"Lost and Found: Imminence"
Title: Imminence
’Verse: Lost and Found
Author: LadyMacbeth
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13 (for some cussin’)
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Priestly
Word Count: 2292
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” and all its characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke. I make no profit.
Warning: Incestuous slash. You no like, you no look.
Summary: Missouri reveals a secret to the boys that send them on a journey to Santa Cruz where they find a brother they never knew and an even darker revelation that none of them saw coming.
The story so far:
1. Santa Cruz
2. The Road to Missouri
3. Revelations
4. Look Back, Leap Forward
5. Second Sight
6. Fury and Fitchburg
7. Conjoined
8. Distant Voices
9. The Warning
10. Wrought Asunder
11. Family Ties
12. Black Dog
13. Splitting Down the Seems
14. Spiral
15. Trinity
16. The Arrival
17. The Apology
*****
The call wakes Sam just after four in the morning.
He keeps his eyes closed as his arm flops about, searching for the offending gadget. He manages to smack each of his brothers in the face, earning him muttered groans and curses, before he finds it.
His muscles ache so badly from the events earlier, that the little cell phone feels like it weighs a ton. He groans, loud and throaty as he drags it to his ear, not bothering to check the ID.
“M’llo?” he sighs into the phone, half conscious.
“Sam, honey?”
Sam is instantly wide awake, sitting up in bed, jostling his brothers. The fear in the woman’s voice sends ice through his veins.
“Missouri,” his voice cracks, “what’s wrong?”
“Oh God, honey. I just got a few calls from some psychics I talked to about your prophecy. They called to tell me there’s a great disturbance in the air, hot and mean, getting stronger.”
Sam shakes his head, trying to jostle the sleep cobwebs free. “What exactly does that mean?” he whispers.
Missouri pulls in a shaking breath like she’s trying not to cry.
“It means he’s out, honey. He’s out and he’s coming for you.”
*****
Sam stays on the phone with Missouri for about another ten minutes. He doesn’t really watch the time. He’s in a stupor for the rest of the call, grunting noncommittally whenever the woman on the other end pauses like she’s asked a question.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the call is over, and Sam is left in silence, wide awake in the dark. He sits, numb, for a few minutes, running over all the information in his mind, only now just getting through.
His eyes seem to drift around the room on their own, and for the first time in almost a decade, the dark scares him.
Feeling a sudden flood of panic bubble up inside him, Sam extends both his arms and, upon finding warm slumbering bodies, proceeds to shake the living shit out of them.
Dean wakes with a start, snapping a hand around Sam’s wrist, ready for a fight before the fog in his head seems to clear. Priestly is slower. He snuffles a little and rubs his eyes like a small child after a nap. He mumbles something, the last retort in a dreamt conversation. His eyes have a soft glow to them when they open. They remind Sam of a nightlight, and he has to bite his own tongue in order to keep a frantic peel of laughter from escaping his body.
“Sammy?”
Dean’s got one hand solid and heavy on Sam’s left shoulder while the other clutches a 9mm, appearing out of nowhere. He’s scanning the room, searching for whatever it is that’s left his little brother terrified.
“What’s going on?” Priestly mumbles, running a hand through his hair. His half lidded eyes glide over the room until they catch the moon’s glint off Dean’s gun. Instantly his eyes go wide and bright. A hum rises in the air all around them and the light flicks on by itself.
A commotion is heard outside seconds before Bobby barges into the room, dressed in flannel pajamas, hair mussed, shot gun gripped tight. His eyes are open and alert, scanning the room for any possible threats.
Everyone in the room stays rigid and ready to fight until Sam lets out the quivering breath he’s been holding for what feels like ten minutes. He shudders, just a little, but it’s enough to break the spell over the room, and at the same time, three sets of shoulders sag.
“What the hell just happened?” Bobby growls first, letting the shot gun drop to his side. His chest heaves slightly, as if he’s been jogging. His eyes bore into Sam, probing and analytical. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sam realizes that he’s sitting awfully close to his brother in a pair of single beds, pushed together. He also remembers that beneath the thin sheet, all three of them are naked.
