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writingbyebonioTitle: Leaves, Stones, Water, and Blood
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural (vaguely crossed over with Battlestar Galactica)
Characters: Sam Winchester, mentions of Laura Roslin
Word Count: ~1800 words.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Warnings/Spoilers: Gen. Angst. Crossover. Character study. Plot. RPG-repost. AU after and spoilers through "Heart" (02x17).
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing. … Well, the OC, I guess.
Summary: Sam's desperate to save an important friend who's dying.
Author's Notes: This was originally a solo post forsamw_mrperfect over at dm_rpg, so it's out of context, but I found it intriguing, so I thought I'd share it with you anyway.
Sam started with the yellow pages, and no, he didn't think they'd lead him straight to what he needed, but he hoped they'd at least get him to the places in town where he'd be more likely to find it. The cab dropped him somewhere halfway across the city in a not-quite-slum and from there he strode his way up and down backalley marketplaces and wandered through little hidden villages, passing languages he didn't understand. He stopped in shops and churches and hole-in-the-wall temples, all claiming the presence of spirit, the strength of wisdom, and the power to heal.
Too often, he was wholly disappointed, even after those moments when a piece of real and weighty tradition was set in front of him. So much confusion and falsehood was mixed in with every strand of truth until he wondered how these little enclaves had survived this long, half-dabbling in things they only understood well enough to get themselves hurt. There must have been remnants of protective egregores left by those who really knew the old ways, elsewise half the city would likely be left in rubble and disease.
When he hit Sédro Street, however, he felt it, felt the difference. Something knowing, something strong and old and not-quite-evil but not-quite-good either was there, right there, and he knew it. It hadn't been on his planned route, but plans were for people who knew what they were doing and he hadn't the faintest idea. He was just following a feeling now, one that he knew was tied to his visions, one that had let him find things and suspect things during hunts in ways his brother would never really want to know. He called it a hunch or a lucky guess or some skill built on training and experience, but he knew better and he'd known better since the day that they went home.
He'd tried to tune it out at times, especially now that he knew that he might come to be some kind of threat, some kind of soldier in a war against humanity, but so far that plan had backfired and resulted in an extreme dose of possession, one that still haunted him, waking and sleeping. And now, even more than worry over lurking dangers, he just didn't have time for any deep thinking about the nature of his extended senses and psychic capabilities. So he just kept walking down Sédro until the air got heavy around him and he knew that he was close.
He stopped, turning to look in the store window on his right, the one he'd hardly noticed before. Bits and bobs swung, strung up like offerings or criminals pressed against the dirty glass, and hand-scratched signs proclaimed these as 'charms' and 'yours' for only dollars a piece. The force moving near him, though, wasn't coming from in there, so he just blinked and turned away when he caught the owner's eye. Then things became clear in an instant as he saw the house next door, grunged and falling apart, with a woman rocking on the tiny porch, weaving grasses in the shape of a bowl.
The woman didn't look up as he approached or as he climbed the stairs, though they creaked, and he might have almost thought she was asleep, but he knew better. She wasn't old, though her skin was wizened as proof that she'd worked too long in too much sun when she was young, but there was a way about her that said she could very well be far, far older than she might ever come to look. So he didn't even speak just yet, instead he stood silently, waiting, and hoped to be acknowledged.
After a time, he was.
Her head lifted slowly, taking him in from shoes to shaggy hair. "What have you come for, soldierman?"
"I'm not- …" He shook his head, somehow unwilling to explain. "I need a healer. For a friend."
"What's she need with healin'? … Looks to me like you’re the one whose heart's bleedin' all over everythin'."
Sam glared at her then glanced away when her intensity didn't fade. "Maybe. But maybe you could help with that. … By helping her."
"Dunno, soldierman. Seems not time enough for everythin' you need."
"I haven't even told you what the problem is."
"No matter. I can see you rushin'." She shook her head, fingers working over the bendings of the basket. "Not time enough."
