Corner of Your Eye (4/14)
Labor Day? Awesome. Some of my sisters came over to swim, my brother is here playing Guitar Hero, and I gots all the time I need for my favorite crossover characters ever.
And now, the further adventures of JACKNDEAN! Or Kid and Old Guy, maybe.
Fandom: Supernatural/Stargate Xover!
Title: Corner of Your Eye
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Dean Winchester
Category: Action/Adventure, and now Hurt/Comfort, looks like
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: Pilot for SPN, up to Season 9 for SG-1
Summary: Jack O'Neill is not very good at being retired. Dean Winchester is not very good at staying out of trouble. And there's something lurking in these here woods….
Word Count: 1575 for this part
Disclaimer: As soon as I own them, you'll know. Oh yes, yes, the day is coming.
Complete chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
The story is also available in one document on my website: Corner of Your Eye
4
The kid just stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide and uncertain-they were green, Jack noticed, a little amused at his own inanity. It was as if no one had ever asked for his opinion before, as if no one ever listened to what he had to say, just ran roughshod over him and did what they wanted. Well, and maybe it was true-that kind of snide, sarcastic mouth was usually a defense mechanism. Jack understood that very, very well.
"No really," he said, uncrossing his arms, letting his hands spread open in a very Daniel-like gesture of friendliness and listening. "If you want me to do what you want, leave and let you handle this thing on your own, you're gonna have to prove to my satisfaction that your theory is the right one. And I gotta tell ya, you're gonna have to be pretty damn convincing."
The young man fidgeted, looked away, ran a hand through his short hair. "You won't believe me," he mumbled.
Jack blew out a breath in frustration and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Okay, let's start over." He caught the kid's eyes. "Hi, I'm Jack. What's your name?"
A brief smile flitted over the full lips, and he met Jack's gaze more fully. "I'm Dean. Nice to meet you."
"Great. Dean. Welcome to Nowheresville, Minnesota. Where ya from?"
"Oh, around." And the fidgeting was back.
"Oh, yeah? I hear it's nice there."
Again the little smile, nervous, hesitant. "Beautiful girls, too."
Jack found a strangely bent tree and leaned against it, almost sitting, casual and relaxed. "So, Dean. You heard about something strange going on in these woods? People dying. No good reason as far as I can tell. They keep calling it heart failure, but we both know that's a load of bullcrap." He took the broken GPS locator out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands, still keeping his voice light. Just shooting the breeze. "What do you think is going on?"
Dean had found a stump to sit on, mirroring Jack's slumped posture. "I have my theories. What do you think it is? Could be we think the same thing."
"Yeah, I kinda doubt it."
They were at a standstill again, neither willing to reveal their hand. Jack couldn't, really, because anything he could say would be classified. And the boy, well… He genuinely seemed to believe that Jack would find his story crazy. But it was obvious that Dean was telling the truth-he wasn't just a stupid kid out screwing around. He had come prepared for something, that was sure, and he wasn’t backing down. And so they just sat here, staring at each other.
Dean tilted his chin toward the device Jack was fiddling with. "Whatcha got there?"
Jack tipped it forward so Dean could see the black screen. "Little GPS thingy. Quit working on me right as I got here. Just blew a raspberry at me and gave up the ghost."
"Oh, yeah?" The young man inclined his head, eyes bright with interest. "Same thing happened to my um…my Walkman."
"Huh."
"You want me to take a look at it? I'm pretty good with electronics."
He held out a hand, and Jack eyed it dubiously. "I dunno, kid. It's probably just me. These things don't like me."
"That's because you're old, old guy." Dean sat back with a cheeky grin, and Jack smirked at him. Yeah, this nickname was never going to go away, was it? He guessed he sort of deserved it, though.
Dean sat up straight suddenly, at attention, head turned away as he gazed off into the trees. "You feel that?"
Jack looked up, focusing on his senses. The air felt different, all of sudden. Heavy. Colder than it had been. It felt darker, too, though the light had not diminished, still filtering through the leaves without a cloud above to dim it. It was as if a storm front had suddenly rolled in, but without the storm.
"Yeah, I feel that." He rose to his feet, slowly, depositing the GPS back in his pocket.
