Heroes/SPN: help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope (Sam/Dean, Claire/Zach, Peter, NC17)
Title: help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope - pt 1 of ?
Author: technosage
Fandoms: Heroes/Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Claire/Zach, Peter
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1913
Spoilers/Warnings: For Heroes through "Homecoming" and Supernatural through "Playthings". Some liberties taken with timelines.
Disclaimer: Yeah. Right.
Summary: It's a beginning, but not the beginning. There are many beginnings, and this is just one of them. Peter has a dream, Sam has a vision, Dean gets laid (by Sam of course!), Zach names Claire.
In the smoky half-light of a subway car deep underground, a maroon-robed man strides toward him. He's alone, excerpt for Mohinder Suresh at his back, but the geneticist may as well be a statue. The robed man has a sword, wears his hair in a queue and has a goatee.
Hiro Nakamura, from the future.
"Save the cheerleader, save the world," Hiro says, and then with a swirl of arterial blood-red, he's gone.
Space spins around Peter until he faces Suresh. "Did you hear that?" His own voice sounds impossibly young, overeager, in the echoing silence of his dream-space. His neediness shames him, coloring the light Pepto-Bismol pink for the span of a heartbeat in which Suresh neither breathes nor blinks, then the subway car lurches, rotating again.
The far end of the car…fades. Grey feather-smoke public light gives way to the golden glow of privacy, interior, intimacy, sex. He'd question how he knows all of this from the color of the light, but dreams have their own logic.
And this is definitely a dream.
It's not the subway wall melting into a dim-lit tacky motel with a picture of a steam-train above the bed. Or even the two gods fucking slow, deep and dirty in it.
It's the sound, or lack of it actually, and the way the air feels a little too thick, gelid, and time moves a fraction too slow: the entire experience distilled and perfected where he looks, but blurred and empty on the edges of his vision.
So, it's definitely a dream. But since he doesn't usually dream about six and a half feet of sculpted muscle, dark-chestnut hair and caramel skin deep-dicking six feet of fucking gorgeous, clever hands, and a mouth made for kissing blind and breathless -- especially not when he's dreaming about Hiro and his message of destiny -- it's probably an important one.
More and more since Isaac, he's had these dreams, and they come true. Like Isaac's paintings. It's something about his power, not like visions from God. He knows that, even in the dream, but he still feels like there's something he's supposed to do here.
Though as much fun as it might be, he's pretty sure joining the party on the bed isn't it. For one thing - he looks down to check - he's still dressed. For another, neither of them is paying him the slightest bit of atten-
Oh, hello. The motel room whirls and he is looking straight into the exotic greenish cat eyes of the one on top.
Sam. His name is Sam.
That's new. He's never gotten a name in a vision-dream before. His stomach twists with nerves and the golden light takes on a sickly peach shade.
Then the guy, Sam, notices him. His gaze locks onto Peter, and though the eyes are unquestionably kind, there is no escaping them. They see everything, maybe even him and Nathan, and Peter opens his mouth to protest the invasion. Instead, Hiro's words come pouring out. "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Save the cheerleader, save the world." Over and over and over and over again until he wakes himself with a violent headache.
When he stops retching, Peter reaches for the phone. He's got to call Suresh…but no, the geneticist has gone back to India and doesn't believe him besides. And Nathan won't want to hear it. He could call Simone, but it would just scare her.
It'll have to be Isaac. But not until he's showered and dressed. Talking to the painter on the phone is like having a conversation with one of his Alzheimer patients.
x x x
Dean stares up at him, lust-black edged with pale green. The color clings to his pupils like Dean's gaze clings to Sam's face. Like his fingers cling to Sam's hip and the nape of his neck while Sam thrusts into him.
Doesn't matter who is fucking whom, it's been like this since they found Ava's fiancé: Dean cleaving to him, stubborn, determined, wrapping Sam in love, giving him the affection he craved for so long. He seems to believe that love and hope will make up for his lack of faith and keep Sam Sam.
Considering Sam's working theory that the Demon fears the bond between the Winchester boys above all, Sam can't even say that Dean is wrong. And it's not like he doesn't love making love to Dean, making love with Dean, Dean making love to him.
It's just that…well, he's getting to the point where he'd kill for a "Rise and shine, princess, we've got some dragons to slay" instead of Dean curling around him and stroking him hard if he isn't already.
