Fic: Winchester Synchronicity (NC17, Chapter 14 of ?)

[rivestra]

::sighs at self::

 I’m really not getting this stuff posted very fast, am I? As with the last several chapters, the next chapter (15) is just going into beta, so there'll be more, I promise.

I’m just not gonna say when.

Thanks for sticking with me.

varkelton for her patience with pronouns, commas and most of all, me. Any remaining mistakes have hung on through sheer force of will. Mine. 

rivestra 

Rating:  NC-17 series wide

Warnings:  violence, non-con, wincest

 

Chapter Fourteen

~ Go back to Chapter 13 ~
~ Story Index ~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Back and forth, he moves through the hall, head too full for his body to be still. On his next pass, he pauses at the door, lifting his hand to rest on the wood. His voice quavers as he says, “Are you…”

The door opens slightly, and Jess slips out into the hall, closing the door firmly so he only gets a glimpse of the bathroom behind her. She isn’t shaking, but he is. The way he grew up, and he’s the one shaking… God, he loves her. She catches his hand in hers, pulls it away from the door and pulls him into a sweet, open kiss, taking away his nerves with her quiet strength.

After a moment, she breaks away and brings his forehead to hers. Quietly, she says, “Just two more minutes.”

He closes his eyes and breathes her in deeply. Hands running nervously up and down her robe, he says, “Listen, no matter…” but she shushes him. She doesn’t need to hear his promises; she already knows how he feels. They’ve talked about this before, about later, about the rest of their lives. She wants to wait: after graduation, after law school and her PhD, maybe even build up her counseling practice first. She sees all the time in the world, their future spread wide and endless before them. He doesn’t trust in forever, and lately, she’s been talking less and less about waiting.

He draws her closer and buries his nose in her hair, breathing her in deeply again. She smells like cinnamon and apples, more like pie than shampoo, and it always makes him think of his brother. Dean is going to make an incredible uncle. Sure, the ectoplasm in the diaper jokes and Leave it to Beaver references will run thick at first, but it won’t last. It won’t take long before they’re arguing about what to teach the kid. He’ll put his foot down at weapons practice, but will relent on everything else and let Dean play Metallica’s Enter the Sandman as a lullaby, let Dean fill the nursery with Cuthulu plush dolls and later let them watch whatever movies they want to, huddled together with blankets and flashlights on the couch.

Jess’ soft, “Hey,” breaks his daydreaming, and he pulls back to look at her. There’s no fear in her voice when she says, “It’s time,” and he can’t help but grin at her, wide and real, and maybe his eyes are a little moister than usual, but he doesn’t care. She answers his grin with one of her own, and he knows that it doesn’t matter what the test says. Now, soon – it doesn’t matter, she‘s with him, here on the same page. She pulls him down and kisses him again, hot and messy, her tongue sliding up against his. She lifts up on her toes and fits herself to him, melding them together from thigh to chest, their bodies a promise, a hope.

He lifts her effortlessly, and she wraps her legs around his waist, hand scrambling at the drawstring of his sweats with sudden urgency. He shifts them so the wall’s at her back, adding what turns out to be a crucial balance point when she finally pulls his cock free and slides onto it, one smooth motion to take him in entirely. He groans, and pushes impossibly deeper, bringing his mouth down to her breast, shoving her robe aside and sucking her nipple in hard, making her buck against him and smack her head into the wall.

He brings one hand up behind her head to cushion it as he begins to thrust in earnest, holding her head in place and kissing her deeply, tongue mirroring each thrust and she meets him again and again, vibrant and hot and…

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jesus. That was… Why the hell was he awake? It had been way too long, and that had been incredibly… not the kind of thing a guy wanted to just wake up in the middle of. It had been… she had been so… so…

…so Jess. That had been Jess and Sam.

Dean’s life was just too fucked up for words.