Dean paced the small clearing in a tight circle, head up, eyes flitting here and there. It was the stride of a hunter, wary, alert. Silent, too. So the kid could walk quietly in the forest, when he wanted to. He turned sharply to Jack, face tight with alarm. "Something's coming. You gotta get away from here!"
X
Jack's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, but he made no move to do as Dean asked. "You wanna enlighten me on this, kid?" he drawled, completely without urgency.
Shit. Dean growled in frustration and turned away, drawing his Colt and holding it steady, pointing toward where the sense of supernatural malevolence was the strongest. Not that it would probably do any good at all, unless it was actually a physical presence, which was damn unlikely. Not with this pattern of killing.
The shotgun. Where was the shotgun?
Dean whirled toward the area where he'd dropped the gun-too far away. And in that moment of inattention, something slammed into his left side, lifting him up and propelling him across the clearing with terrifying speed. He crashed full-on into a broad tree trunk, cracking his head against a hard, raised knot, and all the greenery around him started to turn gray.
No. No! He had to stay conscious, had to save Jack. He heard the sharp report of a handgun-Jack was shooting at something. It wouldn’t do any good. Dean grunted and pushed back the clinging shroud of unconsciousness, promising rest, so easy and sweetly dark. "Jack!"
He forced his eyes open, felt himself still pinned to the huge, rough trunk, spread-eagled, the Colt fallen from his nerveless fingers. Through a whirling mist of green and gray he caught a blurry glimpse of Jack, face twisted in bewilderment and concern, coming toward him with his hand outstretched.
"The…gun," he gasped out around the enormous weight on his chest, on his body, on everything. "The shotgun. Get the shotgun!"
There were icy fingers on his face, pulling him around, forcing him to look. A swirling mass of shadow and cold, darkness complete and total, broken only by shards of ice. In the ice and darkness, a face, a face made of shattered black glass, whitened with frost, a gaping maw open to swallow him down.
Come, little one. Come and rest. Come and feel no pain, no fear, no loneliness. There is only sweet peace here. Come and taste it. Come, come rest.
Heavy malaise gripped Dean's limbs, dragging him down. He gasped, fighting both the pain in his head and the compelling pull of frosty darkness. Despite the voice's promise of rest and peace, he felt only terror, cold and absolute. This is what those kids felt right before they died, those poor people, they never stood a chance…. God, he'd been such an idiot, thinking he could handle this by himself. He was so stupid, he deserved to die. His could see the disappointment on his dad's face, heavy with disapproval, that little frown and the lowered eyebrows…
BLAM!
The blast of the shotgun filled the world, white and harsh and close, too close. Dean choked on a gasp, feeling the spray of ricocheting salt on his leg, and then the terrible pressure on his body was gone and he thudded to the forest floor, losing his breath once again. Again everything started going gray, but the cold and the darkness was gone, vanished, dismissed. The supernatural presence was gone, though he knew it wasn't destroyed.
Dean flopped over on his back and stared up at the leaves and light, just trying to breathe, watching his vision blur in and out at the edges, There were too many of everything, it seemed like, too many leaves, edges melting together, too many tree branches up there, and then two Jacks bending over him, floating in and out of each other. He blinked and laughed breathlessly. "Dude… When did the other old guy get here?"
Hands on his shoulders, just two of them, though it felt like there ought to be a bunch more. "Hey, kid. It's just me. Can you stand?"
Dean flapped a hand in easy agreement. "Hell, yeah, man, I can do anything. I'm Dean Winchester, doncha know."
Jack chuckled gently. "No, I didn't know that. But right now I just need you to stand up. C'mon kid, I'm not as young as I used to be, and it's been awhile since I packed a buddy out of the jungle."
"Dude, you are freakin' Rambo."
"Yup, that's me," Jack said with a sort of indulgence. Then his voice became hard, commanding. "Now, on your feet, soldier!"
Dean could only respond to that tone in one way, and that was instant and total obedience. He found himself on his feet without quite knowing how he'd gotten there, and then he was swaying, the whole world rocking like a ship. Jack grabbed his arm yet again, and then something happened, and Dean was draped over his shoulder like a friggin' little kid.
"Hey, hey, put me down," he protested, but his voice was weak and ineffectual even to his own ears.
"Yeah, not gonna happen," came Jack's voice from somewhere above. "Just relax, kid. I gotcha."