Which is all well and good, fine to think, but at the moment, he's buried hip-deep in his brother and it feels…pretty damned good. Amazing, even. And Dean's parted lips beg for his, so who is he to complain?
On a long thrust, Dean lifts up, clenching around him and Sam's eyes go unfocused with the sudden pleasure of it. His back arches, driving him deeper into Dean's ass, and when his vision clears, he's staring into…
Deep, chocolate brown eyes, set in a triangular face, a mouth so red it looks suck-bruised, and what the fuck?
He tries to look down, tries to get Dean's attention, tell Dean, because Dean's there, beneath him, hot and tight around his still very interested dick, but he can't. He can't tear his gaze away from this floppy-banged guy-
Peter. His name is Peter.
Who is saying, "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Save the cheerleader, save the world," over and over and over, and he looks about as surprised to be saying it as Sam is to be hearing it.
Three things strike Sam right away. One, no one's dying. Maybe this cheerleader's in danger, but she's not dying. Two, it's not a vision so much as a sending. It's a lot more like R2D2's hologram than the usual nightmarish staring down the end of a barrel. Three, even though Peter seems upset, there's no particular compulsion or urgency attached to the message. Like, maybe it's not really for him and he just hijacked the signal somehow.
A few iterations later and he notices his head doesn't even hurt. In fact he still feels pretty fucking fantastic, except he can't make it stop, and he'd really like to get back to concentrating on Dean now.
A cuff to his head finally breaks its grip, and Sam's staring down at Dean, whose mouth no longer chases a kiss. Instead, he's saying, "The fuck, Sam? Fucking me and fantasizing about perky blonde T&A? Seriously, dude, just no."
"Vision." Sam rests his head against Dean's shoulder, trying to hang on to the edge of need.
"Don't care whether she's a goddamned goddess. Your dick, my ass." Dean rolls his hips insistently, and that takes care of the wilting. "Turn off your brain and fuck me."
Another time, Sam might be annoyed. But he's so damned glad to hear a snap in Dean's voice, all he can do is smile and rotate his hips, hard. "Like this?"
Dean's breath rushes out on a surprised-pleased groan. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Like that, Sammy."
He lowers his head between his shoulders until their faces touch, forehead, nose and chin. After a sharp nip to Dean's mouth, he delivers four short-sharp thrusts in time with his words. "Then don't. Call. Me. Sammy."
Somehow his brother manages a cocky arch of his eyebrow. "Cheerleader?"
Sam rakes his teeth over Dean's throat. "Sure. You'd look cute in a skirt, baby."
That provokes a growl from Dean. "Not doing the splits. Forget it."
Sam's grinning so hard, he almost doesn't care if he comes. And he sure as hell isn't thinking about Peter's cheerleader.
Much.
x x x
She's walking through the parking lot when Zach comes up next to her walking his bike by the handlebars. "What?" Snapping at him isn't going to help, but she trusted him.
"Claire, relax. I--"
So mad her nostrils are totally flaring, Claire rounds on him. "Relax? How do you expect me to relax? Homecoming's in four days. Thanks to you and your friends, I'm the first sophomore homecoming queen in Union Wells history. My ex-best friend is pretending to be me. And someone has a tape of me that proves she isn't."
Zach shoves one hand in his pocket and shrugs. "I found the tape."
"Why didn't you say so?" She punches him in the shoulder, not hard, because for the first time since he said it was missing, she's smiling. "Idiot."
"Ow." Eyes rolling, Zach rubs his arm. "I was about to, Ms. Wolverine. You were too busy freaking out to let me."
"Whatever, geek boy." She rolls her eyes right back, then grins. "So where was it?"
"Bottom of my locker, mixed in with my other tapes." Claire doesn't miss the nose wrinkly face like there's something strange about that. "I could swear I looked before, but…"
"You don't think someone found it, watched it, then put it back when they realized what it was?"
Zach shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense. I mean, that's the biggest news to hit Odessa since…ever. If someone else knew what was on it, they'd be broadcasting it everywhere."
"Jackie…"
"Is too dumb to think past the end of her nose. If she knew what was on that tape, either she'd burn it so no one could prove she lied about saving that guy, or she'd already have exposed you and stolen your crown."
"You're sure?"
