Fic: Supernaturally Eerie (Supernatural/Eerie Indiana x-over, Slash)
Title: Supernaturally Eerie
Part: 2/?
Series: Supernatural/Eerie, Indiana
Author: dancinbutterfly
Pairing: Eventual slash, but nothing drastic yet.
Rating: R, just to be safe
Warnings: Flagrant use of an early 90s television show to suit my own purposes. Others will be added as needed.
Dsiclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Eerie,Indiana. I do, however, own boxsets of each(or I will soon). Any geographical errors are accidental. I did the best I could with google maps.
A/N: I am still not sure where the hell this series came from exactly. What you need to know, if you havent seen Eerie Indiana in the 15 years since the show went off the air is that the time it premeired in 1991, Marshall Teller was 13 and his best friend Simon Holmes was 9. All the math done is based on those dates and ages.
Beta: Faithfully assisted by ashley.
Feedback: God, pretty please? I am sickeningly insecure about this peice so any comments are treasured.
Summary: Marshall Teller once thought that Eerie, Indiana was the center of weirdness for the entire universe. Turns out that there's a lot more out in the universe than he once thought.
Eerie, Indiana - May, 1996
Marshall's parents hated the fact that he wasn’t going to college. He was an outspoken, popular honor student who, according to his guidence counselor and his folks, could have a bright future in anything he wanted. He’d been accepted into MIT, Stanford, Northwestern, and NYU just to name a few and his parents almost threw a parade when the letters came rolling in.
His mom had majored in English and wanted him to take the scholarship and go to NYU, live with his grandparents and commute to what she called "an amazing school" and turn his paranormal "hobby" into a lucrative writing career. His dad was a tester for Things Inc. and had spent two solid weeks extolling the virtues of his alma mater, MIT.
His sister Synde informed him her friend Janice had gone to Northwestern and loved it, but he didn’t take much stock in what she said because she was rapidly approaching her mid-twenties and had yet to move out.
When he told them at family dinner, which of course included Simon, that college wasn’t in his future, his mother had made a noise like he’d slapped her. There was yelling. And recriminations. And crying, which made Marshall feel like he'd been hit in the gut because he hated to see his mother cry.
“I just don’t understand,” she’d gasped at him. “Mars, you were meant to make a difference. I just know it.”
What could he say? It wasn’t like his parents would believe his explanation if he told them the truth and he didn’t really like lying to them. So he just shrugged and looked across the table at Simon who shrugged back and gave him a supportive smile. And then the younger boy grabbed about half a dozen of the cookies meant for desert off the kitchen counter, pocketed them and mouthed “attic” at him. The yelling raged on as the younger boy snuck up to their sanctuary.
The fight had lasted for another two hours before Marshall could get away and meet his friend in the attic. Half the cookies were gone but Simon was good about things like that and it was clearly his half that remained. They sat around the worktable not speaking, just looking at the collection of knickknacks and souvenirs for a few minutes before Simon broke the silence.
“Do you know when you’re leaving?”
“Soon.” Marshall said vaguely. “As soon as I can after graduation.”
Which was less than a week away. He couldn’t stay in Eerie and stagnate and he couldn’t go to school, not knowing what he knew. It was like an obligation, a compulsion he’d felt from the first moment he’d arrived in Eerie five years ago and had only gotten stronger since the Hoboken exorcism. And Simon felt it too.
The problem was that Simon was only fourteen, as easy as that was for Marshall to forget despite Simon’s newly gangly limbs and childishly shaggy red hair that hadn’t been cut in way too long. And a fourteen year old kid couldn’t just take off across the country to do God knows what, God knew where for no pay at high risk on a whim. As much as Marshall would have loved to have his best friend go with him, life just didn't work that way.
“You won’t leave without coming to say goodbye, right Mars?”
In that moment, Simon sounded way too much like the nine year old whose parents wouldn’t stop screaming at each other and drinking long enough to take care of their children. The one who'd been ignored and neglected before Marshall came along and after all these years it still made him freaking furious.
So, naturally, instead of commenting on it, he gave Simon a shove for being an idiot because there was no way he would ever do that to Simon, after all the layers upon layers of crap they’d been through together. And Simon was being stupid for thinking so.
“Of course not.”
