'Otherside' ramblings / excerpt
I've spent most of the evening working on 'Otherside' and can now happily *rolls eyes* report that it's over the 20,000 word mark. It's also doing very odd things in terms of angst and schmoop, and I'm going to need to edit the hell out of this when it's done to make sure there's not too much schmoop and that the angst can be recovered from in terms of characterisation and such. Also, I need to make sure that my mythology's good and that this is continuous with the timeline elements from 'Phantom.'
Too many things, so instead, I'm going to read Good Omens for a while and then go to bed, all the while hoping that I can get the rest of the fic finished up in the next 5000 words or less (preferably less).
John frowns, and Dean doesn’t understand why. Sam’s stitches came out without any trouble and the skin underneath is whiter than the surrounding areas, courtesy of the bandage, but it’ll heal clean, doesn’t even look like it’ll scar. He says as much, and watches as his father’s lips narrow, press together. Sam looks up at John, eyes too old and knowing, and then stands, brushes Dean off and says something about a shower now that he doesn’t need to worry about keeping the bandage dry.
Dean watches him go, eyes drawn to the swing of Sam’s hips and the play of muscles in his back as he pads, cat-like and silent, out of sight. When Sam’s turned the corner, after Dean hears the shower turn on, he asks, “Why the look, Dad?” because they all know that the fewer identifying marks they have, the better. The tattoos are bad enough, but scars seem worse, somehow, less a choice and more the reminder of bad decisions, split-second failures.
“Because that was a hydra-bite,” John says, “and your brother nearly bled out before we got it cleaned and sewn up.” He stops, shakes his head, and goes to the counter, starts running a pot of coffee. “He should have a scar. Both of us would.”
There’s something telling in that, but then John gets a phone call, ends up leaving. Dean goes to check on Sam in the shower, fucks his brother under a hot spray of water, and the coffee burns.
Too many things, so instead, I'm going to read Good Omens for a while and then go to bed, all the while hoping that I can get the rest of the fic finished up in the next 5000 words or less (preferably less).
John frowns, and Dean doesn’t understand why. Sam’s stitches came out without any trouble and the skin underneath is whiter than the surrounding areas, courtesy of the bandage, but it’ll heal clean, doesn’t even look like it’ll scar. He says as much, and watches as his father’s lips narrow, press together. Sam looks up at John, eyes too old and knowing, and then stands, brushes Dean off and says something about a shower now that he doesn’t need to worry about keeping the bandage dry.
Dean watches him go, eyes drawn to the swing of Sam’s hips and the play of muscles in his back as he pads, cat-like and silent, out of sight. When Sam’s turned the corner, after Dean hears the shower turn on, he asks, “Why the look, Dad?” because they all know that the fewer identifying marks they have, the better. The tattoos are bad enough, but scars seem worse, somehow, less a choice and more the reminder of bad decisions, split-second failures.
“Because that was a hydra-bite,” John says, “and your brother nearly bled out before we got it cleaned and sewn up.” He stops, shakes his head, and goes to the counter, starts running a pot of coffee. “He should have a scar. Both of us would.”
There’s something telling in that, but then John gets a phone call, ends up leaving. Dean goes to check on Sam in the shower, fucks his brother under a hot spray of water, and the coffee burns.