Now he looks uncomfortable, but he meets her gaze straight on and that means something. Dad says liars can't look you in the eyes, liars like Brody. She shudders. This could be so bad.
"There's no way to be sure. Even if the school had surveillance tapes of my locker, those could be doctored. But if we're gonna go all X-Files about this, then we have to act like nothing weird happened anyway."
Her eyebrows and nose crunch up and she can almost hear mom saying her face will freeze. "Zach, what're you talking about?"
He sighs and leans his bike up against a tree so he can use his hands to talk with. "Look. Either nothing weird happened, and you act normal. Or something bad-weird happened, someone knows what's on the tape, but they're acting like nothing weird happened. There's nothing we can do, because anyone who can get in and out of my locked locker without busting my lock wiped it down for fingerprints. Not like we have a kit anyway. We've got nothing to go on, and the only chance we have of catching them is to play dumb and keep our eyes open."
Her heart's beating about a mile a minute, but it almost makes sense. Which kinda scares the hell out of her. "Okay." She hikes up her bookbag and starts walking again. When he catches up, she says, "You're kind of a freak, you know that?"
"That's rich, coming from Lady Lazarus."
"Shut up, Zach. Seriously. Don't call me stuff like that."
He grins. "You need a codename."
Oh god. "Why?"
"Because all the cool superheroes have one." He's laughing now.
"What. Ever." She tosses her hair over her shoulder and keeps walking.
"Oh, you are so going to be 'The Cheerleader.'"
"Duh," she says, without looking back. She's already got the uniform for it.
Notes: Originally this was supposed to be a birthday fic for the inimitable poisontaster but love her as much as I do, that just didn't happen. It's at least a three-parter, and the whole thing is dedicated to her, both for being a fabulous writer and a fabulous friend. It's also written to fulfill the multiple requests for SPN/Heroes crossovers from heroes_gleeweek by anisky0703 and virtualinsomnia.
There are a lot of things completely unexplained here; sorry about that! What I can tell you is that the mytharcs of both Heroes and Supernatural will be involved, and furthermore in a metaphysical sense, if Zach hadn't named Claire as he did, she might not have been the one. Because I'm shifty like that.
Shout out thanks to moveablehistory and roguewords for making me pretty.
Author: technosage
Fandoms: Heroes/Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Claire/Zach, Peter
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1913
Spoilers/Warnings: For Heroes through "Homecoming" and Supernatural through "Playthings". Some liberties taken with timelines.
Disclaimer: Yeah. Right.
Summary: It's a beginning, but not the beginning. There are many beginnings, and this is just one of them. Peter has a dream, Sam has a vision, Dean gets laid (by Sam of course!), Zach names Claire.
In the smoky half-light of a subway car deep underground, a maroon-robed man strides toward him. He's alone, excerpt for Mohinder Suresh at his back, but the geneticist may as well be a statue. The robed man has a sword, wears his hair in a queue and has a goatee.
Hiro Nakamura, from the future.
"Save the cheerleader, save the world," Hiro says, and then with a swirl of arterial blood-red, he's gone.
Space spins around Peter until he faces Suresh. "Did you hear that?" His own voice sounds impossibly young, overeager, in the echoing silence of his dream-space. His neediness shames him, coloring the light Pepto-Bismol pink for the span of a heartbeat in which Suresh neither breathes nor blinks, then the subway car lurches, rotating again.
The far end of the car…fades. Grey feather-smoke public light gives way to the golden glow of privacy, interior, intimacy, sex. He'd question how he knows all of this from the color of the light, but dreams have their own logic.
And this is definitely a dream.
It's not the subway wall melting into a dim-lit tacky motel with a picture of a steam-train above the bed. Or even the two gods fucking slow, deep and dirty in it.
It's the sound, or lack of it actually, and the way the air feels a little too thick, gelid, and time moves a fraction too slow: the entire experience distilled and perfected where he looks, but blurred and empty on the edges of his vision.
So, it's definitely a dream. But since he doesn't usually dream about six and a half feet of sculpted muscle, dark-chestnut hair and caramel skin deep-dicking six feet of fucking gorgeous, clever hands, and a mouth made for kissing blind and breathless -- especially not when he's dreaming about Hiro and his message of destiny -- it's probably an important one.