Simon beamed, a row of slightly crooked teeth his parents were too cheap to fix shining out of a dimpled smile. “Good. Cause you can’t leave to go fight monsters without saying bye to your partner, can you?”
“Absolutely not.”
~*~*~
When he drove out of Eerie, he took next to nothing with him but one of the few pictures he had shoved into his wallet, behind the still of his family at Christmas time, was one of Simon and him, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera. That and, of course, Simon had sent him off with the shotgun Marshall had bought for him two years ago and an extra box of rounds.
“You know,” Simon had said with a shrug as they said good-bye. “Just in case.”
He’d smiled. “Thanks.”
“So I’ll see you soon?”
Marshall had nodded. But three years rolled by before he made it back to Eerie again.
~*~*~
Bishopville, South Carolina - January 1997
The creature howled and snarled as a round slammed into its side. It jerked as another shot was fired and again and then a fourth time before it finally fell, not on top of Marshall thankfully which was a damn sight better than he’d been doing minutes earlier, trying to keep those talons from getting a firm hold in his eye sockets and popping his eyeballs out.
A hand reached into his field of vision, a silver ring glinting in the moonlight. He blinked up at the man who’d saved his ass and let himself be pulled to his feet.
“What the hell was that exactly?” his rescuer asked.
Kansas twang, blond hair, a pistol in the hand that wasn’t helping him up, and Marshall couldn’t help but smile. Three years and Dean Winchester had certainly grown into himself and was looking very different from the scrawny fifteen-year-old he remembered.
Marshall sighed and ran a hand through his now short hair as he collected his thoughts. Not quite a military buzz but far shorter than the floppy grunge hair he’d worn for years before leaving Eerie. He’d learned quick and hard that hair was a grip for things that liked to hit and bangs did nothing but block his vision.
“Lizard man.” He declared, pulling his torn, soggy coat around him against the January cold.
Dean blinked at him and then down at the body that lay on the half-frozen mud of the swamp floor, twitching every now and then. “Lizard man? Seriously?”
Marshall just nodded and tapped at the corpse with his boot. It didn’t respond which he really hoped meant it was dead but years of experience told him it could mean otherwise.
“That’s just…freaky.”
“Tell me about it. Weird even for our line of work.” Marshall agreed. “So, Dean, how are your dad and Sam?”
His blue eyes narrowed in the dark and Marshall couldn’t help but notice that Dean still had his gun drawn. “I know you?”
“Marshall Teller, remember? Exorcism in Hoboken. We got rid of the Miller poltergeist?”
Dean snapped his fingers and nodded, finally putting his gun away. “Right. The Eerie guy. How are things?” He asked conversationally, pulling a pocketknife with a long gleaming blade out of his jeans.
"Usually better." Marshall admitted. "I'm still not sure how he got my weapon away from me. But now it's mostly dead, I think," he tapped it again, unsure because things like this seemed to have remarkable bounce back abilities, "my biggest concern after torching the sucker is what I'm going to do about this rag that used to be my coat." Thick mud, slowly melting ice made of swamp water, and reptile claws had made his jacket a casualty of war.
“Leather, man. It’s the only way to go.” Dean advised as he squatted down next to the reptile man and began sawing at his neck, just for good measure. Neither of them had ever dealt with a reptoid before and there weren’t exactly rules and protocols for mutant lizards like there were for ghosts
“You don’t worry about getting it wet? I hear it’s like impossible to take care of.” Marshall said casually, digging in his jeans for a lighter as Dean continued the dismemberment. “You don’t have any lighter fluid on hand, by any chance?” he asked Dean as if hacking the second cousin of a dragon to pieces and lighting it on fire were as normal of an activity as riding a bike or hanging out at the World O'Stuff after school.
“You only have to worry about suede and that’s not what you’d want anyway,” Dean told him as he wiped lizard blood on his pants, making a face as he did so. It looked black in the moonlight and would probably stain. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small flask, took a sip of the contents and then tossed it to Marshall.
“You tell my dad I have that and I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”
It was a shame to waste good liquor on the scaly bastard but had to be done. Marshall’s car was too far away and he didn’t want to spend more time in Scape Ore swamp than he had too. He’d already been here longer than he’d like.
“So what are you doing in Bishopville?” Marshall asked as they watched it burn. The smoke had a meat smell that was underlain with something sharp and acidic.
