Fic: A Place To Rest Your Head
Title: A Place To Rest Your Head 1/?
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill Crossover
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Brooke. Dean. Haley. Castiel. Meg. OC.
Rating: Light R [for violence]
Words: 955
Summary: AU. She feels another fraction of the old her fall away, another layer shed like the layers of her skin that would never be smooth again. Brooke Davis picked up a stranger in a bar one year and three months ago.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Never did. Lyrics from "Blind" by Placebo, also not mine.
Notes: This is set in AU!Land somewhere in the timeline of an AU season six of One Tree Hill, and sometime after season four of Supernatural. Feedback and concrit is much love. For every comment, that person gets a cookie. They're chocolate chip ;]
If I could tear you from the ceiling,
I'd freeze us both in time.
Find a brand new way of seeing.
Your eyes forever glued to mine.
Prologue:
Brooke Davis knew what it felt like to burn.
She had burned with hate so hot it boiled out from under her skin and poisoned her every action, word, breath. She had burned with love so bright that it threatened to sallow her whole and take everything she had left to give. She had burned in the deepest pits of agony, wallowed in acidic pools of despair, and never thought she would make it out again.
She was burning now, again, maybe for the last time; truly melting in flames on the ceiling of her daughter’s nursery.
At first sight, the woman looked like Peyton. All clouds of golden curls flowing around her head like a halo shining bright, even in the dim moonlight of the room. She could have, would have been Peyton if Peyton wasn’t on the other side of the country. She knew, even before she turned from the crib, and looked her in the eye with a sinister twist to her lips.
This is who woke Sadie, her baby who sleeps through the night without a fuss, her helpless baby who can only wail for her. Brooke slept lightly these days, her hand clutched around a baby monitor, the symphony of a steady rise and fall of sweet baby’s breath in her ear. She was up at the first cry, always was, ever since the second month and Sadie with the croup.
Brooke had charged the woman; she was taller, but thin, breakable. She caught her sleeve, before she flicked her fingers and Brooke was pinned to the wall by some other worldly force. Brooke kicked and struggled with the invisible hold as she slid up the wall at a creeping pace. The absurd grin never left the woman’s face as she reached her destination over the crib; a strange black, slightly golden gleam to her eyes.
Her stomach had been ripped open then. The pain was so sudden, so sharp that she was somehow able to shift her bonds and she caught the gaping wound in her hands before her insides spilled out over Sadie. Her own blood was warm and wet, the metallic stench of it coated the inside of her nose and throat. If she had the time to think, she would have been sick.
Before the blaze came, the woman murmured to her daughter, “Too bad daddy doesn’t know you exist. What fun we could have been had if he did.” And then she snapped her fingers; a sharp crack, like a bone breaking.
The flames surrounded her in a rush of wind.
She winked at Brooke, and blew a kiss to Sadie before disappearing into thin air like she had never existed, never brought this upon them. The fire sizzled and blistered the skin on her arms, her legs. She felt the cotton of her t-shirt meld with skin of her back, smelt the scent of her own flesh being cooked, and all the while, she couldn’t even scream.
But the worst, the very worst pain of all; is having to watch Sadie watch her endure it all and know, if something doesn’t happen soon, she’ll be next. Sadie stopped crying, and her gaze focused on her mother’s eyes. Brooke wanted to reach a hand to her, smooth down her brown tufts of fine hair, but all she could do is shimmy her shoulders uselessly, and allow the tears to fall from her face.
Then Sadie lifted her arm, tiny fingers outstretched around her opened palm, and Brooke was falling. As soon as freedom registered, she twisted her body and prayed to whatever higher power existed that she would fall on the floor, and not in the crib. She breathed a sigh when she fell into a painful heap, narrowly missing wooden railing, the fire going out upon impact. She immediately tried to push herself up into a standing position, but her body screamed in protest, and she fell back down.
Her options raced through her mind; she could crawl and hope to reach a phone before the fire reached Sadie, or she could stay and hope her fire alarm has done it’s job, and help was on it’s way. Either choice, she felt like a failure.
The sound of heavy boots running up her stairs was like a beacon, and the first man who burst through the door to the nursery she could have kissed. He ran to her first, concern softening the pure, unadulterated anger twisting his features, but she waved him off frantically. “The baby,” she coughed. “The baby.”
He brushed past her obediently, and rushed over to the crib. She breathed easy when she watched him pluck Sadie from crib, wrapped tightly and snug in a blanket, held close to his chest. He paused. Brooke wanted to tell him to go, to run, to ask him what the hell he was waiting for, a parade? But whatever she had in her that kept her alive had petered out, and she was almost too far gone to feel as sure and steady hands arranged her to be lifted up into capable arms.
His eyes were the first part of him she saw, but it was enough. She could identify him by those eyes alone, clear across a crowded room. She didn’t even know what color they were, but guessed hazel by their ability change with the light; impossibly green in the sunlight or something much darker, much more secret in the night. Right now, they radiated determination, projected the safety of his whispered promises as they escaped the inferno that was once her home.
She touched her bloodstained fingers to his cheek. “You,” she said, and was gone before she could tell him.