This time Dean just let the darkness take him. It was less embarrassing that way.
Part 5
And now, the further adventures of JACKNDEAN! Or Kid and Old Guy, maybe.
Fandom: Supernatural/Stargate Xover!
Title: Corner of Your Eye
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Dean Winchester
Category: Action/Adventure, and now Hurt/Comfort, looks like
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: Pilot for SPN, up to Season 9 for SG-1
Summary: Jack O'Neill is not very good at being retired. Dean Winchester is not very good at staying out of trouble. And there's something lurking in these here woods….
Word Count: 1575 for this part
Disclaimer: As soon as I own them, you'll know. Oh yes, yes, the day is coming.
Complete chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
The story is also available in one document on my website: Corner of Your Eye
4
The kid just stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide and uncertain-they were green, Jack noticed, a little amused at his own inanity. It was as if no one had ever asked for his opinion before, as if no one ever listened to what he had to say, just ran roughshod over him and did what they wanted. Well, and maybe it was true-that kind of snide, sarcastic mouth was usually a defense mechanism. Jack understood that very, very well.
"No really," he said, uncrossing his arms, letting his hands spread open in a very Daniel-like gesture of friendliness and listening. "If you want me to do what you want, leave and let you handle this thing on your own, you're gonna have to prove to my satisfaction that your theory is the right one. And I gotta tell ya, you're gonna have to be pretty damn convincing."
The young man fidgeted, looked away, ran a hand through his short hair. "You won't believe me," he mumbled.
Jack blew out a breath in frustration and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Okay, let's start over." He caught the kid's eyes. "Hi, I'm Jack. What's your name?"
A brief smile flitted over the full lips, and he met Jack's gaze more fully. "I'm Dean. Nice to meet you."
"Great. Dean. Welcome to Nowheresville, Minnesota. Where ya from?"
"Oh, around." And the fidgeting was back.
"Oh, yeah? I hear it's nice there."
Again the little smile, nervous, hesitant. "Beautiful girls, too."
Jack found a strangely bent tree and leaned against it, almost sitting, casual and relaxed. "So, Dean. You heard about something strange going on in these woods? People dying. No good reason as far as I can tell. They keep calling it heart failure, but we both know that's a load of bullcrap." He took the broken GPS locator out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands, still keeping his voice light. Just shooting the breeze. "What do you think is going on?"
Dean had found a stump to sit on, mirroring Jack's slumped posture. "I have my theories. What do you think it is? Could be we think the same thing."
"Yeah, I kinda doubt it."
They were at a standstill again, neither willing to reveal their hand. Jack couldn't, really, because anything he could say would be classified. And the boy, well… He genuinely seemed to believe that Jack would find his story crazy. But it was obvious that Dean was telling the truth-he wasn't just a stupid kid out screwing around. He had come prepared for something, that was sure, and he wasn’t backing down. And so they just sat here, staring at each other.
Dean tilted his chin toward the device Jack was fiddling with. "Whatcha got there?"
Jack tipped it forward so Dean could see the black screen. "Little GPS thingy. Quit working on me right as I got here. Just blew a raspberry at me and gave up the ghost."
"Oh, yeah?" The young man inclined his head, eyes bright with interest. "Same thing happened to my um…my Walkman."
"Huh."
"You want me to take a look at it? I'm pretty good with electronics."
He held out a hand, and Jack eyed it dubiously. "I dunno, kid. It's probably just me. These things don't like me."
"That's because you're old, old guy." Dean sat back with a cheeky grin, and Jack smirked at him. Yeah, this nickname was never going to go away, was it? He guessed he sort of deserved it, though.
Dean sat up straight suddenly, at attention, head turned away as he gazed off into the trees. "You feel that?"
Jack looked up, focusing on his senses. The air felt different, all of sudden. Heavy. Colder than it had been. It felt darker, too, though the light had not diminished, still filtering through the leaves without a cloud above to dim it. It was as if a storm front had suddenly rolled in, but without the storm.
"Yeah, I feel that." He rose to his feet, slowly, depositing the GPS back in his pocket.
Dean paced the small clearing in a tight circle, head up, eyes flitting here and there. It was the stride of a hunter, wary, alert. Silent, too. So the kid could walk quietly in the forest, when he wanted to. He turned sharply to Jack, face tight with alarm. "Something's coming. You gotta get away from here!"