Sam's jaw clenched and he shook his head. "There has to be."
"Does time speak to you then, soldierman?" She was looking down at her flowing fingers, but he felt the weight of her eyes anyway. This wasn't a throwaway question.
"What- … What do you mean?" He knew what she meant, but … come on, was there a sign on his forehead for all of this?
"You know what I mean, boy." She looked up and there was laughter in her eyes, though her expression hadn't changed. "Plain as day, ya know. … But you don't wear 'em proud."
"I don't want them."
"And I don't want these aches in my back from walkin', but I'll keep 'em, 'stead of throwin' away my walkin'."
Sam blinked at her, but backed down with a sigh. "Okay. Fine. But can we talk about my friend, now?"
"Sure. Sure." She nodded sweetly, though he doubted she was sweet at all. "Time talks to her too. … Different, though, 'cause she's different, ain't she?" Her lashes flicked down as if she were resting a moment, then they snapped back open, the brown in her eyes seeming to open down and down endlessly like an open pit. "She's not … from here."
Sam snapped his head back, pulling his eyes away from that hypnotic gaze. "Get out of my head."
"Don't like it? … Then get off my porch."
Sam paused, but then his eyes dropped along with his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I just- …"
"Missouri ain't nothin' to me, boy." The rumble in her tone, or maybe it was something else, flashed like ice against his skin and he shivered. "Don't go makin' enemies when you can be makin' friends."
He breathed, slowly, in and out until he could do it evenly, then he lifted his eyes again, his words unhurried. "I know. I'm sorry. But can you help me?"
She considered him a long before giving her chin a jerk and leaning back in her chair. "What's she need?"
Sam almost heaved a sigh of relief, but he wasn't free and clear just yet. "She has breast cancer." His voice dropped lower then. "And it's killing her."
"What's she been takin'?"
"An herb I don't know - Chamalla or something - and … she had some kind of blood transfusion."
Her eyes felt heavy against his again and he wondered just how much she was gleaning from his mind and how dangerous that might be. She laughed, then, her mouth gaping as a deep chuckle poured out and he suddenly felt like himself at seven when he'd gotten sick and wet his pants in school. For a moment, he seriously thought about running, just turning away and bounding down the stairs, into the street. But then she stopped laughing, her mouth clamping shut in an instant, as if it had never been open.
"I don't want you. And he sure as hell ain't my friend. So don't worry, soldierman … I don't want no war. So, I'll help you … and your friend."
Sam took a deep breath before letting it out a little faster than he should, his mind running a race his heart swore it hadn't signed up for. "Thank you. Really. So what do I need?"
"Burdock root … copper dust … desert water … … … unearthly blood."
"Unearthly blood." He didn't say it as a question, because he thought he knew the answer.
"There are many, even here … but can you find even just one, soldierman?" Her shoulders shifted as if to mock him. "And even if you do, can you ask it? Or must you steal it? And if you steal it, will you live? Will she?" Her eyes bored deep into him, as if seeking to drill holes out the back of his skull and let the waning sunlight stream in. "Seems not time enough to me."
"It's time enough. I will get what you said." His voice was as steady and determined as he was, though there was a nagging bit of him that wasn't quite so sure. "When I do, though, do I need to bring her here? Or will you come to us?"
She tilted her head to the side some, thinking, then nodded, rather respectfully, considering the current power dynamics. "I'll come to you."
Sam nodded, swallowing, pretty damn ready to thank whatever higher powers might be involved in this little miracle, but then he remembered the price. His blood ran cold as he looked into her eyes and saw something more mischievous than he'd care to handle right then. "What's the cost of healing her? And who will pay it?"
She simply shrugged, offering a smile he hadn't seen before. "A favor only. From you, only you."
A chill set in but he didn't flinch. "What's the favor?"
"Dunno yet, soldierman. We'll see."
"I won't kill for you."
"I won't ask you to."
"I won't hurt other humans for you."