Sam feels a deep blush bloom in his cheeks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean drop his gun onto the night stand. Almost like he’s turned on a light switch, Dean’s face is plastered with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry Bobby,” Dean purrs, faking sincerity without a flinch. “Little Sammy had himself a nightmare. He startled us when he woke us up. We didn’t mean to bother you.” Dean’s grin grows apologetic. Beneath the sheets, he pinches Sam.
“Ah,” Sam gasps. He covers up by coughing. “Yeah, Bobby,” he says once he clears his throat dramatically, “just a nightmare. Sorry we woke you.” His apology sounds forced, even to him. Dean has always been the better liar.
It actually looks for a moment like Bobby is going to call them on their bullshit. His eyes stray from Sam’s in order to take in the entire bedroom scene. Something in his gaze changes when he takes in the three boys huddled together in the mess of bed sheets.
Sam feels like he’s holding his breath again.
“Fine,” the old hunter sighs after an eternity. “But you,” he says, jabbing a finger at Priestly, “knock off the damn light shows. You nearly gave me a damn seizure with all that flickering and strobing. This ain’t some night club. Knock that shit off.”
Sam almost smiles when his older brother’s jaw drops in shock and indignation.
As soon as Bobby’s out the door, the smile falls off Dean’s face. He turns to Sam with a dark look in his eye.
“Ok, Sam,” he says. “Talk.”
*****
It is almost six in the morning when Sam finishes filling his older brothers in on Missouri’s ominous phone call.
When the boys realize the threat of daybreak looms, they rise and dress without discussion. The imminent confrontation, fight, battle, has rendered them speechless. A new foe is coming for them, one who’s mythology and weaknesses do not lie within the weathered old journal Dean keeps in the glove box of the Impala.
It’s real now, looming just behind the shadows, intent on destroying them.
“Alright,” Dean says suddenly, fully dressed, standing by the doorway. “No more fucking around. I don’t intend to be a sitting duck for this son of a bitch. I may not understand all the things I can do now, but I sure as hell am going to put my abilities to good use.” His eyes glow bright and an electric hum rises in the early morning air. “Now come on,” he says to his brothers who watch him reverently, “we’ve got work to do.”
*****
They figure they have a couple days, at best, before the demon descends upon them, so they set themselves to their tasks.
Sam gathers charms and weapons from wherever (and whoever) he can find. He studies incantations and spells, contacting psychics, witches and the owner of a local New Age store. He reads up on demon myths, searching for weaknesses and traps they’ve yet to discover.
Priestly practices his telekinetic attacks and defenses. He gets used to using objects around him as weapons: scrap metal, cutlery, tools and rocks. He works on making his shield more solid, so as to protect him from both physical and mental attacks. He practices throwing knives and shooting, not wanting to rely solely on his abilities.
Dean spends most of his time meditating. Though every fiber in his being screams to move, punch, shoot, drive, he sits, concentrating on foreign voices in his head.
Sam, Priestly and even Bobby take turns sitting with him, keeping him calm, helping him sift through what’s real and what’s dead. They help him concentrate on particular feelings and voices, focusing his attention and funneling it into something else.
Dean sits for hours at a time, getting up only to eat, drink, and use the bathroom. Too long, he feels he’s neglected his ability; run away from it, even. He’s let it scare him into submission, not daring to tap into the power for fear of what might happen. But he doesn’t have the luxury of running anymore. Something is threatening his family, and he’ll be damned if he’s just going to lie down and let them die; not when he can do something about it.
So he sits, concentrating on the voices, sifting through the angry, the benign, the mourning. He opens himself up to them, letting their energy flow through his body, curling around his limbs, electric sparks pooling in his fingertips.
It’s almost dark out when Dean feels something shift within himself.
