SPN FIC - The Box (Prologue)
Summer 2000. John, the boys, and Bobby are in a small Connecticut coastal town investigating signs of demon activity. Or John and Bobby are, at least. Dean's delivering pizza (with a side order of Dean) and Sam has taken a job doing yard work for a young couple with a big, rambling house on a bluff overlooking the ocean. A nice way to spend the summer, right? Um ... not so much.
I'm calling this Gen, because I'm old school. The OCs (the folks in peril) are married, with all that that implies. Dean, as I mentioned, is shopping his wares around town, although that's all off-camera. John used to be married, and so did Bobby. But the story doesn't revolve around a romantic relationship. What we've got here is a 17-year-old boy who's fed up with the life he's been forced to live. Who's drawn by the comfort and luxury and stability of a big, rambling house on a bluff overlooking the ocean, and by the kindness of people who think he's just an ordinary kid trying to save up some money to buy a car.
The story's about a kid who's two years away from abandoning his family so he can build himself a better life.
You know what happens after that. But in the meantime -- I hope you enjoy this.
CHARACTERS: Sam (age 17), Dean (age 21), John, Bobby, various OCs
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG for language and some pondering about sexin'
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: Remains to be seen; Prologue and 6 parts
THE BOX
By Carol Davis
Prologue
Larkin left wet footprints on the carefully restored hardwood floor as she made her way up to the bedroom. You should clean that up, she thought, and it made her pause for a moment, remembering the money and effort that had gone into repairing the floor.
But it was after midnight, her clothes were soaked from her run through the pouring rain to her car, the new shoes that had rubbed her feet raw were pretty much ruined, and all she'd thought about for the last half hour was SLEEP.
Peter gaped at her when she reached the bedroom doorway.
"Hey," she muttered.
He put down his book, climbed out of bed. "God, babe. You're…dripping."
"Yeah."
She managed a small, humorless smile. It took her a second to decide what to do: clothes off, towel her hair. Then bed. With any luck she'd drop off right away. Peter watched her trudge into the bathroom. He would have helped if there'd been a way to help - that was all over his face - but he'd figured correctly that the right course of action was to stand by.
She let her purse sag to the floor, peeled off her blazer and dropped it into the tub, groped for the buttons of her blouse. "You're not watching Letterman?" she asked Peter without any real interest.
"Something's wrong with the cable."
"Did you call?"
"Got a recording. Left a message. Want me to hang that stuff up for you?"
He was there before she could say anything, taking the wet clothes out of her hands and laying them on the edge of the tub. She was down to her slip when he pulled her robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around her.
"You're shaking," he said.
"Yeah. It's -"
"Did you get dinner?" When Larkin shook her head, Peter volunteered, "I can make you something."
"Not hungry."
"Babe," he persisted.
Something to eat would make her feel better, she supposed. Some soup, maybe half a sandwich. It'd knock down the headache that'd gripped the back of her neck since early this morning, get rid of the wobbles in her arms and legs. But staying awake long enough for Peter to fix something, then to sit at the table and eat it - that just didn't seem do-able.
"Breakfast," she told him. "You can make me breakfast."
Inside her purse, her cell phone started to ring. Because she couldn't find the energy to do anything about it, Peter fished the phone out of her bag, opened it and pressed the Talk button. "Hello?" he said.
Waited. And frowned. Then snapped the phone shut. "Nobody there," he told her. "My phone's been doing the same thing. Half a dozen calls, and nobody's there. Not even dead air. Just… nothing. Do these things get viruses?"
"I don't know," Larkin said absently. "I guess."
He stared at the phone for a moment, then pulled the battery out of it and put phone and battery down on the counter near the sink. "Had to do that to mine, too. Damn thing kept ringing. If somebody needs you, they can call on the land line, or wait 'til morning."
He toweled her hair until it was nothing more than damp. Helped her switch from underwear and robe to a warm nightgown and got her into bed. She burrowed deep under the covers, eyes closed, listening to him tidy up her wet clothes, wipe the floor, and run a glass of water that he brought to her with a couple of Tylenol.
"It went bad, didn't it?" he asked as she took the pills. "The hearing."
"Yeah," she said. "It went bad."
"I'm sorry."
She only half-heard that. "What's that noise?" she asked, head cocked, listening.
