Fic: Snow Day (10.17 episode coda)
I really enjoyed 10.17.[Spoiler (click to open)]There was Dean hustling pool in a dive bar and well-integrated storylines and did I mention the pool hustling? This episode was definitely up there with the best of this season. :)
Title: Snow Day
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 10.17
Word Count: ~1,200
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: A witch, a Winchester and the King of Hell walk into a bar.
--
“Have I told you,” Dean says, conversationally, that I fucking hate witches?”
Rowena smiles: a smile that starts out sweet and then morphs into an expression that, frankly, would look more at home on the Joker or a John Wayne Gacy painting.
“Have I told you, dearie,” she says, voice faux-sweet, “that I fucking hate Winchesters?” Her tone hardens. “Now do I save their miserable lives or not?”
Dean presses the blade (not The Blade; not his Blade) a little harder against Rowena’s throat; watches pin drops of blood bubble to the surface and then dribble down her neck. He waits until he sees fear spark in her eyes and then says, “What about the others? Donny and everyone else who was in here? Where are they?”
Rowena speaks in a rush. “Wiped their minds of the whole ‘a powerful witch walks into a bar’ scenario and sent them on their merry way with memories of a lovely time. The bartender I sent home. He’ll wake up in the morning with memories of a delightful shift. And no mortal’s going to be able to see the bar or remember that it exists until it opens for business again tomorrow.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Why should I believe you?”
Rowena rolls her eyes. It’s really quite impressive. Almost Sammy level.
“An’ it harm none, do as ye will,” she quotes. “I do live by that Creed you know,” her mouth turns down and her nose wrinkles. “Occasionally there’s some collateral damage. Regrettable, of course, but sometimes unavoidable. No-one powerful is ever able to keep their hands completely clean.”
Dean sneers at her and she rolls her eyes again. “Oh, don’t you start, Dean Winchester. You’re the king of collateral damage. How many innocent souls have you sent beyond the veil, because you cared more about killing the demon than saving the human? Your body count’s far greater than mine and I’ve been around just a wee bit longer. So don’t you dare presume to judge!”
She’s good, Dean thinks. Knows just where to find the tender spots and how hard to press.
“I guess it’s only men,” Rowena spits, “who get to tell us all that whatever serves their own petty self-interest must obviously be for the greater good of humanity.” she sniffs. “But then what would I know? I’m just an evil skank.”
Debating sexism with a powerful witch is definitely not on Dean’s To Do list and also sounds like something that could go very, very badly for him. The mark may be protecting him from the big stuff, but getting kneed in the groin is never fun. So he ignores Rowena’s outburst and focuses on the matter at hand.
“Do I have your word,” he says, putting gravitas into it, one being of Power to another, “that those boys will leave here alive and well and with no memory of being turned into your attack dogs?”
Rowena stares at him and for a brief moment he can see an old, dark soul looking out at him. “You have my word,” she says. “I’ll even give them some happy memories,” she smiles, but it’s more a showing of teeth than anything. “I’ll give them the memory of kicking your arse!”
Dean pulls the knife away from her throat and stands. Rowena straightens up, all pursed lips and affronted dignity, and minces forward a few delicate steps. She lifts her hands and chants in Latin and the boys get up, their eyes no longer crazed-red. They blink, confused, and Rowena chants a few more words of Latin and flings her arms down theatrically. The boys vanish.
Rowena looks over her shoulder at him, her face pale and brittle and her red hair cascading. “I sent them home,” she says. “That’s all.” And then she too vanishes.
Dean sighs. He was supposed to be having a snow day. Pranking Sammy. Drinking beer and eating nachos. A little pool hustling, just for fun. But with typical Winchester luck, he’s ended up tangling with the King of Hell’s mom and he figures he’ll hear about that from Crowley, sooner rather than later.
Dean goes behind the bar and helps himself to the whiskey.
He’d been working really hard at normal today too. It’s been years since he and Sam last had a prank war and, Hell, the kid had practically given him an engraved invitation to start one, before he left. Sure, it was silly and immature and maybe a little mean, but rubbing his ass on his little brother’s pillow, rubbing Sam’s toothbrush under his armpit, he’d felt lighter, younger, than he’s felt in, well… last time he felt that light and carefree he wasn’t exactly himself.
Dean swirls his glass and watches the brown liquid inside form a whirlpool, clinging to the sides while the bottom stays empty.
