The Freakiest Show: Prologue
Seriously. I start writing fic. Then I commit myself to writing MORE fic. Then I start writing more, completely-and-totally unrelated fic.
But, I promise that everything I start I'll finish, so don't worry too much. [/sarcasm]
So have some fic!
Title: The Freakiest Show: Prologue
Author:
misplacedmarble
Fandom: Supernatural/Life On Mars
Characters/Pairing: Sam W, Gene
Word Count: 605
Rating: PG
Summary: Time gets messed up once? More than likely it’ll happen again.
Author's Notes: I’m kinda in love with the premise of this fic, so I can guarantee that there’ll be fairly regular updates (let the rotten tomato throwing commence!). I anticipate that most parts will be longer than this - after all, it’s only the prologue. :-)
Cross Posted:
misplacedmarble,
lifein1973,
sn_fic,
crossoverfic
It’s The Freakiest Show: Prologue
Sam Winchester floated reluctantly back to consciousness with a drawn-out groan of pain; not quite feeling brave enough to open his eyes, he used the other four senses available to him to assess the situation.
Ok, first up, his tongue felt like someone had sneakily replaced it with the decaying, mouldy corpse of a small rodent while he was out for the count. However, this wasn't all bad, as it nicely complimented his parched mouth and dry throat.
Then…Let’s see - he couldn’t actually smell anything, so better skip that - ah, now, his hands seemed to be working perfectly, clenched as they were on his thighs. At least he could feel all ten fingers and nothing seemed broken. He lifted up his right hand and gingerly felt the side of his head, promptly wincing in pain as a large bruise, just above his right ear, was lightly brushed. He dimly realised that he must have hit the window; why the glass hadn’t smashed, Sam couldn’t say, but he thought he should be grateful for it anyway.
Ok. So. Last one, then: hearing. He listened intently, nerves strung out tautly until he heard a faint wheezing sound. Sam relaxed. Obviously, Dean was alive, if maybe not totally in one piece, so he felt it safe to open his eyes.
Then promptly closed them again, because what he saw pretty much defied all the laws of- Well. Everything.
The car was sitting, seemingly undamaged (although it was hard to tell from inside it, and with only the quickest of glimpses), parked squarely in the middle of an alley, red brick walls rising up on three sides with the finality of a tomb.
But, Sam knew, there was no way this could be anywhere near where they’d crashed.
* * *
“Dean,” Sam began sleepily, looking across to the driver’s seat where his brother was staring at the highway with heavily drooping eyelids, “Look, don’t you think we should stop for the night? There’s gotta be a Motel 6 around here somewhere.”
“No, it’s fine, Sammy,” Dean yawned, “S’only forty more miles ‘til Leavenworth - I can make it in an hour, tops.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but found that whatever it was had slipped away, just as he himself slipped into the land of (peaceful) dreams.
“Shit!” This was the next thing Sam heard, Dean swearing in panic and staring out of the windshield with wide-eyed horror, and everything after that was a blur of honking horns and squealing tyres; a bright flash of headlights illuminating the world before the car, along with the young men in it, tumbled into darkness.
* * *
Saying that Sam was confused would be the understatement of the year - if someone had moved the car, why wouldn’t they have taken them to hospital? Or at least called an ambulance? Or, if the plan had been theft, why weren’t they waking up in a ditch somewhere?
As his mind sped into overdrive, he began to experience that sinking feeling again; the one he always got when he saw a particularly mystifying article in the paper, or someone who just wasn’t quite right.
Except this time, as well as lying in the pit of his stomach, it was all around him.
Feeling some unexplainable sort of dread seize up inside of him, he turned to look at his brother, maybe more to reassure himself about his continued survival than anything else.
He then proceeded to have his second almost-heart-attack in ten minutes.
For whoever the man sitting in the seat next to him was -
It certainly wasn’t Dean Winchester.
But, I promise that everything I start I'll finish, so don't worry too much. [/sarcasm]
So have some fic!
Title: The Freakiest Show: Prologue
Author:
misplacedmarble
Fandom: Supernatural/Life On Mars
Characters/Pairing: Sam W, Gene
Word Count: 605
Rating: PG
Summary: Time gets messed up once? More than likely it’ll happen again.
Author's Notes: I’m kinda in love with the premise of this fic, so I can guarantee that there’ll be fairly regular updates (let the rotten tomato throwing commence!). I anticipate that most parts will be longer than this - after all, it’s only the prologue. :-)
Cross Posted:
misplacedmarble,
lifein1973,
sn_fic,
crossoverfic
It’s The Freakiest Show: Prologue
Sam Winchester floated reluctantly back to consciousness with a drawn-out groan of pain; not quite feeling brave enough to open his eyes, he used the other four senses available to him to assess the situation.
Ok, first up, his tongue felt like someone had sneakily replaced it with the decaying, mouldy corpse of a small rodent while he was out for the count. However, this wasn't all bad, as it nicely complimented his parched mouth and dry throat.
Then…Let’s see - he couldn’t actually smell anything, so better skip that - ah, now, his hands seemed to be working perfectly, clenched as they were on his thighs. At least he could feel all ten fingers and nothing seemed broken. He lifted up his right hand and gingerly felt the side of his head, promptly wincing in pain as a large bruise, just above his right ear, was lightly brushed. He dimly realised that he must have hit the window; why the glass hadn’t smashed, Sam couldn’t say, but he thought he should be grateful for it anyway.
Ok. So. Last one, then: hearing. He listened intently, nerves strung out tautly until he heard a faint wheezing sound. Sam relaxed. Obviously, Dean was alive, if maybe not totally in one piece, so he felt it safe to open his eyes.
Then promptly closed them again, because what he saw pretty much defied all the laws of- Well. Everything.
The car was sitting, seemingly undamaged (although it was hard to tell from inside it, and with only the quickest of glimpses), parked squarely in the middle of an alley, red brick walls rising up on three sides with the finality of a tomb.
But, Sam knew, there was no way this could be anywhere near where they’d crashed.
* * *
“Dean,” Sam began sleepily, looking across to the driver’s seat where his brother was staring at the highway with heavily drooping eyelids, “Look, don’t you think we should stop for the night? There’s gotta be a Motel 6 around here somewhere.”
“No, it’s fine, Sammy,” Dean yawned, “S’only forty more miles ‘til Leavenworth - I can make it in an hour, tops.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but found that whatever it was had slipped away, just as he himself slipped into the land of (peaceful) dreams.
“Shit!” This was the next thing Sam heard, Dean swearing in panic and staring out of the windshield with wide-eyed horror, and everything after that was a blur of honking horns and squealing tyres; a bright flash of headlights illuminating the world before the car, along with the young men in it, tumbled into darkness.
* * *
Saying that Sam was confused would be the understatement of the year - if someone had moved the car, why wouldn’t they have taken them to hospital? Or at least called an ambulance? Or, if the plan had been theft, why weren’t they waking up in a ditch somewhere?
As his mind sped into overdrive, he began to experience that sinking feeling again; the one he always got when he saw a particularly mystifying article in the paper, or someone who just wasn’t quite right.
Except this time, as well as lying in the pit of his stomach, it was all around him.
Feeling some unexplainable sort of dread seize up inside of him, he turned to look at his brother, maybe more to reassure himself about his continued survival than anything else.
He then proceeded to have his second almost-heart-attack in ten minutes.
For whoever the man sitting in the seat next to him was -
It certainly wasn’t Dean Winchester.