More and more since Isaac, he's had these dreams, and they come true. Like Isaac's paintings. It's something about his power, not like visions from God. He knows that, even in the dream, but he still feels like there's something he's supposed to do here.
Though as much fun as it might be, he's pretty sure joining the party on the bed isn't it. For one thing - he looks down to check - he's still dressed. For another, neither of them is paying him the slightest bit of atten-
Oh, hello. The motel room whirls and he is looking straight into the exotic greenish cat eyes of the one on top.
Sam. His name is Sam.
That's new. He's never gotten a name in a vision-dream before. His stomach twists with nerves and the golden light takes on a sickly peach shade.
Then the guy, Sam, notices him. His gaze locks onto Peter, and though the eyes are unquestionably kind, there is no escaping them. They see everything, maybe even him and Nathan, and Peter opens his mouth to protest the invasion. Instead, Hiro's words come pouring out. "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Save the cheerleader, save the world." Over and over and over and over again until he wakes himself with a violent headache.
When he stops retching, Peter reaches for the phone. He's got to call Suresh…but no, the geneticist has gone back to India and doesn't believe him besides. And Nathan won't want to hear it. He could call Simone, but it would just scare her.
It'll have to be Isaac. But not until he's showered and dressed. Talking to the painter on the phone is like having a conversation with one of his Alzheimer patients.
x x x
Dean stares up at him, lust-black edged with pale green. The color clings to his pupils like Dean's gaze clings to Sam's face. Like his fingers cling to Sam's hip and the nape of his neck while Sam thrusts into him.
Doesn't matter who is fucking whom, it's been like this since they found Ava's fiancé: Dean cleaving to him, stubborn, determined, wrapping Sam in love, giving him the affection he craved for so long. He seems to believe that love and hope will make up for his lack of faith and keep Sam Sam.
Considering Sam's working theory that the Demon fears the bond between the Winchester boys above all, Sam can't even say that Dean is wrong. And it's not like he doesn't love making love to Dean, making love with Dean, Dean making love to him.
It's just that…well, he's getting to the point where he'd kill for a "Rise and shine, princess, we've got some dragons to slay" instead of Dean curling around him and stroking him hard if he isn't already.
Which is all well and good, fine to think, but at the moment, he's buried hip-deep in his brother and it feels…pretty damned good. Amazing, even. And Dean's parted lips beg for his, so who is he to complain?
On a long thrust, Dean lifts up, clenching around him and Sam's eyes go unfocused with the sudden pleasure of it. His back arches, driving him deeper into Dean's ass, and when his vision clears, he's staring into…
Deep, chocolate brown eyes, set in a triangular face, a mouth so red it looks suck-bruised, and what the fuck?
He tries to look down, tries to get Dean's attention, tell Dean, because Dean's there, beneath him, hot and tight around his still very interested dick, but he can't. He can't tear his gaze away from this floppy-banged guy-
Peter. His name is Peter.
Who is saying, "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Save the cheerleader, save the world," over and over and over, and he looks about as surprised to be saying it as Sam is to be hearing it.
Three things strike Sam right away. One, no one's dying. Maybe this cheerleader's in danger, but she's not dying. Two, it's not a vision so much as a sending. It's a lot more like R2D2's hologram than the usual nightmarish staring down the end of a barrel. Three, even though Peter seems upset, there's no particular compulsion or urgency attached to the message. Like, maybe it's not really for him and he just hijacked the signal somehow.
A few iterations later and he notices his head doesn't even hurt. In fact he still feels pretty fucking fantastic, except he can't make it stop, and he'd really like to get back to concentrating on Dean now.
A cuff to his head finally breaks its grip, and Sam's staring down at Dean, whose mouth no longer chases a kiss. Instead, he's saying, "The fuck, Sam? Fucking me and fantasizing about perky blonde T&A? Seriously, dude, just no."
"Vision." Sam rests his head against Dean's shoulder, trying to hang on to the edge of need.
"Don't care whether she's a goddamned goddess. Your dick, my ass." Dean rolls his hips insistently, and that takes care of the wilting. "Turn off your brain and fuck me."
Another time, Sam might be annoyed. But he's so damned glad to hear a snap in Dean's voice, all he can do is smile and rotate his hips, hard. "Like this?"
Dean's breath rushes out on a surprised-pleased groan. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Like that, Sammy."
