie’s father’s room.
+
Rose is cross, but Maggie’s older.
+
The flower beds are becoming unruly as the years turns over, ivy creeping off the walls to smother what’s left of the flowers. The dust is getting thicker: the tracks of the last man who stumbled from the house are fading. Maggie kicks at the dust, which doesn’t stir under her feet, and waits for Rose, who’s sulking in the attic. The house is quiet and cool around her, long silence heavy on the air like the treacle nanny put in her porridge.
Maggie can wait.
Yes, I know. I just wrote an entire SPN fic without actually mentioning the chief protagonists of the show even once. Shut up.