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill Crossover
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Brooke. Dean. Haley. Castiel. Meg. OC.
Rating: Light R [for violence]
Words: 955
Summary: AU. She feels another fraction of the old her fall away, another layer shed like the layers of her skin that would never be smooth again. Brooke Davis picked up a stranger in a bar one year and three months ago.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Never did. Lyrics from "Blind" by Placebo, also not mine.
Notes: This is set in AU!Land somewhere in the timeline of an AU season six of One Tree Hill, and sometime after season four of Supernatural. Feedback and concrit is much love. For every comment, that person gets a cookie. They're chocolate chip ;]
If I could tear you from the ceiling,
I'd freeze us both in time.
Find a brand new way of seeing.
Your eyes forever glued to mine.
Prologue:
Brooke Davis knew what it felt like to burn.
She had burned with hate so hot it boiled out from under her skin and poisoned her every action, word, breath. She had burned with love so bright that it threatened to sallow her whole and take everything she had left to give. She had burned in the deepest pits of agony, wallowed in acidic pools of despair, and never thought she would make it out again.
She was burning now, again, maybe for the last time; truly melting in flames on the ceiling of her daughter’s nursery.
At first sight, the woman looked like Peyton. All clouds of golden curls flowing around her head like a halo shining bright, even in the dim moonlight of the room. She could have, would have been Peyton if Peyton wasn’t on the other side of the country. She knew, even before she turned from the crib, and looked her in the eye with a sinister twist to her lips.
This is who woke Sadie, her baby who sleeps through the night without a fuss, her helpless baby who can only wail for her. Brooke slept lightly these days, her hand clutched around a baby monitor, the symphony of a steady rise and fall of sweet baby’s breath in her ear. She was up at the first cry, always was, ever since the second month and Sadie with the croup.
Brooke had charged the woman; she was taller, but thin, breakable. She caught her sleeve, before she flicked her fingers and Brooke was pinned to the wall by some other worldly force. Brooke kicked and struggled with the invisible hold as she slid up the wall at a creeping pace. The absurd grin never left the woman’s face as she reached her destination over the crib; a strange black, slightly golden gleam to her eyes.
Her stomach had been ripped open then. The pain was so sudden, so sharp that she was somehow able to shift her bonds and she caught the gaping wound in her hands before her insides spilled out over Sadie. Her own blood was warm and wet, the metallic stench of it coated the inside of her nose and throat. If she had the time to think, she would have been sick.
Before the blaze came, the woman murmured to her daughter, “Too bad daddy doesn’t know you exist. What fun we could have been had if he did.” And then she snapped her fingers; a sharp crack, like a bone breaking.
The flames surrounded her in a rush of wind.
She winked at Brooke, and blew a kiss to Sadie before disappearing into thin air like she had never existed, never brought this upon them. The fire sizzled and blistered the skin on her arms, her legs. She felt the cotton of her t-shirt meld with skin of her back, smelt the scent of her own flesh being cooked, and all the while, she couldn’t even scream.
But the worst, the very worst pain of all; is having to watch Sadie watch her endure it all and know, if something doesn’t happen soon, she’ll be next. Sadie stopped crying, and her gaze focused on her mother’s eyes. Brooke wanted to reach a hand to her, smooth down her brown tufts of fine hair, but all she could do is shimmy her shoulders uselessly, and allow the tears to fall from her face.
Then Sadie lifted her arm, tiny fingers outstretched around her opened palm, and Brooke was falling. As soon as freedom registered, she twisted her body and prayed to whatever higher power existed that she would fall on the floor, and not in the crib. She breathed a sigh when she fell into a painful heap, narrowly missing wooden railing, the fire going out upon impact. She immediately tried to push herself up into a standing position, but her body screamed in protest, and she fell back down.
Her options raced through her mind; she could crawl and hope to reach a phone before the fire reached Sadie, or she could stay and hope her fire alarm has done it’s job, and help was on it’s way. Either choice, she felt like a failure.
The sound of heavy boots running up her stairs was like a beacon, and the first man who burst through the door to the nursery she could have kissed. He ran to her first, concern softening the pure, unadulterated anger twisting his features, but she waved him off frantically. “The baby,” she coughed. “The baby.”
He brushed past her obediently, and rushed over to the crib. She breathed easy when she watched him pluck Sadie from crib, wrapped tightly and snug in a blanket, held close to his chest. He paused. Brooke wanted to tell him to go, to run, to ask him what the hell he was waiting for, a parade? But whatever she had in her that kept her alive had petered out, and she was almost too far gone to feel as sure and steady hands arranged her to be lifted up into capable arms.
His eyes were the first part of him she saw, but it was enough. She could identify him by those eyes alone, clear across a crowded room. She didn’t even know what color they were, but guessed hazel by their ability change with the light; impossibly green in the sunlight or something much darker, much more secret in the night. Right now, they radiated determination, projected the safety of his whispered promises as they escaped the inferno that was once her home.
She touched her bloodstained fingers to his cheek. “You,” she said, and was gone before she could tell him.