Groaning, Dean kept his eyes scrunched shut. That had been exactly the right time to wake up. Or earlier, earlier would have been even better. Like before she’d opened that door, or before she’d pulled herself up onto his… onto Sam’s… Jesus! It’s not like he hadn’t noticed Sam’s girl had been smokin’ hot, but this… this was too much fucking information. Jess was… and Sam had felt… and he couldn’t unsee… couldn’t unfeel any of it…

Dean went completely still, suddenly certain Sam was watching him; he could feel it right through his eyelids. He couldn’t know, right? Sam couldn’t know what he’d been dreaming… How the fuck did these damn dreams work, anyway? Dean thought about cracking an eyelid, then realized his nose was pressed against something unyielding and it wouldn’t do him any good. He was going to have to move.

Sounding annoyed and amused in equal measure, Sam said, “You see this? This right here?” Dean felt the vibration of Sam’s words as much as he heard them. Crap. “This could be considered something of a mixed signal.”

Dean opened his eyes. His nose was pressed into Sam’s chest, right below the adam’s apple, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. He swallowed, mouth suddenly very, very dry, and slid his leg out from where it was tucked between Sam’s. Holding his breath, Dean drew the rest of himself back as casually as he could. The heavy silence that came from his brother made it clear that Sam had not somehow missed Dean’s rock-hard cock pressing against his hip.

Well, at least the hard part wasn’t a problem anymore.

Sam sat up abruptly, ducking out of the circle of Dean’s arms. He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his face and said, in a cutting voice full of sarcasm and tinged with defeat, “Don’t worry, your virtue is safe.” Dean cringed, but Sam missed it as he got up and out of the bed. He turned back to face Dean before continuing in that tired, cold voice. “I’ve had a biology class or two. I know none of this,” his wave encompassed both Dean and the bed, “has anything to do with me,” and he disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing a change of clothes from the closest box as he passed.

Dean just sat there, brain chugging furiously, quickly moving away from embarrassing biology. However disturbingly erotic the dream had been, it was nothing compared to the knot building in his heart. His mind flat out refused to move on, curled up instead on some comfy couch, covered in blankets, watching Friday the 13^th with a flashlight in his hand, mocking the scary parts in a too-loud voice for the five-year-old half asleep in his lap looking up at him tiredly with Sam’s lopsided grin.

He hadn’t moved on at all, hadn’t thought of a damn useful thing to say by the time the shower stopped. He heard Sam moving around in the bathroom and managed to sit up, but was still just sitting there when Sam came out of the bathroom. He continued to sit and watch mutely while his brother grabbed up the catch-pole from the corner and walked out the door.

*****

Why the fuck had he let Sam leave like that? Once he’d finally managed to stop sitting there like an idiot, Dean had raced into the hallway. He’d run up and down the corridors for a while, barefoot and boxer-clad, just barely managing not to call, “Sammy!” as he searched.

Eventually, he reached the main doors and a group of pinkie guards. Dean thought he recognized one from his poker game and asked, a little breathlessly, “Have you seen Sam?” They looked at each other and he knew their expressions well enough now to tell he was amusing them. Dean looked down at his almost-naked self and felt his face color, but it didn’t stop him from asking again, “Sam?”

Dean’s poker buddy jerked his head at the main door, “He left.” It glanced down at the wide strap on its wrist, “About ten minutes ago. Looked like he was set to work.”

Glass doors, 4 guards… Dean could probably take them, but then what? Assuming he could even get the doors open without the right magic, he was going to… what? Run all over the camp shouting his brother’s name? Keeping his curses under his breath, Dean muttered, “Thanks,” and set off back toward Sam’s room at a jog.

*****

Hours. Two at least since Sam had stormed out, maybe more. Dean wanted a fucking watch, because then he’d at least know how worried to be, instead of guessing.

He pounded his fist against the wall.

He couldn’t even pace. Every time he started to, Dean thought about Sammy in that Stanford hallway, and his heart would give a little stutter and he’d have to find some way to not think about Sammy with a baby, with a wife. He couldn’t afford to think about Sammy with a mortgage and clients and 2.5 cars instead of this, this life with no family at all and twisted into...