X
Jack's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, but he made no move to do as Dean asked. "You wanna enlighten me on this, kid?" he drawled, completely without urgency.
Shit. Dean growled in frustration and turned away, drawing his Colt and holding it steady, pointing toward where the sense of supernatural malevolence was the strongest. Not that it would probably do any good at all, unless it was actually a physical presence, which was damn unlikely. Not with this pattern of killing.
The shotgun. Where was the shotgun?
Dean whirled toward the area where he'd dropped the gun-too far away. And in that moment of inattention, something slammed into his left side, lifting him up and propelling him across the clearing with terrifying speed. He crashed full-on into a broad tree trunk, cracking his head against a hard, raised knot, and all the greenery around him started to turn gray.
No. No! He had to stay conscious, had to save Jack. He heard the sharp report of a handgun-Jack was shooting at something. It wouldn’t do any good. Dean grunted and pushed back the clinging shroud of unconsciousness, promising rest, so easy and sweetly dark. "Jack!"
He forced his eyes open, felt himself still pinned to the huge, rough trunk, spread-eagled, the Colt fallen from his nerveless fingers. Through a whirling mist of green and gray he caught a blurry glimpse of Jack, face twisted in bewilderment and concern, coming toward him with his hand outstretched.
"The…gun," he gasped out around the enormous weight on his chest, on his body, on everything. "The shotgun. Get the shotgun!"
There were icy fingers on his face, pulling him around, forcing him to look. A swirling mass of shadow and cold, darkness complete and total, broken only by shards of ice. In the ice and darkness, a face, a face made of shattered black glass, whitened with frost, a gaping maw open to swallow him down.
Come, little one. Come and rest. Come and feel no pain, no fear, no loneliness. There is only sweet peace here. Come and taste it. Come, come rest.
Heavy malaise gripped Dean's limbs, dragging him down. He gasped, fighting both the pain in his head and the compelling pull of frosty darkness. Despite the voice's promise of rest and peace, he felt only terror, cold and absolute. This is what those kids felt right before they died, those poor people, they never stood a chance…. God, he'd been such an idiot, thinking he could handle this by himself. He was so stupid, he deserved to die. His could see the disappointment on his dad's face, heavy with disapproval, that little frown and the lowered eyebrows…
BLAM!
The blast of the shotgun filled the world, white and harsh and close, too close. Dean choked on a gasp, feeling the spray of ricocheting salt on his leg, and then the terrible pressure on his body was gone and he thudded to the forest floor, losing his breath once again. Again everything started going gray, but the cold and the darkness was gone, vanished, dismissed. The supernatural presence was gone, though he knew it wasn't destroyed.
Dean flopped over on his back and stared up at the leaves and light, just trying to breathe, watching his vision blur in and out at the edges, There were too many of everything, it seemed like, too many leaves, edges melting together, too many tree branches up there, and then two Jacks bending over him, floating in and out of each other. He blinked and laughed breathlessly. "Dude… When did the other old guy get here?"
Hands on his shoulders, just two of them, though it felt like there ought to be a bunch more. "Hey, kid. It's just me. Can you stand?"
Dean flapped a hand in easy agreement. "Hell, yeah, man, I can do anything. I'm Dean Winchester, doncha know."
Jack chuckled gently. "No, I didn't know that. But right now I just need you to stand up. C'mon kid, I'm not as young as I used to be, and it's been awhile since I packed a buddy out of the jungle."
"Dude, you are freakin' Rambo."
"Yup, that's me," Jack said with a sort of indulgence. Then his voice became hard, commanding. "Now, on your feet, soldier!"
Dean could only respond to that tone in one way, and that was instant and total obedience. He found himself on his feet without quite knowing how he'd gotten there, and then he was swaying, the whole world rocking like a ship. Jack grabbed his arm yet again, and then something happened, and Dean was draped over his shoulder like a friggin' little kid.
"Hey, hey, put me down," he protested, but his voice was weak and ineffectual even to his own ears.
"Yeah, not gonna happen," came Jack's voice from somewhere above. "Just relax, kid. I gotcha."
This time Dean just let the darkness take him. It was less embarrassing that way.
Part 5