He lowers his head between his shoulders until their faces touch, forehead, nose and chin. After a sharp nip to Dean's mouth, he delivers four short-sharp thrusts in time with his words. "Then don't. Call. Me. Sammy."
Somehow his brother manages a cocky arch of his eyebrow. "Cheerleader?"
Sam rakes his teeth over Dean's throat. "Sure. You'd look cute in a skirt, baby."
That provokes a growl from Dean. "Not doing the splits. Forget it."
Sam's grinning so hard, he almost doesn't care if he comes. And he sure as hell isn't thinking about Peter's cheerleader.
Much.
x x x
She's walking through the parking lot when Zach comes up next to her walking his bike by the handlebars. "What?" Snapping at him isn't going to help, but she trusted him.
"Claire, relax. I--"
So mad her nostrils are totally flaring, Claire rounds on him. "Relax? How do you expect me to relax? Homecoming's in four days. Thanks to you and your friends, I'm the first sophomore homecoming queen in Union Wells history. My ex-best friend is pretending to be me. And someone has a tape of me that proves she isn't."
Zach shoves one hand in his pocket and shrugs. "I found the tape."
"Why didn't you say so?" She punches him in the shoulder, not hard, because for the first time since he said it was missing, she's smiling. "Idiot."
"Ow." Eyes rolling, Zach rubs his arm. "I was about to, Ms. Wolverine. You were too busy freaking out to let me."
"Whatever, geek boy." She rolls her eyes right back, then grins. "So where was it?"
"Bottom of my locker, mixed in with my other tapes." Claire doesn't miss the nose wrinkly face like there's something strange about that. "I could swear I looked before, but…"
"You don't think someone found it, watched it, then put it back when they realized what it was?"
Zach shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense. I mean, that's the biggest news to hit Odessa since…ever. If someone else knew what was on it, they'd be broadcasting it everywhere."
"Jackie…"
"Is too dumb to think past the end of her nose. If she knew what was on that tape, either she'd burn it so no one could prove she lied about saving that guy, or she'd already have exposed you and stolen your crown."
"You're sure?"
Now he looks uncomfortable, but he meets her gaze straight on and that means something. Dad says liars can't look you in the eyes, liars like Brody. She shudders. This could be so bad.
"There's no way to be sure. Even if the school had surveillance tapes of my locker, those could be doctored. But if we're gonna go all X-Files about this, then we have to act like nothing weird happened anyway."
Her eyebrows and nose crunch up and she can almost hear mom saying her face will freeze. "Zach, what're you talking about?"
He sighs and leans his bike up against a tree so he can use his hands to talk with. "Look. Either nothing weird happened, and you act normal. Or something bad-weird happened, someone knows what's on the tape, but they're acting like nothing weird happened. There's nothing we can do, because anyone who can get in and out of my locked locker without busting my lock wiped it down for fingerprints. Not like we have a kit anyway. We've got nothing to go on, and the only chance we have of catching them is to play dumb and keep our eyes open."
Her heart's beating about a mile a minute, but it almost makes sense. Which kinda scares the hell out of her. "Okay." She hikes up her bookbag and starts walking again. When he catches up, she says, "You're kind of a freak, you know that?"
"That's rich, coming from Lady Lazarus."
"Shut up, Zach. Seriously. Don't call me stuff like that."
He grins. "You need a codename."
Oh god. "Why?"
"Because all the cool superheroes have one." He's laughing now.
"What. Ever." She tosses her hair over her shoulder and keeps walking.
"Oh, you are so going to be 'The Cheerleader.'"
"Duh," she says, without looking back. She's already got the uniform for it.
Notes: Originally this was supposed to be a birthday fic for the inimitable poisontaster but love her as much as I do, that just didn't happen. It's at least a three-parter, and the whole thing is dedicated to her, both for being a fabulous writer and a fabulous friend. It's also written to fulfill the multiple requests for SPN/Heroes crossovers from heroes_gleeweek by anisky0703 and virtualinsomnia.
There are a lot of things completely unexplained here; sorry about that! What I can tell you is that the mytharcs of both Heroes and Supernatural will be involved, and furthermore in a metaphysical sense, if Zach hadn't named Claire as he did, she might not have been the one. Because I'm shifty like that.
Shout out thanks to moveablehistory and roguewords for making me pretty.