Dean threw himself down on the bed with a strangled roar, landing face-fist in the twisted blankets. His head shot back up almost immediately. Now that his stinky brother wasn’t there, he could smell… fruit? Dean sat up, snagging Sammy’s pillow and bringing it to his nose. It smelled like strawberries, and coconut… and sex.

He threw the pillow against the far wall then began to methodically strip the bed.

After he had the sheets spinning in the washing machine, Dean swung back by the room and grabbed his pile of blue camp credits. Then he went looking for someone to teach Blackjack.

*****

Dean hugged the wall as he approached the open door. Someone was in their room and wasn’t being stealthy about it. Dean checked his spiffy new watch, unable to hold back the grin he felt spreading across his face as he did. Okay, he’d been gone for more than four hours; Sam had been gone at least six. It could easily be Sam in there, but why would he be making such a racket?

There was a low crash from inside the room, and Dean poked his head around the doorjamb, peeking inside. A tee shirt hit him in the face.

Sam snapped, “Where the hell have you been?”

Dean snapped back, “Out!” completely on automatic. The room was in chaos, clothing and equipment strewn everywhere. Dean reached down and picked up the tee shirt from where it had fallen at his feet, trying not to show the violent backpedaling his mind was doing.

“Out? Do you have any idea…” Sam trailed off, exasperated and angry. He flung out his arm accusingly, pointing at the bed. “What the fuck happened to the sheets?”

Keeping his voice even and reasonable, Dean said, “They’re in the washer.” He stared at Sam, taking in the rising bruise on his brother’s face and the blood seeping through a slice in the fabric just above Sam’s left hip. A kidney hit?

Sam glared at him, eyes narrow and suspicious. “Well, aren’t you fucking industrious.” He dumped the contents of the box he was holding out all over the bare mattress. Sam wasn’t moving like the cut was deep, but Dean kept watching.

“I should call you fucking Merry instead of Erich. Fucking Merry Maid.” Dean flinched at the name, but Sam missed it, head down, ransacking the pile he’d made on the bed. Another box joined the first, contents falling out all over the bed before Sam picked his train of thought back up. “It’s not like the name means anything to you.” Still searching, Sam dumped a third box into the mess and looked up at Dean, his expression evaluating and cruel, “I could even get you one of those little fishnet uniforms…”

Dean just stared back impassively until Sam looked away, his eyes caught by something in the pile on the bed. He leaned over, grabbing at a piece of denim and bringing his other hand to press against the blood on his side as he stretched. Throwing the fabric angrily to the floor when it revealed itself to be a shirt, Sam shouted, “Where the fuck are my good jeans?” Raging, he spun toward Dean, who had quietly moved up right behind him.

They nearly collided, but Dean managed to catch Sam by the arms. “Enough.” The last time Dean had seen a tantrum like this, his brother had been nine. Sam’s breath hitched, but he didn’t protest when Dean lifted his shirt to get a look at the injury. It was shallow, needed maybe a butterfly or two, but it was right over the kidney and much of the rest of Sammy’s torso was decorated with nasty, blooming bruises. Someone had worked him over pretty well.

Dean dragged out his best big brother-voice, “This has to stop, Sam,” though it didn’t sound right coming out of fucking Erich’s mouth. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Sam stared at him, confusion, anger and defiance warring for dominance on his face. He shoved hard at Dean, “Get your fucking hands off me!” Dean kept his grip on Sam until Sam swept his legs out from under him, only letting go to keep them from crashing back into the bed in a pile.

Dean hit the bed ass-first instead, then overbalanced and fell flat. Propping himself back up on his elbows, he looked up at his brother. Calmly, he tried again “Seriously, Sam, you can’t keep this up. I heard what that white bitch said; no more guards, no more powers…”

Angry words exploded out of Sam, “Who the fuck do you think you are? I shouldn’t even be letting you call me by name, and you’re presumptuous enough to think you can tell me what to…”

Voice sharp, Dean cut him off, “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to fucking protect you, and you keep leaving me here with nothing better to do than the god-damned laundry!” He noticed he’d started shouting at some point, and it felt amazingly good. “You need to stop going out alone and let me do my FUCKING JOB!” Apparently, he’d also gotten up off the bed, because he was bare inches from Sam’s face now, matching him glare for glare.

