Fic: Archive of Our Own
I was very ho-hum about the first three episode of S15. Episode 4 was a step in the right direction and Episode 5 inspired me to write a coda. I was so thrilled to finally have an episode that sparked my imagination again!
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Title: Archive of our own
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Episode 15.05
Word Count: ~930
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked how we could fight God without the gun.”
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Dean watches their jeans, shirts, boxers, and socks tumble around in the commercial washing machine.
He’s wearing what Becky calls the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions and he’s keeping his distance from Cas, because he still hasn’t gotten over the time that Marie strayed from Amara’s outline and Cas backed him up against the library wall and kissed the living daylights out of him.
Sam comes awake blinking and sits up. He looks around and realizes he’s sitting on a bench in the laundromat.
His nose wrinkles. “Really?” he says. “We’re doing laundry again?”
Dean shrugs. “Must be a Becky chapter,” he glances at Cas. “At least my virtue is safe.”
Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees Cas stiffen and then squirm.
“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and gravelly, “I know I’ve said it before, but I am so, so sorry.”
Dean waves him off. “Forget about it. You can’t help bad writing.”
Cas’s eyes widen and for a moment he looks so miserable that Dean wants to go across and hug him.
And then he’s actively fighting off an overwhelming urge to take the angel in his arms and-
“Amara!” he yells, “someone’s trying to slip in some sub-text again!”
The desire subsides as quickly and easily as a backspace button can erase a line of text. Which is probably exactly what happened.
“Thank you,” Dean mutters.
He looks at Sam who’s showing just a little too much white around the eyes.
“Dude, you have nothing to worry about. Becky is totally over that whole incest thing.”
Before Sam can respond, the doors to the laundromat suddenly burst open and three partially shifted werewolves rush in.
“Oh thank…well, Amara,” Dean says fervently, getting to his feet and brandishing his angel blade.
Sam pulls out his Taurus and gets off a shot. He hits his target, but the wolf doesn’t go down.
“Silver bullets don’t work,” he shouts.
Cas surges forward and smites two of the wolves in a burst of light, just by laying his angel hands on their heads. The third Sam manages to decapitate.
Cas looks solemnly at Dean. “Amara,” he says. “She always writes me well. I get to do a lot of smiting when she’s behind the keyboard.”
He sounds satisfied.
“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “She writes action scenes well, period. Marie always wants to write romance,” he glances around and then clears his throat. “Which can be cool. So long as she doesn’t go too AU.”
Dean sniggers. “Dude! That time you and Cas woke up with dog dicks was hilarious!”
Sam glowers. “Just be glad Amara put a stop to that particular AU before Marie typed up what she had planned for you! Two words, Dean: Ass babies.”
Dean pales.
“Anyway,” Sam continues, “the point is…Amara’s good at action scenes-better than Chuck, to be honest. And she’s good at continuity. Those werewolves? They were impervious to silver. Which makes them Michael’s hybrid werewolves. Chuck seems to have forgotten about those, but not Amara.”
“Actually,” Dean says. “That was probably thanks to Becky. She doesn’t forget anything. I swear she remembers my life better than I do.”
He sounds impressed and Sam frowns. “I thought you didn’t like Becky?”
Dean shrugs. “Eh. She’s growing on me. Even if we spend way too much time doing laundry when she’s behind the keyboard.”
Sam tosses his long, shiny hair. “I don’t mind. At least we get a break.”
Dean perks up. “Maybe she could write us going to Hawaii for a holiday, that’d be awesome. You should suggest it.”
Sam makes a face.
“Oh hey,” Dean blinks. “And we’re back in the Impala.”
Sam turns and checks out the back seat. “And Cas’s gone.”
Dean groans. “We’re probably supposed to have one of those brother moments in the car that Marie likes so much.”
Sam sighs. “So what d’you think, Dean? Can Amara and the girls out write Chuck?”
Dean glances across at his brother, sitting in his rightful place beside him.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked how we could fight God without the gun.” He snorts, “Keyboards at twelve paces. Who saw that coming? But it’s working. Supernatural may have been Chuck’s story to begin with, but now that it’s out in the open, now that it’s been published, it’s not just his anymore. Every time Chuck writes a scene where you go darkside and break my neck, Becky’s gonna write a scene where we sit around doing laundry, eating burgers, and talking; Marie’s gonna write a scene where Cas and I fight robots and ninjas from outer space; and Amara’s gonna put it all into her cosmic typewriter and blog it to the universe. No matter what ending Chuck finally settles on, it’ll just keep getting transformed until he gets sick of playing in our sand box and goes away.”
“And what then?” Sam wonders. “Amara wasn’t really clear about that.”
Dean is silent for a moment. “Chuck may be the ‘official’ writer of this story,” he says finally, “but he’s not the only one writing it, not by a long shot. So I guess the real question is…does the story ever really have to end? This story-our story-it’s taken on a life of its own. And maybe, as long as there’s still someone, somewhere, who wants to read it, the story will stay alive.”
Sam smiles, a little sadly. “It’s a nice thought.”