"Other humans, hmm? Interestin'. Still … I won't ask you to."
He ignored her take on him and tried to run through all the heinous possibilities so that he could strike them from their deal. Fuck, he thought, was this a deal? He chewed on his teeth for a minute, then shook off his fear and kept going. This needed to be done. It was the only way.
"I won't … give myself over … to demons."
"I won't ask you to."
"I- …"
"Shhh. Dunno what I'll be askin', but it won't be what you think. That's all I'll say now. So … in … or out?"
He was silent for a moment, but he knew his answer well before he opened his mouth. "In."
"Call me then." She reached into the folds of her dress and drew out a card, flicking her wrist his way, and he reached for it, but she held it in her fingers a moment longer. "Five days. That's gotta be time enough, soldierman. Or she'll be gone, and even I can't save her then."
He nodded slowly, swallowing, and pocketed the card when she released it, offering a whispered "thanks" from a dried out throat. Then he climbed down the stairs and headed up the street to find a cab that would carry him back to Laura.
Author:
eboniorchidFandom: Supernatural (vaguely crossed over with Battlestar Galactica)
Characters: Sam Winchester, mentions of Laura Roslin
Word Count: ~1800 words.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Warnings/Spoilers: Gen. Angst. Crossover. Character study. Plot. RPG-repost. AU after and spoilers through "Heart" (02x17).
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing. … Well, the OC, I guess.
Summary: Sam's desperate to save an important friend who's dying.
Author's Notes: This was originally a solo post for
samw_mrperfect over at dm_rpg, so it's out of context, but I found it intriguing, so I thought I'd share it with you anyway.Sam started with the yellow pages, and no, he didn't think they'd lead him straight to what he needed, but he hoped they'd at least get him to the places in town where he'd be more likely to find it. The cab dropped him somewhere halfway across the city in a not-quite-slum and from there he strode his way up and down backalley marketplaces and wandered through little hidden villages, passing languages he didn't understand. He stopped in shops and churches and hole-in-the-wall temples, all claiming the presence of spirit, the strength of wisdom, and the power to heal.
Too often, he was wholly disappointed, even after those moments when a piece of real and weighty tradition was set in front of him. So much confusion and falsehood was mixed in with every strand of truth until he wondered how these little enclaves had survived this long, half-dabbling in things they only understood well enough to get themselves hurt. There must have been remnants of protective egregores left by those who really knew the old ways, elsewise half the city would likely be left in rubble and disease.
When he hit Sédro Street, however, he felt it, felt the difference. Something knowing, something strong and old and not-quite-evil but not-quite-good either was there, right there, and he knew it. It hadn't been on his planned route, but plans were for people who knew what they were doing and he hadn't the faintest idea. He was just following a feeling now, one that he knew was tied to his visions, one that had let him find things and suspect things during hunts in ways his brother would never really want to know. He called it a hunch or a lucky guess or some skill built on training and experience, but he knew better and he'd known better since the day that they went home.
He'd tried to tune it out at times, especially now that he knew that he might come to be some kind of threat, some kind of soldier in a war against humanity, but so far that plan had backfired and resulted in an extreme dose of possession, one that still haunted him, waking and sleeping. And now, even more than worry over lurking dangers, he just didn't have time for any deep thinking about the nature of his extended senses and psychic capabilities. So he just kept walking down Sédro until the air got heavy around him and he knew that he was close.
He stopped, turning to look in the store window on his right, the one he'd hardly noticed before. Bits and bobs swung, strung up like offerings or criminals pressed against the dirty glass, and hand-scratched signs proclaimed these as 'charms' and 'yours' for only dollars a piece. The force moving near him, though, wasn't coming from in there, so he just blinked and turned away when he caught the owner's eye. Then things became clear in an instant as he saw the house next door, grunged and falling apart, with a woman rocking on the tiny porch, weaving grasses in the shape of a bowl.