The two of them stood there staring at each other, chests heaving with anger, breathing each other’s air until Sam finally snarled, “Fine. You want to go out?” and spun away.

He stalked across the room, moving over to the mess he’d made of Dean’s carefully organized camping supplies. “Let’s go out! We’ll need this and this…” Sam began throwing gear over his shoulder, and Dean had to move to avoid getting smacked by a flying sleeping bag. “…and oh yeah, we’re gonna need water.” Sam turned to glare at Dean, his voice sharp as he asked, “What the fuck happened to all the water, Erich? And the food?”

Dean closed his eyes briefly to stop from rolling them at his brother, but nothing could stop the sarcasm lacing his voice. “Gee, Sam, I don’t know. Maybe I ate some of it while you were unconscious for three fucking days? Maybe I even…” Dean waved his hand expansively, “…I don’t know… tried to get some of it into you?”

Sam was still crouching by the gear box, but the expression on his face had changed, confusion ruling it now, brows creasing together as he stared at Dean. After a moment, Sam shook his head, temporarily dismissing his confusion as Dean had watched him do so many times before. Sammy stood, snagging a very familiar duffle as he did, and moved to the bed.

The bag was the only thing in the room Dean hadn’t gone through. He hadn’t really even touched it in his organizing binge, though he’d ransacked it shamelessly in a hundred crappy motel rooms for everything from deodorant to Twinkies to gun oil. Sam reached deep into the outer pocket, pulling out a rubber-banded stack of yellow cardboard credits and tossing them at Dean, who caught them automatically. He looked down at the credits then tilted his head inquiringly at his brother.

There was no anger left in Sam’s voice when he answered Dean’s unasked question, “I really do need to go, and it’s not going to be a day-trip.” That I’m-still-trying-to-figure-you-out-but-I’ve-made-a-decision-for-now look crept onto Sam’s face, and Dean felt a rush of relief. Sam continued, “I know you’ve been to the commissary, so go stock us up. Get yourself a bag, and at least ten liters of water.” He watched Dean’s face, apparently deciding he was tracking before going on, “Just use whatever credits are left for trail food – it won’t be enough, but those are all my credits and we should be able to scavenge enough food once we’re out there.” He squinted at Dean, evaluating again, “Get light stuff, ok? No heavy cans.”

Nodding, Dean said, “Yeah, I’ve lived out of a bag before.” With you, you moron. Dean pinched the suddenly aching bridge of his nose. “We gonna be walking?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam said. He looked around at the mess he’d made of his room and shook his head in classic Sammy self-disgust. “I…” he started, then abruptly reached out and snagged a pair of dark jeans from where they hid under what had to be the first box he’d overturned.

Dean couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice, “Your favorite pair?”

The color rose in Sam’s cheeks and his lips twitched, air rushing out of him with his agreement, “My favorite pair.” He tossed the jeans onto his duffle and scrubbed at his face. Dean watched him decide not to open with the inflammatory Erich, choosing instead to say, “Listen, just… can you just get us packed up? After you get the supplies, I mean? I’ve got some stuff to do to be able to take you out of this building, and it may take a while.” Sam’s eyes were careful on Dean, watching his reaction.

Dean gave an easy, “Sure, no problem,” and watched Sam fidget. His brother clearly wasn’t done talking.

“I… there’s a…” Sammy looked almost lost, definitely out of his depth. In a rush of breath, he said, “We’ll have to do a ceremony, before we can leave…”

Voice steady and even, Dean said simply, “Whatever you need, Sam.” It didn’t matter what the fucking ceremony was, so long as he got to get out of here with Sam. Dean nodded toward the door, “Go. Do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

*****

Sam’s yellow credits bought them the water and a bag for Dean, but barely any food at all. Dean reached into his pocket and supplemented them with the blue ones he’d won, surprised at how much further they went. Dean still had quite a stack of blue cardboard left once he’d finished shopping, and he’d purchased everything he thought they might possibly need.

