PCH 101: Flashback
Title: Pacific Coast Highway 101
Chapter: Flashback
Author: neensz
Fandom(s): Supernatural/DCU (IDEK)
Pairing(s): OMC/OMC, eventual Dean Winchester/Tim Drake (Seriously, I have no clue where the hell this came from)
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence
Word count: ~800
Backstory/Timeline: SPN goes AU during 701: Meet the New Boss. Cas sends all the souls back to purgatory, even the leviathans, and things calm down back to ‘normal’ for the Winchesters. Cas doesn't die, Bobby doesn't die, the whole thing with Dick Roman never happened, and the Impala never went away. DCU… well, it’s kinda cobbled together, so just assume the whole thing’s AU and don’t hate on me--I'm new to this swimmin' pool.
Disclaimer: Sadly, neither SPN nor the DC Universe belong to me. Credit to entanglednow's Weekly World News series for its brilliantly evocative Mermaid!Sam which inspired at least half of this fic, and to rageprufrock and her rape dogs because that is a trope I’ve decided needs to be pan-fandom
A/N: I've replaced the first chapter, which used to be what was in this post (no, you're not losing it) with the flashback SPN episodes usually start with, so even though none of the main characters are in this part, I promise it really is a SPN/DCU crossover! Chapter 1 linked at the bottom.
Summary: Something's drowning people in the Columbia River, and the Winchesters tackle the case while trying to figure out how to keep going once they've saved the world. And Tim Drake probably couldn't take an actual vacation even if someone had a gun to his head.
September 2010:
First Mate Rory Johansson stared disbelievingly through the fog and spray of the grey dawn. Had he just? No, it couldn’t be. A wave crested and broke, and the fog parted just enough for Rory to see clearly-there was a man overboard.
Rory reached for the claxon to sound the alarm, but the man turned and rose out of the water somehow until his entire torso was out of the waves, and then he turned to face Rory. The man’s eyes, the same painful grey-green of the Pacific on a sunny day when land was out of sight, skewered him in place when they caught his own. Sand-colored hair was slicked flat to his skull by the water, and an incongruous tuxedo jacket moved with the current surrounding him, over a white dress shirt buttoned all the way to his throat and a goddamned bowtie that looked perfect even after being in the Columbia river. Rory started rationalizing the man’s presence in the water-maybe he’d fallen off one of the cruise ships, maybe he was a really freaking good swimmer-when the man opened his mouth so wide it almost looked like he’d unhinged his jaw, and shrieked.
The man was on the other side of double paned, reinforced Plexiglas, and at least 6 fathoms away from the boat to boot, but the sound was as loud, no, louder than if he was screaming right into Rory’s ear. Rory slapped his hands over his ears, but that didn’t do anything to stop the sound. It felt like it was crawling inside his bones and boiling the marrow, and the longer it went the more Rory wanted to shoot himself in the ear just to make it stop. Rory collapsed down on the console in front of him, his elbow hitting the toggle for the claxon with on the way down.
After what felt like an eternity, the screaming stopped, and the silence rang in his ears louder than the shriek had done. Rory looked up from where he’d been knocking his head on the console to distract himself from the pain, eyes darting out to where the man had been floating in the water-but nothing was there.
Rory looked around frantically, trying to spot the man in the water, and belatedly realized he was surrounded by his captain and crew, all of them watching him with concern and alarm. Rory pulled his hands from his ears, watching them mouth things at him in confusion before he realized he couldn’t hear anything-nothing at all, except for the rushing of his own blood in his veins. His captain grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking it a little, and Rory swiped at the itch at the bolt of his jaw-his fingers came back bright with blood. The damned scream must have busted his eardrums.
October 2010
Rory nursed his coffee at the table outside the coffeeshop on Commercial street, taking advantage of the clear day to soak up a little vitamin D, and watched the busker set up on the steps to the old concert hall as he drew a decent sized crowd. The guy was good. Extremely good. He also looked vaguely familiar-Rory was almost positive he must have gone to high school with the guy. His grey-green eyes kept meeting Rory’s over the heads of his audience, and the expression in them, along with the half-smiling quirk of his mouth, made Rory smile back helplessly.
The guy finished his song, and let his fiddle drop down to his side with a grin for the crowd as he swept a hand through sandy hair to get it out of his eyes, where it’d fallen during a particularly vigorous sawing of his bow. Not that Rory had been watching all that closely. The guy said something to the crowd, who groaned good-naturedly but started dispersing after a prolonged jingle that must have been a veritable waterfall of change into the guy’s hat.
Rory looked away as the guy packed up his things, not wanting to be caught staring, and so was taken by surprise when the guy plopped into the seat across from him a few minutes later, leaning his violin case carefully against the exterior wall of the building. “Hi,” he grinned across the table at Rory, obviously not someone afflicted with a great deal of shyness, “I’m Nick. You looked familiar-and if I don’t know you, I’d really like to change that.” Rory couldn’t help but snort at the line, and ended up mopping the coffee he’d snorted out of his nose and all over the table with a handful of napkins from the dispenser, and the ice was broken.
And the rest, as they say, was history.
