FIC: Disentanglement Puzzle [Gen, PG-13, 550 words]
Title: Disentanglement Puzzle [Gen, 550 words]
Characters: Sarah Blake
Spoilers: Provenance
Rating/ Warnings: PG-13/ None
Summary: A missing scene from S1 episode, Provenance. Sarah Blake, in between finding the body and coming to the motel room. Written for
missing_spn.
Disentanglement Puzzle
Sarah’s sitting alone on the low curb across the street from poor Evelyn’s house, mindless of the damage to her pale cashmere coat. Her cell phone is clutched tightly in her hand. She’s dimly aware of the commotion surrounding her-flashing lights and muted sirens, various policeman and detectives standing around taking notes or sipping coffee, and the milling crowd of gawkers attracted by the late night spectacle.
It’s like Sarah’s stepped out of her life and into a television crime drama. Or an episode of X-Files. Sarah’s mind shies away from the thought, because what happened in that house… what she thought she saw… could simply not have happened.
Sam and his brother, and that hulking monstrosity they call a car, is long gone. They hadn’t touched anything in the house, and Sarah, God help her, had covered Sam’s prints on the door with her own. Then she called 9-1-1.
A steaming cup of coffee is thrust into Sarah’s face, startling her out of her thoughts. She scoots back slightly, eyes focusing on the policeman’s short blunt fingered hands. Wedding ring. Faux-Rolex watch peeking out from beneath uniform. Not like Sam’s hands, long and large. They had looked awkward, clutching the wine list back in the restaurant. But deft; so deft picking a lock. Lock. Sam. Dean. The phone call… rushing here to Evelyn’s house.
Evelyn’s head flopping backwards at Sarah’s touch, as if it were attached on hinge. Blood, blood everywhere and Oh, God, Evelyn is dead.
Evelyn is dead, the Telescas are dead, and somehow that horrible painting is involved. That painting… and Sam Winchester.
The officer is talking to her, but it takes a moment for Sarah to register his words.
“-shock, Miss Blake.”
Sarah takes a shuddering breath and brushes away the unruly strands of hair that have fallen into her face. She takes the coffee-cheap convenience store fare in a Styrofoam cup with paper handles-nothing like the decadent café latte macchiatos Sarah likes to treat herself to at her favorite bagel shop, or the imported German blend favored by her father. She takes a sip: burned asphalt across her tongue. It’s the best coffee she’s ever tasted.
“I’m… I’m OK,” she finally responds to the hovering officer. She wearily pushes herself to her feet, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand. “I’m just… I can’t believe. It’s a nightmare.” Her voice shakes a little, and Sarah feels fresh tears burning in her eyes.
The policeman nods sympathetically, his mustache quivering. “I understand, ma’am. I know it’s hard, but we really do need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course,” Sarah murmurs.
It’s easier than it should be, lying to the police-covering up, somehow, for these two men she’s just met, men she has no reason to trust-except… Sam. There’s something about Sam that catches at Sarah.
It’s not his hair, or his clothes, or even his haunting (haunted) eyes, which are somehow sad when he thinks no one is watching. No, it’s something else about Sam that fascinates her. He reminds Sarah of the hanayama puzzles Sarah’s mother used to give her as souvenirs from her many trips to the Far East: difficult to disentangle, but ultimately fascinating and unpredictable.
Sam Winchester, mystery.
Sarah Blake has questions. It’s time she got a few answers of her own.
Characters: Sarah Blake
Spoilers: Provenance
Rating/ Warnings: PG-13/ None
Summary: A missing scene from S1 episode, Provenance. Sarah Blake, in between finding the body and coming to the motel room. Written for
missing_spn.
Disentanglement Puzzle
Sarah’s sitting alone on the low curb across the street from poor Evelyn’s house, mindless of the damage to her pale cashmere coat. Her cell phone is clutched tightly in her hand. She’s dimly aware of the commotion surrounding her-flashing lights and muted sirens, various policeman and detectives standing around taking notes or sipping coffee, and the milling crowd of gawkers attracted by the late night spectacle.
It’s like Sarah’s stepped out of her life and into a television crime drama. Or an episode of X-Files. Sarah’s mind shies away from the thought, because what happened in that house… what she thought she saw… could simply not have happened.
Sam and his brother, and that hulking monstrosity they call a car, is long gone. They hadn’t touched anything in the house, and Sarah, God help her, had covered Sam’s prints on the door with her own. Then she called 9-1-1.
A steaming cup of coffee is thrust into Sarah’s face, startling her out of her thoughts. She scoots back slightly, eyes focusing on the policeman’s short blunt fingered hands. Wedding ring. Faux-Rolex watch peeking out from beneath uniform. Not like Sam’s hands, long and large. They had looked awkward, clutching the wine list back in the restaurant. But deft; so deft picking a lock. Lock. Sam. Dean. The phone call… rushing here to Evelyn’s house.
Evelyn’s head flopping backwards at Sarah’s touch, as if it were attached on hinge. Blood, blood everywhere and Oh, God, Evelyn is dead.
Evelyn is dead, the Telescas are dead, and somehow that horrible painting is involved. That painting… and Sam Winchester.
The officer is talking to her, but it takes a moment for Sarah to register his words.
“-shock, Miss Blake.”
Sarah takes a shuddering breath and brushes away the unruly strands of hair that have fallen into her face. She takes the coffee-cheap convenience store fare in a Styrofoam cup with paper handles-nothing like the decadent café latte macchiatos Sarah likes to treat herself to at her favorite bagel shop, or the imported German blend favored by her father. She takes a sip: burned asphalt across her tongue. It’s the best coffee she’s ever tasted.
“I’m… I’m OK,” she finally responds to the hovering officer. She wearily pushes herself to her feet, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand. “I’m just… I can’t believe. It’s a nightmare.” Her voice shakes a little, and Sarah feels fresh tears burning in her eyes.
The policeman nods sympathetically, his mustache quivering. “I understand, ma’am. I know it’s hard, but we really do need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course,” Sarah murmurs.
It’s easier than it should be, lying to the police-covering up, somehow, for these two men she’s just met, men she has no reason to trust-except… Sam. There’s something about Sam that catches at Sarah.
It’s not his hair, or his clothes, or even his haunting (haunted) eyes, which are somehow sad when he thinks no one is watching. No, it’s something else about Sam that fascinates her. He reminds Sarah of the hanayama puzzles Sarah’s mother used to give her as souvenirs from her many trips to the Far East: difficult to disentangle, but ultimately fascinating and unpredictable.
Sam Winchester, mystery.
Sarah Blake has questions. It’s time she got a few answers of her own.