"I don't know. It's like…a hum in the power lines or something. It started this afternoon. Power company's supposed to come out in the morning. That might be what's messing with the cable."
"Oh," was all she could think of to say.
"Sleep," Peter told her.
After a few minutes, she did.
On to Part One…
I'm calling this Gen, because I'm old school. The OCs (the folks in peril) are married, with all that that implies. Dean, as I mentioned, is shopping his wares around town, although that's all off-camera. John used to be married, and so did Bobby. But the story doesn't revolve around a romantic relationship. What we've got here is a 17-year-old boy who's fed up with the life he's been forced to live. Who's drawn by the comfort and luxury and stability of a big, rambling house on a bluff overlooking the ocean, and by the kindness of people who think he's just an ordinary kid trying to save up some money to buy a car.
The story's about a kid who's two years away from abandoning his family so he can build himself a better life.
You know what happens after that. But in the meantime -- I hope you enjoy this.
CHARACTERS: Sam (age 17), Dean (age 21), John, Bobby, various OCs
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG for language and some pondering about sexin'
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: Remains to be seen; Prologue and 6 parts
THE BOX
By Carol Davis
Prologue
Larkin left wet footprints on the carefully restored hardwood floor as she made her way up to the bedroom. You should clean that up, she thought, and it made her pause for a moment, remembering the money and effort that had gone into repairing the floor.
But it was after midnight, her clothes were soaked from her run through the pouring rain to her car, the new shoes that had rubbed her feet raw were pretty much ruined, and all she'd thought about for the last half hour was SLEEP.
Peter gaped at her when she reached the bedroom doorway.
"Hey," she muttered.
He put down his book, climbed out of bed. "God, babe. You're…dripping."
"Yeah."
She managed a small, humorless smile. It took her a second to decide what to do: clothes off, towel her hair. Then bed. With any luck she'd drop off right away. Peter watched her trudge into the bathroom. He would have helped if there'd been a way to help - that was all over his face - but he'd figured correctly that the right course of action was to stand by.
She let her purse sag to the floor, peeled off her blazer and dropped it into the tub, groped for the buttons of her blouse. "You're not watching Letterman?" she asked Peter without any real interest.
"Something's wrong with the cable."
"Did you call?"
"Got a recording. Left a message. Want me to hang that stuff up for you?"
He was there before she could say anything, taking the wet clothes out of her hands and laying them on the edge of the tub. She was down to her slip when he pulled her robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around her.
"You're shaking," he said.
"Yeah. It's -"
"Did you get dinner?" When Larkin shook her head, Peter volunteered, "I can make you something."
"Not hungry."
"Babe," he persisted.
Something to eat would make her feel better, she supposed. Some soup, maybe half a sandwich. It'd knock down the headache that'd gripped the back of her neck since early this morning, get rid of the wobbles in her arms and legs. But staying awake long enough for Peter to fix something, then to sit at the table and eat it - that just didn't seem do-able.
"Breakfast," she told him. "You can make me breakfast."
Inside her purse, her cell phone started to ring. Because she couldn't find the energy to do anything about it, Peter fished the phone out of her bag, opened it and pressed the Talk button. "Hello?" he said.
Waited. And frowned. Then snapped the phone shut. "Nobody there," he told her. "My phone's been doing the same thing. Half a dozen calls, and nobody's there. Not even dead air. Just… nothing. Do these things get viruses?"
"I don't know," Larkin said absently. "I guess."
He stared at the phone for a moment, then pulled the battery out of it and put phone and battery down on the counter near the sink. "Had to do that to mine, too. Damn thing kept ringing. If somebody needs you, they can call on the land line, or wait 'til morning."
He toweled her hair until it was nothing more than damp. Helped her switch from underwear and robe to a warm nightgown and got her into bed. She burrowed deep under the covers, eyes closed, listening to him tidy up her wet clothes, wipe the floor, and run a glass of water that he brought to her with a couple of Tylenol.
"It went bad, didn't it?" he asked as she took the pills. "The hearing."
"Yeah," she said. "It went bad."
"I'm sorry."
She only half-heard that. "What's that noise?" she asked, head cocked, listening.
"I don't know. It's like…a hum in the power lines or something. It started this afternoon. Power company's supposed to come out in the morning. That might be what's messing with the cable."
"Oh," was all she could think of to say.
"Sleep," Peter told her.
After a few minutes, she did.
On to Part One…