Ficlet: Routine Stop (Supernatural/Dead Like Me crossover)
Oh, fuck me, I should be studying right now. But of course, my fic only likes to write itself when I have exams.
Also (or will eventually be) posted in sn_crossovers, crossoverfic, and supernaturalfic
Title: Routine Stop
Author: whisp
Summary: Because if Dean's luck isn't already bad enough.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue.
Notes: What can I say? I'm a crossover junkie. I want to write more so badly, but I've already got way too much on my plate. In case anyone's wondering, yes I am still working on the SPN/HL crossover but it probably won't see much progress until at least the winter break.
Dead Like Me's a (cancelled) cable tv show that ran for two seasons. The dvds came out recently and a friend got me hooked. If you want more info about the show, you can try The official site, IMDB or the SciFi channel page
Edited: Mar 8/08 with minor wording changes.
As far as Dean's concerned, the only thing good about driving at one-o-fucking clock in the morning is that there is no traffic whatsoever. So when bright lights start flashing in the Impala's rearview mirror, Dean lets out a string of swears before flicking on his turn signal and pulling over.
The woman who steps out of the police car looks to be in her early-30s. Dean is tempted to try charming his way out of a ticket, but he hasn't lasted this long in the business without learning a thing or two about reading people. Even in the near-black he can see the dark scowl and severe ponytail that scream no nonsense.
So instead, he pops open the glove box and roots around it quickly, trying to pull out the right documents before the cop sees the pile of fake IDs threatening to spill out.
She knocks loudly on his window, "License and registration please."
Plastering on his best non-sleazy smile, Dean rolls down the window and asks, "Anything wrong, Officer -" he squints at her nametag, "-Roxy?"
"Just a routine stop, Sir. There's nothing to be alarmed about."
Dean raises an eyebrow, "You always patrol in the middle of nowhere?"
She ignores him, instead flipping open her notebook. "Sir, have you had anything to drink tonight?"
"Sadly, no."
"And where is your destination this evening?"
And because he never listens to his own advice, Dean smirks, "Why, are you offering to escort me?"
She rolls her eyes but otherwise continues in a bored voice. "Just answer the question, Sir."
"California."
Nodding, she scribbles something in her notebook, then pulls out her flashlight to peer closely at his license and registration. Then she flips to an earlier page, comparing his license against a post-it note. After a minute, she lean in closer to the door and turns the flashlight to examine Dean's face. "And you are Dean Winchester?"
"If that's what it says on my license, then absolutely." Dean nods with mock conviction.
"Smartass" The cop mutters under her breath. She checks her watch with a quick glance then holds out his cards. As Dean's hand closes over them, she brushes her fingers lightly over his. He jerks bewildered, but she just smiles tightly. "You have a nice night Mr. Winchester."
Muttering about cops and random power trips, Dean shifts back into drive and pulls out smoothly. He figures he's now probably about 2 hours outside of the closest town he passed, so he cranks up the stereo and keeps going instead of turning back around.
Five minutes down the road, he's already pushed the incident out of his mind and has settled in for the long drive.
This time of night, it's nearly pitch black outside with just a sliver of moon to guide him. Even on high, his headlights only cut so far ahead. So the only warning he gets is a quick flash of eyes before a dark shape jumps onto the road. Instinct takes over and he jerks the car over hard to swerve around it, but the wheels lock and slide. He barely has time to gasp before the world turns black.
-
Dean stands on the side of the road, mourning the crumpled wreck of his Impala. He marvels at the fact that he got out unscathed, when he hears a voice call out his name from behind him. Turning around, he sees a middle aged man holding a worn leather notebook.
The man nods his head in greeting.
"Welcome to the club, kid."
Also (or will eventually be) posted in sn_crossovers, crossoverfic, and supernaturalfic
Title: Routine Stop
Author: whisp
Summary: Because if Dean's luck isn't already bad enough.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue.
Notes: What can I say? I'm a crossover junkie. I want to write more so badly, but I've already got way too much on my plate. In case anyone's wondering, yes I am still working on the SPN/HL crossover but it probably won't see much progress until at least the winter break.
Dead Like Me's a (cancelled) cable tv show that ran for two seasons. The dvds came out recently and a friend got me hooked. If you want more info about the show, you can try The official site, IMDB or the SciFi channel page
Edited: Mar 8/08 with minor wording changes.
As far as Dean's concerned, the only thing good about driving at one-o-fucking clock in the morning is that there is no traffic whatsoever. So when bright lights start flashing in the Impala's rearview mirror, Dean lets out a string of swears before flicking on his turn signal and pulling over.
The woman who steps out of the police car looks to be in her early-30s. Dean is tempted to try charming his way out of a ticket, but he hasn't lasted this long in the business without learning a thing or two about reading people. Even in the near-black he can see the dark scowl and severe ponytail that scream no nonsense.
So instead, he pops open the glove box and roots around it quickly, trying to pull out the right documents before the cop sees the pile of fake IDs threatening to spill out.
She knocks loudly on his window, "License and registration please."
Plastering on his best non-sleazy smile, Dean rolls down the window and asks, "Anything wrong, Officer -" he squints at her nametag, "-Roxy?"
"Just a routine stop, Sir. There's nothing to be alarmed about."
Dean raises an eyebrow, "You always patrol in the middle of nowhere?"
She ignores him, instead flipping open her notebook. "Sir, have you had anything to drink tonight?"
"Sadly, no."
"And where is your destination this evening?"
And because he never listens to his own advice, Dean smirks, "Why, are you offering to escort me?"
She rolls her eyes but otherwise continues in a bored voice. "Just answer the question, Sir."
"California."
Nodding, she scribbles something in her notebook, then pulls out her flashlight to peer closely at his license and registration. Then she flips to an earlier page, comparing his license against a post-it note. After a minute, she lean in closer to the door and turns the flashlight to examine Dean's face. "And you are Dean Winchester?"
"If that's what it says on my license, then absolutely." Dean nods with mock conviction.
"Smartass" The cop mutters under her breath. She checks her watch with a quick glance then holds out his cards. As Dean's hand closes over them, she brushes her fingers lightly over his. He jerks bewildered, but she just smiles tightly. "You have a nice night Mr. Winchester."
Muttering about cops and random power trips, Dean shifts back into drive and pulls out smoothly. He figures he's now probably about 2 hours outside of the closest town he passed, so he cranks up the stereo and keeps going instead of turning back around.
Five minutes down the road, he's already pushed the incident out of his mind and has settled in for the long drive.
This time of night, it's nearly pitch black outside with just a sliver of moon to guide him. Even on high, his headlights only cut so far ahead. So the only warning he gets is a quick flash of eyes before a dark shape jumps onto the road. Instinct takes over and he jerks the car over hard to swerve around it, but the wheels lock and slide. He barely has time to gasp before the world turns black.
-
Dean stands on the side of the road, mourning the crumpled wreck of his Impala. He marvels at the fact that he got out unscathed, when he hears a voice call out his name from behind him. Turning around, he sees a middle aged man holding a worn leather notebook.
The man nods his head in greeting.
"Welcome to the club, kid."