Fic: The Face of the Crocodile (SPN/Sandman, G, gen)

[vaznetti]

Title: The Face of the Crocodile
Author: Vanzetti (vaznetti)
G, SPN/Sandman crossover, Gen or Bob
Sequel to The recovery of a sick man.
Summary: Death fulfills a promise
c. 1000 words

Comments

[vaznetti]

I love Death too. She's really hard to write, though.

I think John knows when he's outclassed. Well, sometimes he knows.

[embroiderama]

Oh, wow! Yeah, wonderful, wow! Sorry, I'm vaguely incoherent from my love of this story. :)

[vaznetti]

Thank you! I'm so pleased that you liked it.

(I may need to write a sequel, if only to use, "Only the fish are curious" as a title.)

[gryphonrhi]

I'll come back and reread this later for details, but you just made the hairs on my arms and neck stand up. Good Lord. Thanks!

[vaznetti]

That's excellent news! Well, for me, at least; I was worried that I hadn't got enough of the atmosphere in. Thank you!

[gryphonrhi]

I'm torn between, "Leave it to John to notice the breathing and suspect a moirai," and "Leave it to John to pull a gun on Death." What I really love is the way he follows the relayed orders of a ghost on his way out of her house. I hope he didn't leave any fingerprints, though.

[vaznetti]

Fingerprints in the SPN universe are something of a mystery. Sometimes they exist, and sometimes they don't. It's a mystery.

And he doesn't actually pull a gun on Death, you know. He thinks about it, but he doesn't do it. But he totally would.

[cofax7]

I shoudn't read fic at work, but this was G and you and John and Death and oh, yeah. Loved that he spotted her for what she was, well, mostly.

she might be a moirai, but that's just a myth Heh. John, you should know better than to disbelieve myths just because they're myths. I love that he did what he was told.

Go you, with the writing!

[vaznetti]

Tsk, tsk! But thank you for reading and I'm so glad you liked it.

He knows she's something -- and you know, I think there's something about the Endless that keeps people from getting too weirded out by them. Or maybe it's that, whatever they are, they're always around somewhere, so seeing them isn't a surprise.

[minim_calibre]

John snorts, but his response is cut off: the hair prickles on the back of his neck as he recognizes the music and Robert Johnson starts singing, blues walkin' like a man. The road jigs to the left and as he comes around the bend he sees the flashing lights and slows. Two cars halfway into the ditch, highway patrol pulled up behind and an ambulance in front. An officer waves them by. The girl rests her head against the window to look back. "Don't worry," she says. "No one died."

Oh, good chills here. Nice.

[vaznetti]

Thank you! That's kind of the "Oh, shit," moment, I guess.