Greetings!
Sep. 15th, 2011 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glasslogicSo, I'm not actually dead. Life is sadly interferring with my plans for more amusing persuits, but progress is still being made just ...slowly. I haven't abandoned anything, promise! This little fly-by was inspired by the messages I've gotten this week by people surprised to find there there is more Fortress fic posted. I didn't crosspost Static because the BB it posted to seemed to get enough coverage on it's own, but live and learn. My continuing laziness in not linking them into the end of Fortress probably doesn't help.
For anyone interested who missed them:
Fortress Timestamp: Skin and Bones
Fortress Sequel: Static
And because I am ridden with guilt over a story that was supposed to post last December, I have stuck a teeny, tiny, unedited piece from Crossroads of Eden under the cut...
Another slow step. Dean continued lying motionless. Not quite close enough yet. The wind was still blowing from the field and he could smell nothing but dry grasses and wildflowers. The sudden rumble of an engine from far too close sounded just as the hunter standing upwind poked him roughly with a shotgun, attempting to roll him onto his back. Dean grabbed hold of the gun and used it to yank the hunter off balance. The man swore and stumbled, then it was simplicity itself for Dean to knock his feet out from under him and pin him to the ground. Dean froze. He had never met the man beneath his hands in his life, but the scent had unmistakable notes to it, traces of something so familiar... Dean searched the face of the man lying dazed on the ground, it wasn’t immediately obvious, but there was something to the angle of his jaw, the lines of his face.
“John Winchester,” Dean said flatly.
Winchester struggled beneath him until Dean slammed his head back onto the ground and he went limp, stunned.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Dean hissed, mostly to himself. He grunted, twisting the barrel of the shotgun into a useless mess while resisting the powerful impulse to just kill the man beneath him. John Winchester was dangerous, he was intolerant, and he had a reputation for both that Dean had known about long before he had ever met Sam. He was relentless, he was resourceful, and if he was on their tail then staying hidden had just gotten a lot harder. But the biggest reason Dean wanted to snap his neck and be done with it was that he had abandoned Sam when Sam had needed him the most, and the very lastthing Sam needed to deal with in his current frame of mind was the complications that John Winchester back in the picture presented.
But Sam would find out. And never forgive him.
All of this presuming that John hadn’t already killed Sam and had just been lying in wait for Dean to finish the deal. Dean swore and slammed Winchester’s head one more time onto the asphalt, leaving the hunter dazed and groaning, then sprinted towards the warehouse.
He knew as soon as he crossed the threshold of the building what he would find in the basement.
Everything was just as he had left it, the laptop on the milk crate, the maps and newspapers spread across the makeshift table, even Sam’s duffle bag with clothes spilling out the top. Everything, exactly as it had been when he left less than half an hour earlier to run his errands, except for one thing.
Sam was gone.
For anyone interested who missed them:
Fortress Timestamp: Skin and Bones
Fortress Sequel: Static
And because I am ridden with guilt over a story that was supposed to post last December, I have stuck a teeny, tiny, unedited piece from Crossroads of Eden under the cut...
Another slow step. Dean continued lying motionless. Not quite close enough yet. The wind was still blowing from the field and he could smell nothing but dry grasses and wildflowers. The sudden rumble of an engine from far too close sounded just as the hunter standing upwind poked him roughly with a shotgun, attempting to roll him onto his back. Dean grabbed hold of the gun and used it to yank the hunter off balance. The man swore and stumbled, then it was simplicity itself for Dean to knock his feet out from under him and pin him to the ground. Dean froze. He had never met the man beneath his hands in his life, but the scent had unmistakable notes to it, traces of something so familiar... Dean searched the face of the man lying dazed on the ground, it wasn’t immediately obvious, but there was something to the angle of his jaw, the lines of his face.
“John Winchester,” Dean said flatly.
Winchester struggled beneath him until Dean slammed his head back onto the ground and he went limp, stunned.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Dean hissed, mostly to himself. He grunted, twisting the barrel of the shotgun into a useless mess while resisting the powerful impulse to just kill the man beneath him. John Winchester was dangerous, he was intolerant, and he had a reputation for both that Dean had known about long before he had ever met Sam. He was relentless, he was resourceful, and if he was on their tail then staying hidden had just gotten a lot harder. But the biggest reason Dean wanted to snap his neck and be done with it was that he had abandoned Sam when Sam had needed him the most, and the very lastthing Sam needed to deal with in his current frame of mind was the complications that John Winchester back in the picture presented.
But Sam would find out. And never forgive him.
All of this presuming that John hadn’t already killed Sam and had just been lying in wait for Dean to finish the deal. Dean swore and slammed Winchester’s head one more time onto the asphalt, leaving the hunter dazed and groaning, then sprinted towards the warehouse.
He knew as soon as he crossed the threshold of the building what he would find in the basement.
Everything was just as he had left it, the laptop on the milk crate, the maps and newspapers spread across the makeshift table, even Sam’s duffle bag with clothes spilling out the top. Everything, exactly as it had been when he left less than half an hour earlier to run his errands, except for one thing.
Sam was gone.
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-15 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-15 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 03:00 pm (UTC)*grins* How sad is it that I'm not actually sure this is the right fic? I have _two_ that could be a correct statement for! Well, maybe that just adds to the suspense? *hopefully*
no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-15 07:46 pm (UTC)Now I´m not going to do arts for ya!
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Noooooooooooooooo... I wanna do arts for ya!!! YAY YAY YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY
*la besa, la abraza, la achucha*
no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:26 am (UTC)