“Same thing you are. Checking out the disappearances. You know how it is. People drop of the face of the earth, a sixth body’s found mauled in a town with less than four thousand people and we show up. I was doing recon and saw that piece of shit car parked on the side of the road I’m gonna have to assume is your ride and came to help. Dad’s in town.”
Doing what, Dean doesn’t say. But he’s seen that face before. It was the Dean Winchester version of Simon’s “My parents went on another bender and forgot to buy food, can I eat at your place” face.
“So, you want to go get something to eat after we’re done with this?” Marshall asked, changing the subject deftly, a skill he and Simon had perfected over the years. “Almost getting ripped to pieces always makes me hungry.”
“Sure, I’m all about the lizard burgers man. The scales give it extra crunch.”
Two hours later, the lizard man was nothing but charred, salty remains left to rot in shallow grave in the backwater land not far from where Marshall had first tracked it and the two men were sitting opposite each other in a greasy spoon all night diner on the outskirts of Bishopville.
When he’d been in Hoboken, he’d spent most of his time with John, learning the ropes and diving head first into the world of hunting. When he hadn’t been hanging on John’s every word about weapons and holy objects and the value of salt against the supernatural, he’d mostly hung around with Sam because spending time with Sam had been a lot like spending time with Simon which was practically second nature to Marshall. So he hadn’t really spent that much time around Dean before now.
What he learned was that Dean liked to talk when he had something he wanted to talk about. Like the rack on their waitress, Charlene, or the virtues of Metallica’s Master of Puppets over the Black album. He didn’t like to talk about things that were personal, like why Marshall had seen that black Impala parked in front a bar on his way to the diner and why his family had gotten into the hunting game in the first place.
But he liked to compare battle scars and war stories. So a few beers, courtesy of Marshall’s very convincing fake ID and Dean’s overwhelming ability to distract Charlene with a wide smile and an almost Sinatra-esque charm, and it felt like they’d been friends for years.
Although by the time Dean drunkenly invited him to come on the hunt with them, once he cleared it with his dad first of course, he had to wonder what had persuaded him to make an offer like that. The copious amounts of liquor or the fact that Marshall’s “I got sucked into an alternate reality, twice” story was cooler than Dean’s “I almost got thrown off a cliff by a skinwalker in the Rockies” one.
Part: 2/?
Series: Supernatural/Eerie, Indiana
Author: dancinbutterfly
Pairing: Eventual slash, but nothing drastic yet.
Rating: R, just to be safe
Warnings: Flagrant use of an early 90s television show to suit my own purposes. Others will be added as needed.
Dsiclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Eerie,Indiana. I do, however, own boxsets of each(or I will soon). Any geographical errors are accidental. I did the best I could with google maps.
A/N: I am still not sure where the hell this series came from exactly. What you need to know, if you havent seen Eerie Indiana in the 15 years since the show went off the air is that the time it premeired in 1991, Marshall Teller was 13 and his best friend Simon Holmes was 9. All the math done is based on those dates and ages.
Beta: Faithfully assisted by ashley.
Feedback: God, pretty please? I am sickeningly insecure about this peice so any comments are treasured.
Summary: Marshall Teller once thought that Eerie, Indiana was the center of weirdness for the entire universe. Turns out that there's a lot more out in the universe than he once thought.
Eerie, Indiana - May, 1996
Marshall's parents hated the fact that he wasn’t going to college. He was an outspoken, popular honor student who, according to his guidence counselor and his folks, could have a bright future in anything he wanted. He’d been accepted into MIT, Stanford, Northwestern, and NYU just to name a few and his parents almost threw a parade when the letters came rolling in.
His mom had majored in English and wanted him to take the scholarship and go to NYU, live with his grandparents and commute to what she called "an amazing school" and turn his paranormal "hobby" into a lucrative writing career. His dad was a tester for Things Inc. and had spent two solid weeks extolling the virtues of his alma mater, MIT.
His sister Synde informed him her friend Janice had gone to Northwestern and loved it, but he didn’t take much stock in what she said because she was rapidly approaching her mid-twenties and had yet to move out.
When he told them at family dinner, which of course included Simon, that college wasn’t in his future, his mother had made a noise like he’d slapped her. There was yelling. And recriminations. And crying, which made Marshall feel like he'd been hit in the gut because he hated to see his mother cry.