Priestly must feel something as well, because he appears out of nowhere by Dean’s side, eyes glowing faintly. He kneels in the dirt next to him, watching him expectantly.
“Dean?” he whispers, his voice quivering slightly.
Dean doesn’t answer. Something inside him has clicked into place, something that has proved illusive until this moment.
He gets to his feet.
“Stand back,” he whispers to his twin.
Priestly stumbles backwards in the dirt as Dean’s bright eyes flare until they are so brilliant, they’re almost white. He steadies himself, spreading his legs and digging his feet in. He extends his hands outward, palms up towards the darkening sky.
Priestly feels a strange charge flow through his body only a split second before lightening erupts from Dean’s fingertips.
*****
Sam drops the book he’s reading when the lightning that splits the sky moves in the wrong direction: up.
He hears Bobby close behind him as he flies off the front porch, racing towards the source, terrified that their demonic hunter has already descended upon them.
As he rounds the pile of scrapped cars, he draws the 9mm from his waistband ready to unload an entirely useless clip into the monster only he has seen. He’s so tense and focused in his mission that he nearly shoots Dean before he realizes he’s the source of the light show.
Sam’s jaw drops, the gun falling forgotten to the ground. He thinks he hears Bobby grind to a halt behind him and swear, but he’s not sure. All his attention is focused on Dean, whose eyes burn as bright as a supernova.
Great streams of lightning pour from his fingertips into the empty sky above. It goes on for at least a minute, crackling and arching in an almost sinister way. And then it stops.
Dean is breathing heavily when he lets his hands drop to his sides. His eyes start to dim beneath a sweat slicked forehead. He looks exhausted, but overjoyed, a tired grin pulling at the sides of his mouth. His eyes dance from Priestly to Sam to Bobby and back, grin widening with each second, breathing accelerating until he lets out a sudden whoop of excitement, pumping his fist in the air and making everyone else jump.
“Did you see that?!” he practically squeals. “I did it! I fucking did it! Awesome!” He’s jumping around and grinning like a kid who’s just pulled off his first trick on his new bike.
“It came out of your fucking hands!” Priestly yelps, the first spectator to speak. “How the fuck did you do that?!”
The grin doesn’t falter when Dean’s eyes flare back up.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
*****
The next few hours fly by in a blur.
With the energy of the dead flowing through him, Dean seems to command the very elements themselves. His audience quickly realizes he is not limited to the power of electricity. He ignites objects with his touch, turning Rumsfeld’s tennis balls into flaming projectiles. He is then able to freeze things moments later with the very same touch. He lifts whole wrecked cars over his head and tosses them as if they weigh nothing. His reflexes are beyond sharp, as if the little voices inside his head can see things a split second before they happen.
Again and again, they ask him how. How is this possible? Why now? For so long, he’s been unable to control his powers, and now he commands them like he’s been using them since birth.
He tries to explain it as best as he can, which is hard. So much of what he can do still surprises him. He feels, even as blasts a beer bottle off the roof of a car, fifty feet away, with a bolt of lightning, that he hasn’t fully realized his potential. He can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling, and Dean Winchester has never exactly been good at talking about his feelings.
He does his best, though, to explain. He feels he owes his brothers, and Bobby too, for all the drama he’s caused. He’s almost killed them on more than one occasion. He almost understands now. He has fought the power with every bit of strength he has, not wanting to become something more or less human. All his life he’s spent fighting supernatural things with otherworldly abilities. He was just afraid to turn into the things he hates most.
But then the threat of the demon became real. He explains that he couldn’t afford to fight it anymore. His family was in danger, so he had to embrace the new abilities. Once he accepted the powers as a part of him, everything just seemed to click into place. He’s still figuring out the different ways in which his powers can manifest, but he’s already more than pleased with his arsenal.
“That demon’s in for the battle of his fucking life,” Dean growls, eyes glowing. He clenches his fist so tight, static crackles between his joints. His eyes glow a little brighter when he meets the gaze of his brothers.
“The fight of his fucking life.”