Rowena. Crowley’s mom. He didn’t see that coming.
If he’s honest with himself, Dean doesn’t really remember his mom. Not from his childhood, anyway. He has impressions. Recollections of feelings. His mom had been everything. Warmth and safety and love. But he didn’t know her as a person. Not until he travelled back in time as an adult. Dean snorts and belts back the whiskey. His life is so frigging weird.
Crowley’s life was weird too. Mother was a witch. He’d shared a few stories with Dean, back when Dean was his black-eyed drinking buddy. Easier days, really. He misses how simple everything used to be.
Dean pours himself another couple fingers of whiskey and sips at it, smacks his lips. He leans against the bar and thinks about mothers and fathers and brothers and how Crowley contends that they’re practically family.
Dean takes another mouthful of whiskey and wonders why he can’t hate Crowley quite as much as he should. He suspects it has something to do with the damage caused by absent mothers and that’s about as much navel gazing as he’s prepared to do today. Last time he took a good look at himself he saw black eyes gazing back at him and he’s tired.
“I’ve been waitin’ on you,” Dean says, several moments later, but Crowley doesn’t want to throw down, he just wants to talk.
And sure, Dean thinks. Why not? He knows how Crowley likes his margaritas and it feels good to be on the other side of the psychoanalysis for a change, telling Crowley he’s gone soft, asking why he lets Mommy Dearest tie him into knots.
He’s surprised by Crowley’s answer. She’s really not his blood; Crowley doesn’t have any blood. Not any blood that’s actually his anyway. But Dean lectures him on family just the same, tells him that it doesn’t end in blood, which, when he thinks on it later, may have been a mark-inspired slip of the tongue, because Cain and Abel’s family sure ended in blood and Cain insists that his and Sam’s family will end in blood and Dean really won’t be surprised if Crowley and Rowena’s family ends in blood too.
They have a few more drinks. Play a little pool. Dean finds and reheats his nachos. It’s late when Crowley leaves and Dean tidies up and switches all the lights off before locking up for Donny.
He climbs into Baby and sits for a moment feeling the cool crisp night air on his skin and staring up at the sky.
Dean shuts the car door and looks back at the bar. He can still see it. And he still remembers that it exists. He starts the engine and drives home.
--
Title: Snow Day
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 10.17
Word Count: ~1,200
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: A witch, a Winchester and the King of Hell walk into a bar.
--
“Have I told you,” Dean says, conversationally, that I fucking hate witches?”
Rowena smiles: a smile that starts out sweet and then morphs into an expression that, frankly, would look more at home on the Joker or a John Wayne Gacy painting.
“Have I told you, dearie,” she says, voice faux-sweet, “that I fucking hate Winchesters?” Her tone hardens. “Now do I save their miserable lives or not?”
Dean presses the blade (not The Blade; not his Blade) a little harder against Rowena’s throat; watches pin drops of blood bubble to the surface and then dribble down her neck. He waits until he sees fear spark in her eyes and then says, “What about the others? Donny and everyone else who was in here? Where are they?”
Rowena speaks in a rush. “Wiped their minds of the whole ‘a powerful witch walks into a bar’ scenario and sent them on their merry way with memories of a lovely time. The bartender I sent home. He’ll wake up in the morning with memories of a delightful shift. And no mortal’s going to be able to see the bar or remember that it exists until it opens for business again tomorrow.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Why should I believe you?”
Rowena rolls her eyes. It’s really quite impressive. Almost Sammy level.
“An’ it harm none, do as ye will,” she quotes. “I do live by that Creed you know,” her mouth turns down and her nose wrinkles. “Occasionally there’s some collateral damage. Regrettable, of course, but sometimes unavoidable. No-one powerful is ever able to keep their hands completely clean.”
Dean sneers at her and she rolls her eyes again. “Oh, don’t you start, Dean Winchester. You’re the king of collateral damage. How many innocent souls have you sent beyond the veil, because you cared more about killing the demon than saving the human? Your body count’s far greater than mine and I’ve been around just a wee bit longer. So don’t you dare presume to judge!”
She’s good, Dean thinks. Knows just where to find the tender spots and how hard to press.
“I guess it’s only men,” Rowena spits, “who get to tell us all that whatever serves their own petty self-interest must obviously be for the greater good of humanity.” she sniffs. “But then what would I know? I’m just an evil skank.”
