(no subject)
I started fiddling with some ideas for a Supernatural/Breaking Bad crossover and here's a tiny thing that I wrote. I haven't written anything in so long that just. This was a struggle to fart out.
“So it looks like I’ve got something in New Mexico,” said Sam. Dean was sitting on the other hotel bed, and while his eyes were open he was apparently miles away. He had picked up a Walkman and several classic rock cassettes on one recent excursion and was now escaping for a minute with Deep Purple. “Dean!”
The other Winchester looked back at him, annoyed, and slipped the headphones back to hang around his neck. Without his ears muffling the music, Sam could hear each lyric clearly. “What, yeah? Mexico? Do we have usable passports?”
“Not Mexico, Dean. New Mexico. I have something in New Mexico.”
Dean gave him that wide eyed look and shrug of his shoulders indicating that Sam should continue.
Sam took a deep breath, decided it wasn’t worth it to critique his brother’s behavior at the moment, and continued, “Well there have been several deaths in and around BBTOWN that are being attributed to drug overdoses, but I don’t think that’s the whole story.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well in a lot of cases, witnesses are saying that the victim was exhibiting a lot of out of character behavior first. They were getting more violent, and their priorities were changing a lot. They were lashing out at people who they never would have before,” explained Sam.
“Sam, that just sounds like any drug addict,” said Dean.
“I’m not sure. I found a support group forum, and a lot of the posts sort of sound like… Remember when I had no soul?”
“Pretty flimsy, Sammy.”
Sam said nothing.
“Fine. Let’s check it out,” continued Dean. Sam started to say something, but Dean was already putting his headphones on and leaning back.
Jesse didn’t like their new boss. He didn’t like the new supervisors and their creepy black eyes. He didn’t like the new “secret ingredient” but to be fair, neither did Walter when it was first introduced. It was nearly a month ago now that they had arrived at the lab to cook as normal, but instead of one of Gus’s goons waiting for them there were a handful of men and women who they had never met before.
At the front of the group had been a short, dark man in a black suit. “Hello boys,” he’d said. Then he had stepped aside, and his associates had wheeled forward a drum full of viscous, black liquid. He had gone on to explain that they were going to have to work this into the recipe. Of course Walter had protested. He’d explained that the recipe was very finely tuned, that this was exact chemistry, and was especially irritable about Crowley’s refusal to tell him anything at all about the ingredient. “You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out,” was Crowley’s final word on the subject.
The first week had yielded no viable results. The stuff didn’t have a normal chemical makeup and so finding exactly where in their process to add it proved difficult. Finally they ended up with a small batch of crystal that was a much deeper blue than their usual recipe.
Crowley had taken one look at it and said it wasn’t potent enough. Again Walt argued that you can’t just introduce an arbitrary and somewhat volatile substance into a complicated chemical synthetization process. He also pointed out that it had taken them a week just to find where in the process the ingredient could be introduced. They were lucky they hadn’t blown up the lab, but they had managed to fill it with noxious fumes twice.
Crowley wasn’t hearing it.
Crowley didn’t care.
It took them another week to perfect the process, and now they were producing crystals that were such a deep purple that they were almost black. Jesse didn’t think it would sell, but it had. It had sold very well.
“So it looks like I’ve got something in New Mexico,” said Sam. Dean was sitting on the other hotel bed, and while his eyes were open he was apparently miles away. He had picked up a Walkman and several classic rock cassettes on one recent excursion and was now escaping for a minute with Deep Purple. “Dean!”
The other Winchester looked back at him, annoyed, and slipped the headphones back to hang around his neck. Without his ears muffling the music, Sam could hear each lyric clearly. “What, yeah? Mexico? Do we have usable passports?”
“Not Mexico, Dean. New Mexico. I have something in New Mexico.”
Dean gave him that wide eyed look and shrug of his shoulders indicating that Sam should continue.
Sam took a deep breath, decided it wasn’t worth it to critique his brother’s behavior at the moment, and continued, “Well there have been several deaths in and around BBTOWN that are being attributed to drug overdoses, but I don’t think that’s the whole story.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well in a lot of cases, witnesses are saying that the victim was exhibiting a lot of out of character behavior first. They were getting more violent, and their priorities were changing a lot. They were lashing out at people who they never would have before,” explained Sam.
“Sam, that just sounds like any drug addict,” said Dean.
“I’m not sure. I found a support group forum, and a lot of the posts sort of sound like… Remember when I had no soul?”
“Pretty flimsy, Sammy.”
Sam said nothing.
“Fine. Let’s check it out,” continued Dean. Sam started to say something, but Dean was already putting his headphones on and leaning back.
Jesse didn’t like their new boss. He didn’t like the new supervisors and their creepy black eyes. He didn’t like the new “secret ingredient” but to be fair, neither did Walter when it was first introduced. It was nearly a month ago now that they had arrived at the lab to cook as normal, but instead of one of Gus’s goons waiting for them there were a handful of men and women who they had never met before.
At the front of the group had been a short, dark man in a black suit. “Hello boys,” he’d said. Then he had stepped aside, and his associates had wheeled forward a drum full of viscous, black liquid. He had gone on to explain that they were going to have to work this into the recipe. Of course Walter had protested. He’d explained that the recipe was very finely tuned, that this was exact chemistry, and was especially irritable about Crowley’s refusal to tell him anything at all about the ingredient. “You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out,” was Crowley’s final word on the subject.
The first week had yielded no viable results. The stuff didn’t have a normal chemical makeup and so finding exactly where in their process to add it proved difficult. Finally they ended up with a small batch of crystal that was a much deeper blue than their usual recipe.
Crowley had taken one look at it and said it wasn’t potent enough. Again Walt argued that you can’t just introduce an arbitrary and somewhat volatile substance into a complicated chemical synthetization process. He also pointed out that it had taken them a week just to find where in the process the ingredient could be introduced. They were lucky they hadn’t blown up the lab, but they had managed to fill it with noxious fumes twice.
Crowley wasn’t hearing it.
Crowley didn’t care.
It took them another week to perfect the process, and now they were producing crystals that were such a deep purple that they were almost black. Jesse didn’t think it would sell, but it had. It had sold very well.