*****
To be continued…
’Verse: Lost and Found
Author: LadyMacbeth
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13 (for some cussin’)
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Priestly
Word Count: 2292
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” and all its characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke. I make no profit.
Warning: Incestuous slash. You no like, you no look.
Summary: Missouri reveals a secret to the boys that send them on a journey to Santa Cruz where they find a brother they never knew and an even darker revelation that none of them saw coming.
The story so far:
1. Santa Cruz
2. The Road to Missouri
3. Revelations
4. Look Back, Leap Forward
5. Second Sight
6. Fury and Fitchburg
7. Conjoined
8. Distant Voices
9. The Warning
10. Wrought Asunder
11. Family Ties
12. Black Dog
13. Splitting Down the Seems
14. Spiral
15. Trinity
16. The Arrival
17. The Apology
*****
The call wakes Sam just after four in the morning.
He keeps his eyes closed as his arm flops about, searching for the offending gadget. He manages to smack each of his brothers in the face, earning him muttered groans and curses, before he finds it.
His muscles ache so badly from the events earlier, that the little cell phone feels like it weighs a ton. He groans, loud and throaty as he drags it to his ear, not bothering to check the ID.
“M’llo?” he sighs into the phone, half conscious.
“Sam, honey?”
Sam is instantly wide awake, sitting up in bed, jostling his brothers. The fear in the woman’s voice sends ice through his veins.
“Missouri,” his voice cracks, “what’s wrong?”
“Oh God, honey. I just got a few calls from some psychics I talked to about your prophecy. They called to tell me there’s a great disturbance in the air, hot and mean, getting stronger.”
Sam shakes his head, trying to jostle the sleep cobwebs free. “What exactly does that mean?” he whispers.
Missouri pulls in a shaking breath like she’s trying not to cry.
“It means he’s out, honey. He’s out and he’s coming for you.”
*****
Sam stays on the phone with Missouri for about another ten minutes. He doesn’t really watch the time. He’s in a stupor for the rest of the call, grunting noncommittally whenever the woman on the other end pauses like she’s asked a question.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the call is over, and Sam is left in silence, wide awake in the dark. He sits, numb, for a few minutes, running over all the information in his mind, only now just getting through.
His eyes seem to drift around the room on their own, and for the first time in almost a decade, the dark scares him.
Feeling a sudden flood of panic bubble up inside him, Sam extends both his arms and, upon finding warm slumbering bodies, proceeds to shake the living shit out of them.
Dean wakes with a start, snapping a hand around Sam’s wrist, ready for a fight before the fog in his head seems to clear. Priestly is slower. He snuffles a little and rubs his eyes like a small child after a nap. He mumbles something, the last retort in a dreamt conversation. His eyes have a soft glow to them when they open. They remind Sam of a nightlight, and he has to bite his own tongue in order to keep a frantic peel of laughter from escaping his body.
“Sammy?”
Dean’s got one hand solid and heavy on Sam’s left shoulder while the other clutches a 9mm, appearing out of nowhere. He’s scanning the room, searching for whatever it is that’s left his little brother terrified.
“What’s going on?” Priestly mumbles, running a hand through his hair. His half lidded eyes glide over the room until they catch the moon’s glint off Dean’s gun. Instantly his eyes go wide and bright. A hum rises in the air all around them and the light flicks on by itself.
A commotion is heard outside seconds before Bobby barges into the room, dressed in flannel pajamas, hair mussed, shot gun gripped tight. His eyes are open and alert, scanning the room for any possible threats.
Everyone in the room stays rigid and ready to fight until Sam lets out the quivering breath he’s been holding for what feels like ten minutes. He shudders, just a little, but it’s enough to break the spell over the room, and at the same time, three sets of shoulders sag.
“What the hell just happened?” Bobby growls first, letting the shot gun drop to his side. His chest heaves slightly, as if he’s been jogging. His eyes bore into Sam, probing and analytical. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sam realizes that he’s sitting awfully close to his brother in a pair of single beds, pushed together. He also remembers that beneath the thin sheet, all three of them are naked.