Debating sexism with a powerful witch is definitely not on Dean’s To Do list and also sounds like something that could go very, very badly for him. The mark may be protecting him from the big stuff, but getting kneed in the groin is never fun. So he ignores Rowena’s outburst and focuses on the matter at hand.
“Do I have your word,” he says, putting gravitas into it, one being of Power to another, “that those boys will leave here alive and well and with no memory of being turned into your attack dogs?”
Rowena stares at him and for a brief moment he can see an old, dark soul looking out at him. “You have my word,” she says. “I’ll even give them some happy memories,” she smiles, but it’s more a showing of teeth than anything. “I’ll give them the memory of kicking your arse!”
Dean pulls the knife away from her throat and stands. Rowena straightens up, all pursed lips and affronted dignity, and minces forward a few delicate steps. She lifts her hands and chants in Latin and the boys get up, their eyes no longer crazed-red. They blink, confused, and Rowena chants a few more words of Latin and flings her arms down theatrically. The boys vanish.
Rowena looks over her shoulder at him, her face pale and brittle and her red hair cascading. “I sent them home,” she says. “That’s all.” And then she too vanishes.
Dean sighs. He was supposed to be having a snow day. Pranking Sammy. Drinking beer and eating nachos. A little pool hustling, just for fun. But with typical Winchester luck, he’s ended up tangling with the King of Hell’s mom and he figures he’ll hear about that from Crowley, sooner rather than later.
Dean goes behind the bar and helps himself to the whiskey.
He’d been working really hard at normal today too. It’s been years since he and Sam last had a prank war and, Hell, the kid had practically given him an engraved invitation to start one, before he left. Sure, it was silly and immature and maybe a little mean, but rubbing his ass on his little brother’s pillow, rubbing Sam’s toothbrush under his armpit, he’d felt lighter, younger, than he’s felt in, well… last time he felt that light and carefree he wasn’t exactly himself.
Dean swirls his glass and watches the brown liquid inside form a whirlpool, clinging to the sides while the bottom stays empty.
Rowena. Crowley’s mom. He didn’t see that coming.
If he’s honest with himself, Dean doesn’t really remember his mom. Not from his childhood, anyway. He has impressions. Recollections of feelings. His mom had been everything. Warmth and safety and love. But he didn’t know her as a person. Not until he travelled back in time as an adult. Dean snorts and belts back the whiskey. His life is so frigging weird.
Crowley’s life was weird too. Mother was a witch. He’d shared a few stories with Dean, back when Dean was his black-eyed drinking buddy. Easier days, really. He misses how simple everything used to be.
Dean pours himself another couple fingers of whiskey and sips at it, smacks his lips. He leans against the bar and thinks about mothers and fathers and brothers and how Crowley contends that they’re practically family.
Dean takes another mouthful of whiskey and wonders why he can’t hate Crowley quite as much as he should. He suspects it has something to do with the damage caused by absent mothers and that’s about as much navel gazing as he’s prepared to do today. Last time he took a good look at himself he saw black eyes gazing back at him and he’s tired.
“I’ve been waitin’ on you,” Dean says, several moments later, but Crowley doesn’t want to throw down, he just wants to talk.
And sure, Dean thinks. Why not? He knows how Crowley likes his margaritas and it feels good to be on the other side of the psychoanalysis for a change, telling Crowley he’s gone soft, asking why he lets Mommy Dearest tie him into knots.
He’s surprised by Crowley’s answer. She’s really not his blood; Crowley doesn’t have any blood. Not any blood that’s actually his anyway. But Dean lectures him on family just the same, tells him that it doesn’t end in blood, which, when he thinks on it later, may have been a mark-inspired slip of the tongue, because Cain and Abel’s family sure ended in blood and Cain insists that his and Sam’s family will end in blood and Dean really won’t be surprised if Crowley and Rowena’s family ends in blood too.
They have a few more drinks. Play a little pool. Dean finds and reheats his nachos. It’s late when Crowley leaves and Dean tidies up and switches all the lights off before locking up for Donny.
He climbs into Baby and sits for a moment feeling the cool crisp night air on his skin and staring up at the sky.
Dean shuts the car door and looks back at the bar. He can still see it. And he still remembers that it exists. He starts the engine and drives home.
--