Dean turns up the music and puts his foot down. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
And their taillights disappear into the darkness of the night.
(One of) The End(s)...
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Title: Archive of our own
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Episode 15.05
Word Count: ~930
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked how we could fight God without the gun.”
--
Dean watches their jeans, shirts, boxers, and socks tumble around in the commercial washing machine.
He’s wearing what Becky calls the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions and he’s keeping his distance from Cas, because he still hasn’t gotten over the time that Marie strayed from Amara’s outline and Cas backed him up against the library wall and kissed the living daylights out of him.
Sam comes awake blinking and sits up. He looks around and realizes he’s sitting on a bench in the laundromat.
His nose wrinkles. “Really?” he says. “We’re doing laundry again?”
Dean shrugs. “Must be a Becky chapter,” he glances at Cas. “At least my virtue is safe.”
Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees Cas stiffen and then squirm.
“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and gravelly, “I know I’ve said it before, but I am so, so sorry.”
Dean waves him off. “Forget about it. You can’t help bad writing.”
Cas’s eyes widen and for a moment he looks so miserable that Dean wants to go across and hug him.
And then he’s actively fighting off an overwhelming urge to take the angel in his arms and-
“Amara!” he yells, “someone’s trying to slip in some sub-text again!”
The desire subsides as quickly and easily as a backspace button can erase a line of text. Which is probably exactly what happened.
“Thank you,” Dean mutters.
He looks at Sam who’s showing just a little too much white around the eyes.
“Dude, you have nothing to worry about. Becky is totally over that whole incest thing.”
Before Sam can respond, the doors to the laundromat suddenly burst open and three partially shifted werewolves rush in.
“Oh thank…well, Amara,” Dean says fervently, getting to his feet and brandishing his angel blade.
Sam pulls out his Taurus and gets off a shot. He hits his target, but the wolf doesn’t go down.
“Silver bullets don’t work,” he shouts.
Cas surges forward and smites two of the wolves in a burst of light, just by laying his angel hands on their heads. The third Sam manages to decapitate.
Cas looks solemnly at Dean. “Amara,” he says. “She always writes me well. I get to do a lot of smiting when she’s behind the keyboard.”
He sounds satisfied.
“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “She writes action scenes well, period. Marie always wants to write romance,” he glances around and then clears his throat. “Which can be cool. So long as she doesn’t go too AU.”
Dean sniggers. “Dude! That time you and Cas woke up with dog dicks was hilarious!”
Sam glowers. “Just be glad Amara put a stop to that particular AU before Marie typed up what she had planned for you! Two words, Dean: Ass babies.”
Dean pales.
“Anyway,” Sam continues, “the point is…Amara’s good at action scenes-better than Chuck, to be honest. And she’s good at continuity. Those werewolves? They were impervious to silver. Which makes them Michael’s hybrid werewolves. Chuck seems to have forgotten about those, but not Amara.”
“Actually,” Dean says. “That was probably thanks to Becky. She doesn’t forget anything. I swear she remembers my life better than I do.”
He sounds impressed and Sam frowns. “I thought you didn’t like Becky?”
Dean shrugs. “Eh. She’s growing on me. Even if we spend way too much time doing laundry when she’s behind the keyboard.”
Sam tosses his long, shiny hair. “I don’t mind. At least we get a break.”
Dean perks up. “Maybe she could write us going to Hawaii for a holiday, that’d be awesome. You should suggest it.”
Sam makes a face.
“Oh hey,” Dean blinks. “And we’re back in the Impala.”
Sam turns and checks out the back seat. “And Cas’s gone.”
Dean groans. “We’re probably supposed to have one of those brother moments in the car that Marie likes so much.”
Sam sighs. “So what d’you think, Dean? Can Amara and the girls out write Chuck?”
Dean glances across at his brother, sitting in his rightful place beside him.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked how we could fight God without the gun.” He snorts, “Keyboards at twelve paces. Who saw that coming? But it’s working. Supernatural may have been Chuck’s story to begin with, but now that it’s out in the open, now that it’s been published, it’s not just his anymore. Every time Chuck writes a scene where you go darkside and break my neck, Becky’s gonna write a scene where we sit around doing laundry, eating burgers, and talking; Marie’s gonna write a scene where Cas and I fight robots and ninjas from outer space; and Amara’s gonna put it all into her cosmic typewriter and blog it to the universe. No matter what ending Chuck finally settles on, it’ll just keep getting transformed until he gets sick of playing in our sand box and goes away.”
“And what then?” Sam wonders. “Amara wasn’t really clear about that.”
Dean is silent for a moment. “Chuck may be the ‘official’ writer of this story,” he says finally, “but he’s not the only one writing it, not by a long shot. So I guess the real question is…does the story ever really have to end? This story-our story-it’s taken on a life of its own. And maybe, as long as there’s still someone, somewhere, who wants to read it, the story will stay alive.”
Sam smiles, a little sadly. “It’s a nice thought.”
Dean turns up the music and puts his foot down. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
And their taillights disappear into the darkness of the night.
(One of) The End(s)...