Sam feels a deep blush bloom in his cheeks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean drop his gun onto the night stand. Almost like he’s turned on a light switch, Dean’s face is plastered with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry Bobby,” Dean purrs, faking sincerity without a flinch. “Little Sammy had himself a nightmare. He startled us when he woke us up. We didn’t mean to bother you.” Dean’s grin grows apologetic. Beneath the sheets, he pinches Sam.
“Ah,” Sam gasps. He covers up by coughing. “Yeah, Bobby,” he says once he clears his throat dramatically, “just a nightmare. Sorry we woke you.” His apology sounds forced, even to him. Dean has always been the better liar.
It actually looks for a moment like Bobby is going to call them on their bullshit. His eyes stray from Sam’s in order to take in the entire bedroom scene. Something in his gaze changes when he takes in the three boys huddled together in the mess of bed sheets.
Sam feels like he’s holding his breath again.
“Fine,” the old hunter sighs after an eternity. “But you,” he says, jabbing a finger at Priestly, “knock off the damn light shows. You nearly gave me a damn seizure with all that flickering and strobing. This ain’t some night club. Knock that shit off.”
Sam almost smiles when his older brother’s jaw drops in shock and indignation.
As soon as Bobby’s out the door, the smile falls off Dean’s face. He turns to Sam with a dark look in his eye.
“Ok, Sam,” he says. “Talk.”
*****
It is almost six in the morning when Sam finishes filling his older brothers in on Missouri’s ominous phone call.
When the boys realize the threat of daybreak looms, they rise and dress without discussion. The imminent confrontation, fight, battle, has rendered them speechless. A new foe is coming for them, one who’s mythology and weaknesses do not lie within the weathered old journal Dean keeps in the glove box of the Impala.
It’s real now, looming just behind the shadows, intent on destroying them.
“Alright,” Dean says suddenly, fully dressed, standing by the doorway. “No more fucking around. I don’t intend to be a sitting duck for this son of a bitch. I may not understand all the things I can do now, but I sure as hell am going to put my abilities to good use.” His eyes glow bright and an electric hum rises in the early morning air. “Now come on,” he says to his brothers who watch him reverently, “we’ve got work to do.”
*****
They figure they have a couple days, at best, before the demon descends upon them, so they set themselves to their tasks.
Sam gathers charms and weapons from wherever (and whoever) he can find. He studies incantations and spells, contacting psychics, witches and the owner of a local New Age store. He reads up on demon myths, searching for weaknesses and traps they’ve yet to discover.
Priestly practices his telekinetic attacks and defenses. He gets used to using objects around him as weapons: scrap metal, cutlery, tools and rocks. He works on making his shield more solid, so as to protect him from both physical and mental attacks. He practices throwing knives and shooting, not wanting to rely solely on his abilities.
Dean spends most of his time meditating. Though every fiber in his being screams to move, punch, shoot, drive, he sits, concentrating on foreign voices in his head.
Sam, Priestly and even Bobby take turns sitting with him, keeping him calm, helping him sift through what’s real and what’s dead. They help him concentrate on particular feelings and voices, focusing his attention and funneling it into something else.
Dean sits for hours at a time, getting up only to eat, drink, and use the bathroom. Too long, he feels he’s neglected his ability; run away from it, even. He’s let it scare him into submission, not daring to tap into the power for fear of what might happen. But he doesn’t have the luxury of running anymore. Something is threatening his family, and he’ll be damned if he’s just going to lie down and let them die; not when he can do something about it.
So he sits, concentrating on the voices, sifting through the angry, the benign, the mourning. He opens himself up to them, letting their energy flow through his body, curling around his limbs, electric sparks pooling in his fingertips.
It’s almost dark out when Dean feels something shift within himself.
Priestly must feel something as well, because he appears out of nowhere by Dean’s side, eyes glowing faintly. He kneels in the dirt next to him, watching him expectantly.
