A Different Perspective
Feb. 13th, 2019 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerThere's a time skip for this one. I'll get back to the stuff between enemy of my enemy and this one eventually. In the meantime, you can be confused with Sam. (Mostly, I'm not sure whether this fits the Supernatural timeline or whether I'm ignoring it here, but Sam was gone and Dean ended up working with Xander, grudging respect turning to something, well. Rather different.)
Oh, yeah, segment brought by the second worst migraine I've ever had on Saturday (I didn't actually throw up, so I kept down the painkiller. Unlike last time. If you're hurting too much to keep down an oral painkiller, they have to do a shot. Not fun).
I'm kind of proud of thrown-together title, because it has a couple different meanings. I'm a word dork like that.
~Dreamer~
(also fyi i will never write incest so no worries about that ever. if i did, it'd be tagged, but given that i avoid it like the plague even in reading, i'm certainly not going to write any.)
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed/possibly Mummy??/Supernatural
universe first introduced in primordium
Summary: Sam doesn't know how they got here.
Word Count: 540
Rating: Gen (not for those with emetophobia? i.e. if the description of the migraine above bothered you, you might be better off giving this one a pass. it's not in depth but I'd rather warn and let you lot make an informed decision)
They’re returning from a hunt, late, not that Dean seems to mind, given his humming, and Sam nearly trips over a body lying relatively close to the door of their room. As per his instincts, Dean first draws his knife before he gasps and rushes forward.
“Xander. Are you okay?” he demands gruffly, eyes wide and frantic, turning the man over with desperate, trembling hands. “Where are you hurt?” he amends it to, at the groan.
“’m not,” the other manages, but given that he’s curled up he’s not very convincing.
He’s never seen Dean this upset about anyone else besides his favored little brother. It’s weird, honestly.
“Don’t lie to me. Please.” And he’s never heard his brother beg, not that he can remember, anyway. No one mentions the tears in Dean’s eyes.
“Migraine.” The effort was apparently too much, because Alexander turns to throw up, painfully and pathetically, on the floor. Dean fetches his sunglasses and painkillers—the illegal-for-non-doctors-to-own, injectable kind—from his stuff quickly and returns. Sam notes, startled, that Alexander had stolen one of Dean’s jackets to wrap up in, and Dean hadn’t complained about the theft or it possibly getting vomit on it or anything.
He proceeds to massage his boyfriend’s head and shoulders, hum songs (which at least Sam recognizes are AC/DC, so at least Dean probably hasn’t been replaced by a shapeshifter—he confirms with silver and holy water and Dean kind of swats him away in annoyance but doesn’t pay too much attention), make him tea of all things, keep him warm, clean the vomit without complaint…
If there’s ever a chick flick moment, Sam muses from his laptop, brightness turned to low, it’s the last five hours. Eventually, though, Xander emerges from the bundle of Dean and blanket, a worn and ragged smile, slow, achey movements completely unlike his usual. “Seeing the world as I do is useful, but it sometimes comes with a price.”
“Don’t scare me like that,” Dean snaps, thumb moving in comforting circles on Xander’s arm, but the smile doesn’t disappear. Alexander seemingly knows how his brother lashes out when he cares, which is also more than a little shocking.
“It doesn’t happen often, but…” Xander shrugs. “…I can feel it coming on, and make a beeline for the safest place nearby.”
If there’s anything that says how important the two have come to each other, how much it actually means, the idea that an Assassin looks at a temporary place Dean’s been staying and thinks ‘safe’ is it. Also, the idea that Dean’s hotel room is safe is maybe an unsafe assumption. Maybe he should look into protective sigils to casually hide in their rooms if Mr. Secretively Paranoid is forgetting about things like securing a room.
Oh, yeah, segment brought by the second worst migraine I've ever had on Saturday (I didn't actually throw up, so I kept down the painkiller. Unlike last time. If you're hurting too much to keep down an oral painkiller, they have to do a shot. Not fun).
I'm kind of proud of thrown-together title, because it has a couple different meanings. I'm a word dork like that.
~Dreamer~
(also fyi i will never write incest so no worries about that ever. if i did, it'd be tagged, but given that i avoid it like the plague even in reading, i'm certainly not going to write any.)
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed/possibly Mummy??/Supernatural
universe first introduced in primordium
Summary: Sam doesn't know how they got here.
Word Count: 540
Rating: Gen (not for those with emetophobia? i.e. if the description of the migraine above bothered you, you might be better off giving this one a pass. it's not in depth but I'd rather warn and let you lot make an informed decision)
Given his previous unrelenting animosity, it is entirely understandable that Sam questions why, exactly, Dean went from wishing this Ahren—no, Alexander—dead in perfectly horrible ways to having a relationship (Dean, who from his knowledge has never had a relationship, doesn’t want it, that’s for chicks), and suspects it’s either a spell, demon, or just sex. All the spells and tests had yet to detect anything, and further events force him to reevaluate his last assumption as well.
They’re returning from a hunt, late, not that Dean seems to mind, given his humming, and Sam nearly trips over a body lying relatively close to the door of their room. As per his instincts, Dean first draws his knife before he gasps and rushes forward.
“Xander. Are you okay?” he demands gruffly, eyes wide and frantic, turning the man over with desperate, trembling hands. “Where are you hurt?” he amends it to, at the groan.
“’m not,” the other manages, but given that he’s curled up he’s not very convincing.
He’s never seen Dean this upset about anyone else besides his favored little brother. It’s weird, honestly.
“Don’t lie to me. Please.” And he’s never heard his brother beg, not that he can remember, anyway. No one mentions the tears in Dean’s eyes.
“Migraine.” The effort was apparently too much, because Alexander turns to throw up, painfully and pathetically, on the floor. Dean fetches his sunglasses and painkillers—the illegal-for-non-doctors-to-own, injectable kind—from his stuff quickly and returns. Sam notes, startled, that Alexander had stolen one of Dean’s jackets to wrap up in, and Dean hadn’t complained about the theft or it possibly getting vomit on it or anything.
He proceeds to massage his boyfriend’s head and shoulders, hum songs (which at least Sam recognizes are AC/DC, so at least Dean probably hasn’t been replaced by a shapeshifter—he confirms with silver and holy water and Dean kind of swats him away in annoyance but doesn’t pay too much attention), make him tea of all things, keep him warm, clean the vomit without complaint…
If there’s ever a chick flick moment, Sam muses from his laptop, brightness turned to low, it’s the last five hours. Eventually, though, Xander emerges from the bundle of Dean and blanket, a worn and ragged smile, slow, achey movements completely unlike his usual. “Seeing the world as I do is useful, but it sometimes comes with a price.”
“Don’t scare me like that,” Dean snaps, thumb moving in comforting circles on Xander’s arm, but the smile doesn’t disappear. Alexander seemingly knows how his brother lashes out when he cares, which is also more than a little shocking.
“It doesn’t happen often, but…” Xander shrugs. “…I can feel it coming on, and make a beeline for the safest place nearby.”
If there’s anything that says how important the two have come to each other, how much it actually means, the idea that an Assassin looks at a temporary place Dean’s been staying and thinks ‘safe’ is it. Also, the idea that Dean’s hotel room is safe is maybe an unsafe assumption. Maybe he should look into protective sigils to casually hide in their rooms if Mr. Secretively Paranoid is forgetting about things like securing a room.