May 11, 2012 -->
Chapter: Flashback
Author: neensz
Fandom(s): Supernatural/DCU (IDEK)
Pairing(s): OMC/OMC, eventual Dean Winchester/Tim Drake (Seriously, I have no clue where the hell this came from)
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence
Word count: ~800
Backstory/Timeline: SPN goes AU during 701: Meet the New Boss. Cas sends all the souls back to purgatory, even the leviathans, and things calm down back to ‘normal’ for the Winchesters. Cas doesn't die, Bobby doesn't die, the whole thing with Dick Roman never happened, and the Impala never went away. DCU… well, it’s kinda cobbled together, so just assume the whole thing’s AU and don’t hate on me--I'm new to this swimmin' pool.
Disclaimer: Sadly, neither SPN nor the DC Universe belong to me. Credit to entanglednow's Weekly World News series for its brilliantly evocative Mermaid!Sam which inspired at least half of this fic, and to rageprufrock and her rape dogs because that is a trope I’ve decided needs to be pan-fandom
A/N: I've replaced the first chapter, which used to be what was in this post (no, you're not losing it) with the flashback SPN episodes usually start with, so even though none of the main characters are in this part, I promise it really is a SPN/DCU crossover! Chapter 1 linked at the bottom.
Summary: Something's drowning people in the Columbia River, and the Winchesters tackle the case while trying to figure out how to keep going once they've saved the world. And Tim Drake probably couldn't take an actual vacation even if someone had a gun to his head.
September 2010:
First Mate Rory Johansson stared disbelievingly through the fog and spray of the grey dawn. Had he just? No, it couldn’t be. A wave crested and broke, and the fog parted just enough for Rory to see clearly-there was a man overboard.
Rory reached for the claxon to sound the alarm, but the man turned and rose out of the water somehow until his entire torso was out of the waves, and then he turned to face Rory. The man’s eyes, the same painful grey-green of the Pacific on a sunny day when land was out of sight, skewered him in place when they caught his own. Sand-colored hair was slicked flat to his skull by the water, and an incongruous tuxedo jacket moved with the current surrounding him, over a white dress shirt buttoned all the way to his throat and a goddamned bowtie that looked perfect even after being in the Columbia river. Rory started rationalizing the man’s presence in the water-maybe he’d fallen off one of the cruise ships, maybe he was a really freaking good swimmer-when the man opened his mouth so wide it almost looked like he’d unhinged his jaw, and shrieked.
The man was on the other side of double paned, reinforced Plexiglas, and at least 6 fathoms away from the boat to boot, but the sound was as loud, no, louder than if he was screaming right into Rory’s ear. Rory slapped his hands over his ears, but that didn’t do anything to stop the sound. It felt like it was crawling inside his bones and boiling the marrow, and the longer it went the more Rory wanted to shoot himself in the ear just to make it stop. Rory collapsed down on the console in front of him, his elbow hitting the toggle for the claxon with on the way down.
After what felt like an eternity, the screaming stopped, and the silence rang in his ears louder than the shriek had done. Rory looked up from where he’d been knocking his head on the console to distract himself from the pain, eyes darting out to where the man had been floating in the water-but nothing was there.
Rory looked around frantically, trying to spot the man in the water, and belatedly realized he was surrounded by his captain and crew, all of them watching him with concern and alarm. Rory pulled his hands from his ears, watching them mouth things at him in confusion before he realized he couldn’t hear anything-nothing at all, except for the rushing of his own blood in his veins. His captain grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking it a little, and Rory swiped at the itch at the bolt of his jaw-his fingers came back bright with blood. The damned scream must have busted his eardrums.
October 2010
Rory nursed his coffee at the table outside the coffeeshop on Commercial street, taking advantage of the clear day to soak up a little vitamin D, and watched the busker set up on the steps to the old concert hall as he drew a decent sized crowd. The guy was good. Extremely good. He also looked vaguely familiar-Rory was almost positive he must have gone to high school with the guy. His grey-green eyes kept meeting Rory’s over the heads of his audience, and the expression in them, along with the half-smiling quirk of his mouth, made Rory smile back helplessly.
The guy finished his song, and let his fiddle drop down to his side with a grin for the crowd as he swept a hand through sandy hair to get it out of his eyes, where it’d fallen during a particularly vigorous sawing of his bow. Not that Rory had been watching all that closely. The guy said something to the crowd, who groaned good-naturedly but started dispersing after a prolonged jingle that must have been a veritable waterfall of change into the guy’s hat.
Rory looked away as the guy packed up his things, not wanting to be caught staring, and so was taken by surprise when the guy plopped into the seat across from him a few minutes later, leaning his violin case carefully against the exterior wall of the building. “Hi,” he grinned across the table at Rory, obviously not someone afflicted with a great deal of shyness, “I’m Nick. You looked familiar-and if I don’t know you, I’d really like to change that.” Rory couldn’t help but snort at the line, and ended up mopping the coffee he’d snorted out of his nose and all over the table with a handful of napkins from the dispenser, and the ice was broken.
And the rest, as they say, was history.
May 11, 2012 -->