The bedding went into the dryer on Dean’s way back to the room, then he spent a while squaring the boxes away again. Cleaning up after Sammy’s tantrum left him feeling tired and nostalgic in equal measure, and that was the best excuse he had for why he decided he needed to empty Sam’s duffle completely before repacking it.

Most of the duffle’s contents were generic and unfamiliar. Dean recognized Sammy’s whetstone and one of his own least-favorite knives, now in better condition than he’d ever kept it. He chuckled over a book of matches from a Miami bar they’d wandered into one blisteringly hot night after a successful hunt. They’d both been high on adrenaline, and the place had been packed from wall to wall with drinking, dancing girls. Sam had just smiled and leaned back in a booth, nursing his beer and watching his big brother strike out for nearly an hour before finally taking pity on Dean and pointing out that the place was probably called The Isle of Lesbos for a reason.

The bag was pretty much empty when he found a picture tucked into the side pocket. It made Dean pause for a while, staring; he was in it, but didn’t think he’d ever seen it before. The sky was that bright southwestern blue and he and Sam were sitting, shoulder-to-shoulder in the sun, jeans rolled up past their knees, feet dangling in a nameless motel pool. Dean had no memory of whatever Sam had said, but it must have been good, because Sam looked incredibly smug and no one else ever made Dean laugh like that, relaxed and unguarded, his whole body in on the joke.

It must have been taken during Sammy’s sophomore year, before Stanford was more than a tiny blip on the horizon.

Setting the photo aside almost reverently, Dean went back to the bag, shaking it out to make sure it was empty. Something rattled inside and Dean reached in, hand closing around a key ring caught on an inside seam. He ripped them free of the fabric, and held them up.

They were his keys.

Dean missed the bed and sat abruptly on the floor.

He stared blankly at them, thinking hard. Sammy had kept almost nothing, but he still had Dean’s keys? He looked over the ring: where the fuck was her ignition key?

Where the fuck was his car?

*****

An hour later, Dean had them all packed up and ready to go. He sat on the freshly made bed and stared at the bags where they sat by the door. His hand slid into his pocket again to play with his keys, as he’d caught himself doing a dozen times since he’d found them.

This time, he pulled them out. It was a stupid plan, but what, exactly, did he think he had to lose? The worst-case scenario involved Sam returning to find him drooling on the pillow, dreaming about… something embarrassing. Unicorns maybe, or Jessica Alba. Maybe Jessica Alba with a unicorn horn.

Maybe he wouldn’t even be able to get to sleep before Sam was back.

He definitely wouldn’t if he didn’t try.

Dean lay down on top of the blankets and focused on breathing evenly and deeply like Dad had taught him to do when he needed to sleep before a big hunt. After a few minutes, he curled over on his side and brought the hand with his keys up to rest on the pillow next to his cheek. He stared at the metal while he breathed, and tried to stop squeezing them so hard.

He was honestly surprised when he managed to fall asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The keys bite sharply into his palm. He unclenches his fist and brings them up to stare at. There’s nothing mythic about them: they’re just keys. They’re just Dean’s keys. He carefully removes the ignition key and slides the rest of the ring gently into his pocket, not stopping to examine why.

He can’t look at the car, can’t face the weight of her accusing stare, so he focuses instead on the black-haired man unconscious and breathing shallowly in the driver’s seat. He checks the man’s position again, compulsively, leaning in to move the right foot a bit further onto the accelerator before turning the key in the ignition. She roars to life under his hands. Not questioning the impulse, he starts the tape in the dashboard deck and sputters out an involuntary laugh as she plays Hell’s Bells for him.

Almost like she understands.

He pulls his focus back, shaking off the notion: it’s Dean’s job to anthropomorphize, not his, and it sure as hell isn’t helping. He lets the music spill out anyway, filling the quiet night air as he walks around the car one final time, checking the angle, the skid marks, everything. It’s comforting. Letting Dean go last night in the orchard had been the hard part – this should be easy by any comparison, and he’s surprised at how much it’s not.