“I just don’t understand,” she’d gasped at him. “Mars, you were meant to make a difference. I just know it.”
What could he say? It wasn’t like his parents would believe his explanation if he told them the truth and he didn’t really like lying to them. So he just shrugged and looked across the table at Simon who shrugged back and gave him a supportive smile. And then the younger boy grabbed about half a dozen of the cookies meant for desert off the kitchen counter, pocketed them and mouthed “attic” at him. The yelling raged on as the younger boy snuck up to their sanctuary.
The fight had lasted for another two hours before Marshall could get away and meet his friend in the attic. Half the cookies were gone but Simon was good about things like that and it was clearly his half that remained. They sat around the worktable not speaking, just looking at the collection of knickknacks and souvenirs for a few minutes before Simon broke the silence.
“Do you know when you’re leaving?”
“Soon.” Marshall said vaguely. “As soon as I can after graduation.”
Which was less than a week away. He couldn’t stay in Eerie and stagnate and he couldn’t go to school, not knowing what he knew. It was like an obligation, a compulsion he’d felt from the first moment he’d arrived in Eerie five years ago and had only gotten stronger since the Hoboken exorcism. And Simon felt it too.
The problem was that Simon was only fourteen, as easy as that was for Marshall to forget despite Simon’s newly gangly limbs and childishly shaggy red hair that hadn’t been cut in way too long. And a fourteen year old kid couldn’t just take off across the country to do God knows what, God knew where for no pay at high risk on a whim. As much as Marshall would have loved to have his best friend go with him, life just didn't work that way.
“You won’t leave without coming to say goodbye, right Mars?”
In that moment, Simon sounded way too much like the nine year old whose parents wouldn’t stop screaming at each other and drinking long enough to take care of their children. The one who'd been ignored and neglected before Marshall came along and after all these years it still made him freaking furious.
So, naturally, instead of commenting on it, he gave Simon a shove for being an idiot because there was no way he would ever do that to Simon, after all the layers upon layers of crap they’d been through together. And Simon was being stupid for thinking so.
“Of course not.”
Simon beamed, a row of slightly crooked teeth his parents were too cheap to fix shining out of a dimpled smile. “Good. Cause you can’t leave to go fight monsters without saying bye to your partner, can you?”
“Absolutely not.”
~*~*~
When he drove out of Eerie, he took next to nothing with him but one of the few pictures he had shoved into his wallet, behind the still of his family at Christmas time, was one of Simon and him, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera. That and, of course, Simon had sent him off with the shotgun Marshall had bought for him two years ago and an extra box of rounds.
“You know,” Simon had said with a shrug as they said good-bye. “Just in case.”
He’d smiled. “Thanks.”
“So I’ll see you soon?”
Marshall had nodded. But three years rolled by before he made it back to Eerie again.
~*~*~
Bishopville, South Carolina - January 1997
The creature howled and snarled as a round slammed into its side. It jerked as another shot was fired and again and then a fourth time before it finally fell, not on top of Marshall thankfully which was a damn sight better than he’d been doing minutes earlier, trying to keep those talons from getting a firm hold in his eye sockets and popping his eyeballs out.
A hand reached into his field of vision, a silver ring glinting in the moonlight. He blinked up at the man who’d saved his ass and let himself be pulled to his feet.
“What the hell was that exactly?” his rescuer asked.
Kansas twang, blond hair, a pistol in the hand that wasn’t helping him up, and Marshall couldn’t help but smile. Three years and Dean Winchester had certainly grown into himself and was looking very different from the scrawny fifteen-year-old he remembered.
Marshall sighed and ran a hand through his now short hair as he collected his thoughts. Not quite a military buzz but far shorter than the floppy grunge hair he’d worn for years before leaving Eerie. He’d learned quick and hard that hair was a grip for things that liked to hit and bangs did nothing but block his vision.
“Lizard man.” He declared, pulling his torn, soggy coat around him against the January cold.
Dean blinked at him and then down at the body that lay on the half-frozen mud of the swamp floor, twitching every now and then. “Lizard man? Seriously?”
Marshall just nodded and tapped at the corpse with his boot. It didn’t respond which he really hoped meant it was dead but years of experience told him it could mean otherwise.
“That’s just…freaky.”
“Tell me about it. Weird even for our line of work.” Marshall agreed. “So, Dean, how are your dad and Sam?”
