[FIC] downjune: God Save the Human Cannon Ball
[Challenges]
Title: God Save the Human Cannon Ball
Writer: downjune
Alternate links: PDF
Status of work: Complete
Characters and/or pairings: Sam'n'Dean (with some vague Sam/Dean), Claire Novak, Jody Mills, Castiel. Also, brief Sam/Jody.
Rating: R
Warnings, kinks & contents: [Click to read]Case-related incident of homophobic violence
Length: 19,250 words
Summary: In nearly every major religion, and in all the lore he can find on the subject of Purgatory, the living can influence the fortunes of the dead through prayers and offerings. And Sam's sure Dean isn't even dead, so, piece of cake. All he has to do is make the right offering. It only takes seven months -- and 29 years. Written for the samdean_otp Sam/Dean Mini-Bang 2012.
Reccer's notes: This fic has an intricate and original plot, gorgeous prose, and near-perfect characterization. Sam's memories of Dean are achy and sweet in a way that echoes the gentler moments of the show, and the resolution is everything I'd want to see in a Sam-rescues-Dean-from-Purgatory scenario. On top of that, there are kickass portraits of Jody Mills and Claire Novak. It's rare for Claire to show up in fic, and downjune has fleshed out her character in a way that makes me want to see her on screen again. There's beautiful accompanying artwork.
[Short excerpt]So, palms sweating, Sam sat himself down at the small workstation he'd put together and picked up his knife. Dragging the blade across his forearm, he sucked in a hissed breath at the sharp ache of sliced tissue. Blood beaded out and ran down his arm into an emptied-out bowl from one of the many shrines he'd built that had done exactly nothing to bring his brother back. Squeezing his hand down his arm, he worked as much blood out as would come before the slice clotted and started to close. Then, picking up the quill he'd managed to find at the Sioux Falls art supply store, he dipped it into his own blood and laid his unblemished arm out on the desk. There'd been no time to look for parchment or vellum, and anyway, Sam wasn't convinced anything other than his own flesh would work for the spell. So he pressed the quill to his skin and started to write.
The day I told you about California and college, I knew you were hurt and pissed, but I didn't know what it meant for you to put me on that bus and let me go.
It was violent and selfish and necessary; I had to do it. I had to go. And you knew that, so you let it happen.
I think that letting me go away to school was like excising part of your rib cage or half the bones in your hand. But it was what I needed, so you sucked it up and barely even called me for almost four years. I should have thanked you for knowing me so well and apologized for not knowing you well enough, but I never did.