The sky’s starting to brighten behind the hills. He has to do this now, so he adjusts the man’s hands on the wheel one final time then shuts the car door. The man’s face is already burned into his mind, but he makes himself stare at it for a moment anyway, his eyes tracing the features of the abusive asshole he’d chosen one last time. The man had been a brute to everyone: employees, wife. Children. They’re better off without the son of a bitch… for whatever little time they have left.

He mercilessly shuts down his rationalization and reaches into his bag. The mud still feels slightly warm to the touch as he pulls it out. The ball is set but still damp, tacky-wet, and buzzing with a coiled energy that sends a million tingles through his hand and up his arm.

He reaches in through the open window and sets the ball on the man’s chest, right above the heart, and it sticks there like he’s glued it to the skin. The sun’s just pinking the horizon when he pulls out his knife and runs its edge across his right palm, cutting deep and quick. He lays his hand wound-down on the mud ball and allows his blood soak into it, almost jerking back as it starts to pull. The balls sucks at his blood and more, taking what it needs from him, taking what he’s promised.

The knife falls from his other hand, and he barely notices because it’s surging now, all through him. Lightening runs up his arm and into his chest, racing along his veins from where the mud ball sits stuck fast to the man’s chest. He holds on tightly through the agony, focusing on his ragged breath and fighting every instinct he has in order to keep his mind open to its interminable pull.

Suddenly, the mud melts into the man’s chest, vanishing, and the pain is gone, and so’s his grip. He falls back, landing hard on his ass but immediately scrambles back up to his feet. He stares at the man in the driver’s seat and watches as features begin to shift and twist, hair lightening, shoulders squaring, the stranger’s face morphing into a conformation more familiar than his own.

Suddenly frantic, he checks the eastern horizon to see how much time he’s lost. Maybe it’s too late to do this. Maybe he’s blown his chance and can…

The sun’s still not quite peeking out above the horizon.

His blood’s slick on the lighter, and it takes him four or five blind tries to get it started. He can’t tear his eyes away, but he can’t really look, either, so he stubbornly fixates on the man’s hands where they rest on the steering wheel. He’s sure he won’t be able to do this if he looks up again at that… face. With shaking hands, he tosses Dean’s silver lighter in as soon as it’s ignited, not daring to breathe. The upholstery catches quickly, accelerated by magic, bright in the pre-dawn gloom.

He still doesn’t breathe as the man wakes from the heat of the fire and looks up at him with Dean’s eyes. Doesn’t breathe as Dean’s voice starts to scream. Doesn’t breathe as Dean’s body writhes against the seatbelt, as Dean’s features crisp and split from the heat, hissing when the flames reach them. Even though he’s not breathing, he can taste Dean’s burning flesh in the back of his throat, the vile smoke permeating everywhere.

He’s still not breathing as he thinks the accelerator down and sends the Impala tearing off the cliff into the first rays of morning sunlight.

When he finally does let himself breathe, it comes out as a ragged sob, but he only allows himself the one before picking up his knife and marching off down the mountain road. He resolutely doesn’t look back at the inferno behind him, but he can still feel the heat on his back when he hits the valley floor, hours later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~On to Fifteen~

Comments

[zazreil.livejournal.com]

Ack!!!! you did the unforgivable, you killed the Impala past all hope of repair. Sheesh! that's worse than Kripke sending Dean to hell ^_~ Any way I do enjoy this story

Zaz

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

But it was for a good cause!!! Sammy'd sacrifice that car any day for his brother. Anything and just about anyone too, at least by the time we're at that particular point in the story.

It's possible I've broken him a bit...

(And thanks for the comment!)

[varkelton]

My favorite part in this section? Sammy hoping to be a daddy... and Dean's reaction to dreaming about Sammy and Jess... Oh, and when Sam wakes up and realizes Dean is hard. And the mention of a ceremony *fans self*, and Dean finding the Impala keys, and, and, and... So much to love here. Great chapter!!!!

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thank you, Oh Great and Merciful Beta!

's all for you, chica, and you know you make it better ever time you poke me with that big, sharp beta-stick.