His blue eyes narrowed in the dark and Marshall couldn’t help but notice that Dean still had his gun drawn. “I know you?”
“Marshall Teller, remember? Exorcism in Hoboken. We got rid of the Miller poltergeist?”
Dean snapped his fingers and nodded, finally putting his gun away. “Right. The Eerie guy. How are things?” He asked conversationally, pulling a pocketknife with a long gleaming blade out of his jeans.
"Usually better." Marshall admitted. "I'm still not sure how he got my weapon away from me. But now it's mostly dead, I think," he tapped it again, unsure because things like this seemed to have remarkable bounce back abilities, "my biggest concern after torching the sucker is what I'm going to do about this rag that used to be my coat." Thick mud, slowly melting ice made of swamp water, and reptile claws had made his jacket a casualty of war.
“Leather, man. It’s the only way to go.” Dean advised as he squatted down next to the reptile man and began sawing at his neck, just for good measure. Neither of them had ever dealt with a reptoid before and there weren’t exactly rules and protocols for mutant lizards like there were for ghosts
“You don’t worry about getting it wet? I hear it’s like impossible to take care of.” Marshall said casually, digging in his jeans for a lighter as Dean continued the dismemberment. “You don’t have any lighter fluid on hand, by any chance?” he asked Dean as if hacking the second cousin of a dragon to pieces and lighting it on fire were as normal of an activity as riding a bike or hanging out at the World O'Stuff after school.
“You only have to worry about suede and that’s not what you’d want anyway,” Dean told him as he wiped lizard blood on his pants, making a face as he did so. It looked black in the moonlight and would probably stain. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small flask, took a sip of the contents and then tossed it to Marshall.
“You tell my dad I have that and I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”
It was a shame to waste good liquor on the scaly bastard but had to be done. Marshall’s car was too far away and he didn’t want to spend more time in Scape Ore swamp than he had too. He’d already been here longer than he’d like.
“So what are you doing in Bishopville?” Marshall asked as they watched it burn. The smoke had a meat smell that was underlain with something sharp and acidic.
“Same thing you are. Checking out the disappearances. You know how it is. People drop of the face of the earth, a sixth body’s found mauled in a town with less than four thousand people and we show up. I was doing recon and saw that piece of shit car parked on the side of the road I’m gonna have to assume is your ride and came to help. Dad’s in town.”
Doing what, Dean doesn’t say. But he’s seen that face before. It was the Dean Winchester version of Simon’s “My parents went on another bender and forgot to buy food, can I eat at your place” face.
“So, you want to go get something to eat after we’re done with this?” Marshall asked, changing the subject deftly, a skill he and Simon had perfected over the years. “Almost getting ripped to pieces always makes me hungry.”
“Sure, I’m all about the lizard burgers man. The scales give it extra crunch.”
Two hours later, the lizard man was nothing but charred, salty remains left to rot in shallow grave in the backwater land not far from where Marshall had first tracked it and the two men were sitting opposite each other in a greasy spoon all night diner on the outskirts of Bishopville.
When he’d been in Hoboken, he’d spent most of his time with John, learning the ropes and diving head first into the world of hunting. When he hadn’t been hanging on John’s every word about weapons and holy objects and the value of salt against the supernatural, he’d mostly hung around with Sam because spending time with Sam had been a lot like spending time with Simon which was practically second nature to Marshall. So he hadn’t really spent that much time around Dean before now.
What he learned was that Dean liked to talk when he had something he wanted to talk about. Like the rack on their waitress, Charlene, or the virtues of Metallica’s Master of Puppets over the Black album. He didn’t like to talk about things that were personal, like why Marshall had seen that black Impala parked in front a bar on his way to the diner and why his family had gotten into the hunting game in the first place.
But he liked to compare battle scars and war stories. So a few beers, courtesy of Marshall’s very convincing fake ID and Dean’s overwhelming ability to distract Charlene with a wide smile and an almost Sinatra-esque charm, and it felt like they’d been friends for years.
Although by the time Dean drunkenly invited him to come on the hunt with them, once he cleared it with his dad first of course, he had to wonder what had persuaded him to make an offer like that. The copious amounts of liquor or the fact that Marshall’s “I got sucked into an alternate reality, twice” story was cooler than Dean’s “I almost got thrown off a cliff by a skinwalker in the Rockies” one.