The woman didn't look up as he approached or as he climbed the stairs, though they creaked, and he might have almost thought she was asleep, but he knew better. She wasn't old, though her skin was wizened as proof that she'd worked too long in too much sun when she was young, but there was a way about her that said she could very well be far, far older than she might ever come to look. So he didn't even speak just yet, instead he stood silently, waiting, and hoped to be acknowledged.
After a time, he was.
Her head lifted slowly, taking him in from shoes to shaggy hair. "What have you come for, soldierman?"
"I'm not- …" He shook his head, somehow unwilling to explain. "I need a healer. For a friend."
"What's she need with healin'? … Looks to me like you’re the one whose heart's bleedin' all over everythin'."
Sam glared at her then glanced away when her intensity didn't fade. "Maybe. But maybe you could help with that. … By helping her."
"Dunno, soldierman. Seems not time enough for everythin' you need."
"I haven't even told you what the problem is."
"No matter. I can see you rushin'." She shook her head, fingers working over the bendings of the basket. "Not time enough."
Sam's jaw clenched and he shook his head. "There has to be."
"Does time speak to you then, soldierman?" She was looking down at her flowing fingers, but he felt the weight of her eyes anyway. This wasn't a throwaway question.
"What- … What do you mean?" He knew what she meant, but … come on, was there a sign on his forehead for all of this?
"You know what I mean, boy." She looked up and there was laughter in her eyes, though her expression hadn't changed. "Plain as day, ya know. … But you don't wear 'em proud."
"I don't want them."
"And I don't want these aches in my back from walkin', but I'll keep 'em, 'stead of throwin' away my walkin'."
Sam blinked at her, but backed down with a sigh. "Okay. Fine. But can we talk about my friend, now?"
"Sure. Sure." She nodded sweetly, though he doubted she was sweet at all. "Time talks to her too. … Different, though, 'cause she's different, ain't she?" Her lashes flicked down as if she were resting a moment, then they snapped back open, the brown in her eyes seeming to open down and down endlessly like an open pit. "She's not … from here."
Sam snapped his head back, pulling his eyes away from that hypnotic gaze. "Get out of my head."
"Don't like it? … Then get off my porch."
Sam paused, but then his eyes dropped along with his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I just- …"
"Missouri ain't nothin' to me, boy." The rumble in her tone, or maybe it was something else, flashed like ice against his skin and he shivered. "Don't go makin' enemies when you can be makin' friends."
He breathed, slowly, in and out until he could do it evenly, then he lifted his eyes again, his words unhurried. "I know. I'm sorry. But can you help me?"
She considered him a long before giving her chin a jerk and leaning back in her chair. "What's she need?"
Sam almost heaved a sigh of relief, but he wasn't free and clear just yet. "She has breast cancer." His voice dropped lower then. "And it's killing her."
"What's she been takin'?"
"An herb I don't know - Chamalla or something - and … she had some kind of blood transfusion."
Her eyes felt heavy against his again and he wondered just how much she was gleaning from his mind and how dangerous that might be. She laughed, then, her mouth gaping as a deep chuckle poured out and he suddenly felt like himself at seven when he'd gotten sick and wet his pants in school. For a moment, he seriously thought about running, just turning away and bounding down the stairs, into the street. But then she stopped laughing, her mouth clamping shut in an instant, as if it had never been open.
"I don't want you. And he sure as hell ain't my friend. So don't worry, soldierman … I don't want no war. So, I'll help you … and your friend."
Sam took a deep breath before letting it out a little faster than he should, his mind running a race his heart swore it hadn't signed up for. "Thank you. Really. So what do I need?"
"Burdock root … copper dust … desert water … … … unearthly blood."
"Unearthly blood." He didn't say it as a question, because he thought he knew the answer.
"There are many, even here … but can you find even just one, soldierman?" Her shoulders shifted as if to mock him. "And even if you do, can you ask it? Or must you steal it? And if you steal it, will you live? Will she?" Her eyes bored deep into him, as if seeking to drill holes out the back of his skull and let the waning sunlight stream in. "Seems not time enough to me."