[putu2sleep.livejournal.com]

Great update! I love the insight Dean gets from the dreams. And even when Sam was with Jess, thinking about children, his mind still wandered fondly to Dean. That was a nice touch.

I like that they are at least communicating. And Dean, as always, is very resourceful. I think Dean (Erich) is going to be a big help for Sam. At least I hope so. I don't want to see him injured so severely anymore.

A ritual sounds very interesting.

And the impala? Oh no...

Loved the chapter. It was beautifully written, as always.

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

I like to think that the Impala gave herself to save Dean, even if Sammy doesn't like it when I anthropomorphize. When you think about it, that's a step up for the Winchesters, since none of them had to die this time (though I'm not sure what happened actually qualifies as growth for Sam...)

The Jess dream broke my heart a bit as I was writing, then even more so as Dean was reacting to it. He wants that for Sammy soooo bad, and instead, I've given them this mess. If he knew about me, he'd focus his considerable attention on bringing me down. Though you never know, he might go after Kripke first.

Thank you for the lovely comment, and for sticking with me as I take a month and a half to beta a chapter that took maybe 3 days to write...

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

::waves at you!::
Fifteen is finally up!

[isaacsapphire.livejournal.com]

Hm, interesting way of giving us Sam's end of the story without straying from Dean's PoV. AUs this AU tend to annoy me but I think I like this one.

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thanks, I'm really enjoying writing Sam's dreams. It's like being able to take a vacation from the story while still making progress with it. It's also an easier style for me to write in (though much more of a pain to edit!)

I tend to separate AUs into two categories: the Sam is the female State Senator from Kansas crusading for soybean environmentalism and Dean is his newest aide variety, versus the it's all the same up until xxx variety.

I'm not a big fan of the first; if I wanted fic about strangers in Kansas politics, I'd google that. I think the second makes up a huge portion of fan fiction for living shows(any story where the ending doesn't let you go seamlessly into whatever happens next in cannon), and don't mind it as much because it's still about the characters from the show.

Er, sorry. That was probably more information than you needed. Thanks for commenting and welcome as a friend!

[getyourguns.livejournal.com]

Just read through what you have so far and I CANNOT wait to read the rest! What a way to end it. x_x

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I can't wait to get the rest written, I'm having so much fun with it (for certain values of fun that include hair pulling and a whining Winchesters [wait. Even that part sounds like quite a lot of fun, actually ::grins::]) Seriously though, this little epic is really letting me flex my writing muscles and I'm still going great guns on it, even when the boys get whiny and uncooperative.

Thanks for commenting!

[harry-sev4evr.livejournal.com]

Wow so I found this story from a rec by varkelton and I must say this story ROCKS and I am so glad you all wrote fics for each other because they are both wonderful. I can't wait for the next chapter. Is Sammy starting to see Dean in Erich because sometimes it seems like it. I reaaly hope he is and then not so much because I worry if that will make bad things happen with Lilith. Update Soooon! *grin*

Sylanthra

[harry-sev4evr.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, I forgot with the wonderfulness that is this fic, The Impala!!!! WTF??? That's like sacrilege right there worse than anything. :(

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thank you! varkelton is not only an incredible writer, she's also a most magnificent beta! She's made this story better in so many ways (including inspiring it from the get go).

I'm pretty strongly in Dean POV, so Sammy sometimes surprises me, but I think that he's unconsciously responding to Dean in Erich and there's nothing drawing conclusions anywhere near the front part of his brain. As the author, I really hope I'm right (though the boys have certainly surprised me before - for instance, I thought I had at least several chapters to write in between Dean figuring out he didn't look like himself and him figuring out that that was Sam's fault!)

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Oh, man, amazing chapter. From Sam's thought's about Uncle Dean in the dream, to Dean convincing Sam to take him with on the trip. I wonder why Sam's so POOR? It seems a little silly silly to scruple at hustling some demons at poker when he's doing ... alll the things he's doing. Huh. Or maybe Sam's former guards are intientionally losing big to the new gladfiator, doign what little they can to help? And Dean seems to be able to guide his Sammy-dreams. Color me intrigued.