“Dean?” he whispers, his voice quivering slightly.
Dean doesn’t answer. Something inside him has clicked into place, something that has proved illusive until this moment.
He gets to his feet.
“Stand back,” he whispers to his twin.
Priestly stumbles backwards in the dirt as Dean’s bright eyes flare until they are so brilliant, they’re almost white. He steadies himself, spreading his legs and digging his feet in. He extends his hands outward, palms up towards the darkening sky.
Priestly feels a strange charge flow through his body only a split second before lightening erupts from Dean’s fingertips.
*****
Sam drops the book he’s reading when the lightning that splits the sky moves in the wrong direction: up.
He hears Bobby close behind him as he flies off the front porch, racing towards the source, terrified that their demonic hunter has already descended upon them.
As he rounds the pile of scrapped cars, he draws the 9mm from his waistband ready to unload an entirely useless clip into the monster only he has seen. He’s so tense and focused in his mission that he nearly shoots Dean before he realizes he’s the source of the light show.
Sam’s jaw drops, the gun falling forgotten to the ground. He thinks he hears Bobby grind to a halt behind him and swear, but he’s not sure. All his attention is focused on Dean, whose eyes burn as bright as a supernova.
Great streams of lightning pour from his fingertips into the empty sky above. It goes on for at least a minute, crackling and arching in an almost sinister way. And then it stops.
Dean is breathing heavily when he lets his hands drop to his sides. His eyes start to dim beneath a sweat slicked forehead. He looks exhausted, but overjoyed, a tired grin pulling at the sides of his mouth. His eyes dance from Priestly to Sam to Bobby and back, grin widening with each second, breathing accelerating until he lets out a sudden whoop of excitement, pumping his fist in the air and making everyone else jump.
“Did you see that?!” he practically squeals. “I did it! I fucking did it! Awesome!” He’s jumping around and grinning like a kid who’s just pulled off his first trick on his new bike.
“It came out of your fucking hands!” Priestly yelps, the first spectator to speak. “How the fuck did you do that?!”
The grin doesn’t falter when Dean’s eyes flare back up.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
*****
The next few hours fly by in a blur.
With the energy of the dead flowing through him, Dean seems to command the very elements themselves. His audience quickly realizes he is not limited to the power of electricity. He ignites objects with his touch, turning Rumsfeld’s tennis balls into flaming projectiles. He is then able to freeze things moments later with the very same touch. He lifts whole wrecked cars over his head and tosses them as if they weigh nothing. His reflexes are beyond sharp, as if the little voices inside his head can see things a split second before they happen.
Again and again, they ask him how. How is this possible? Why now? For so long, he’s been unable to control his powers, and now he commands them like he’s been using them since birth.
He tries to explain it as best as he can, which is hard. So much of what he can do still surprises him. He feels, even as blasts a beer bottle off the roof of a car, fifty feet away, with a bolt of lightning, that he hasn’t fully realized his potential. He can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling, and Dean Winchester has never exactly been good at talking about his feelings.
He does his best, though, to explain. He feels he owes his brothers, and Bobby too, for all the drama he’s caused. He’s almost killed them on more than one occasion. He almost understands now. He has fought the power with every bit of strength he has, not wanting to become something more or less human. All his life he’s spent fighting supernatural things with otherworldly abilities. He was just afraid to turn into the things he hates most.
But then the threat of the demon became real. He explains that he couldn’t afford to fight it anymore. His family was in danger, so he had to embrace the new abilities. Once he accepted the powers as a part of him, everything just seemed to click into place. He’s still figuring out the different ways in which his powers can manifest, but he’s already more than pleased with his arsenal.
“That demon’s in for the battle of his fucking life,” Dean growls, eyes glowing. He clenches his fist so tight, static crackles between his joints. His eyes glow a little brighter when he meets the gaze of his brothers.
“The fight of his fucking life.”
*****
To be continued…