"It's time enough. I will get what you said." His voice was as steady and determined as he was, though there was a nagging bit of him that wasn't quite so sure. "When I do, though, do I need to bring her here? Or will you come to us?"
She tilted her head to the side some, thinking, then nodded, rather respectfully, considering the current power dynamics. "I'll come to you."
Sam nodded, swallowing, pretty damn ready to thank whatever higher powers might be involved in this little miracle, but then he remembered the price. His blood ran cold as he looked into her eyes and saw something more mischievous than he'd care to handle right then. "What's the cost of healing her? And who will pay it?"
She simply shrugged, offering a smile he hadn't seen before. "A favor only. From you, only you."
A chill set in but he didn't flinch. "What's the favor?"
"Dunno yet, soldierman. We'll see."
"I won't kill for you."
"I won't ask you to."
"I won't hurt other humans for you."
"Other humans, hmm? Interestin'. Still … I won't ask you to."
He ignored her take on him and tried to run through all the heinous possibilities so that he could strike them from their deal. Fuck, he thought, was this a deal? He chewed on his teeth for a minute, then shook off his fear and kept going. This needed to be done. It was the only way.
"I won't … give myself over … to demons."
"I won't ask you to."
"I- …"
"Shhh. Dunno what I'll be askin', but it won't be what you think. That's all I'll say now. So … in … or out?"
He was silent for a moment, but he knew his answer well before he opened his mouth. "In."
"Call me then." She reached into the folds of her dress and drew out a card, flicking her wrist his way, and he reached for it, but she held it in her fingers a moment longer. "Five days. That's gotta be time enough, soldierman. Or she'll be gone, and even I can't save her then."
He nodded slowly, swallowing, and pocketed the card when she released it, offering a whispered "thanks" from a dried out throat. Then he climbed down the stairs and headed up the street to find a cab that would carry him back to Laura.
Tags:
- !fanfic,
- *rpg-repost,
- category: gen,
- challenge: dramaticmuses,
- character: laura roslin,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: battlestar galactica,
- fandom: rpg universes,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic universe: dm_rpg,
- genre: angst!fic,
- genre: au!fic,
- genre: character-study!fic,
- genre: crossover!fic,
- genre: plot!fic,
- rating: pg-13
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Great start!
Date: 2007-04-16 04:25 pm (UTC)Re: Great start!
Date: 2007-04-19 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 08:29 pm (UTC)that is awsome!!! (don't if there is such saying, but it fits like a glove!)
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-17 12:59 am (UTC)Love the sketch you drew of the woman in the rocker; and I enjoyed listening to Sam's POV as he walked the streets, "feeling" out the power, trying to accomplish this mission to save Laura. And of course, Sam's negotiations with the healer...a nice insight to his fears about what he is/will become...and how all dealmaking comes in shades of grey.
And I thought this was lovely description of the intersection of memory and forgetting:
Too often, he was wholly disappointed, even after those moments when a piece of real and weighty tradition was set in front of him. So much confusion and falsehood was mixed in with every strand of truth until he wondered how these little enclaves had survived this long, half-dabbling in things they only understood well enough to get themselves hurt. There must have been remnants of protective egregores left by those who really knew the old ways, elsewise half the city would likely be left in rubble and disease.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:16 pm (UTC)And I always appreciate your awesomely detailed feedback.
Different
Date: 2007-04-17 01:22 am (UTC)Re: Different
Date: 2007-04-19 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-17 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-17 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-24 11:15 am (UTC)I heart this piece so much, I can hardly articulate it. From the description to the dialogue, it evokes this wonderful mood that reminds me of that amazing Southern Gothic story you recommended a month or so ago. I've had the word "soldierman" echoing around in my mind in much the same way I had "heaven shakes" in my head for days.
*loves you, loves this unfolding story*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-24 07:54 pm (UTC)*loves on your feedbacky ways*