*mourns the Impala*

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

I don't think it 's ever occurred to Sam to hustle the demons. He's a little... focused, and not really on his own well-being (more on that later). And yeah, Dean's getting grabby with the reins all of a sudden. Now that he can see Sammy's let them go, he's not just gonna sit back and let fate steer them around.

[mre-quecky.livejournal.com]

Wow, jeez, loooved this update! So Dean's body was not only swapped to hide his identity, but to save his butt :D

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Sammy's just full of surprises, isn't he?

Thanks for the comment!

[coell.livejournal.com]

Love it!

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[heather03nmg.livejournal.com]

Wow. This is such an amazing fic. So hurty and awesome. You're killing me over here.
More please

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Awww... thank you! (And I'm working on it, I swear!)

[pizzapixie.livejournal.com]

Oh Holy Hell, you've sucked me right in. I don't read wip, how'd that happen? Great characterization, intriguing plot, excellent writing. That's how. More please?

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Hee! I don't tend to read WIPs myself, so I'll take that as quite a compliment. I am working on more, I swear. I even know where it's going and everything. I seem to be managing to post about once a month, so I guess I'd better get on the ball and post 15 soon...

Thank you so much for heaping on the praise, it feeds my ego soul.

[lishel_fracrium.livejournal.com]

okay wow this is so fucked up!! but in the good way. more please? this is awesome why don't you have more comments?

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Ummm... because it's still a work in progress and, also, I don't pimp well?

Thank you for the high praise; you probably have no idea how much I treasure you calling my work fucked up, but rest assured that I do!

[ragingvirgin.livejournal.com]

I just blew through to this point as I devoured your fic. (It had the word apocalypse in the description. Of course I was going to read it.) DAMN, this is a ride of a fic. Seriously, uo and down, topsy-turvey, you are killing me here. Why the hell can't anyone tell that Dean's Dean?! Why is Dean a redheaded Irishman?! (Does he have the accent, tell me he has the accent. XD) What did the Impala ever do to deserve such a violent death? How am I supposed to go to bed now (its 1.30AM where I am) knowing I don't know how this ends?!

Consider me your loyal reader.

PS - Of course, DEAN would play poker against a bunch of demon!guards and take them for all they're worth.
PPS - I love how Dean didn't even mention to Sam that he had more than enough C-cads to buy things. He's such a sibling. haha
PPPS - I can't wait for the next chapter, hon! Awesome job, so far! This fic must have taken some serious mapping out, haha.

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Yeah! Loyal readers are always welcome around here! (More like coveted, truth be told. Welcome, my precious!) I sure hope you made it to bed, because while I am working on this, I am not fast. You're gonna get pretty seriously sleep deprived if you stay up waiting for the next part (let alone waiting for me to get to the end!).

I do indeed have quite a few pages of notes on this baby, thought clearly it's not enough because I never even wondered if Dean had the accent before you asked. ::snickers kinda helplessly at the thought of a brogue coming out of Jensen's mouth::

Your questions will be answered, in time. And the Impala was just protecting her boy! Also? Sam values that car a hell of a lot less than her driver, and his opinion was the only important one at the time (certainly not mine).

If you don't mind my asking: did you stumble in from my marvelous beta, varkelton's pimping in her big bang, or did you find me somewhere else? I'm still trying to figure these things out ::g::

[thanatoseve.livejournal.com]

Fascinating , can't wait till the next chapter.

[rivestra.livejournal.com]

Thanks! And I actually just posted Fifteen (finally), so you're in luck there!

[saorinasasha.livejournal.com]

Wonderful chapter! Love Sammy's tantrum! I know Dean looks different in this but I am still picturing him how he always looks ::swoons::
If Sam owns Dean's soul like Nazim (RIP) said, then he must know that Erich IS actually Dean, especially with how he was able to sense him when Dean was first brought in....or maybe his power or Aireuana's (cool name btw) magic made him forget.
And OMG Baby! Dean will definitely kick your ass for that one.....;)